A/N: Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter! I hope everyone enjoys this one :)

Chapter XII

I let out a shrill, unearthly shriek, causing all of the glass in the room to shatter immediately. The sound forced both animals to howl in agony and press their ears flat against their skulls; the panther hissed with a new ferocity.

I was done for.

I fumbled with the hilt of my cutlass, before clumsily removing the blade from its sheath. My hands were shaking with terror, and I knew that the weapon wouldn't do me any good. This was it. This was the end. I felt silly and pathetic – I'd lasted less than a month outside of my shoal, and now my ill-thought-out scheme was about to meet its abrupt and painful demise.

They say that, before death, your life flashes in front of your very eyes. In my case, however, all I could see were images of what my life could have been. Of lost potential. Of missed opportunities. And it was heart-wrenching because I knew nothing of love, I knew nothing of loss, and – more importantly – I knew nothing of the world. I would die, purposeless. Meaningless. Without any accomplishments to speak of.

And no one would weep for me as I bled to death on this cold wooden floor.

In one swift motion, the ebony creature had become airborne. I scrunched my eyes shut, held out my sword, and prayed to some probably-nonexistent god for salvation.

However, when I was absolutely sure that I was going to be devoured, nothing happened. I opened one eye anxiously and saw that Wentworth had come out of nowhere (through the window, I later realized) and skewered the animal on his cutlass. Red blood flowed from its chest, and he struggled to disentangle himself from the carnage.

"Peter?" I demanded in disbelief.

"You didn't think we'd really leave you behind, did you?" he said breathlessly.

But I had thought that, I really had. While I'd previously been very wary of Wentworth, my heart was now filled with affection for him. He'd come back for me – he was the only one. He cared.

"That was Schmitty!" I exclaimed in horror, trying to mask the warm surge of emotion in the pit of my stomach.

His eyes widened, and he looked at the feline remorsefully. "Well, it was you or him, I suppose…" he commented in attempt to ease his guilt.

The dog, Emery, pawed at the floor and whined at the sight of its lifeless companion.

"C'mon," Wentworth urged, "We have to go!" He grabbed at my wrist and tugged me towards the empty window, but I stopped him.

"What about Emery," I insisted, "We can't just leave him here like this – he'll be eaten!"

"He'll try to kill us!"

Perhaps he was right, but I remained un-swayed. At least a dog was a bit more manageable than a panther.

He sighed impatiently, tore off a piece of his waistcoat, and started towards the animal.

Emery let out a low, resonating growl, but Wentworth gripped him by the scruff of the neck and fashioned a muzzle out of the strip from his clothing. Once the snapping jaws were secured, he hoisted the dog up under his neck and haunches and carried him towards the window.

"Use the bed-sheets," he instructed.

I did as he told; I tied one end of the makeshift rope to the bedpost and threw the other over the windowsill. He indicated that I should climb down first, which I did. The surface of the wall wasn't smooth, which explained how Wentworth was able to climb up in the first place. Once firmly rooted on the grass below, I watched anxiously as he descended with one hand wrapped around the sheets and the other pressing dog-Emery to his hip.

As soon as he hit the ground, an earth-shattering scream engulfed the island; it was Cecily.

"Run," Wentworth commanded bluntly.

I didn't need any other encouragement, and run I did; we both sprinted into the forest.

"Where are the others?" I yelled into the wind.

"On the beach. They've pushed the ship back into the water and are preparing to set sail as we speak."

I opened my mouth to respond, but just then I felt something wrap around my ankle and pull me to the undergrowth. I looked down to see that a vine from one of the trees had lassoed me and begun to drag me backwards.

I let out a sharp scream, and watched as the same happened to Wentworth.

Thinking quickly, I took out my cutlass and sliced the vine. The offending party let out a sort of hissing sound; I helped Wentworth as well, whose hands were occupied with Emery.

However, no sooner had we risen from the ground than our limbs were bombarded once again. I began thrashing my blade wildly in an attempt to free both my crewmate and myself.

