Author's Note
Please be aware that some of the content in this book is adult material  and may be sensitive to some readers. Enjoy, comment, vote!

After the orphan pirate had left him, Durward was wrought with guilt. He had not expected the boy to be so crushed over his request. Evie was a strong pirate, and when Chesney Chaos came for them, he intended to go down fighting, refusing to hand over his crew to such a tyrannous act that could cost them their lives. He knew Evie would do what she must to ensure that the Hollow Rovers moved on without him and in the right direction. She was, after all, her father's daughter. Kristo Knox had been Durward's most trusted friend and confidante. He had many first mates over the past few hundred years or so, but none that ever served him as loyally and as eagerly as Kristo. Even when Kristo announced that he was to be a father, he didn't ask to be released from his post, but instead pleaded that Durward allow them to raise Evie aboard.

Evie would have the same grit that her father possessed, with a little bit of guidance from Nebula and Kelpie, and some support from the crew, Myles especially. He thought the boy would be honored to be entrusted with such a task, but instead he felt deprived of something he felt was owed to him. Since the first time he saw Myles, he knew something about him was different and extraordinary. The lad picked up theft the quickest, and was better at sleight of hand than anyone on the crew. He then grew to be somewhat of a master duelist. Not many could withstand hand to hand combat with him, except for Prickly Pete, who somehow always managed to come out victorious. Sailing came naturally, and so did swordplay and long-ranged weapon handling. The boy had charms as well, but those were usually snuffed out by his lesser qualities, like self loathing and jealousy.

Had he always felt out of place on the crew? Had he always believed he deserved more? Durward knew Myles' capabilities, but was not about to waste them so early in life. If he could keep Evie and Myles alive long enough, they could create real change within the pirating league. That was the goal. Their league had gone sour since Kristo left many years ago. And from what he could see, it was about to get worse. Captain Chaos wished to rage war against the soon-to-be Queen Dimia. No doubt she would try to kill her quietly at first. But if she failed in her efforts, Chaos would have the whole league up in arms against the royal marine guard. And with Sir Wyliamme Carac rumored to wed the princess, his pirate slaying forces would be against them as well.

The satyr clutched the necklace of keys in his palm, and walked over to his armoire, were the doors laid askew. He would polish off the whiskey before Thatcher and his crew arrived. They were anchored some ways off shore of Shark Anchorage Port. The island was hardly visible. He ran his hand over the smooth wood of the cabinet door and his eyes caught the glimmer of the golden necklace in its glass casing. His chest ached with grief and he felt a phantom pain atop of his head where his horns once were. The handkerchief beside it called to him softly, and he took the silk between his fingers. It felt so smooth under dry and cracked digits.

He fixated on the A and it brought a familiar swelling to his groin. He brought the silk to his lips and inhaled deeply. It had lost its sweet scent after so long. "Alessandra," he sighed into the handkerchief. His mind was propelled back to their first meeting. They were docked on the mainland, Kristo and his lady had left to find a smith who could make them a lavish greatsword to be presented at their wedding. Some of the men scoured for a pub and others headed straight for the sewered black market. Durward headed to find a tailor. He intended to buy Kristo and his betrothed their wedding dressings and a fine quilt to bless their marital bed; it was the least he could do for his best friends.

A dinky tailor shop in this little town called Mistress Jemma's Coats & Gowns sat just on the outskirts of the dock and meat market. And that's where he saw her.

*****

Less smelly than some of the cabins aboard The Siren's Song, but more pungent than a newer establishment, the shop looked to be old and like it had weathered a few storms. Dust bunnies floated inch by inch across the floor as the satyr's hooves shuffled. Durward held the door open for a middle aged woman and her young daughter. They stared at him in a twisted disgust and their eyes scanned over the length of him. The child seemed more curious than offended, but terrified of him nonetheless. They must not have had too many visitors passing through the town; he was hardly the scariest nor the ugliest beast Oren had to offer. They hurried out the door without another glance back.

