Of Magic and Rum (Beyond a Contemporary Mythos)

Chapter 16

The crew moves around me, hauling loot or limping toward Aranck for assistance with the few injuries we took from the merchants. I’m carrying a sack on board, but I focus on Jack. Something happened during that kiss. And not just a spark between us, but something far beyond even what I, an ancient being, could comprehend. It’s made me all the more curious about him—ravenous for him. I’ve rarely befriended mortals during my time and have never been with one romantically. But Jack Rackham is more worthy of godhood as a human being than half the actual deities I know.

Jack busies himself with barking orders at the crew, directing which items to store below deck. I’m listless and unmoving, when Mary elbows me, arching her thick brows once I finally look at her.

“Where in the flying hell is your mind?” Mary squints an eye and darts her gaze in the direction I’d been staring before I can look elsewhere.

The burlap sack in my grasp falls to my feet in a heap, and I’m tracing my middle finger over my lips a breath later. “He kissed me, Mary.”

“You’re saying that like it was the first time.” Mary lifts my abandoned bag to the top of the crate she’s carrying and ushers me to walk in front of her.

“No. I mean, really kissed. It was—” I’m at a loss for words and walk across the planks to The Revenge in a daze, instinctually ducking below riggings and avoiding barrels sticking out in the walkways.

Mary rests the crate on a barrel and grabs the crook of my arm, halting me. “You’re actually put off over this—like head in the clouds, kitten with a ball of yarn type level.”

She’s right. This has distracted me. His absence has made me jittery, and I feel like I’m endlessly swimming circles around the ship.

“It’s fine. I’m fine .” I yank the sack from the crate. “Everything is just delightful.”

Mary snorts and chuckles, following me below deck to store our crates. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but not me. Only cure for what’s eating at you, Miss Bonny, is a good fucking from our resident pirate captain.” Mary pats my cheek and barks with laughter as she walks away.

Using my boot, I kick a barrel with a disgruntled sigh. I’m almost a thousand years old and perfectly capable of controlling urges . She’s speaking to me like I’m an adolescent girl. Jack isn’t the first handsome, charismatic, intelligent warrior—my thighs pinch together, heat pooling in my belly.

Seas. I am gone for him.

“I heard you were quite the spectacle on that merchant ship,” Glog says, jotting in a journal as he takes inventory of the loot. “That your skills with a sword saved most of the crew?”

The heat moves from my stomach to my cheeks, and I smile humbly. “It wasn’t just me. Everyone contributed to that victory.”

“Modest, too. You really are a gem, aren’t you?” Glog pauses with a quill pressed to the page, eyeing me for some form of response. When I can’t muster one, he licks the quill’s tip, grins, and continues writing.

Jack’s voice rolls over the deck like a wave—an authority demanding respect. It sends a current of static fluttering beneath my skin. He waves an arm to get Squid’s attention. “Squid, look lively up there.”

Slowly, taking one step at a time, I ascend the stairs.

“The first spit of land you spy, we’re going to make camp and celebrate our first haul by consuming this crate,” Jack adds.

I’ve reached the top when Jack hoists a crate of clanking bottles to the ship’s railing, grinning as the crew cheers. Squid smiles from the crow’s nest, hurrying to the highest point and balancing with one hand.

Ragnar yanks the box from Jack’s hands, hiding it from the crew until the right time. Jack laughs and pats his quartermaster’s back before wrapping his hands around the wheel’s pegs. The impatience to be near him, within the same breath as him, is almost too much to stand, and I’m working through the crowd, my legs moving at their own will despite my brain’s protests.

It's taking far too long to reach him between crew members thanking me or pulling me to their side in quick flashes of celebration. But once I’m there, his scent—citrus, and brine—calms me in a way I never thought possible.

Jack casually props a hip on the wheel, the smug grin plastered to his lips all too telling. It’s as if he knows what plagues my mind from my body language. “Hello, Annie.”

His voice is liquid velvet when he says my name—birth-given or not. I slide closer to him, purposely brushing our elbows. “Hey, Jack.”

He brushes his thumbs against the worn wood, a devious glint in his gaze as he eyes me side-long. “Can I—help you with something?”

“Is this how we’re going to keep playing it? Fleeting moments we pretend to ignore? Back and forth like a fox and hound?” I flick something from my fingernail.

Jack clucks his tongue against his teeth before his hand snatches my hip and pulls me in front of him. His chest is at my back, and every inch of me relaxes and tenses simultaneously as he presses against my ass. “All you had to do was ask, Bonny. And I’d hardly call that last moment fleeting .”

My arms stay glued to my sides at first before I trace my fingers up the ship’s wheel. “You know what I mean.”

A carnal chuckle—deep, rough, and glorious—rumbles from his chest. He presses his nose at the corner of my jaw and whispers, “This is probably a stupid question, but have you ever sailed a ship?”

