Mark of the Damned | 18+

Salt and the Sea

Song - Salt and The Sea - The Lumineers

"Cursed?" I jog beside him to keep up with his long strides.

"Yes."

"You're cursed, and you turn into a wolf?" Even as the words come out of my mouth, I feel ridiculous. I saw him physically turn into an animal but I'm doubting my mind. Did I really see that? Was it all a dream?

"We," he emphasizes. "We are cursed. Every full moon, the whole crew turns into wolves."

"Who cursed you? Why?"

He sighs and stops walking. When he turns to face me, I can see his face for the first time today. He looks exhausted. Dark, heavy circles beneath his eyes punctuate the obvious irritation on his face.

"Niamh, I have a lot on my mind right now." His face is stern, but beneath it, I can see the confusion. He's distracted. I suppose one might feel a bit out of sorts after spending the night in the body of an animal. That doesn't mean he doesn't owe me more than a vague response. I can't just forget what I saw. I can't continue on as if nothing happened.

"You have a lot on your mind right now?" I recoil, my irritation and fear boiling over. "You turned into a wolf in front of me last night. I can imagine that is a stressful situation for you, but at least you knew it would happen. One minute you were handing me a dagger, the next you were a giant animal! That doesn't warrant an explanation to you?"

He blinks a few times, staring at me after my outburst. My cheeks burn. I hadn't meant to yell.

"We need to get back to the docks. I'll come to you tonight, after first watch. I'll explain. Until then, just stay quiet. If anyone asks, you spent the night at the inn and you never saw me." He nods to himself, agreeing with his own idea, before resuming his brisk pace toward the town.

With no other options, I run to catch up. The dewy grass sticks to my legs and wets my skirt as we wade through the fields. Running from the constable made this journey seem much shorter last night.

"Fucking hell, Niamh," he abruptly turns to face me, "we'll never make it in time if you don't hurry!"

"My legs are much shorter than yours!"

Shrieking when he unexpectedly grabs me, I'm suddenly flipped over his shoulder.

"Cooper!" I pinch my eyes closed. My knickers don't do much to cover his backside, and I'm getting a very up-close, intimate look. My hand flies around to ensure my skirt is down; I haven't got anything on beneath it.

He runs, carrying me like a sac of potatoes, until the chimney smoke from nearby homes wafts through the air. We're getting close to town. Creeping through the fields, he stops at a clothesline, plucking several items, shirts, pants, a skirt.

With the stolen clothes over one shoulder and me over the other, he races against the dawn.

"I'm going to set you down, carrying you will arouse suspicion." He grumbles.

No sooner have my feet touched the ground when a wail, sharp and full of pain, pierces the quiet. I turn, searching for the source of the screams. Cooper's arm stretches out in front of me, stopping me from taking a step. He inhales a deep breath and pales, his eyes flickering.

"Blood."

"Where?" I search the ground.

"It's in the air. A lot of it. We need to leave, right fucking now." His hand clamps down on mine, pulling me forward.

As we move through the streets, hiding in the shadows, more cries are heard. We're surrounded by them.

I know these cries. I've heard them before. A boy in Wicklow was trampled by his horse just outside of the village square. The sound that came from his mother as she kneeled over his body in the mud is imprinted on my brain. The weeping that echoes through these streets is the same. It's the cracked, broken sob of grief that has nowhere to flow but outward.