Author's Note: Sorry for the wait, it's been leading up to finals here and school tends to take over one's life. Enjoy and review!

Warning: This chapter contains a very rough sex scene

"Rose, I know as little as you about this," Abigail insisted, stirring two lumps of sugar into her tea with a careless flick of her magical fingers. "You heard bells tinkling, I heard voices. How can I understand them? How am I to know? But I do."

"But there has to be a reason," Rose insisted, her teacup forgotten in her hand halfway to her lips, "Abigail, aren't you curious?"

"Of course I am," her lover replied, flipping her curls over her shoulder, "But I can't say I'm shocked speechless by it. Think about it. You know as well as I that the forest where I grew up was filled with faeries. Your mother saw a faerie in your flower pots that one time she came to lunch at our house. I've always been of interest to them as they have been to me. Things are different on Neverland than at home, why should this be such a big deal?"

"You said it yourself," Rose replied, "My mother saw the faerie in my flower pots but I wasn't the one who could hear them talk or understand them. No, there's something about you that's more kin to them than anything."

"Rose, that's absurd," Abigail said, sipping her tea.

"No, it isn't," the auburn-haired witch insisted, "You've always been capricious and mischievous and even cruel." That last word earned her a sugar-lump to the face and, when it fell to the floor, the kitten, newly dubbed King James II, pounced upon it. Rose set her teacup down and leaned forward, "Abigail, I think growing up around the fae changed something within you. You said they were Unseelie aligned, yes?"

"Yes," Abigail said hesitantly.

"Think about how your powers manifest!" Rose had that look in her eye that usually meant she had found a new subject to study, "Think about the magic you've always been good at! Weather like storms and snow, dark magics like shadow-work and necromancy, blood magic and curses? There's always this aura about you when you cast, powerful and old and inhuman. I've felt it! And the cold. You never noticed, but doing magic with you meant being chilled for the rest of the day. You have to see the parallels to the Unseelie, don't you?"

"When you say it like that, I suppose," Abigail conceded, refilling her cup, "But you can't think I'm….what? Part fae? Rose, you're the scholar, not the artsy dreamer. That's my character archetype."

"I have a fair amount of flare for the dramatic," Rose grinned. "My published romances are a testament to that."

"Fair." They sipped their tea in a comfortable silence, both reviewing the events of earlier that day in their heads. At their feet, King James was playing with his own tail, rolling around like a little cyclone of fluff.

"Do you think we're being missed back home?" Abigail looked up from her teacup, a little stunned by her girlfriend's question. "We've been gone over a week, surely someone must have noticed."

"I...hadn't thought of it to be honest." The tea lay forgotten on the table, cups pushed away as both women leaned forward with sullen expressions.

"In the play, it was never said how long the Darling children were gone. Their parents wondered when they would come home. Do you think that was true to reality?"

"Who can say? Do you want to go home?" Such a thought had not occurred her, she worried at what her beloved's answer might be.

"I...don't know." Rose ran her hand over her face, adjusted her glasses and sighed. "Being here is every day dream and fantastic wish I ever had come true." She held out both her hands, palms up as little sparks of scarlet burst from her fingertips. "I can feel my magic flowing through me like rivers of electricity. Winds are only the beginning, I know it. What would happen if I tried to conduct a ritual, what might answer me? I have to know…." she trailed off and curled her hands back into her lap. "And yet I miss my family, our friends, our house. The longer we stay the more I learn, more that I could have use for in my book. All my work will have been for nothing if it's never published. I feel so lost…"

Abigail stood, picked up her chair, walked around the table and sat down next to her. She clasped her hands in her own, bringing them to her lips and kissed each finger then her palms. They leaned towards each other until their lips met, sweet and tenderly.

"You're never lost," she said softly. "So long as we're together neither of us will ever be lost."

"I don't what I would do without you to keep me in line," Rose chuckled a little.

"I could say the same for you," Abigail squeezed her hands. "So, you are concerned about those we unknowingly left behind."

"Yes, I at least want to know they are alright. Don't you have any fears about home?" Abigail seemed to think for a moment before nodding.

"If time flows the same then I know I missed the audition for The Scottish Play," she grimaced a little. "I had such a great monolog planned too."

"You would have made a devilishly lovely Lady Macbeth." Abigail's dark lashes fluttered coquettishly. "Any other regrets?"