Eventually, after much exertion, we stumbled onto the sandy beach with naught but a few scratches and bruises. I expected to be met with the smiling faces of the rest of the crew, but was instead confronted with a longboat on an otherwise empty shoreline.

"They're already aboard," Wentworth explained at the sight of my crestfallen expression.

I squinted and saw that the ship's lanterns were lit, but I couldn't make out anything else in the darkness.

There was another jarring screech coming from the direction of the mansion, which prompted us to swiftly hop into the boat and begin rowing enthusiastically. Dog-Emery, all the while, growled steadily through his clamped teeth. The waves were more tumultuous than I remembered as we frantically made our way to the Poseidon's Jewel. However, I chose not to dwell on this and hoped desperately that a significant amount of water would not find its way into the small longboat; I could not afford to be revealed in front of Wentworth, that's for sure…

Once the pair of us had climbed over the side of the ship, we assisted the crew in hauling the smaller boat up and securing it in its proper position.

"What's with the mutt?" Marty demanded after everyone had caught his breath. It was clear that the rest of the crew was already sufficiently fatigued from pushing the ship off of the beach.

"It's Emery," I said simply, "He must have eaten the food."

"Where's Scmitty?" Tim asked gravely, clearly dreading the answer – his eyes were glued to Wentworth's bloodied sword.

The other man merely shook his head solemnly, causing some of the sailors to remove their hats and bow their heads.

"Cap'n, she's not happy," Tom commented after another shriek rang out across the island.

"I can see that," he replied with a sniff. "Men," he ordered loudly, "It is of the utmost importance that we make haste in departing this wretched speck of land, savvy?"

The crew, however, did not need to be told this and began independently pulling the sails to catch the wind, but to no avail. The sails luffed uselessly, and the ship appeared to be perpetually in irons.

"Mother Nature seems to be goin' against us, Cap'n," Gibbs said urgently.

"Bring out the oars," Sparrow ordered, "She's controlling the seas and winds around the island. The only way we'll escape is if we take matters into our own hands."

We all did was we were told, and began rowing furiously with two people per oar. Things were progressing rather unimpressively, but our main goal was to simply free ourselves from Cecily's domain; our poor form, humiliating though it was, would have to be overlooked by the Captain's acidic sense of humor, at least for the time being. I looked up at Jack, who was standing listlessly at the helm with a slight wince displayed across his features, and saw that he was physically struggling to bite back a slew of sarcastic comments.

I almost found it amusing, but then I remembered what a bastard he was.

In all the excitement, water had begun pouring over the sides of the ship. It took all the strength I had not so flee below deck and feign aqua-phobia or some such ridiculousness; I instead discretely attempted to dodge the droplets whilst remaining seated. I doubted that such a small amount of water would set off my transformation, but I wasn't fond of risking it.

Eventually, a miraculous gust of wind inflated the mainsail and everyone – including the unflappable Captain Sparrow – let out a sigh of relief.

"We've made it!" Tom declared joyously.

Gibbs, however, let out a cynical bark of laughter. "Ye don't think we'll be getting off that easy, do ye son? Nay, the worst has yet to come…" he croaked ominously.

Mildly frightened by this, I turned my attention again to Sparrow; he did in fact seem a bit preoccupied, and was staring contemplatively into the abyssal horizon.

At the notion of more trouble "yet to come," I shuddered involuntarily and unknowingly prompted Wentworth to sling his arm around me protectively. This time, however, I did not squirm out of his grasp. On the contrary – I lingered there for a few moments, before the physical contact became intolerable and I had to excuse myself.

I felt strangely for Wentworth. True enough, he was goofy and occasionally a nuisance. But he cared for me – more than anyone else on the ship, evidently, and he'd been the only one to return to my aid. Insufferable or not, that made him infinitely more appealing in my eyes; however, it also made me feel as if I owed him my affection, which was a bit off-putting. I did not love him, of course, nor was I even infatuated with him. I did like him, however…

Pushing these frivolous thoughts out of my mind, however, I stormed up to the helm and presented myself in front of Sparrow.

