The first night was rough. The sun went down and took with it what little warmth was in the air. I snuggled as close to the fire as I could without setting myself ablaze, but it wasn’t enough. The cool wind tore through the air, tousling the trees and chilling my weary bones. My body shivered all night.

Finally, as the early sun began to peek through the clouds, I gave into the exhaustion and crashed. I’d no idea how much time had passed when I finally awoke. The sun was high in the sky, so I could only guess it was around noon. After a few rounds of boiled water, I decided to explore my surroundings.

I scaled the length of the beach, careful to keep the smoke of my fire within eyesight so I wouldn’t get lost. Sadly, I found nothing. No people. No ship debris. No sign of hope. Angry and defeated, I screamed to the skies and yelled at the vast ocean before me.

“Why?” I called out. “What do you want from me? Why even let me come back?” I kicked at the sand like a disgruntled child. “You should have just let me die!”

Just then, I heard the distinct sound of branches crunching underfoot and whipped around to see who was there. Strangely, I found no one. My eyes scanned the tall grass and the bushel of trees in the distance, hoping to catch a glimmer of movement. Still, I found nothing. Could it have been an animal?

Or was it possible that the island wasn’t as deserted as I thought?

“W-who’s there?”

No one answered, and a chill crept down my spine.

For the remainder of the day, I watched my back. I combed the long, rounded beach, searching for anything of use. All the while, my senses were in overdrive, listening for any sounds of life. No one surfaced, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. If someone did occupy the island with me, were they scared? Or were they dangerous?

Regardless, I’d probably starve to death before I ever found out. My stomach growled in protest from the lack of food. Two days was a long time without sustenance when you’re pregnant. Especially after expelling so much energy. The beach gave me nothing but a twisted bundle of fishing twine, broken sea glass, and driftwood. So, I scoured the edge of the forest and lucked out with a handful of crowberries that had yet to fade away with the turning season. I hauled up a couple of roots to nibble on, but they were raw and hard on my stomach. It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. I needed real food.

I spent hours untangling the mess of fishing line I found, hoping to fashion it into some sort of net. If I could catch a few fish, I’d be set. But, even with a real net, the chances were slim. Still, I tried. I walked out to the ocean until the water reached my waist and I stood with my makeshift net submerged below the surface. Waiting. Hoping.

My knees began to shake, and my legs went numb from the freezing November water. When I finally gave up, it was all I could do to get back to my camp. When I finally plunked down on my bed of tree boughs, I assessed my shoulder. It ached but it seemed to be healing alright and I removed the makeshift sling. I tossed another log on the fire and sidled up to thaw my frozen bones, crying to myself.

“I’m so sorry,” I spoke to the baby inside. My hands lovingly held the tiny bump that was my belly and tears flowed down my cheeks. “You never even got a chance to live.”

I gathered up the boughs to form a nest-like bed and curled into a ball. It was too cold to sleep, especially with wet clothes. I spent hours shivering and praying that Henry and my crew were okay. The very thought of him ceasing to exist was incomprehensible. The Queen had to have made it. It just had to. I repeated those words over and over until my mind began to wander with exhaustion. Eventually, my body gave in and crashed once more.

The next morning was bitter frosty. I peeled my stiff body from my crunchy bed, clothes still damp, and immediately tossed two logs on the glowing embers and stoked it with a thin stick. I knew I should have removed my clothes and let them dry, but I also knew I’d freeze to death if I did. That’s when I noticed something different about my camp. Something new. There in the sand sitting next to me was a thick, folded quilt and a bucket. My heart beat like mad and I craned my neck to search around. There were no signs of a visitor. Not even footprints in the sand. I scooted over and peered into the bucket.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered in delight.

Not only did someone leave me a warm, heavy blanket, they also left behind a bucket of water with two trout swimming around inside. I felt both excited and terrified because I had food and something to keep me warm. But it also confirmed my fear that I wasn’t alone.

“Uh, thank you!” I called out to no one.

Or someone.

I eagerly dipped a hand in the bucket and grabbed hold of a fish. It wiggled in my grasp, but I quickly knocked its head against a rock and grabbed my knife, expertly slitting the poor creature’s belly open. I’d gutted hundreds of fish in culinary school, as well as at the restaurant, so my hands moved with a memory of their own, removing the guts and cleaning the fish to the best of my ability. I grabbed a thin branch and skewered my breakfast before holding it over the open fire to cook. My mouth watered from the smell. I devoured the trout and then did the same with the second. After I’d filled my belly, I wrapped the heavy quilt around my shoulders and succumbed to the way my body begged to sleep.

The day had long disappeared before I opened my eyes again. Blackness surrounded me, and the fire raged by my side. For once, I actually found it a bit warm, thanks to the thick blanket. I peeled it open to let out some of the heat but screamed when I realized I was not alone.

“Good evenin’ to you, too,” the man said calmly. He crouched in the sand on the other side of the fire as he nibbled on something.

“W-who are you?” I demanded. Discreetly, I felt around under the blanket to ensure my knife was still in the pocket of my jacket. It was.

“Name’s Benjamin,” he replied.

“What do you want?”

His sharp jaw widened as a malicious grin spread across his dirty face and his dark, brooding eyes glared at me from under a thick brow. “Oh, I don’t believe you’re ready for that answer, sweetness.”

“My name is Dianna,” I sternly corrected.