"I miss our little library," she conceded. "And the smell of pancakes in the morning, our old radio playing above the shelf of cookbooks. Even the odd noises that my station wagon made seem nostalgic to me now. And yet...," she paused and breathed deeply. "This place has given us a gift. You're right, calling storms and talking to faeries is only the tip of the iceberg. If we left now, we would never know the full extent of what we could do. But to do so is to sacrifice all the hard work I've put into my acting career…"

"If time does flow the same and we continue to remain here."

"We have to know that, at the very least."

A tiny growl interrupted their talk. Both witches turned around, searching for the noise. It was a rather surprising sight that met them. Their kitten was puffed up to twice his size, all his fur standing on end. He hissed a gilded silver plate, pawing at it with his tiny claws. His enemy? His own reflection.

"Ohhh," Rose cooed. "He's a protective little guy."

"And a genius," Abigail stood and scooped up the kitten. "Yes you are," she nuzzled him as he squirmed in her arms. "Mirrors!"

"Mirrors?"

"We can try checking in back home with a mirror. With the control we now posses, it should be easy to turn a mirror into a window rather than a portal." A look of realization lit up Rose's face.

"That's brilliant!" She too stood, lavished the white belly of the cat with affection and hurried to find the objection in question. "There has to be one around here somewhere." As Abigail entertained their new pet, Rose searched through the many chests brimming with treasure scattered about the cabin. "Ah ha!"

"Find one?"

"I have. And it's gorgeous to boot." Teal enamel was laid in the facing and handle. Polished gold filigree, winding vines with stylized blossoms, shone brightly like the sun. "That is baroque if I've ever seen it."

"Very pretty," Abigail set King James down where he scampered off to play by the window seat. "We'll have to see if there is another when we're done."

"Where do you want to do this?"

"The chaise, it's close and comfortable." They hurried to sit down, the mirror held between them. "Do you think we'll need the candles lit, like we had before when we fell through our scrying stone?"

"I have the feeling that we won't," Rose said slowly. "If anything, something like this should be easy. But I do want to try a full ritual at some point."

"Agreed."

The witches looked down upon the the glass. Streams of magic, crackling red and glittering blue, wove into a shining ribbon around the antique hand mirror. The air in the cabin grew still. Sounds that were a moment ago clearly heard became muffled. Their eyes grew glazed over as their reflections grew misty. In their hands the glass turned dark. Flashes of half developed images were projected to them. Morning light through the kitchen window. Piles of books right where they left them. Candles long since extinguished.

And then the ship lurched. Their concentration was broken and the glass returned to normal.

"What was that?" Rose lost her balance was nearly flung off the chaise. Abigail caught her, the mirror dropped on the cushion.

"I have no idea." But the ship did not rock back into place, instead the room remained at the odd angle. "This is odd."

"So was that vision, it was home but I couldn't tell anything about how much time has passed." Rose shook her head, trying to calm her excited powers.

"Me neither. One weird thing after another today," the younger witch was also trying to shake off the residue of their spell. It was not a comfortable feeling, being thrown out a magical state of mind so suddenly. Both women noticed how the room, once bright with the light of day, was quickly growing dark. "Did night come while we were looking in the glass?"

"I don't think so," the elder carefully stood and made her way to the window. Just as she was looking outside the cabin door burst open.

Hook stormed in, accompanied by a flurry of freezing wind and a cloud of flurries.

At once, Rose huddled against the thick velvet of the chaise, seeking the warmth in the sudden burst of chilled air. At once, Abigail rose to her feet, embracing the cold wind, the flurries swirling around her, kissing her lashes as she smiled at the cold she adored.

"Welcome home, dear," she said to the captain. Hook brushed the flurries from the shoulder of his black coat and glowered.

Rose spoke from where she was burrowing under the tapestry trim of a burgundy velvet throw, "What brought on this sudden weather change?"

"The Boy."

"Pardon?"

"The Boy has left the Island," he said crisply.

"And...that brings on a change in the entire season?" Rose said dubiously. Abigail was already out of the door to dance among the snowflakes. The closing of the cabin door brought a spike to James' headache and he groaned, pressing a hand to his brow. Rose slowly emerged from the blanket, wrapping it like a cape around her shoulders as she approached the captain.

"James?" she said hesitantly. He glared at her.

"Why did you leave the ship?" he snarled, "What madness persuaded you to go to the Island of all places? You know the danger."

