Chapter 3: Rising Action
The hand was rough, calloused. Not cloth. Skin. Hot. It clamped down hard, sealing her cry before it could escape. Maree’s world narrowed to the pressure on her mouth, the hot breath against her ear, and the stark reality: Intruder. On her ship.
Adrenaline screamed through her, burning away the last dregs of exhaustion. Her elbow snapped back, aiming for the soft space beneath ribs. It connected with a grunt, but the grip only tightened, hauling her backwards off balance against a solid wall of muscle and leather. The scent hit her then – salt, sweat, and something uniquely, infuriatingly familiar beneath the night air: gun oil and that faint, stubborn trace of the Stormbreaker’s hold.
Bartholomew. The realization was a white-hot poker of betrayal. He’d come for the map. After the fire, the near-disaster, the shared watch… he’d come to steal it.
Rage, cold and vicious, replaced the initial spike of terror. She bucked violently, driving her heel down hard onto his instep. He cursed, low and guttural, his grip slackening just enough. She wrenched her head sideways, teeth scraping against his palm as she sucked in a sharp, desperate breath.
"Traitor!" The word was half-strangled spit.
He spun her, pinning her back against the cold, damp wood of the quarterdeck rail, his body crowding hers. Moonlight caught the fierce glint in his eyes, devoid of their usual lazy charm. "Just saving you from shouting at a raccoon, Viper," he hissed, his voice tight. "That shadow? Probably a bloody monkey. You wake the whole cove, we lose the tide, lose the cavern, lose everything."
His explanation was bullshit. She saw the calculation in his gaze, flickering past her shoulder towards the cabin door where the map lay. He’d used the noise as cover. Her knee came up, aiming for the family jewels. He twisted, taking it on his thigh with another pained grunt, his own hand clamping down hard on her wrist before she could draw her pistol.
"Enough!" His breath was ragged against her cheek. "You want to brawl? Fine. But not here." He shoved off the rail, pulling her with him, away from the open deck towards the darker maze of cannons and rigging amidships.
The fight became a furious, silent ballet in the moon-dappled shadows. Maree twisted, trying to break his hold, her free hand raking nails across his forearm. He blocked a jab at his throat, using her momentum to spin her again, trying to pin her arms behind her back. She stomped on his foot a second time, yanking her wrist free. They separated, circling each other like wolves on the deck planking, breathing hard. The ship creaked around them, a voyeur to their duel.
"Paranoid suits you," Todd rasped, rubbing his forearm where her nails had scored red lines. "But jumping at shadows gets people killed. Or did you forget the Spaniard might be listening?"
"Liar," Maree spat, her voice low and venomous. She feinted left, then lunged right, aiming a swift kick at his knee. He sidestepped, grabbing her ankle. She used the grip as leverage, swinging her other leg up in a high arc, aiming for his head. He ducked, releasing her ankle, and she landed lightly, immediately backing towards the relative cover of the mainmast shrouds. "You weren't watching shadows. You were watching my cabin."
A flash of something – frustration? guilt? – crossed his face before the predatory mask slammed back down. "Maybe I like the view." He moved forward, relentless. "Maybe I wanted to see if you slept with the damned thing." He gestured vaguely towards the cabin. "Seems you do. Impressive dedication. Or just plain crazy."
She darted behind the thick base of the mast. "It's mine, Bartholomew. Ours. Fifty-fifty. Remember?" She scooped up a loose belaying pin from a rack. Not her preferred blade, but it had weight. "Stealing it now? That’s not partnership. That’s piracy."
He barked a harsh laugh, circling her position. "Pot, kettle, Viper. We are pirates. It’s what we do." He lunged, not at her, but at the shrouds, swarming upwards with startling agility. "But fine. You want to play guard dog? Let’s play." He vanished into the web of rigging above.
Maree snarled. He was using the ship against her. She knew the Kiss like her own bones, but Todd moved with an unnerving familiarity. She heard him above, a soft thud on the topsail yard. She looked up, squinting into the darkness. A coil of loose rope hung nearby. An idea sparked, reckless and hot. She grabbed the rope’s end, gave it a sharp tug to test its hold, then kicked off the mast, swinging out into the open space above the deck.
She arced upwards, the wind whipping her braid. There he was, crouched on the yard, silhouetted against the moon-washed sky. He saw her coming, eyes widening fractionally. She swung past him, close enough to smell the sweat on his skin, and lashed out with the belaying pin. It cracked against his bootheel, a solid hit. He cursed, losing his balance for a split second.
Maree landed with a thud on the forecastle deck, rolling immediately to her feet. He dropped down after her, landing less gracefully, favouring the foot she’d hit. The forecastle was more confined, cannons lashed tight, the serpent figurehead looming over them. No room for fancy rigging escapes now.
