#author 13

Here’s a snippet from a CSBB work in progress for you to enjoy!

A man doesn't live as long as Killian Jones has done without knowing danger when he finds it. “David,” he hisses giving the other man's shoulder a shake. “David where do you keep your sword?” David’s only answer is to make a sound like a wood saw and tighten his grip on the rum bottle. “Never mind. I'll improvise.” He hefts the iron poker from the fireplace, and stalks around the table to prod David with the blunt end. “Wake up, mate!” David starts awake, peering at Killian through bleary eyes. “What - what's going on? Why are you still here?” “Had to pay my respects to my host didn't I?” hisses Killian. “But believe me, mate, I'm the least of your worries.” “You're right about that,” David says, wincing. “What the he'll was in that rum?” “Cats piss, mostly likely,” Killian mutters. “Now - listen.” David screws up his face in concentration, then shakes his head sharply, grimacing at the sensation. “I can't hear anything.” “No.” Killian adjusts his grip on the poker. “And isn't that just a touch peculiar?” “I don't know what you -” David doesn't finish his sentence, barely has time to draw breath, before the door falls onwards in a shower of splinters, the unholy racket followed immediately by two large, brutish looking men that makes Killian’s heart sink to somewhere in the region of his toes. “Killian Jones,” the first bellows, the sound reverberating through the small space. “You are under arrest for piracy on the orders of his most regal majesty King Eric!” “Am I now?” Killian says, rocking back on his heels as he calculates the distance between the men and the door. “Good old Eric, he doesn't give up does he.” “You're wanted by the King?” David hisses, aghast. Killian shrugs. “I'm wanted by everyone, mate.” He tests the weight of the poker, and offers the men a small bow. “Well gentlemen, shall we?”

Here’s a snippet from a CSBB work in progress for you to enjoy!

"Oh God,” she moans, dropping back into her chair with her head in her hands, “this is a nightmare.”

“Not necessarily, love,” Killian says, coming up behind her and resting hand and hook on her slumped shoulders. “There are other kingdoms to meet with and he wasn’t averse, not as such -“

“They want money,” she groans, “and I don’t have any - I don’t even have walls.”

“We have some walls.”

Emma turns her glare on him, scowling in displeasure, but she rests her head against his arm all the same.

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” she asks. “Because it needs some work.”

“Now that I will take on advisement,” he says, grinning as he leans over to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Any chance I can begin my lessons? Or is your steward likely to attempt to barge in again with some terribly thrilling news about farm yields or some such?”

“You shouldn’t be so harsh on Pinocchio,” she sighs, smiling as he begins to run his fingers over her scalp and soothing the ache caused by her tight hairstyle. “He’s new to this too, you know.”

“Aye, and a very enthusiastic student he is too, especially where you’re concerned.”

“Jealous?” Emma scoffs. “Not very piratical of you, Captain.”

“Not much piratical about me any more,” he says, something in his voice making her twist around in her chair to face him.

“Do you miss it?” she asks, “Your ship?”

“Aye,” he says, and shrugs, unable to quite meet her eyes. “Sometimes.”

“Do you - “ she swallows hard, her own gaze flickering to the ground. “Do you want to go back?”

“Oh Swan,” he says, lifting her face to his with his thumb pressed into the dent of her chin. “Never, do you understand me? Never. Nowhere. Not without you.”

“Alright,” she says, letting her eyes fall shut as his breath skims her lips. “That’ll do.”

Here’s a snippet from a CSBB work in progress for you to enjoy!

“Mermaids,” she says, perched on the end of their bed watching him rummage through a trunk of clothes, all of which he tosses over his shoulder with ever more bitter mutterings about ‘Bloody princelings’ and ‘looking like a tosser’. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly, I’m afraid,” he says, emerging from the trunk with a familiar red silk vest on the point of his hook and a glint in his eye. “Still my colour?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

He closes the lid of the trunk heavily.

“What would you like me to say?” he asks, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Yes, I’m serious. Mermaids can travel incredible distances - even between realms - if anyone has an idea of where to start looking for your parents, it’s bound to be them.”

“And you think they’ll help?”

“Ah,” Killian sits down on the truck lid and looks up at her from under a raised brow. “Now that I can make no promises about.”

“Pirate?” Emma asks wryly, and he lifts his hook in acknowledgement.

“Pirate.”