A withered woman at the counter with thinning white hair tapped her nails along the counter in a cheerful tune. She had a spool of thread hanging out of her apron by her low sagging breasts, but beneath, her gown showed of promise. It was old, like the shack of a shop and the wrinkle of the woman who wore it, but it's trim and the faded colors were smooth and rippleless and had clean stitching.

Enigma approached her with a wan smile and a hand reached deep inside of his coat pocket. He jingled his coin purse and bowed his head. "Mistress Jemma, I presume?" He asked.

The old lady's ears perked at the sound of coin rustling and Durward realized all too late that there was a fogginess in her eyes; she was unequivocally blind. She held out her hand, palm down, and her near translucent skin showed a few protruding blue and purple veins.

"That I am, handsome fella," she greeted, the smirk on her face aware of the irony of her statement. Enigma took her hand, unsure, and brought it to his lips, giving her knuckles a brief peck.

"I'm looking for the seamstress here. I have a coat I need made, and a wedding shift for a woman as well," he explained, taking a quick glance about the shop. In the corner, a cloaked figure caught his eye, royal blue and radiant.

At the mention of a seamstress, the figure had shuffled, and blue eyes peeked out from around the fabric. Two dainty and white hands reached out and gently pulled the hood back, exposing a crimson wave of long hair, intricately braided. Enigma's throat ran dry as he gazed upon the high rosy cheekbones and the round blue eyes, and the perfectly plump lips. His tongue instinctively convulsed in his mouth and he became embarrassingly aware of his horns and lower goat half.

"I'm the seamstress, love. And you better be letting my hand go now, you're about to squeeze it off," the old lady croaked, drawing his attention back.

Durward shuffled, his cheeks growing hot and his hand releasing. His palms were clammy and he realized he had been holding onto the elderly woman much too tight for her frailty. "Please, forgive me. I do apologize." He removed his coin purse and set it on the counter, trying desperately not to turn around. "I'd like a coat like mine... well, would you like to..." He was at a loss for words. Between the fair beauty that lingered behind him and the confusion of the blind seamstress, Durward was unsure on how to continue.

A honeyed voice coaxed him into reality, and a soft touch laid upon his arm. The crimson beauty, who was even more radiant up close, turned her supple lips up by their corners.

"Jemma is a meta-human. Probably one of the oldest ones living because of her decision not to thrust her abilities in harm's way. She can see... in a different way."

Durward could only stare. Of all his hundreds of years living, no woman had ever turned his attention quite like this one. He'd had many blonde haired beauties and kinky brunettes to warm him through the decades, but this woman radiated an alluring aura that left him wanting.

"Here, she will show you," the woman said, her fingers deftly going for the buttons down his coat.

The satyr panicked at her touch and he grabbed her hands. They were cold, but delightfully so. "Please, my lady, I'll manage." He had not meant to sound so brusk, but she did not look offended regardless. He removed his jacket and handed it over to the blind woman.

Coarse fingers ran over the blue, and she played with the tassel on the shoulder. Her face was unreadable, but she looked like she were staring into some far off place. "Same cut and measurements as well?" She asked him.

"His shoulders are a bit less broad, but besides, yes. The rest of the measurements should be the same," Durward answered.

"And for the lady's dress? A fabric or color you prefer?" She asked, setting the jacket down after turning it about in her hands a few times. She slid a quill and parchment over from across the counter and scribbled numbers down.

The captain reached over and reclaimed his coat, about to turn and look around the shop for a color that would compliment the soon-to-be Mrs. Knox, but the crimson woman had already spread out a piece of fabric beside him. It was ocean blue and had a shimmer to it unlike any fabric he'd ever seen before.

"I think this is the one," the woman told Jemma. Her eyes flickered to the decorated coat Enigma was shrugging back into. "A captain of sorts, are you?"

Durward's brow began to glisten and his stomach grumble with anxiety. "That I am."

"I knew it," she replied with a coy smile. "Jemma isn't the only one who sees. I can see things about you as well, just from a simple touch," she explained.

