She dragged herself through the thick foliage to the place her kin had once called home. It hadn't been hers until after they'd left. Until she'd been freed of them and their chains. She hadn't even known what the woman who'd birthed her looked like. All she'd known were their voices, muted by the heavy stones and the steel door. Only one had ever dared to open it and reveal himself, to ease her confinement for a little while every other day.
The thought of her fratello's stories made her pause a moment. These strangers who'd invaded her home... could one of them be...? No, of course not. But... her brother  had told her that's how it happened, hadn't he? A foreign prince arrived on a desolate shore, seeking refuge from a devious foe, instead finding... his true love.

Spurred on by memories, she continued, clawing at the dirt and out-sticking roots. Faster and faster she went until she perceived that familiar scent of festering rot. She rolled down the slope into the stream surrounding the empty town. Now she could move a lot better. All she had to do was find —
She froze. There, in the distance, she saw them. Captivated, she lay down in the water, resting her chin on her fists. They were so... pretty. So different from all the others she'd seen, already marked by Death. Even from so far away and in the dark of night, with little moonlight, she could tell there wasn't a blemish on their skin. They appeared strong and able. One had light hair, but the other... pitch-black. Like hers.

'The princess gazed upon the prince and found him alike. Her equal. She knew then he was the one for her. The only one.'

A loud holler suddenly drew her attention. She looked to her left, where another man gestured wildly with his arms. She'd seen him before. He was the one who'd thrown a piece of wood into the water, nearly hitting her with it.
A snarl fell from her lips. If it hadn't been for the other one being near, she would've made him pay dearly. She would've dragged him down and delivered him to Death. Perhaps she still could.

She moved closer, slithering through the shallow water without making a sound. A glow illuminated the darkness, casting a warm light on the man with the raven hair. Her heart skipped a beat. Those fair features, the little curve turning his nose up... il suo principe.

Another scream tore through the night. She raised herself to see what had happened. The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled at discovering the fourth man had disturbed Death's shrine. How dare he? These bastardi had come onto her island, disturbed her peace and freedom, disturbed Death's offering!
She wouldn't let them go unpunished. She'd kill and deliver them to la Morte. All except her principe. She wouldn't hurt him. She would make him stay with her.
Forever.

***

"Get me out of here! Get me out!"

Luca frantically clambered over the many bloated corpses with bluish skin and black lesions, desperately seeking any support that wasn't decomposing, insect-infested flesh. But the more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the pit, the bodies swallowing him.
Lionardo lay flat on his stomach while Adriano and Giovanni held his legs. He reached for Luca, but the sailor was in such a wild frenzy that he kept slipping out of Lionardo's grasp. Finally, Lionardo moved further over the edge and snatched Luca's wrist.

"Tira!" he cried. "Pull now!"

Adriano and Giovanni pulled with all their might until Lionardo and Luca were both out of the plague pit. Luca crawled to his feet, wiped his hands on his shirt, and spun three times on the spot before spitting on the ground. Giovanni hurriedly followed his example.
They each did the ridiculous routine three times before Lionardo sharply called them to order. "Hey, teste di cazzo, that's enough." He turned to Adriano, who inspected the bodies in the torchlight. "Should we be concerned?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Adriano, I need you to be sure," insisted Lionardo. "I can't have these two fall apart on us, nor can I allow the plague to spread again when we find a way off this isola."

"What do you expect me to do?" retorted Adriano sharply. "Take one out to examine them? That'll really get Gio and Luca to calm down."

"Mind your tone with me, medico."

The word struck harder than the reprimand. Adriano's jaw tightened as he glared at Lionardo. There it was — that familiar shift, that subtle straightening of Lionardo's spine, that commanding voice that no longer spoke to him but down to him. The Maestro d'Armi. The officer. His superior.
Adriano had endured that tone daily from the others, from men who sneered at his ink-stained fingers and mocked his preference for lamplight and silence over wine, gambling, and fighting alongside the other men. Most of them had owed their lives to Adriano, yet they had never thanked him for it. He had stitched them back together piece by piece, kept vigil through the night while fever raged and death hovered close, only to be dismissed come morning as just a bookworm and the one who 'nobody would mourn'.

He had learned to bear it from them. But from Lionardo, who would praise him when they were alone, who had always murmured sweet nothings into Adriano's ear as he was bent over the table or lying on his back in his cot, it stung. The resentment curdled in the medic's chest. Fool that he was for allowing the man to command him even then.  

"The bodies have been buried for some time," stated Adriano factually, "but they haven't fully decomposed. The Moors believe the plague is spread through fluids and not touch, yet that was only a theory. So again, Maestro, I don't know."

