“Glitter?” Hook asks.
I must be talking, though I don’t feel my dry mouth moving.
“You’re going to be all right. Huran is the best healer in the waters off Neverland. Hell, he may be the best in all the waters I sail.” Hook kisses my hair.
I want to claw his eyes out, but I can’t. All I can do is listen to the steady thump of his heart as he rocks me gently. It’s a seduction. It has to be. Hook doesn’t give a shit about me. It doesn’t make sense that he’s going to such great lengths to keep me alive, but perhaps he wants to kill me in some horrible way. It’s a reasonable explanation. Maybe he wants some public display of my death just to spite Peter and the Lost Boys. Coy would take it the hardest. I get a flash of his eyes as the life goes out of them. Right, Coy’s dead.
“It couldn’t be helped.” Hook doesn’t stop rocking me. “The Lost Boys are just that. Lost. It’s a mercy to release them.”
I force my eyes to open, and I see the dark scruff on Hook’s face, the sharp line of his jaw, the tanned skin along his throat. A beautiful monster, a murderer of the loveliest design. If I could end him, I would.
“Many have tried it, lass, make no mistake. None have managed it.” He pulls back and looks down at me, his blue eyes holding mine prisoner. “Though you just might.” When he hoists me higher and settles back into a bed—one in an open, airy room with windows and a soft breeze, I realize we aren’t on the Jolly Roger anymore.
But I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to figure out where I am.
“Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”
I want to laugh, and I swear a giggle bubbles from me, but maybe it’s more of a sob, because the pirate reaches up and swipes some tears away before pulling a blanket over us.
“Shh, lass.” He begins to hum, the sound deep and smooth.
I try to pry my eyes open again, but I can’t. That tingling feeling has changed over to almost numbness. I don’t feel pain. It’s still there, though, lurking beneath whatever magical mixture Huran slathered on my leg.
When Hook sings, his voice so smooth and melodic—that’s when I know I’ve fallen into some other reality, one where villains sing lullabies and heroes can’t save you. “Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell, Angus is here with fine dreams to sell. Hush now wee bairnie and sleep without fear, for Angus will bring you a dream my dear…”
I waketo a seagull’s laugh. It sits on my windowsill and lets out its raucous chuckle as the moon, now back to only a sliver, hangs in the sky beyond it.
“Out of here, devil.” A man hurries in and shoos the bird from the window. He turns to me, his mouth turning up into a smile. “Well, hello there.”
No words come out of my mouth.
“You’re parched.” He comes to my bedside, his teal robe fluttering behind him, then pours me a glass of water. “Here.Don’t drink too much. Go slow.” With a gentle hand, he lifts my head from the pillow and pours the water into my mouth.
I swallow, grateful for the moisture.
Once I’ve had enough, he lays me back down and places the back of his hand to my forehead. “Good. You’ve been out of the fever for two days, but we can’t be too careful.”
“Who’re you?” I croak.
“Huran.” He dips his chin. “Very nice to finally meet you, Moira.”
“You’re the healer?” It’s an effort just to get the words out. I’m so tired.
“Yes. Among other things.” He winks, his brown skin marked with black tattooed dots all along his cheeks. “May I take a look at the leg?”
I don’t exactly want him to look at any of me, but I’m not stupid. He’s been looking after me for who knows how long, so he’s seen all of me most likely.
“All right.”
“Thank you.” He pulls back the cream-colored blanket and inspects the bandage on my calf. “The drainage has stopped. Also a good sign.” With deft fingers, he unpins the cloth and unwraps it.
I wince when I get a look at my leg. It’s mottled purple and yellow around the bite, and there are stitches where Huran must’ve had to cut divots from my skin.
“I know.” He pats my knee. “It looks rough right now. But when it heals, there’ll only be a few dimples and scars. Nothing toworry about and not too unsightly. I thought I was going to have to amputate, but you pulled through. Your leg will be just as strong as it was before.”
I don’t want an ugly leg but having a working one is the most important thing. “Thanks.”
“Very welcome.” He grabs a fresh bandage from the nightstand and rewraps it as I look around the room.