He advanced, limping slightly. "Persistent little serpent, aren't you?"
"Annoying flies bring out my bite," she shot back, hefting the pin.
He feinted high. She braced. At the last second, he dropped low, sweeping her legs. She crashed down hard onto her back, the breath knocked out of her, the belaying pin skittering away. He was on her instantly, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, his other forearm braced across her collarbone. His weight pressed her into the deck, the rough wood scraping her back through the thin fabric of her tunic.
"Checkmate, Captain," he breathed, his face inches from hers. His eyes burned into hers, furious, intense, and something else… something hotter, darker. The fight thrummed between them, crackling like trapped lightning. His chest heaved against hers. The scent of him – sweat, leather, salt, the lingering tang of smoke from the charred table – flooded her senses.
Maree struggled, bucking, but he held her fast. "Get off me, you bastard!" she hissed, the words tight with fury and… something else. Fear? No. Not fear. It was the proximity, the raw physicality, the sudden, terrifying awareness of his body pinning hers. The confusing heat of the beach kiss roared back, amplified by adrenaline and the violence of their struggle.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. The fury in his eyes flickered, replaced by a predatory hunger that stole her breath. The forearm across her collarbone shifted, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing roughly over her lower lip. The touch sent a jolt through her, part shock, part unwanted, electric recognition.
"Or what?" he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. "You'll stab me in my sleep?" His thumb traced the line of her jaw, down the pulse hammering wildly in her throat. "We both know you won't. You need me. Just like I need that map." His gaze locked back onto hers. "But right now? I need this."
He didn't ask. He claimed. His mouth crashed down on hers, not like the tentative exploration on the beach, but hard, demanding, fueled by the violence of the chase and the sheer, unbearable tension that had crackled between them since the storm. It was a conquest, a branding. Maree gasped against his lips, a sound swallowed by his kiss. She should bite him, knee him, fight. Every instinct screamed against surrender.
But her body betrayed her. The fury melted into a molten, treacherous heat. The hand that had been trying to twist free instead tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the brutal kiss. A low groan escaped him, vibrating against her mouth. His grip on her wrists loosened, his hand sliding down her arm, over her ribs, coming to rest possessively on her hip, hauling her harder against him. The deck was cold beneath her, but where their bodies met, it burned.
It wasn't gentle. It was teeth and tongues and desperate, bruising pressure. It was the adrenaline crash turning into something primal. His lips moved to her jaw, her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin below her ear. She arched against him, a gasp escaping as his hand slid under the hem of her tunic, rough calluses scraping the skin of her waist. The map, the Spaniard, the treasure… it all dissolved into the haze of sensation and the frantic beat of her own heart against his chest.
Above them, oblivious, the Plough star continued its slow arc across the sky. Below, in the dimly lit cabin of the Serpent's Kiss, the duplicate map of Elazar Vane’s treasure lay safely tucked away in its oilskin packet. Utterly forgotten. For now. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the desperate slide of fabric as boundaries dissolved under the indifferent moon.
The kiss broke as suddenly as it began. Todd jerked back, breathing hard, his eyes wide, pupils dilated in the gloom, reflecting a dazed shock that mirrored her own. The raw hunger was still there, but beneath it flickered a vulnerability she’d never seen, quickly masked by confusion and something akin to self-loathing. He pushed himself off her, stumbling back a step, running a trembling hand through his sweat-dampened hair. His gaze flickered over her – dishevelled, panting, lips swollen from his assault – then darted away towards the dark sea.
Maree scrambled to her feet, her legs unsteady. She straightened her tunic with trembling hands, the phantom heat of his touch burning her skin. Shame warred with the lingering, unwelcome thrum of arousal. What had she done? What had he done? The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the water and their own unsteady breaths.
Todd stared at the dark water, his knuckles white where they gripped the forecastle rail, unable to look back at her. Maree touched her bruised lips, the ghost of his rough kiss burning, her mind reeling from the violence of the encounter and the shocking surrender of her own body. The map, the treasure, the Spaniard – all receded into a distant haze.
"You..." Maree started, her voice raspy, unfamiliar. She swallowed, tried again. "That was..."
"Stupid," Todd finished flatly, still facing the cove. He ran a hand over his face, the gesture weary, defeated. "Reckless. A mistake." He finally turned, his gaze skittering away from hers before locking on. The usual mischief was gone, replaced by a raw, hunted look. "But you kissed me back, Viper. Don't pretend you didn't."