"Abigail wanted to explore," Rose said with a tiny shrug, "And I also wanted to see the beauty of the Island. You only told us the dangers, we wanted to see the beauty as well."

"There is no beauty in the Boy's realm," he growled, reaching for a bottle of muscat. Rose pressed her lips together in disapproval but did not say a word as he took a healthy swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fixed her with a sharp glare, "You left the ship without my permission. This disobedience will not stand."

"Disobedience?" Rose argued, "We do not belong to you, you cannot command us."

"I am captain of this ship," he fired back, "I do command you. You will not leave this ship without my permission again. Do you understand?"

Her pride wounded, Rose swelled with anger, "Will you chain me to this cabin to keep me your prisoner?"

"If I must."

She shrunk before the ferocity in his eyes and he took another long draught of muscat. Blue eyes flicked to the mirror propped against the chaise and his dark brows contracted. He did not bother asking, just lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

"We, uh," she started, "We were trying to scry back home to figure out how long we'd been gone and how things were back home but we weren't very successful. All we saw were some images but nothing conclusive…"

"Why were you looking back to your world?" his voice turned brittle, eyes hard, "Is this world not good enough for you? Are you unhappy here?"

"I...no," Rose stammered, "No, that's not it at all! No, we just wanted to look at our house and see if everything was okay….no, we're very happy here. It's just...we have lives that we left behind. I was studying, writing books, living in a house with my girlfriend. Abigail was working on her acting career, performing with regional theatres, earning awards for her work. We had lives before you, James, we just wanted to check in on it."

"You're here now," he said, the bottle quickly draining into his stomach, "Be here. Does anything else matter?"

"It's not that easy." Rose fidgeted. "We put down roots there, it's not so easy to just rip them up."

His eyes narrowed, "You're here now. That is what matters. This is the last I will hear of this."

Rose bit her tongue, dissatisfied with this ending to the conversation.

"Where is the other one?" He said at last, drinking deeply before setting the bottle down and glancing around.

"She loves the cold and the snow," Rose said, "She's out on the deck frolicking."

"Excuse me?"

"Go look for yourself."

He crossed to the door and wrenched it open, peering out. There on the main-deck was the other witch, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she stood in the snow. She wore little more than his shirt and breeches, her feet bare, the shirt gaping open and sleeves rolled up to bare her arms. The snow whirled around her and she twirled, the wind caressing her body as she danced with the snowflakes. Her lips looked as though they were blue with cold, her skin paler than usual. The crew watched, giving the witch plenty of space as they looked on in apprehension.

He closed the cabin door against the cold. "She'll freeze."

"She'll be fine."

"Some element of your magic protects her then?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"That is no answer."

"I don't think I want to give you a straight answer right now," Rose shrugged and went back to her seat on the chaise.

"Do not give me lip, woman. I am in no mood for it," he began to pace across the cabin like a tiger in a cage.

"When are you ever in the mood for being debated? You're scared." He stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face her, his hand clenched into a tight fist.

"What did you say?"

"You're missing a hand, not your hearing." He breathed heavily through his nose, his knuckles turned pale. "We took the initiative to explore the island, you felt powerless because we were not safely within your sight. Peter Pan has left suddenly and you have no idea why, you hate being trapped in the unknown of any kind. And now you discover that Abigail and I still harbor sentimental feelings for our home back on the Mainland." Rose watched as he continued to seethe and did not feel one ounce of regret. She was infuriated at him. They were grown women, they had no master to tell them what they could or could not do. And his continued habit of releasing his fury at a child upon them had to stop, right now.

"You know naught of what you speak," he hissed.

"Oh I think I do," she looked at herself in the hand mirror, acting as if he were a nuisance to her. "I literally wrote the book on you, remember?"

"That is ancient history."

"But it sure as hell gives me something to work with!" Her shout seemed to make his headache even worse, she actually relished that. "This taking out your aggression for Pan on everything around you needs to end. You want us to love it here? Stop treating us as property and using us as emotional punching bags." She didn't care that he had no comprehension of what she spoke of but did not rightly care. "And you're afraid. Admitting this might be a good place to start."

"I am not afraid!"

"Old, alone, done for! Ring a bell?"

Hook froze. Red slowly flamed into his eye.

"You are not to leave this ship," he snarled, "You are not to leave this cabin."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Rose sank onto the chaise and wrapped her arms around herself.

