Chapter 15.

"I am so sorry lass." He had to away from her. From what he had almost done. What he could still feel he wanted to. "I am so sorry."

With a thought, he willed himself away from her, he didn't care where. As he felt the tug of magic in his gut, the grip around his throat tightened and didn't release until the cloud around him dissipated and the magic pooling in his belly drained away.

As he drew in a breath, feeling the sickening knot in his belly, he let his gaze focus on his surroundings, and felt a sudden and violent wave of revulsion sweep over him.

In his need to flee, his instinct had taken him to the place his mind obviously thought he belonged. The brig smelled the same as it always had. Moist, rotting, cloying. It smelled of despair, of loss, of emptiness. He could feel the thick air on his tongue. Could taste the hatred, the bitterness, the abandoned hopes that still lingered on the air.

He had ended up curled up in the corner of the cage, pressed against the wood. He had vivid memories of being in a similar position as a child, trying to keep himself as small as possible, hoping against his own will that the evil would pass him by and pick one of the other unfortunate souls caged below to unleash its fury. And then the guilt when the poor unfortunate usually ended up being his big brother, the honorable one, who would provoke the men to ensure that they would not pick him instead.

He could feel the memories draping over his shoulders like cloak, the weight of the forgotten years of his past suddenly returning and forcing his head to bow, pressing his body tightly to the wood of the ship as he tried to escape what he had become.

He had never felt that sudden upwelling of darkness before. Or rather, he had never felt it push him so forcefully in a direction he did not wish to go. Up to the point the woman had called to him, he and the darkness had always been of a united will. Death, revenge, destruction. Bonded in their hatred of what life had wrought. He had never before considered the darkness as different from him, apart from him before because of that.

But as he cowered in the brig of his own ship, behind bars in the darkness, he started to understand that perhaps the darkness was not as much a part of him as he had come to believe. For since the woman had called to him, there had been something in him kindled that had not burned for many years. And he knew its source was her presence, though he wasn't sure why.

The only thing he could understand was how viciously the blackness within him reacted to her, how eagerly it urged him to snuff out whatever sort of light she seemed to carry with her.

Against his will, his mind relived the last few minutes, the powerlessness he felt as he fell victim to his own baser urges. And the sense of betrayal he felt as his old girl had somehow wielded the power of the dagger he had hidden within the walls of his cabin immediately after he had returned to her, victorious against the imp he had been chasing for so long. The fury within him had exploded, and if her command to be still had not forced him to remain in place, he would have destroyed the entire ship in his fury.

But then the princess had touched him. As she had tried to flee from beneath him, her hand had brushed his. And gods it was as if he could suddenly perceive color for the first time. He could see. And there had been something that had burned through the darkness. It was like the light that had suddenly allowed him to see was burning the darkness from his eyes. From his soul.

He felt the darkness react to her simple, burning touch, coiling around his mind and trying to drag him back into his pool of hatred and emptiness. And it whispered promises to his baser needs, whispering of satisfaction in blood. He could see her fearful eyes, focusing on something above him, and hear only the pounding of his blood as he struggled to breathe. He thought the Jolly might have said something, but he could not focus on anything except the vicious burning of her hand on his own, like she was lighting his flesh on fire.

He had felt the heat intensify and the light she seemed to radiate intensify, and then she had moved, not away from him in fear as she should have, but by raising a hesitant hand to his face. As she had moved, he felt a sudden violent loathing of her, and it had seemed to make her pause, but then her eyes had turned to steel and then he had felt... everything.

It was the most pleasurable of agonies. Like he had been out in the cold and then stepped into a tub of clean hot water. He burned. But it felt clean, it felt good. In his belly, the warmth of his brother's pride and his mother's smile blossomed. His skin under her finger tips felt like he had rubbed it raw, clean and sharp. He didn't register closing his eyes, but beneath his lids, he saw the patterns of flame and light dance, graceful as a swan's flight, across the blackness.

He needed more. A sudden starvation welled up within him, like finally realizing he had not eaten in decades. Like understanding that what he had been consuming to filling the void in his soul had been an illusion, and the banquet of what he truly craved had been put before him. He needed more, he needed to be closer. He needed to be filled.

And he had felt the darkness try and twist this desperation to be sated into a need to devour. To consume. He trembled as he felt the darkness pulling him closer and closer to the edge, corrupting his craving into a darker hunger. He had spent so long searching for something to satisfy that the pull was too hard to try and distinguish from his own desperate pursuit. He was on the edge of falling, the darkness twisting him. Suffocating him. Demanding he satisfy himself the only way he knew. Despite the fullness he could feel filling him from her touch.