"I'd like to have an audience with you," I stated aggressively, "Now."

He eyed me uncertainly, but consented, "If you insist…" He then turned to one side, bowed at the waist, and held out his arm in a faux-gentlemanly fashion. "Ladies first," he said superciliously, flashing me his sly and infuriating gold-toothed grin.

I scowled at him, unfazed by his absurdity, but proceeded down the staircase and into the captain's quarters. The crew observed with spectacle with unbridled curiosity.

As soon as we were both inside the room and the door had been shut, I spun around, cornered him against the wall, and pressed my index finger to his semi-exposed chest in one fowl swoop. "You lying, skiving, villainous, lily-livered son of a one-eyed, slack-jawed, bottom-dwelling eel!" I accused wrathfully.

He raised one eyebrow, impressed by my colorful insult. "Well that's a new one…" he remarked.

"Did you honestly think that she wouldn't tell me what you did? How you traded me for a ship? Hm?"

"Traded is such a strong word…"

"And that's precisely what you did!"

"Look, love, if you're so upset, then why'd you come back?"

"As if I had any other choice! I'd rather be here than dead – but just barely."

"You wound me with your harsh words," he said dryly. "Is there any particular reason – other than to insult me – that you wanted to speak with me?"

"I want to make sure you're aware that I know exactly what you're up to and I heard everything Cecily told you. If you don't want the rest of the crew finding out where we're really headed, I suggest you start treating me with a bit more respect," I said confidently, tossing a section of my waist-length hair over my shoulder.

However, instead of looking shocked or scared or even vaguely surprised, Sparrow had an expression of sheer amusement plastered across his obnoxious face. He somehow managed to switch our positions, so that it was he who had me pinned against the wall. Our proximity was disquieting.

"It's never really been a matter o' respect, darlin'," he said with his maddening smirk; his foul breath invaded my nostrils, and I turned my head to escape the stench. "You may think – incorrectly, at that – you're the winner in this little episode and that you're the one holding all the cards, as it were; but I can assure you that blackmailing me is in fact not a wise decision. Cecily wanted you for a reason, love. I knew there was much, much more to you than you let on, and my run in with that wicked sorceress just confirmed my suspicions… So, I think it ought to be you who treats me with a bit more respect, love."

A heavy beat of silence passed, during which neither of us moved. Instead we stood chest-to-chest, his dark eyes calculatingly searing my light ones.

"You're despicable," I spat eventually, failing to construct any other sort of articulate response.

He backed away abruptly; "Ah, now that one I have heard before."

I glared at him fiercely and said, "I hardly think now's the time to jest, Sparrow. One of your men is dead, and another might as well be. Hell, I was almost killed, too. Perhaps you do not enjoy spilling blood with your own sword, but lives have been lost because of you and there's no denying it. However bad you think the information you have regarding me is, just remember that."

This, to my astonishment, seemed to have struck a chord; Jack turned away from me and left the room without any form of witty retort. Good. He should feel guilty. For someone who appeared to despise bloodshed so much, he certainly had a detached way of dealing with it.

What bothered me the most, though, was that there was a nagging in the back of my mind telling me that I had been too brutal. That I'd been out of line for speaking to him in such a way. But why? I'd merely stated the facts. Plus, Sparrow deserved much worse than a simple verbal assault after what he'd put me through. I was entirely justified, and I knew it.

So why didn't it feel that way?

Damn that Jack Sparrow, damn him to the deepest circle of hell.

A/N: So, we're finally seeing the first glimmer of romantic tension between Cassie and Jack! I'm trying to go really slow with it (Jack's a huge flirt, but to get him to genuinely care for someone is a harrowing feat), so I'd love to hear what you all think of the pace. Pretty pretty please review! Honestly, it's your input that keeps me going :)