(Rough scene begins here)

He stayed away from them. He did not speak to them, he slept in the Mate's cabin that he had given to them. He curled in upon himself during the cold nights instead of returning to his own bed where he could share the warmth of the women. His mood grew fouler with each day, the bags beneath his eyes darkening, his mouth twisted into a constant frown as he passed the door to his cabin every day, listening to the music that seeped from beneath the door and the voices of the women. But they obeyed him and did not leave the cabin. They stayed away from him as much as he did them.

But it seemed one of them was not content to stay away from the crew for very long.

He awoke one morning after a particularly foul night of sleep in the cramped bed of the mate cabin and emerged out onto the main deck to see Abigail, pale in the snow, waylaying Cecco. The Italian was only too happy to be caught in the pretty witch's arms. He had heard the sounds from his captain's cabin, he knew what this witch could do with her body and how she sounded in her pleasure. When her arms wound around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest, it took little convincing for him to find himself leaning back against the railing of the ship, hands grasping hungrily at her while she sucked at his earlobe.

James' claw twitched and his teeth ground together.

His hand fisted in her thick hair and he wrenched her away from the Italian. She managed to flash a wicked smile at the bemused Mister Cecco before Hook dragged her away. Cecco was left feeling used for some nefarious purpose that he could not see.

The door to the cabin was thrown open, startling Rose who was sitting at the harpsichord and sending King James scurrying into his little den in fright. The captain stomped in, wrenching the dark-haired witch after him by her hair. Rose, having obeyed Hook's command of remaining in the cabin, was certainly confused at the scarlet gleam in the Captain's eye and the wicked smile mingled with pain on Abigail's face.

"James, what-?"

James growled, hurling the dark-haired woman to the floor. Rose gasped, taking half a step toward her lover but froze at the snarl of "Whore!" that left the captain's mouth.

"James!" Rose was horrified at how he was treating the other woman. James ignored her.

"Have I been remiss in my duties in bed?" His look was positively thunderous as he stood above the smaller woman sprawled on the thick carpet in front of the stairs to his bed. "Have I been neglecting your needs? Have I left you so wanting you turn to whoring yourself out to the crew? Opening your legs for the first man who comes crawling by?"

"Hard to maintain your duties in bed if you aren't in bed," Abigail hissed up at him with a bare of her teeth. He lifted his hand to strike her but was interrupted.

"James, what is going on?" Rose still stood by the harpsichord, frozen in confusion and disbelief at the scene playing out before her eyes.

"I went above deck to supervise the crew and found this tart with Mister Cecco by the bowsprit. His hands on her and her legs spread. Does her harlotry know no bounds?"

"James, I'm sure this isn't what this seems…"

"It's exactly what it seems!" the scarlet in his eyes was growing brighter. "The slut needs to be reminded who owns her."

Rose cast a glance at Abigail on the floor just in time to see the darkening of her pupils and the hidden smirk that crossed her lips.

"James, take a moment to think about this," Rose said, trying to move between the pirate and the witch. "You're only doing what she wants. She likes this!"

"She won't like it when I'm through with her," Hook snarled, brushing Rose to the side with a swipe of his arm. His hand closed on Abigail's wrist, hauling her to her feet. "And, Rose, do not think I have forgotten our own quarrel. This punishment will be for you as much as for her."

"Wh-?" Rose hardly got the first syllable out before the iron claw slashed at the shirt Abigail wore, tearing it easily. The tip of the hook also left a thin trail of red in it's wake against Abigail's pale skin and Rose gasped, moving towards her beloved.

"No!" James growled. "You will not heal her or help her. You will not touch her. You will sit and watch what I do to her and you will be unable to comfort her. That is your punishment."

Rose gaped at him but Hook turned away from her to tear the rest of the shirt from the dark-haired witch's shoulders. Her breasts were bared and he noticed how peaked her nipples were but disregarded it. His fingers twisted into her thick curls, gripping brutally tight and bringing a pained gasp to her lips before she submitted to his grasp. He shoved her up the stairs to his bed, snarling in her ear, "Fucking you on the bed is more than you deserve, slut, but it provides me a place to tie you down and take you how I please. So I will permit you this small shred of comfort before I punish you."

She barely bit back a moan. He flung her onto the mattress and she tossed her hair out of her face, looking up at him with equal parts arousal and apprehension on her face. His hook tore the buttons from the front of her breeches and she heard them scatter across the floor.