"What do we do then?" asked Luca, his anxiety growing with every second. "Adriano, for God's sake, what do I do?"

Giovanni shushed his friend. "Luca, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! You weren't the one stuck in a plague pit!"

"Well, if you'd stopped pacing like I told you, you wouldn't have gotten stuck in the first place!"

As Lionardo tried to keep them from fighting, Adriano rolled his eyes and walked around the pit, stopping here and there to shine the torch over the bodies. Suddenly, he heard a rustle behind him. He turned around, the fire turning with him... and illuminating a pair of light shimmering dots looking straight at him.

With a startled gasp, Adriano recoiled, the torch slipping from his numb fingers and striking the ground. His breath caught, and before he could think better of it, he reached for the one person who'd never failed to protect him.
Lionardo was already there, alerted by his exclamation. Whatever he'd been doing was abandoned at once. Giovanni and Luca faded from notice as Lionardo steadied Adriano, pulling him close. "Adriano," he said, the edge gone from his voice. "What is it?"

"T-There's someone watching us," whispered Adriano, his frightened gaze fixed on where the eyes had been.

"What? Where?"

"The reeds."

Lionardo picked up the torch. He shone it on the patch of leafy twigs guarding a stream. The reeds moved as the light travelled over them. The Maestro d'Armi jumped, landing in the middle of the brook with a loud splash. Adriano darted toward the water upon hearing a second splash, ready to help Lionardo fight whomever was hiding. But the torchlight revealed only rippling water, mud, and a fish hurriedly swimming away.

"Nothing," murmured Lionardo.

"Someone was there, Lionardo. I'm sure of it."

"Well, there's no one now. Let's just — oh, no."

Adriano followed Lionardo's tense expression. Giovanni and Luca were shaking like leaves, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Oh, no, indeed. If there was one thing all sailors had in common, regardless of their rank, it was their superstition.

"M-M-Maledetto," stammered Giovanni. "This place is cursed!"

A gust of wind swept through the trees then, snuffing the fallen torch and plunging them into deeper shadow. The darkness pressed closer, alive with unseen movement. It was enough for the two sailors to crack under the pressure of their nonsensical beliefs. 

"Save yourselves!" yelled Luca.

"No, idioti, stay here!" Lionardo cursed loudly as the two fled into the thicket, their frightened screams following them into the night. "Mannagia, I have to go after them."

"No, don't." Adriano seized Lionardo's wrist in alarm. "I mean... there's no way off the isola. They're not going anywhere."

"Adriano, the lagoon is filled with Venetian patrols looking for Genoan survivors. Those screams probably alerted them already. If they find Gio and Luca, it's only a matter of time before they find us."

"Or they'll hear them crying about the pit and not come near. The Venetians might not be looking over here at all if they know about the plague from those who fled this place."

"But —"

The swift pressure of Adriano's lips against his stole Lionardo's words. He kissed him hard and fisted his hand in Lionardo's shirt, anchoring him there, keeping him from chasing after the stupid sailors. If Lionardo pulled away now, if he broke this moment, it would all be over. So Adriano didn't let go. If anything, he pressed closer.
For a heartbeat Lionardo did nothing. Then his eyes slid shut. Adriano hated how easily it happened, like instinct taking over. He hated how his own pulse betrayed him as the golden-haired Phoebus leaned in, mistaking urgency for want. The contact was a means, nothing more. 

This isn't what you think, Adriano thought desperately, even as his nails scratched the long scar on Lionardo's chest. I'm only doing this to stop you. Nothing more. Nothing like... 

Lionardo's groping hands sneaked to the small of his back, pressing their lower bodies together. Adriano swallowed a sound that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with fear. He willed himself to remember that this kiss was a tool. A distraction, a restraint dressed up as intimacy. Nothing else mattered right now. 

"Don't go," he breathed against Lionardo's mouth, one hand cupping the man's face. "Don't put yourself in danger. Lio, please, stay here... with me."

To his great relief, Lionardo relented with a sigh and a nod. He chuckled softly at Adriano and leaned in. Adriano let him capture his mouth again, parting his lips and moaning as Lionardo greedily explored his warmth with that skilful tongue. The world narrowed to the feel of him, to the heat, the weight, the familiar pull. Then it all came crashing down.
Adriano's chest tightened. A thick knot of discomfort coiled inside him. He pressed a hand against Lionardo's shoulder, attempting to create space.

"L-Lio, wait ple—ah!"