Take her you fool! You are weak. You are a coward! Take and command what s rightfully yours. Be the master. Destroy her. Consume her. Satisfy the craving you feel. Gorge yourself on her innocence. MASTER HER.

It was too much. He just wanted to not be empty anymore. To not be alone.

"Killian."

Her voice, sweet as the softest summer breeze, caressed him and called to him from across the ocean of the abyss within him. And suddenly, he realized exactly what he was doing. what he had been about to do. One of the two sins he had promised himself to never commit- to never take without being given, and to never profit from the business of slavery. And as he violently returned to himself, he suddenly felt the power holding him in place, the command of the dagger, cease. This his ship had released him once he was himself.

Now, hunched and trembling against the wood, the betrayal he had felt so viscerally was non-existent. Instead, he raised a shaking hand to brush his fingers across the wood by his face, feeling only gratitude to his old girl for intervening.

I am sorry I had too, dear one.

He shook his head, 'Its alright old girl," he whispered hoarsely. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank..." HIs voice faltered.

Do you want it back?

As she quietly whispered the words to him, the darkness jumped and spit, absolutely demanding that he take it back. After all, he didn't want to become a slave to someone else's will again. He clenched his jaw, biting his tongue against his instinctual answer. The one honed over three hundred years of protecting himself. The one that told him to take it and use it to run his little princess through.

As he sat with his eyes closed, the memory of her hand on his cheek had him brushing the chilled curve of his hook across his skin, making him shiver at the touch of the cold metal where he felt like he was on fire, closing his eyes at the sensation. The cold against the heat. And behind his lids, he again saw the painting of light that the princess's touch had brought. It was almost as if, as he watched the light dance behind his eyes, he could feel it swirling within him, until he fancied it coalesced into an elegant creature with wings of light, that settled on his shoulders, draping its feathers across his skin and covering him in a cloak of warmth. Of strength.

"No," he said, his hand pausing in its caress of the siding as he felt something lie steel settle within him. "You keep it old girl. No better guard over me than you. Beside," he joked with a faint smile, holding up his hook, "I keep a bit of you with me always. It's bad form to not return the favor."

He heard her chuckle quietly at his small bit of cheek.

And perhaps my addition will be as attractive as yours, dear one.

He smiled at her, a unwilling huff of amusement escaping him.

"Impossible," he grinned lightly, his fingers again trailing across her wood planks. "I am far more dashing than you."

Of course, dear one, how foolish of me.

His smiled widened a bit, before it slid off his face as the weight returned to his soul. He sighed, fear creeping back. In a strange twist of irony, he felt safe where he was, locked up within the black bowls of his ship. Away from her. His cheek burned again.

Come dear one, we have much to do. I will watch over her. You must keep your bargain with her.

He sighed again, before he nodded. "Aye, that I must." And after another moment's delay, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. He wearily scrubbed his hand over his face, his finger lingering on his cheek. He didn't want to risk another slip up. "Stay steady until you are day off the Misthaven sound. I'll go on ahead and see what I can find."

Of course, dear one... And the princess?

He stiffened at the mention of her, both in shame and guilt and against the sudden and violent upwelling of the darkness, making him more than certain of the path he had chosen. "Watch her. I'll make sure she is taken care of. And if I should forget or slip up..." he didn't want to say it. Despite the complete trust he had in his vessel, the feeling that came with being commanded by the wielder of the dagger was one he was not anxious to repeat.

I have no worries, dear one. For you will find a strength you did not know you have.

He cast a skeptical glance around the brig. "Yes, clearly."

There is nothing weak in using another's strength when your own is lacking. The only true weakness is being unable to accept help when it is offered.

He sighed, jaw ticking as he struggled within himself. He wanted to stay here with his ship, but he had made a deal. And the princess. He wanted to be close to her light, to understand why she effected him so viscerally, but it seemed as if the closer he got, the deeper the shadows were cast within him. He wanted, but at the same time, he feared. At the thought, he fancied he could feel the feathers of the imagined wings shifted over him, holding a touch more tightly, anchoring him. Comforting him. He took a breath.

"I'll be in touch soon, old girl. Make sure the princess doesn't fall over the side. And I'll meet you at the Misthaven sound."

I will be there, dear one. I always will be .

He smiled at her words, before gently caressing her boards one last time. It was time to visit an old client. He pictured the sloping hill and the black glistening spires as he willed the magic to flow through him. He felt the darkness hiss in satisfaction. An ally perhaps? The cloud of smoke obscured his view and he felt himself pulled into the sub reality that magic inhabits. But he still heard her parting words.

I love you dear one, no matter where you go.

His lips twitched, "And I you, old girl." And then he stood before the Black Castle as his words carried on the howling wind.