"You'll find those and mend them yourself," he growled as he pulled the breeches from her hips, "Since you profess to be so good with your hands." The buttons around the calves of the trousers strained at the buttonholes before popping off under his fingers and claw. He threw the breeches to the floor. She was naked, bared before him, and he was fully clothed. He was in complete control over her, and judging by the blush staining her cheeks, she knew it.

"Turn her over so I don't have to look at her face."

It took a moment for Rose to stumble into motion but she slowly climbed the steps to the bed platform. Her hands were soft and gentle, an unspoken worry and apology in her touch as she coaxed Abigail onto her stomach.

"What have you done?" she whispered into dark curls and was answered with a chuckle.

"Spiced things up a bit." Rose could have sworn she saw Abigail wink.

"You're insane."

"Just a bit."

James held a skein of rope in his hand, "That's enough. Hold her down."

Rose obeyed and Hook lashed her wrists together, binding them tightly to the headboard in front of her. Her ankles were bound to the bedposts, leaving her legs spread and her intimate places exposed.

"Sit," James commanded, pointing to the wing-backed chair set against the wall of the cabin. "Sit and stay. You will watch, nothing more."

"Yes, sir," she answered him in a small voice. She settled into the chair and bit her lip.

Hook turned to the woman bound and spread before him. His hand reached for a flogger and Rose inhaled sharply. Abigail heard her and tensed, waiting. The flogger swished through the air and Abigail whimpered at the strike of the leather against her tender skin. He struck again, harder. Abigail gasped, Rose caught the delighted smile that flashed across her face and a jolt of hot arousal shot between her own legs. Abigail squirmed slightly against the rope, her pale skin reddening with the strikes of the leather. Impatiently, Hook threw the flogger aside and reached for a cat o' nine that sat atop the trunk. Modified for pleasurable pain, it would still serve as suitable punishment.

The knots in the leather bit into the flesh of Abigail's back and she cried out at the sharp pain. He struck again, harder, and blood welled from the breaks in her skin. With the next strike of the cat, the blood was smeared across pale skin. Crimson blood matched the colour of the bedspread and the gleam of scarlet in his eyes. Abigail's toes curled. Rose's fingers itched to touch her, to soothe the pain or add to it, she did not know. But it was torture to just sit and watch.

"James," she whimpered.

"Silence," he ordered, turning his burning scarlet eyes to hers. "You know your place."

She subsided into silence and his arm raised again to bring the whip down against tender skin. Abigail cried out, her body tensing with the strike, angry welts standing out against her skin.

"You've earned this, harlot," Hook snarled, "Remember this."

"Yes, sir," Abigail gasped, amusement tingeing her voice. He struck her harder. She screamed.

"Tie me to the chair," Rose pleaded. "Tie me down so I cannot join you."

"I expect you to have better control over yourself, Rose," James growled. "Do not disappoint me."

Rose whimpered. Abigail laughed. James struck her with his hand.

"Do not enjoy this, whore. If you want to be enjoyed, then I shall turn you over to the crew."

"And have them share in your toy?"

The whip thudded to the floor, the hook traced down her back. "Perhaps I ought to mark you as mine so ensure the lesson lasts."

Abigail barely bit back a moan, squirming against the wetness pooling between her legs. The blade scratched a line against her flesh and she gasped, feeling the sting of the cut. The hook pressing against the back of her neck to keep her pliant, James reached between her legs, fingers jammed against her soaked cunt and she squealed.

"You whore," he snarled against her ear, bending over her to press his mouth against her curls, "You love this, don't you? You like being reminded to whom you belong. You like being treated like a slut. How could you like this? Disgusting."

She moaned against the cushion and he scoffed. He pulled away, discarding his shirt and boots. Abigail squirmed as she heard the rustling of his clothes. His hand struck her ass, against one of the wounds breaking her skin and she jerked against the ropes, crying out. He laughed cruelly, disposing of his breeches. He was hard, Rose saw at once. He could talk about how sickened he was that Abigail relished this treatment of her body, but this behaviour also inflamed him.

His hand gripped her hip, pulling her ass upward. His finger shoved inside her and she stifled her moan into the cushion. The ropes chafed against her wrists as he pulled her against him.

"You want to be used like a whore?" he hissed, his voice sickeningly sweet, "I'll be happy to oblige, slut."

He thrust himself into her, sheathing himself fully, ignoring the way she yelped and tried to arch away from him. His knots held, however, and she remained trapped and spread open for him. His eyes were red as the blood weeping from the gashes in her back and he reached down with his hook to claw into her shoulder a jagged J followed by an angular H.