Maree flinched. Denial died on her tongue. The memory of her hand fisting in his hair, pulling him closer, flooded back, hot and undeniable. Shame warred with a furious, defiant heat low in her belly. "I was disarmed," she countered weakly, gesturing towards the lost belaying pin.
"Bullshit." Todd pushed off the rail, closing the narrow gap between them. He didn't touch her. His eyes held hers, intense, searching the flicker of emotion she couldn't fully mask. "You fight like a cornered wildcat. You could've sunk your teeth into me. You didn't." He took a breath, the air crackling. "The fire... the beach... this," he gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the fight, the kiss. "What is this?"
The directness stunned her. Pirates dealt in threats, boasts, riddles. Not this unsettling vulnerability. She looked away, towards the looming shadow of her cabin door. The map lay within. Safety. Control. Yet her feet felt rooted to the deck. "Complication," she finally whispered, the word tasting like ash.
Todd barked a short, humorless laugh. "That's putting it mildly." He reached out slowly, deliberately, not towards her face, but towards her braid. His fingers brushed the beads near her temple, the touch startlingly gentle on her heated skin. "This bead," he murmured, his voice rough. "The one you 'dropped' before." He produced the small silver sphere from his pocket, holding it up where the moonlight caught its dull gleam. "Seems I keep finding pieces of you, Maree Dubois."
Her name, spoken without the mocking 'Viper', landed like a physical blow. She looked at the bead, then at his face, the earnest confusion etched beside the fading anger. The careful walls she’d spent years building felt perilously thin. He’d saved the map. He hadn’t stolen it when he could have, after the fire. He’d fought her, kissed her, and now stood holding a tiny, insignificant piece of her silver like a question.
The tension snapped. Not into violence, but into a different kind of gravity. Maree moved first. Not away. Towards him. She closed the last inch, her hand lifting to cover his where it held the bead. Her fingers trembled against his calloused skin. His breath hitched, his gaze locking onto hers, waiting, wide open.
"Stop talking," she breathed, the command lacking all conviction. She closed the distance, her mouth finding his. Not a conquest this time. An answer. A surrender to the terrifying, undeniable pull that had hummed between them since the storm, amplified by near-loss and shared danger. This kiss was slower, deeper, an exploration instead of a battle. The taste of salt, the faint metallic tang of blood from a split lip, the shared heat.
Todd groaned, low in his throat, his free arm circling her waist, crushing her against him. The bead fell, forgotten, clinking softly on the deck. His other hand tangled in her braid, careful of the beads, pulling her head back to deepen the kiss. Maree yielded, melting into the solid heat of him, the frantic energy of the fight transmuting into a different, more urgent fire. The cool night air vanished, replaced by the shared furnace of their bodies.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, both breathing raggedly. "Your cabin," he rasped, the words thick with need. "Now. Before sense comes back. Before the dawn."
Maree didn't hesitate. She took his hand, the one scarred from smothering the flames for her map, and pulled him towards the door. No words. Only the shared, desperate momentum.
The cabin door clicked shut behind them, plunging them into the dim, familiar space smelling of oil, paper, citrus, and now the sharp scent of their exertion and desire. Lantern light caught the polished brass and the faintly visible edge of the oilskin packet holding the map on the desk. Maree turned, pressing him back against the closed door. Her fingers worked the clasps on his leather jerkin with surprising speed, her movements urgent, practiced. He mirrored her, pushing the dark blue tunic off her shoulders, his hands rough yet reverent as they traced the lines of her collarbones, the curves revealed beneath thin linen.
Clothing fell away, pooling on the floor beside the discarded bead. Skin met skin, salt and sweat-slicked, the cool air raising goosebumps instantly chased away by the heat radiating between them. Todd’s hands slid down Maree’s back, pulling her flush against him, the hard planes of his body meeting her softer curves. She arched into him, a gasp escaping as his mouth found the pulse point at the base of her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Her own hands explored the corded muscle of his shoulders, the map of old scars on his back, the surprising smoothness of his skin beneath the weathering.
He lifted her effortlessly. Maree wrapped her legs around his waist, her braid unraveling completely as he carried her the few steps to the wide, plush berth nestled beneath the stern windows. He lowered her onto the silken coverlet, the rich fabric cool beneath her back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body following her down. Moonlight streamed through the stern windows, painting silver stripes across their tangled limbs.
No more pretense. No more rivalry. Just Todd, the Stormbreaker, stripped of his swagger, his gaze raw and intense as it roamed her face, her body. Just Maree, the Sea Serpent, defenses fallen, her striking eyes dark with a need that mirrored his own. He kissed her again, deeply, his hand tracing a path down her stomach, lower. Maree gasped, her hips lifting instinctively to meet his touch. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The careful plans, the hidden past, the dangerous future – for this suspended moment, drowned in moonlight and sensation, none of it existed. Only the shared rhythm of their breathing, the slick heat of skin on skin, the whispered curses and gasps that replaced words, the ship rocking gently beneath them like a cradle as the tide began its slow, inevitable turn towards dawn.
