The Sky Eternal

The Sky Eternal

Book Two of the Pirate King Romance Series

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 N. K. Mook

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form and credit given to the author. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Long live the King.

A NOTE

This series contains depictions of violence, BDSM themes, and explicit sex. Themes of domestic violence and CSA are explored, but never depicted. Alcoholism is depicted. It is a journey of healing; the easy, the rough, and everything in between. If you would rather not engage with these topics, please skip this series, or come back to it another time. If you have any further questions about the content of the series or individual books, feel free to contact me at [email protected] or on twitter (@nakamookwrites).

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

I was going to kill Wicky.

He had put my hands in irons, my body in a cell. He had put his life at the mercy of an angry sea.

But that would come later. I could be patient. Right now, the Captain needed me. He was drunk. He was alone. He had begged me not to leave him.

I stared down at the irons. I could do this, I told myself. My heart was pounding, my chest aching. It was nothing but irons. Two and a half years of my life spent in them, yes, but I was not there anymore. I was on a ship. I was with the sea.

And what were irons to the commands of the universe?

There was a window at the end of the row of cells. If I could get myself out of the cage I would be able to reach the Captain through the outside of the ship. These men could not keep me from him. I had carried him in my arms - I had touched him. I put that from my mind. It was more important than that. I remembered our short trip to the ship, him so drunk he could barely speak. The way he only calmed when I ran my fingers through his hair, over his cheek. When he knew I was with him. And then I thought of him in that room, still drunk, but now alone.

I nearly ripped the manacles apart from the force of the anger that thought brought up alone.

But it was even more simple than that. He had asked me not to leave him.

I had to go back.

I undid the knots that Wicky had left me in. I spent some time looking for rust on my irons, hoping for weak spots, but where Wicky's knots had been weak his choice in irons was strong. I gave up, wanting to scream. I could do this, I reminded myself. For the Captain, I could do this.

I turned my attention to the door. Option one was picking the lock. I could do that, but it took time and tools, neither of which I had. Option two was hitting it until it gave.

I took option two.

Luckily, where my manacles had no rust, the door was riddled with it. My body weight carried me through the hinges on the fifth try.

At that point, I suppose I could have looked for a key or something else to release me from the last of my confinement. But I had already wasted enough time and the Captain needed me. I hurried to the window and began to climb towards the Captain.

It was harder than I expected to make the climb while constrained, and I lost time that I needed. That the Captain needed. I almost fell twice, my grip slipping when I reached for something that I did not have the span to reach. When I finally reached the right window, I didn't take the time to look inside and make sure it was empty, I just hauled my body inside.

It was a small miracle that the room was unoccupied. I did a quick scan, listening and looking, but there was nothing.

There was nothing.

I stopped, suddenly very concerned. Where was the Captain?

A small moan drew my attention to the bathroom, and I made my way across the room. Please, I thought. Please, please, please. He had to be okay, I had just gotten him back, he had to be okay...

The Captain sat slumped against the wall, his shirt drenched in vomit. It looked like he'd tried to make it to the toilet, or maybe the bin, but had fallen and hit his head before he could. A bleeding cut on his forehead was testament to his struggle. He raised his hand feebly as he saw me enter the doorway.

I was going to kill Wicky. I was going to destroy him, separate his soul from his body and rip each apart separately. I would bury him at sea with no silver and no way to guide him to the afterworld, and when his ghost came to haunt me I would do it to him again, and again. Come here. I kept my anger out of my voice, feeding it to the sea as a promise. Let's get you cleaned up.

I grabbed a damp cloth and a glass of drinking water, then slid myself between the wall and him. I don't know that he recognized me, truly, but he seemed to relax in my arms all the same.

I gently cleaned his face, then got him to down some liquid. The manacles made things awkward but he hardly noticed in his drunken state. It was best to go slowly anyway. Soon he was clean from the neck up. When it came time to take off his shirt, however, I found him reluctant.

No, he muttered, pushing at me. At first I continued, thinking he simply didn't understand what was going on, but he was becoming agitated, almost afraid. Please, no, I don't want to, don't make me. I'll be better, I'm sorry. He squirmed in my grasp, fighting me, his face twisted in an emotion that I didn't want to link with any action I could ever take. Not to him.

I stopped. Okay, I murmured. Nothing you don't want, okay. I pressed my face to the top of his head and tried not to let his words sink to my stomach, didn't let myself think about what they might mean. I'm here. Nothing can hurt you.

That seemed to reach him. When he was settled, I gently extricated myself from his body. He made a small noise of protest, and I almost stayed, but I needed to find something.

It felt invasive to go through his drawers, but I found what I needed quickly and was soon back at his side. Look, I told him, bringing his hand to the shirt I had found. I have a new shirt for you. He felt the shirt, took it in. Will you let me take this one off? We'll put the new on one.

After a time he nodded, and I slowly pulled at the bottom of his shirt until it was over his head. I couldn't help but catch my breath at the sight of him, even sour smelling as he was, at the feel of his bare skin against mine. I washed him gently and thoroughly, but quickly, keeping my fingers light and delicate. I wanted nothing more than to grab him, to run my hands over every part of him that lay exposed. But that wouldn't have been right. I was careful to only touch what I needed to, watching his face as I did to make sure I wasn't upsetting him.

When his skin was clean I pulled the new shirt over his head. My arms ended wrapped around his waist. He sighed and settled back against me.

This was perfect. This would be perfect, I amended my thought, if only he were sober. I sighed, feeling him fall asleep against me. It wouldn't do to have him asleep here, not in the cold bathroom. Not against me. I didn't want him waking up confused and lost, to find himself wrapped in arms he might not actually want.

I shook him awake gently and got him to drink more of his water. Sailor, he slurred, looking up at my face with eyes that made my heart want to burst. How could one man's face be so perfect? It wasn't fair to everyone else in the world. When did you get here?

I smiled down at him and pressed the cup to his lips. My manacles rattled, and he looked down. Your hands are stuck, he told me, pulling away from the cup. I nodded. He collapsed against me again, his eyes fluttering closed. That's hot.

Despite everything, despite how much I hated what these irons meant to me, what they had done to me in the past. At his words I had to smile.

When he finished his water I carried him to bed and left him there as I cleaned up the mess in bathroom as best I could. There were no more towels, so I sacrificed my shirt to the cause. When I returned to the bedroom, I found that he had tried to climb from the bed and was now kneeling on the ground, his head still on the covers. I sighed and lifted him back up.

Don't leave me again, he mumbled.

I have to, I thought. I'm to be marooned. I told him something else instead. I'm right here. And it was the truth. But now it's time to sleep.

He nodded, curling up, and I tried not to smooth back his hair, I truly did, but my hand moved on its own accord and he relaxed so immediately, so completely under my touch that I did it again.

As his breathing settled, I sat back and looked across the room to the chair. I really should sleep there. It would give him distance, and from there I would still be able to keep an eye on him.

I looked down at the figure before me, crouched on the doorway of sleep. He was murmuring something again, and I reached out and let my hand rest on his shoulder. He settled instantly under my touch.

I couldn't leave him.

Besides, it would be better to sleep on the bed. I would be able