If the crew knows what transpires at the helm between the stowaway sea nymph and their Captain, they don’t give it away. They’re performing their duties, keeping the sails taut and still celebrating the victory, oblivious to Jack’s advances.

“No. I’m born of the sea. In it, seldom on it.” I turn to peer at his lips, noting the dark hair surrounding them and continuing over his chin to form a luscious beard.

“Well, then.” Jack picks up my hands, scraping my knuckles with calluses formed from years of pulling rope, wielding swords, and making a life for himself as this daring pirate captain. “Today is your lucky day.”

No. It started as an unlucky day, but steadily blossomed into one of the more fortunate years of my life.

He wraps my fingers around two pegs and slips his hands away, resting them on my waist. “It’s less about the need to steer it in any given direction, but more about feeling her at your fingertips.”

Not only can I feel the ship as he describes, but the ocean itself.

“How did you learn to fight like that, Anne?” Jack keeps his tone low, and our bodies sway with each lull of the waves beneath the ship.

“Do you mean aside from the hundreds of years of practice?” I grin, knowing it’s a smartass response Jack himself would’ve given.

Jack chuckles, and his grip tightens on my hips. “I’ve never seen anything like it, is all.”

“My father, brother, uncles, and cousins. I’ve had a lot of teachers and experiences along the way. Surrounded by warriors, heroes, and war goddesses alike.” I crane my neck, resting it briefly on his shoulder. “What about you?”

His gaze lazily trails down my neck, pausing where my linen blouse parts at my chest. His eyes then lift to the setting sun in the distance, squinting at it. “Life. Life taught me most of what I know.”

And this will be the moment I remember where I fell, plummeted , for Jack Rackham.

The bell clangs furiously from the crow’s nest, and we jolt to attention. Squid waves his arms before pointing north, several palm trees sprouting from an island blurring into view.

Jack pats my thigh before moving to the railing. “You know the drill, boys. Ready the sails. The faster we drop anchor at that island, the faster you’ll be halfway into the night celebrating.”

The crew moves with extra intensity, and I make for the stairs, ready to help.

Jack catches my hand and squeezes it, offering a warm smile before letting go. He doesn’t try to tell me that no assistance is needed, nor does he give me another duty, because he knows I want to be with the crew as much as at his side—and we both need to share.

When we reach the island, settle the anchor, and cart supplies, the sun is a sliver of red and orange in the dark amethyst sky. The land isn’t much bigger than our ship, but its intimacy will suit us. Several of the crew are assigned to search for firewood, and Mary is “helping” Ragnar carry the rum crate, each holding onto one end.

“Anne, would you like to try my new concoction tonight?” Glog shakes a bottle of liquid in front of me.

“That depends.” I take the bottle and pop the cork, sniffing it. Though slightly bitter, the coloring is three shades darker than average rum water, and the odor doesn’t smell foul. “What’s in it?”

Glog covers his mouth with a hand and taps his finger against his cheek. “I’d rather not say my secret ingredient quite yet. Rest assured, however, there is nothing that will poison you, make you sick, or spew liquid from both ends.”

I’m a deity. Considering how difficult it is to kill us or make us sick, what harm can come from me helping a friend?

Taking a sip for good measure, I sigh at the tinge of lightheadedness tantalizing my brain. I already desire to continue feeling this way, but my curiosity over the drink’s ingredients will soon become a distant memory.

“Then I’ll be certain to report to you my findings by night’s end.” I grin, hiding the bottle from view in my pocket so I don’t chug half its contents before the bonfire roars.

Glog elbows my side. “With any luck, it won’t be until the morning .” His grin is mischievous, and he leaves little time for me to contemplate his meaning before running off to join the others.

Several men have staked claim to places in the sand, sitting and holding their rum bottles to the sky after Ragnar hands them one. Wood is piled high in a triangular pattern in a cleared patch of sand. Red uses a small amount of gunpowder, and a spark from a flint rock flickers a blazing fire, illuminating the island.

Mary drags a large piece of driftwood near the fire, sitting on it and patting the spot next to her, beckoning me to join her. I oblige, but my eyes roam the shadows outside the fire’s glow, searching for Jack, who’s nowhere in sight.

“You going to cut loose a bit tonight, Bonny?” Mary smiles and takes a swig from her bottle.

“I’m certainly going to try.”

“Cheers to that, mate.” Mary raises her drink, and we cheer.

The night dwindles with drinking, roughhousing, conversation, and music from the fiddle and hurdy-gurdy. Whatever Glog has put in this drink has me swaying on the log next to Mary, our arms curled over the other’s shoulder, belting Whisky Johnny O’ to the top of our lungs. Only two mouthfuls are left of my drink, and the world has turned blissfully serene, even as my head buzzes and my lips tingle.

