Chapter 7.

He noticed she wasn't dutifully following him and turned to watch her work herself into frenzy at the loss of her damn horse.

"Oh, bloody hell."

Seeing her on the brink of collapsing forward, he willed himself to her side in time to catch her limp form in his arms as she slumped forward. She was such a slight thing, frail as a little bird as he cradled her. He noticed tears ran down her face, even in her slumber, a slight tremble shaking her limbs.

Damn fool of a woman. How could someone be so distraught over the loss of a simple animal? No wonder she had been in such a state when he arrived. If she collapsed in a fit for a horse, how had she handled the loss of her parents?

Not well was the obvious answer, given that she had just signed her soul away to him. He shook his head at the foolish woman before him.

He hadn't even killed the damn horse. He wasn't sure why he hadn't. But with his ship's rebuke still ringing in his ears, he felt the need to find a way to satisfy the dark craving for her pain while doing no lasting damage to the beast. And sleight of hand had been such an easy thing before he had the power to summon items at will. It had been simple to exchange the heart he held for some of the sand at his feet while at the same time willing the steed to a nearby glen, heart safely stored in one of his boxes in the hold.

He was going soft. Over a bloody horse.

With another frustrated shake of his head, he shifted her form so he could hold her more comfortably, a hand under her knees and his arm around her back. As he pushed himself to standing, savoring the strain of lifting, her body lolled against him, head rocking gently to his shoulder. She was so warm. He sighed at himself before making his way toward the ship, willing the sea to separate so he could board his ship without getting his boots wet. This time, his ship had no rebuke.

He heard her bell ring in a question as her timbers creaked in concern, but he heard the crackling of irritation at his actions toward the horse coming from her sails. "Aye she's fine, just worked herself into a state. And before you decide to hit me over the head with another bit of rope, the bloody horse is fine. The damn creature just beyond the ridge."

And something happened he had never experienced- his ship went still in surprise. He couldn't help the triumphant smile that twisted his lips as he stepped off the gangplank and onto the deck.

"Oh nothing to say?" he mocked. He was expecting a sarcastic quip from her, so her quiet murmur as she drew up the gangplank behind him unsettled him. Quiet as the wind's caress as it tousled his hair.

No, not this time dear one.

His whole being contracted with sudden emotion. She had not called him that in many decades. She would whisper that name as she sang to him during the long nights when visions of his old master beating him or his brother bloody would keep him from his rest, and later when nightmares of his brother and his lover's deaths would have him wandering the decks in the twilight hours, trying to find solace in the stars.

"Aye," he choked out, before turning harshly; trying to swallow past the tightness in his throat and the warm glow her words had ignited in his chest. Between that comforting feeling that now sat low in his belly and the warmth of the woman in his arms, he felt the most peculiar sensation spreading under his skin.

Shaking his head, he marched to the hatch below decks, trying to master himself, to reign in the sudden upwelling of emotion he had been experiencing since he had arisen his morning. A sunrise that had brought a truly new day with it.

He came to the hatch, which popped open of its own accord, and he couldn't help the incredulous smile on his lips. For a moment, with his ship once again alive around him, it was as if he was still the man he used to be. But as the woman shifted and whimpered in his arms, fresh tears falling, sniffling quietly in her sleep, the feeling passed and the awareness of the hell he had willing consigned himself to brought the darkness back with it, crowing in triumph.

There would be no going back to the man he had been. It was a foolish thought, and self-loathing that he wanted anything other than this, the completion of his revenge, had him stomping down the stairs below decks to throw the lass in his arms into one of the hammocks in the empty crew's quarters. But when he had made his way to the entrance, the door swung shut and locked itself with a mocking click.

The vitriol that left his mouth was most likely uncalled for, but the continued defiance of non-humans to his will today was grating on him. "If you do not open that bloody door this instant, I will drop her right here. I am the BLOODY DARK ONE and I have had it with BOATS THINKING THEY KNOW BETTER THAN-"

And for the first time since he had boarded her three centuries before, his boat sprang a leak. That sprayed him straight in the face with sea water.

"ENOUGH!" The water abruptly stopped as his magic lashed out, gleefully following his dark intent, feeding on his anger and embarrassment, and black flames consumed the inner layer of siding, charring it black in a matter of seconds. A groan of agony shook the entire hull as she screamed. The door to the crew's quarters fell open, as if she no longer had the strength to hold it shut. He quickly passed through the door and dumped the unconscious woman into the closest hammock, trying to ignore the sickening guilt he felt rising up in him like bile.

For a moment his hand itched to brush the locks of blonde hair away from her face as she settled, but his rage was still blinding. He whirled away and out into the corridor with a snarl. He eyed the charred wood as he slammed the door shut behind him, and tried to feel triumph at the brutal destruction he had wrought. But there were still trembles in the planks beneath him as she continued to shudder, whether in fear or in pain, he didn't know. And he shouldn't care. But he could hear her wheezing.

It felt as if he himself was having trouble breathing suddenly, a feeling of dizzying sickness spread out from his gut, the likes of which he hadn't felt since hearing his brother's screams under the lash. He staggered forward, his palm falling squarely in the center of the blackened circle in the wood. It was still searing hot and he felt his palm beginning to blister as he tried to get his lungs to work again.

Why dear one?

He jerked his hand back, gasping harshly, cradling his hand close to his chest. He had to get away from here. And rum. He needed lots of rum.