Had she touched him, truly? She had laid a hand on his arm but that was not what Durward would've considered touching from this temptress. He longed for more in an instant at that word. "Some sort of gypsy then?" He asked, leaning into the counter.

"I'm no gypsy. Just gifted."

His cock hardened at the shape of her lips when she uttered the sentence and he clenched his jaw. Thankfully his coat and shirt were long enough to mask his embarrassment. "So if you're gifted, you would know my name, among other things I presume." It wasn't a question but more of an acceptance for what she was.

She nodded in reply and he had almost forgot they were not alone. Durward turned to pay for his order, but the old woman had disappeared from sight without word, having taken the fabrics and measurements with her. He had not paid, and she had not told him how long it would take until it was ready. Surely a few days time, but when would he know to return? When he turned back around, the crimson woman was much closer again. Her arm almost brushing his. He folded his hands behind his back and stood upright.

"Well gypsy, since you know my name, it is only fair I know yours."

She smiled, sending him weak down below again. "I'm not a gypsy. Quite the opposite. I come from Ofund and Gruuthar."

"Ah, the city. So you are a household maid then?" He asked, scanning over her. A damn well dressed household maid at that.

"On the contrary. I'm the daughter of a very old and powerful household name," she said with a shrug.

Interesting, he thought, a quiver of excitement shooting down his spine. "Hmm, why come to this small broken town, then?"

She looked mildly offended at that comment. "It's not broken. And Jemma teaches me all of the tricks of sewing. Plus I like to give the townspeople a reading here and there," she smiled. Her humor was back quickly.

"You still haven't told me your name."

"I could give you a reading if you want?"

"Your name, gypsy woman?" He insisted.

She considered it, eyes falling heavily along his lower half. She didn't seem to be disgusted or shocked, and she wasn't looking upon him with a curiosity. It was a look of admiration, he noticed, and of caution.

"Your name is Captain..." she began trailing off.

Durward looked at her expectedly and furrowed his brow. "...Durward Enigma," he finished for her.

She held her hand up. "Captain Enigma is what my senses are telling me. And you're a quite decorated man it seems." She gestured to his coat. "From the royal army..."

The satyr shook his head and suppressed a smile. "A pirate, actually," he began.

Again, she held her hand up and closed her eyes. "No, no I was wrong. My senses tell me you're a pirate, Captain Enigma."

Oh... he thought. His cheeks warmed and he understood her game now. "People pay you for your readings?" He asked her, folding his arms across his chest.

"Of course not. I never charge people to hear what they already know," she smiled back at him. "I'm sensing you're very popular among women," she added.

Durward's eyes blinked rapidly and he cleared his throat. "Well it depends on which sort of woman you ask."

"And I can feel that you are very loyal to those you love. Love, hmm. You have had many great loves?" She seemed almost hopeful for him now.

"Not one," he replied. He stepped toward her. "That may change." They looked each other over and said nothing more. Her hair lit his heart aflame and her figure made him grow. As they hung there in the room, the throbbing in their loins was almost audible. There was a strange thickness in the air and they each swayed drunkenly, inebriated by the other's presence. Her hand went to the base of her throat and Durward imagined suckling her skin there. He glanced back at the counter where the seamstress had once been and decided immediately that he would take her there. He clacked across the wood and went to the front door of the establishment. He pulled down the brown silk curtain and shielded the light from outside. Mistress Jemma's was now closed as far as he was concerned.

As he turned to look back at her, she was on him, her face inches from his. He reached up and stroked her icy white cheek as it reddened beneath his touch. His mouth eagerly went to hers and she wasted no time letting him in. Her breath was warm and made him salivate further.

"You're... sure... you want to do this?" he asked her between breaths. He was not accustomed to higher born women throwing themselves at him, let alone one so fair. He was attractive, from the waist up anyway. And she was attractive: everywhere.

"Jemma will be finished soon," was her only reply. She panted against his mouth, letting out sweet moans. He had barely touched her yet, and she was already deep in the throws of his desire.