Glog heckles Mary and me until we’re on our feet, bottles raised to the stars, and dancing circles around one another. My feet sinking in the sand does nothing for my foggy brain or my balancing, and I trip more than actually dance but laugh my head off. My heel catches on a rock, and I fall backward. Mary reaches for me, cackling, but I land in a pair of strong arms.

“Having fun, Annie?” Jack asks. He’s upside down as I look up at him, and his glorious grin turns me into a jellyfish within his grasp.

Letting him support me, I sip from my bottle. “I’m even better now.” The fire casts shadows over his face in the most perfect places, accentuating his already strong jawline and high cheekbones. “Dance with me.” I don’t ask, I command .

Jack tips his head to one side. “Yes, ma’am.”

He helps me stand upright and takes my hand in his. I’m uncertain why I thought Jack wouldn’t be able to dance, but he still surprises me by leading us in a pattern of skips, turns, and side steps. His hand presses to my lower back, spinning us in circles, and I’m at his mercy, letting the world spiral out of control around me. The lively music fades into a somber tone, the fiddle player edging a knowing smile.

Jack slows us to a sway, his fingertips brushing the top of my trousers. “I think, perhaps, the crew is mocking us.”

“Can you blame them?” I throw my arms around his neck, and Jack snatches my bottle before I accidentally smack him on the head with it again. “How you look at me is like you’re starving for unobtainable food.”

Jack’s eyes seem to darken from the bonfire shadows, and an irresistible grin edges his lips. He trails the bottle up my spine, lifting my shirt enough to expose my lower back, and presses his other hand there. “Don’t think I haven’t caught you staring at my ass when I walk away— lingering even.”

I shrug like his posterior is the last thing on my mind. “It’s a nice ass.”

“Then tell me—” Jack lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “—how badly do you wish to see it without these pesky trousers?”

I choke on air and bunch my hands in his long, chocolate locks, pulling him closer. My lips part, ready to take him in.

“Alright, boy,” Duke interrupts, grabbing Jack’s tunic shirt and prying us apart. “Don’t be hogging all the ladies. Let the old man have a dance.”

A chuckle flutters from my chest when I spot Jack pouting with an exaggerated protruding bottom lip.

Jack rakes a hand through his hair and points a stern finger in Duke’s face. “You’re lucky you are an old man, Duke.”

Duke slaps Jack on the back, hurrying him away before scooping me up. I’m still laughing when Duke begins to waltz us around the fire, but I catch Jack’s gaze when he burns me with a lustful glint. He spins on his heel and, keeping eye contact with me, removes his shirt before sitting on one of several wooden chairs procured from the ship by Aranck.

Jack slumps in his seat, half-naked and bronzed, with a rum bottle propped on his knee. Time marches on, and he’s been watching me for the past few minutes—or maybe the past hour? I’ve lost track. And I’ve milked every smirk he’s given me, every cheek twitch, and every time his lids grow hooded.

I’m fearless at this point in the evening, so I let out a shrill whistle, gaining everyone’s attention. Mary zips her spine straight, a curious grin playing on her lips, watching me. Climbing atop a barrel near the fire, almost falling twice, I stand tall and raise my bottle to the stars. “I have something to say.”

The music dies off, and the drunken murmurs soon follow as all eyes play on me.

Mary laughs and belches. “This should be good.”

Jack rests his forearms on his thighs and digs the bottle into the stand between his ankles. He grins at me. Given this distance and the haze of the fire, it’s subtle, but I catch it, and it only motivates me further.

“I want to personally thank the Captain for not only not giving a shit about what’s between a person’s legs to join his crew but also accepting me—scales and all.” I’m speaking to the crew, but I dare not take my eyes away from Jack. “Because here I’ve found liberation. Here, I’ve found family . And here, me and Mary are the She-Wolves of the damned seas.” With each passing word, my voice grows louder, and my fist rises as high as it’ll go.

Mary trots to my side, holding up her bottle. “Fuck that. We’re pirate fucking Queens ,” she bellows, the rest of the crew bursting into cheers and laughter.

The music picks up livelier than before, and the crew goes into exuberant jigs and turns wobbly circles around each other. The tune resonates with the typical tavern fare—quick, frantic, and upbeat. I spot Jack through the bouncing bodies, holding up his bottle to me, and that devilishly handsome grin has my nymph powers in a frenzy with an entirely different tune playing in my mind.

Mary is tackling Ragnar, begging him for a piggyback ride he will give her if she promises not to yell in his ear again. Red and Glog are practicing some convoluted friendship handshake, and Aranck enjoys the fire in silence, his gaze captivated by the flickering orange flames. Even Squid, still perched in the crow’s nest, watches us from up high.

