Rapture

Chapter II

"Pirates," I breathe. "I—gods, you're pirates," I say again, and this time, he hears it.

A bolt of fear strikes my heart, but Lee remains aloof. "Well yeah, do we look like some scrounging navy dogs to you?"

I shake my head no, fiercely, and am dizzied once again.

"Hey, mate, don't be scared. You're my friend. We ain't gonna hurt you." He catches himself. "I mean, I won't."

"What—" I look frantically about the deck as we cross, afraid to meet the eyes of anyone aboard. "They'll hurt me?"

He shrugs. "Hope not, but no promises."

I take deep breaths, willing the cloudiness in my head to go away.

"Okay. Okay . . ."

I focus on breathing, feeling dizzier and dizzier, hotter and hotter.

"Lee, we have to . . . you have to stop." My voice is breathy, weak.

"We're almost there."

"No . . ."

A wave of dizziness overcomes me, and suddenly I feel cold.

Next thing I know, I'm sitting on a small bench, leaning on the edge of a table. A large, burly hand appears in my vision, offering a bowl of some kind of food.

"Hey, Butcher!" I hear distantly, and recognize the voice right away. "Mousie over here needs some grub to keep him going, fix somethin' up for 'im, would you? And maybe some water?"

I look up, and a tall, heavily muscled man the size of a small tree spares me the most uninterested, fleeting look. I eye the bowl, next—a simple metal one, and notice the warm soup inside it.

I tilt the bowl, watching it slosh around. "What is it?" I mumble.

Lee gives me a wide smile, sharing an innocent look with the larger man. "Eat up."

I give Lee an unsure glance, and he's quick to reassure me.

"It's good, mate. Go on!"

I debate they might be trying to poison me, as the monster of a man—Butcher—peeks back at me through the corner of his eye.

But the hunger wins me over quickly.

The flavor overall is mediocre at best, but it's something warm, and I'm quick to down it, needing something in my stomach so badly I'd be grateful for anything.

My tongue starts to tingle, and I only have a few seconds to be confused before my mouth is set ablaze.

I choke on the soup, tongue falling out of my mouth because the cool air helps soothe it just a bit. I pant as my face heats up, the sting of the strong spices still affecting me.

I push it away, shaking my head, and glare at a laughing Lee as he pushes it back in front of me.

"What?" He laughs. "Sorry for laughin' mate. Can't handle the spice?" He teases.

I stick my burning tongue out, and to my surprise, he returns the gesture with freakish wide eyes. I lean back a little, and it only spurs his laughter.

"Hurry up, you, or Captain'll have my head."

The man they call Butcher approaches me then, and my heart jumps at the perceived possibility of a threat.

My eyes flicker over his dauntingly large form, and I make an effort to cease my wondering of how he may have achieved that name. The man's quiet, even grin is overshadowed by hair that curtains his face on both sides—a light golden brown, strands nearly reaching his shoulders. I glare at him mistrustingly, and one look from his dark eyes is enough to put me in place.