His hands dug into her bodice and he kneaded her breasts, stifling a moan of his own against her lips. There was no time to unlace her, though he wished he could see her perfect frame completely naked. He swelled at the thought that one day he would. She's made me drunk.

He backed her across the room until she came to a stop against the counter. Their hips pressed together like magnets and again, he heated with an embarrassment of his appearance, but it did not stop him. His confidence never wavered, until now. His lips traveled from her mouth to her neck, then to the curvature of her breasts. He bit at the skin there and swore he tasted honey. Her pearly skin was luminescent against the striking blue of her gown. The woman hiked up her dress and turned around, leaning over the counter.

Durward looked at her, in all her glory, bent over waiting for him. But he gently turned her around and lifted her by the waist onto the counter. He slid himself inside of her and leaned into her ear. "I must see that beautiful face, always," he whispered to her.

"Do not count on always, Durward."

They fell into a rhythm and moaned softly together. Durward had never felt more like a true man than that moment, deep inside his gypsy woman. She reached up, knocking his tricorn off and grabbing one of his horns. It pained him in the sweetest way. The gesture made him thrust ferociously until he found his release inside of her, and she followed.

Enigma collapsed over her and didn't move until she touched the back of his neck, proving that this was real and not a figment of his imagination. They stared at each other a long while before moving and straightening up. He helped her to her feet and smoothened out her dress and cloak. She did the same for him and her soft hands ran through his hair, pushing back some stray strands. The crimson woman picked his hat up off of the floor and placed it back on his head. Durward's hands rested on her waist and he did not want to let her go.

"I must leave," she said, looking ashamed.

"What is your name?" He asked suddenly. He needed more from her, and she had neglected to give it to him. After this powerful connection, he could not allow her to depart. Had she not felt the tides of fate pulling at their strings?

"Alessandra," she admitted, her hand gliding down his face. She lifted her hood over her head and slid past him toward the door. 

"Wait! What is your household name?" he asked.

"What would that matter now?" She held her stomach protectively, and it made Durward uncomfortable. She could not be with child, surely, and have a tryst with a monster like he. He decided it was not important either way. Maybe she was simply sick to her stomach knowing what she had just done.

"So when I come to the great city, I may find you," he explained.

Her smile was soft and hurt and her striking eyes turned down. "I am of the Redmane's. I thought my hair might give it away." She adjusted her hood again nervously.

Redmane, of course. Durward reached out to her but she recoiled. "Will I see you again tomorrow?" he asked, hopeful.

Alessandra did not answer. She raised the curtain and let the light in. She left him with one final smile and departed, leaving him empty and alone and satisfied all at once. A shuffling from behind brought him to and he turned, startled to see the old woman there packaging a few garments.

"They're finished, Sir," she called to him.

Durward nearly choked at her presence. Did she hear us? He cleared his throat and walked back to the old lady, his eyes glistening in awe of her work. She was quick and talented. He wished for a solitary second that he had been given a human body with special abilities rather a lower goat half and horns. Perhaps then, Alessandra wouldn't have ran from him so quickly and this would be his wedding attire he was buying. But his horns had a fresh ache of ecstasy that he was not likely to forget.

His friends would be pleased with the woman's work and he relished in that thought. He left her with a few gold pieces that day, and a few extra for more information on the crimson beauty.

*****

A knock from the door and a call from Nebula brought Enigma back to life and he quickly shut the armoire. No more thoughts of lost loves, he decided. Thatcher would be arriving, he remembered, and they had important matters to discuss. Enigma knew Thatcher was never one for following the rules of the pirate league. And with Chesney Chaos at the head of the table, they were all doomed to a perilous fate.

He needed help, if his plan were to succeed. And if he wanted his crew to live on past this war, he would need aid of Thatcher and his uncanny ability to make people disappear. All they needed now was time, and quick witted understanding of the plan at hand. He could not, no, would not allow Captain Chaos to have Evie or Myles. He would attempt to send Nebula along as well, but he knew she'd stay by his side to the end, until they both laid bloody and ran through beside one another. It was time to put an end to Captain Chaos.