My hips start to sway, and I curl my arms above my head, my wrists turning and my fingers gracefully extending with each motion. We sea nymphs are driven to do this when our interest is piqued when we sense that matching attraction from a potential lover or partner— mate . My late mother had found my father in much the same manner, and centuries later, I’m luring my own catch.

Jack perks to attention, draping one arm over the chair’s back and sliding his brawny legs wide. The alcohol isn’t numbing my intentions but rather unburdening me, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in eons. I drag my hands up my body, purposely catching my fingers on the blouse, revealing hints of skin—my stomach, ribs, and the underside of my breasts. Mary and I had tossed our half corsets and hats aside when the fire first blazed. It’s just me in a white linen shirt and trousers and my crimson hair falling in shambles around my face.

With every swerve of my waist, I’m stepping closer to Jack. My back is to him now, hands trailing the length of my neck until they’re playing in my hair, ass sweeping from left to right. I keep this part of my body facing him until his scent overtakes my senses, and I know I’m close enough to touch him. When I turn, the sand throws me off balance, and I wobble, laughing. Jack’s arm snaps like a whip to catch me.

“ Almost had it,” Jack whispers, smiling and helping me stand upright.

Sucking in a slow breath, I bend forward and run my hands down his thighs, resting them there for a beat. “Oh, I still have it, Jack .”

The dips and grooves of his abdominal muscles capture my attention, and the chiseled wonders of his chest and arms have me wetting my lips. I trace my fingertips over the tattoo, circling his left wrist and forearm and traveling the rest of his arm and chest. But another tattoo, hidden on the underside of his right forearm, has my heart racing—a simple black-lined silhouette of a woman with long hair, peering over her shoulder, and a fishtail .

Jack doesn’t pull away from my touch and scoots closer. “I see you’ve discovered the irony.”

I brush our noses together, breathing him in, the sound of his steady but gradually quickening heartbeat like thunder in my ears. Crawling onto his lap, I straddle my legs on each side of his hips and wrap my arms around his neck. Jack’s hands find their way to my waist, fingers exploring under my shirt and grazing the skin that dips between my hips and ribs.

“Do you know how often I’ve been this close to calling the entire jewel hunt off?” Jack’s eyes roam my chest, the roaring fire’s light behind me making the fabric transparent.

“What?” I cup his chin in one hand, lifting his eyes to mine. “Why would you do that?”

Jack keeps one hand curled over my ribs and, with the other, grabs my ass and pulls me against him until our hips meet. “Because you are a jewel.”

His words are like electric raindrops over my skin, and I press my lips to his, swirling my tongue inside his mouth and rubbing myself against his stomach. Jack grunts but takes everything I’m giving him.

Pulling away, I press my forehead to his, trying to catch my breath. “Jack, let’s sneak off somewhere in the darkness, we could?—”

Jack groans, rolls his head back, and peers skyward. “You’re killing me, Annie.”

The fog in my mind grows denser, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand. You don’t—want me?”

“Christ, no.” Jack’s head lifts, and he slides both hands over my lower back, holding me as if I’ll fall from his lap. “It physically pains me how much I want you so damned badly, but love, you’re insanely inebriated.”

In one instance, Captain Rackham outsmarts his foes, deceives them, and robs them blind, killing them if necessary. In another, he’s cordial and considerate.

I chew on my bottom lip, grinning at him. “Is Calico Jack—gentlemanly?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Jack moves one hand to my breast, cupping and kneading it, his thumb flicking the nipple. “I’ll still take advantage.” He presses a feathered kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I’m not without any morals, I’m just more of what you’d call—a gray area. Besides, I’m not certain how much bruising my ego could take if you couldn’t remember how skillful I was at ravishing you.”

I’m completely and utterly gone for this man. This human. This mortal warrior.

Swaying my hips on his lap, moaning at the feel of his rough hand on me, I slide my blouse down one shoulder, then the other. “Kiss me then.”

“That—” Jack tears the rest of the shirt away, dropping it on the sand at his feet. “—I can do.”

He lifts the bottle and uses his teeth to pull the cork. With one hand pressed to my back for support, he dips me backward, my chest on full display. He pours rum between my breasts, letting it trickle down my stomach, some of it collecting in my belly button. My scales shimmer to life, some of the ridges protruding from my breastbone. Jack’s tongue laps the delicate skin beneath one breast, then the other, and drags it over the ridges, a growl bubbling in the back of his throat.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to my scales before pulling me to him, claiming my mouth with his and encircling me with his arms.

We’re a storm of snarls, whispers, kisses, and short breaths beneath the canopy of stars and blanket of warming firelight. I’m topless and bare for all the crew to see if they care to look, but it doesn’t matter to me. Because here I feel safe. Here, I feel unbridled. Here, I feel home .

I am Anne Bonny.