"Mine," he growled. Abigail whimpered in delighted pain, the blood trailing down to stain the scarlet spread beneath her. He plunged deep inside her and she squealed. Rose sat obediently in the chair, transfixed. He was fucking their lover as though he hated her, as though she was nothing more than a hole for his pleasure. Blood was staining her skin and the bedclothes, and Rose wanted to heal her, to soothe her pain. But the moans of pleasure and the smile on her face as their captain pounded into her spoke to her ecstasy and Rose squirmed against her own arousal at the sight. She was wet and she clung to the arms of the chair, fairly trembling with the war between concern and excitement.

He was gripping her hip hard enough to bruise and Abigail whimpered. His teeth sank into her shoulder as his hips sped up. He shoved himself inside her, hips ramming against her with a brutal speed that sent her blue eyes rolling back into her head. Rose whimpered in need, Abigail moaned throatily, and Hook grunted out a curse. Moans and curses filled the cabin along with the sound of flesh on flesh. He pulled her hair, arching her neck back, and his teeth closed on her neck. She shuddered and the next thrust of his hips brought a scream to her lips, her limbs trembling as her orgasm ripped through her. He shoved her head away from him, bouncing against the cushions, and his hand fell with a smack upon her already red and bruised arse.

"Do you remember my philosophy, Rose?" His voice was rough and Rose shuddered.

"Y-yes, sir," she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the smile on her beloved's face as Hook continued fucking her into the mattress.

"One," he prompted with a sharp thrust of his hips that brought a whimper to Abigail's lips.

"You want it," Rose breathed, her pupils large.

"Two," he snarled, taking a handful of Abigail's hair to pull her farther onto his cock. She was limp and pliant under him, letting him use her as he wished.

"You take it," Rose groaned, shifting her thighs to try to alleviate the ache between her legs.

"Three," he commanded, dragging his fingers down her back against the gashes left by the whip, bringing a cry to Abigail's lips.

"You've got it," Rose whimpered.

With a dark growl, he rammed into Abigail and spilled himself deep within her, filling her with his seed. He pulled himself away from her, not permitting her to enjoy the feeling of him inside her after he finished. With slashes of his hook, the ropes no longer bound her limbs and she curled against herself, trembling as the remnants of her pleasure coursed through her, his seed leaking from inside her. He reached down to a small sack of coins tossed haphazardly on top of a window shelf. Fishing out a coin, he flipped it onto the bed beside her.

"Payment for your services, whore."

Rose opened her mouth to reproach him, but Abigail's laughter cut her off.

"Thank you, sir," she said with a wicked grin and a wink. She uncurled herself slowly and leaned against the cushions, rubbing at the rope-burns on her wrists. She smiled happily up at him and he scowled.

"You wanted me to take you like that, didn't you?" he said sourly.

"I told you this," Rose spoke up, "She likes that."

Abigail's smile fairly sparkled with innocence.

"You incurred my wrath on purpose," he said with a wry smile. "Did Mister Cecco know what you were doing?"

"Oh no," she said with a grin, "I used him for my own ends. And you played your part beautifully. Played it beautifully right into my hands."

His scowl deepened. "And you could not simply bring your desire to me and just tell me, why?"

She crawled across the bed toward him with a smile and reached up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth.

"It's more fun this way."

He accepted the kiss but his frown did not go away, even as she took his hand and tugged him down onto the bed with her.

"I hope you at least learned your lesson," he growled.

"Of course not," she grinned, wiggling against him. She reached another hand out for Rose who, not waiting for the Captain's permission, snuggled in behind her. She brushed against the wounds on Abigail's back and Abigail bit back a hiss of pain, her face screwing up at the sting.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my darling!" Rose exclaimed instantly pulling away. James craned his head to look down at his handiwork. Her back and arse were crisscrossed with red welts. Scabs were beginning to form where the blood had congealed in the broken gashes. His initials, clawed into the flesh of her shoulder, were still seeping blood. An extra wrinkle of concern furrowed his brow. She must be in terrible pain.

"No it's alright," Abigail said, carefully stretching out on her stomach so that she could be cuddled by both her lovers, "I like the pain. It'll be a good reminder of the lesson. And when they heal...well, I might have to be reminded."

His hand gave her ass a gentle slap, "I'll be sure you don't forget."

She laughed.