It all dissolved in an instant. A heavy, unmistakable thud echoed just outside the cabin door. Then another. Boots on deck planks. Close. Getting closer.
Maree froze beneath Todd, her body going from pliant warmth to taut wire in a heartbeat. Her eyes, wide and dark with fading pleasure, snapped towards the sound, sharpening instantly. Todd reacted just as fast, rolling off her in one fluid motion, landing silent and alert on the balls of his feet beside the berth. The sudden absence of his warmth felt like a physical blow.
"Shit," Maree hissed, already scrambling. She lunged for the pile of discarded clothes near the door, snatching her dark blue tunic and linen undershirt. The oilskin packet containing the duplicate map was half-buried under Todd’s leather jerkin; she grabbed it too, clutching it against her bare stomach. "Get dressed! Now!" The command was a low, urgent rasp, devoid of any intimacy, pure command echoing the authority that had momentarily slipped.
Todd was already moving, scooping up his trousers. His movements were economical, silent, the practiced efficiency of countless sudden escapes replacing the lazy swagger. He shoved his legs into the fabric, hauling them up, eyes fixed on the door handle. The footsteps stopped directly outside. A low, questioning murmur reached them – Finn’s distinctive gravelly voice.
"Cap'n Dubois? You awake? Tide's turning proper now. Stormbreaker's men are readyin' the soundin' lines. Finn sent me, said you wanted word when it was time." It was Jenks, Todd’s lookout with the mole eyes and bellows lungs, sounding uncertain, hesitant to disturb.
Maree yanked her tunic over her head, her fingers fumbling slightly with the ties at her neck. Her gaze darted to Todd, half-dressed, hair wild, standing tense in the flickering lamplight. The sight of him, so clearly not supposed to be there, sent a fresh wave of adrenaline crashing through her. Panic warred with furious pragmatism. "A moment, Jenks!" she called out, her voice miraculously steady, projecting annoyance rather than alarm. She gestured frantically at the shadowed corner behind the large, bolted-down cabinet holding her charts.
Todd didn’t need telling twice. He grabbed his jerkin and boots, moving like smoke towards the indicated hiding spot, stuffing his feet into the boots without lacing them. He pressed himself flat against the bulkhead, deep in the shadows cast by the cabinet and the heavy desk. The lingering scent of their sweat and sex hung thick in the air around him. Maree swept the silken coverlet straight, plumping the pillow where Todd’s head had lain seconds before. Her own braid was hopelessly undone, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. No time.
She took one deep, grounding breath, forcing the flush from her face, smoothing her expression into one of impatient fatigue. She strode to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open just wide enough to see Jenks’s weathered, nervous face peering back, lantern held high. She deliberately blocked most of the doorway with her body.
"What is it, Jenks?" Maree asked, her tone clipped, bordering on irritable. "I heard you. Tide turns. I know. Tell Finn I'll be on deck directly. And tell Captain Bartholomew," she stressed the title, "to have his best men ready. We need precision, not haste. Understood?" She kept her gaze locked on Jenks, daring him to try and peer past her shoulder into the dim cabin.
Jenks blinked, flustered by her sharpness. "Aye, Cap'n Dubois. Right away. Directly. Sorry to disturb." He bobbed his head awkwardly, taking a step back, clearly relieved to be dismissed. The lamplight swayed as he turned, his footsteps quickly receding across the deck planks.
Maree didn't move until his footsteps faded completely, replaced by the normal creaks and groans of the ship and the distant murmur of the crews readying for the tide. Only then did she slowly close the door, leaning her forehead against the cool, solid wood for a brief second. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could still feel the phantom pressure of Todd’s hands, the heat of his mouth.
She turned. Todd had emerged from the shadows, his jerkin hastily fastened but unlaced, boots still loose. He looked rumpled, dangerous, and utterly out of place in her meticulously ordered space. The raw intensity of moments ago was gone, replaced by a watchful wariness. He met her gaze across the cabin, the air between them thick with unspoken accusations and the electric residue of what had nearly been discovered. The oilskin packet felt like a lead weight against her skin.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at her, waiting. The map, the treasure, the Spaniard – the reasons they were both here, tangled in this impossible, dangerous mess – crashed back down between them, heavier than ever. The first grey light of dawn began to seep through the stern windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the charged, silent air. The hidden cavern awaited. So did the reckoning.