Lionardo had thrust his hips against Adriano, letting him know just how much he wanted him. Adriano's pulse surged with anxiety. Summoning every ounce of resolve, he shoved Lionardo, forcing enough distance to break the kiss. 
Lionardo blinked in surprise, amber eyes wide and searching. Frustration and disbelief flickered across his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but Adriano was faster.

"I'm sorry! I just..." he swallowed and ran a trembling hand through his damp hair. "I don't feel comfortable with all these bodies lying around. Can we, um... close the pit? Maybe put the skeletons in, too? Then find some place where we're less in the open?"

Lionardo's confusion at Adriano's retreat gave way for his usual severe expression. He exhaled slowly, tugging on his clothes to straighten them, and said, "Yes, you're right. Forgive me for being so..." 

He didn't finish his sentence. Adriano didn't want him to, either. A brief silence fell between them, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the low, uneasy stirring of the brook. 

"Let's light more torches first," continued Lionardo then, his tone firm, betraying only a hint of tension beneath the usual command. "We're deep enough inland to not draw attention from the shore. I still don't like having Gio and Luca alone out there, though."

Adriano waved his concern away, trying to sound as casual as possible. "They'll be fine. What are the odds anything will happen?"

***

"Corri!"

"I am running!"

She heard them shouting through the trees, her blood humming when she realised they were headed back towards the sea. Good. Even if she couldn't cut them off, there was nowhere else to run. She had her traps there. Traps she used to hunt. To kill.
She pulled herself across the ground, groaning as the coarse earth and bush branches cut her skin. How she hated dry land! It was crude, dirty, and far too hot. The water was where she belonged. Where she thrived. Where she would take and devour them, as she had those who'd remained.

The inviting smell of brine made her move faster. Her arms were shaking from the exertion, but she didn't stop until she reached the cliff and dropped into the fresh, comforting water below. With no need to go up again for breath, she swam out into the sea, staying close to the bottom. Nimbly, she moved between the rocks, ignoring the fish she sometimes played with. An octopus hid in its lair, while the many crustaceans scattered about, but she let them be. They weren't her meal today. Those humans were.

Dove sono? Where are they?

Finally, distorted voices reached her. Blurred shapes appeared above her. She swam up, making sure they couldn't see her.

"Gio, take that beam," ordered one. "We'll tie it to this one and that piece of sail."

"What about il Maestro and Adriano?" the other asked.

"They're on their own. I'm not staying on this plague-infested island one minute longer. I'd rather the Venetians kill me. Now get over here and help me!"

Poor fools. They actually believed they could get away. No one escaped la Morte. None but her. She had survived. She would always survive.

They waded further into the water, frightening all the fish with their wild splashing. Her eyes followed them greedily, gleaming in anticipation as she saw which trap they were about to set off. She waited, counting every steady heartbeat. Almost... 
The seaweed thread their make-shift flotation pulled aside triggered the underwater mechanism for the crossbow-like device she'd concealed between the corals, and the spear shot upward. The one who'd defiled Death's shrine hollered in pain as the sharp tip impaled his leg. Agile like a swordfish, she swam to the rope attached to the spear and pulled with all her might. Down, further down, to the very bottom.

The man was desperately trying to free himself and swim back to the surface. His companion shouted his name. She had to move quickly now. She couldn't let him rob her of her offering to Death. Using the undertow to her advantage, she swished and whipped her lower limb to propel herself up. Her hands gripped the man's legs, and she climbed up his body. His eyes widened in horror when he finally saw her. He opened his mouth to scream — a fatal mistake.
In a curtain of air bubbles, she lunged and sank her sharp teeth into the man's neck, tearing his flesh away. He clawed at the wound, but it was to no avail. She bit again, his face this time. Oh, that taste! So sweet. So good.

The water darkened. The sailor stopped convulsing. She held him in her arms and gazed into his open, empty eyes as life slipped away. Excitement buzzed through her. She'd forgotten what it was like to have fresh meat, fresh blood, all for her. It'd been months since she'd killed that fisherman who'd ventured too close to her home. She would take this one for her collection. For her own altar to La Morte. Him and —
Her murderous gaze shifted up, meeting the silent panic of the other man who'd dived in to save his friend. She bared her teeth in a hiss, and he hurried back to the surface. No, no, he couldn't get away!

With tremendous speed, she left the dead sailor and went after the man. She stretched her arm as far as she could, intending to pull him under by his leg, but he kicked too wildly for her to get near enough. The rocks suddenly appearing before her further hindered her pursuit. He climbed onto them and jumped from one to the other.
She broke through the waves to watch him flee. No matter. She would wait, hidden and patient. In the meantime, Death beckoned.