"Well," Rose said, looking down at the initials that were sure to leave a nasty scar, "You've successfully marked one of your women."

"Oh, I have several ideas for you, my dear, do not fret," he cooed, his finger trailing across her throat. Rose shuddered at his touch.

(Scene Ends)

Beams of pale, silvery moonlight illuminated the cabin in a soft glow that left deep shadows in the corners and upon the heavy furniture. It was warm again, the Boy returning after only four days, a blessing really. His eyes had always been sharp, even in the darkest of night, so the faint gleam of the moon did nothing to hide the sight before him. To the far right wall stood his four poster bed. At least two centuries old, the ancient mahogany was carved with scenes of sensuous nymphs and amorous mortals caught in their watery embraces. Heavy crimson curtains embossed with intricate embroidery were pulled back against the tall headboard in lieu of the balmy summer night. A relieving breeze pulled at his long curls, the subtle ebb and flow of the waves were a calming song to the hectic voices in his mind. All the confusion, self incrimination, angst and passion were centered on the forms lying upon the feather mattress covered with but a thin silk sheet. He blew circles of smoke from his dual-cigar device, the sweet smelling cloud floating slowly through the air with a small degree of distraction.

Even from his place, seated across the cabin on the plush chaise, he could see the contrast of their long hair spread across the white pillows. Umber curls fell in perfect, tight spirals, so very different from the pin-straight fall of auburn. Both were impossibly soft to the touch, he knew well how the tresses could glide through his fingers. In the silver light their pale arms almost glowed. Under the fine sheets each and every curve was on display, from shapely leg to rounded hip. They lay partially entwined, their limbs meeting in the center of the large bed where he usually took his rest. Tonight though, sleep stubbornly evaded him and so he found himself in his current placement. The reason? It was quite obvious: the two females somewhere in dreamland in his bed.

What should have been every red-blooded man's dream had become nothing but a never ending quandary for James Hook.

Somehow, in the course of his acquaintance with the sorceresses, what should have been a simply physical accordance, he found that his black heart had begun to beat again.

And to confound his usually logical mental processes, it was not just for one of the beguiling women that instilled such loathsome thoughts in him.

He dare not use the word for the emotion which had begun to haunt his unconscious mind. More than once it had nearly fallen from his lips in the heat of their passion and more than once he had painfully bit down on his tongue to prevent it, sometimes drawing blood. His women were a pair of conundrums. Beauty, grace and intelligence with a flair for the dramatic, all traits he valued in the fairer sex. But they could also be vicious to those who offended them, turning their dark arts on the fool before the victim could blink. And then they could reverse their thoughts and be the most kind and caring creatures who ever walked this world when one they were fond of was injured or sorrowful. What was he to make of that? In his dreams he could hear lovely singing, laughing and pleasurable sighs. He could see hazel and blue eyes that could be as cold as ice or warm as the summer sun. They were more haunting than sirens, surely Odysseus had an easier time in resisting their call.

His treacherous, baser instincts longed to return to bed, aching for the feel of supple, nude bodies pressed against him. A man could easily become addicted to such a feeling, it was a burr in side that he fell so swiftly into the habit. And yet, he would not give them up for all the treasure in this world or the other. James was a possessive man, and he did not share what belonged to him. Though the sea would always be first in his affections, his mistresses, his muses, were forever burned into his heart.

He took another long drag, closing his eyes as he exhaled smoke.

Where did one proceed from here? Was there even a need to change course in how they now lived their lives?

Such a question he did not often ask of himself, ever being sure in his direction of thought and action. How peculiar this situation was, he pondered. Clearly there was still light left in his dark soul, if he was still capable of such warm feelings. But he knew that should someone attempt to steal them away, or Lucifer forbid that they aim to leave on their own, his retribution would be the stuff of nightmares. Luckily, his women had made it undeniably apparent that they were quite happy aboard his ship, when the subject of returning to their world came up in conversation they visibly balked. Though the fact remained that no one beyond his crew and the inhabitants of the cursed island they were doomed to ever return were all that knew of his claim.

As he turned to snuff out his cigars, his gaze fell upon the colored skin of his upper arm. The coat of arms was known to him from boyhood, a memento of one of the few happy times in his wretched life. A mark of esteem, pride and possession. Lips curled into a knowing smirk, his eye moving from the tattoo over to the slumbering beauties laying unsuspecting on the canopied bed. Oh yes, that would do quite nicely.