1

I'd risk my life for two things: love and revenge. I lost the first. And if I die for my vengeance, then that's enough satisfaction for me.

"Where is it? Where is it? Where have you hidden it, you son of a—"

A noise from above deck made her flinch. Her hands froze on the lid of a chest, her heart giving an uncomfortable lurch, then starting again in double time. A trail of emptied drawers and boxes betrayed her passage across the cabin: quills, trinkets, maps, compasses, clothes and empty bottles strewn across every surface.

Briefly she checked the window. It was still open, and large enough for her to squeeze through. She'd made sure of that before she'd started searching.

Silence pressed in on her. The noise was nothing. Just a rat, or at worst a drunken sailor who had wandered onto the wrong ship and off again. Nobody in their right mind would ever come near this vessel wittingly. They all knew who it belonged to.

What does that make me, then? she thought as she resumed her frantic digging. Out of my mind?

Out of her mind with fury. Out of her mind with worry. But no—not insane. Not quite yet. As long as she still had this to live for, she could manage.

Her hair had managed to slip out of its bindings again, falling over her shoulders and getting in her face. Impatiently she pulled the brown curls back and retied them, kicking over a box in her hurry to see its contents. Only gloves, and a framed drawing of a woman concealed at the bottom. Did he still have the bloody thing, or had he sold it on already?

Greedy, grasping, avaricious pirates. The value of a man's life was just a sum of gold to them. What did they care if people died in exchange for their wealth?

Without quite realising, Delila caught sight of herself in the looking glass as she passed it. At first she started, thinking it was an intruder. On second glance she almost laughed, recognising her own wide blue eyes in a neat, square face. The face was about the only thing she recognised: it had been a while since she'd looked in a mirror, or had a decent set of clothes.

No time, she reminded herself, and flung open a drawer at random. Almost immediately, however, she froze again. This time the noise was definitely real—and far too close for comfort.

"Hold it there," came a voice from just beyond the hatch. It was a dark voice, a rough voice, a voice with no mercy. "You're trapped. Don't try anything stupid."

The window, the window, a voice screamed in her head, but a pair of knee-high boots and the hem of a long, leather cloak had already appeared at the top of the steps. He was moving too quickly; if she ran for it now, he'd be there in time to grab her as she tried to wriggle out.

Delila watched in a kind of hateful fascination as the boots and cloak were followed by a pair of black trousers, an embroidered red waistcoat, frilled shirt cuffs, one bejewelled hand… and one sharpened silver hook.

She stared at that hook for so long that when she looked up again, he'd already reached the bottom of the stairs. His face was the next shock. She'd expected a ragged beard and a scarred, broken-nosed face. A brutal face.

Instead, a pair of keen blue eyes peered at her from under quirked, inquisitive brows. There was a beard—short and tamed—and a straight nose leading down to shapely, smiling lips. His high cheekbones cut striking lines across his face, emphasised by the moonlight.

He was, without a doubt, very handsome. And it only made her hate him more.

"Well," said Hook, and suddenly all the roughness was gone from his voice. She realised he'd expected her to be male: his relaxed posture said as much. "From the state of my cabin, I'm guessing you're not a surprise from Smee. Unless this is a speciality of yours. Creating an atmosphere, as it were."

He smirked, enjoying his little joke.

"No?" he asked when she remained coldly silent. "That's a shame. I don't often come back on my own after a night on the town. I was hoping to have some time alone, but this would have been much nicer, on second thoughts."

Still she said nothing, her eyes never leaving his part of the room.

"Alright," he agreed finally. "Let's cut the formalities short. You've made a pigsty of my cabin, and now I'm angry. You're going to tell me why you did it. Then I'm going to have you keelhauled all the way to the next port. Understood?"

"I need something you took," she snapped abruptly, surprised at her own ferocity. "I was looking for it."

"Well, why didn't you just ask me?" He took a step towards her-a step so smooth she might have imagined it. "We could have struck some kind of bargain, I'm sure."

"Not with you. Pirates don't do fair deals."

She edged sideways towards the window, trying to do it like him, unnoticeably. Unfortunately, sideways was a much more obvious movement than forwards, and he spotted it with a patronising smile. It was unnerving, how friendly he came across despite the hard glint in his eye.

"I see," he said finally, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You don't have anything valuable enough to bargain with."

"I spent the last of my money travelling to this disgusting place. I thought it was finally in reach-then I found out you'd stolen it. From a man's corpse, in fact, after your crew did away with him."

Hook stood very still for a few moments, his eyes locked with hers. She could see his mind working furiously behind them, could hear the parts falling into place.

"Right," he said finally. "Well, now I'm curious. What would a high-born girl like yourself want with a diamond-shelled egg?"

Delila's stomach jolted. She'd given so much away with just a few words.

"Don't look so startled. You're not the first to be overwhelmed by my powers of intellect." He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and began polishing his hook with it, even taking his eyes off her for an instant. "I remember the man well. He was gambling in the Broken Crown, and he kept flashing the egg at everyone, trying to lure them in. It worked, too. He made a small fortune-didn't lose a single game all night. He was particularly rude to me on his way out. The rest you can piece together yourself."

Delila jumped away as she suddenly clocked that he'd moved another two steps towards her. When had he done that?

"Not so fast," the pirate murmured, tucking the handkerchief away. "I just sharpened this yesterday. Go for the window, and you'll end up dangling off it like a fish."

Something in his expression assured her that he wasn't bluffing. Delila took quick, shallow gulps of air and forced herself to stand still.

"Good girl."

This time he didn't even try to conceal his approach. Swaggering right up to her, he used the hook to comb a few stray curls back from her face. It was coming out of its binding again. She shivered at the cold touch of steel, but didn't dare flinch away.

"I'll be honest." He bared his teeth in a wry grin. "There aren't many who'd dare set foot on my ship, much less ransack my cabin. You've got grit, sweetheart. But you still haven't answered my question, and I don't like asking twice."

He'd backed her up against a desk, his face so close she could smell the rum on his breath, sharp and smoky.

"It's a long story." Stalling for time, she reached behind her, her fingers travelling over the objects on the table. Books, fabric, parchment… ah. There.

The captain looked her up and down appraisingly; one of his dark brows twitched. "I've got all night, love. You go ahead and tell me everything."

"Well," Delila said, "it's like this."

Then she swung the empty bottle with all her might.

Glass shattered over Hook's forehead, raining down on the both of them like diamond chips. He stumbled backwards, cursing colourfully as she dashed for the window. The blow, however, wasn't enough to stun him for long. She'd barely managed to climb onto the frame before a vice-like grip closed around her shoulder, wrenching her back into the cabin and flinging her to the floor. The breath was thumped out of her body as she landed face-up, then he was hauling her to her feet, pinning her arms to her sides in a choking embrace. The buttons of his coat pressed into her back. She felt warm air on her neck, heard his panting right next to her ear.

The silvery hook hovered in front of her face, then its point rested against her chin.

"You've got until the count of three," he hissed. "Then it's going in your neck."