Benjamin finished whatever he had been eating; some sort of baked good from what I could see and stood tall. He was a large man, height wise, with shoulder-length black hair that hung from underneath a tattered pirate’s hat. My visitor, clad in common pirate garb, made his way around the fire and over to me. His clunky leather boots stopped at my feet and he peered down, showing me the hint of a scar that ran through one of his black eyebrows. I held his gaze and dared not show fear.

“You’ll be comin’ with me now.”

“Indeed I won’t,” I told him stubbornly.

He sighed impatiently. “Look, sweetness, I have orders. You’re comin’ with me willingly or by force. I’m kind enough to let you choose.” My empty response was enough of an answer. “Have it your way.” Benjamin bent down and grabbed both my arms, hauling me to my feet. He spun me around, so my back was pressed against his chest and his hands began to feel me up.

“Excuse me!” I cried and elbowed him in the gut.

He spat out a puff of air and then grabbed me again. “Jesus! I was just checkin’ if you had weapons.”

“I’ll come willingly,” I gave in, “but you’ll keep your hands to yourself. Understand?”

The pirate clutched me by the arm and yanked hard, dragging me along as he headed off toward the forest. “You’re in no position to be makin’ orders.”

“Why? What did I do?”

He stopped, briefly, and glanced at me from over his shoulder. “You showed up.”

My throat tightened, along with every muscle in my body, and I swallowed hard against the dryness. Silently, I followed Benjamin into the woods. The only sound was that of the earth crunching beneath our boots and our labored breaths as we walked. He refused to release his grip around my arm, but at least it loosened.

We trudged along, through trees and over creeks. It seemed to go on forever. I tried to soak in our surroundings, to make a map in my head of how to get back in the event I escaped. But it was too dark. I could barely see five feet in front of me, so I settled for studying the Viking-like pirate before me. God, he was tall. More so than Henry. Heck, maybe even Finn who was an easy six and a half feet. In addition to a narrow sword sheathed at his side, Benjamin also had a large mallet and an array of knives dangling from his leather belt.

Clearly, he was not one to be messed with.

“So, do you live here on this island alone?” I asked him, thinking back to when he mentioned having orders. I waited for him to respond, which took a while. He seemed to carefully mull over his words.

“No.”

“How many of you are there?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, sweetness.”

“My name is Dianna,” I reminded him through gritted teeth. It made me think back to my time on The Devil’s Heart when the boys kept calling me wench. It royally pissed me off then, too.

“Whatever you say, sweetness.” His back was to me but, I swear, the grin could be heard in his response.

We walked some more until I could spot the moon’s reflection on the water glistening through the trees. We emerged from the forest and crossed the pebbly beach before stopping at the water’s edge as if waiting for something.

“What are we doing?” I dared ask.

“Waiting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously. But for what?” Or whom? I added to myself.

“For our ride,” the man replied and walked toward the water’s edge, pulling me behind.

I was about to protest, to kick the pirate in the leg and then take off running. But where would I go? What would I do? I had a knife. I could defend myself. But something told me I’d need more than just defence against Benjamin. The only way I was escaping his grip was if one of us died.

Suddenly, the glow of the moon on the ocean’s surface glistened and moved, creating a cascade of ripples. I stopped struggling against my captor and stared in awe as a dark object began to float to the top and bob there. Waiting.

It was an empty rowboat.

My mouth gaped. “How–”

“Just c’mon,” Benjamin ordered with a growl and yanked me toward the small wooden boat. “Get in.”

“Why?”

His brown eyes rolled under the shadow of his furrowed brow. “Because I told you to.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he assured me with a sly confidence.

I stood my ground. “No, I’m not some flighty country girl who washed ashore, you know. I’m a pirate.” I held my chin high. “A captain, in fact.”

Benjamin’s eyes widened as he leaned back and raised his brows. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t tell if he was just humoring me or not.

He held his hands out and glanced around in a mock fashion. “Where’s your ship, captain?”

“It… we hit that storm that just passed,” I told him, trying not to let my emotions show through in my words. “My crew were still aboard when I got thrown over the side.”

The pirate remained calm, eerily so, as he nodded. His eyes glancing down at the sand thoughtfully. He took a few steps toward me and stopped before taking in a deep breath. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Was he actually showing me mercy? Would he let me go? But before I could sigh in relief, he scooped me up and placed me in the rowboat. “You may have been the imaginary captain of some ship, but you’re a prisoner aboard mine now.” He jumped in beside me and grabbed the oars. “Get used to it, sweetness. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

I scrambled to a sitting position, panic hot in my veins. “You can’t just kidnap people!”

“Yes, I can.” His massive fists clutched the oars and paddled with ease. “This is my island.”

I let out a snort. “No one owns this island. It’s not even on the map.” Suddenly, my stomach tightened at the next thought that ran through my mind. “Besides, you’re taking me away from the island. Surely you don’t think this little thing can stand the open waters?”

“We’re not headin’ for open waters,” Benjamin informed me with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Then where–”

His head tipped in the direction behind me and I spun around on the narrow wooden plank. At first, I saw nothing. Just the open ocean and the cool silver glow of the moon. But, for a split second, that same cool silver glow… shimmered. As if it were a mirage. The closer we got, the more I could see the strange curtain-like veil. All I could think of were the dozens of movies I’d seen, where you see an invisible object, how it sometimes shudders. Like it doesn’t belong.

I held my hand out to touch the ghostly curtain as our little rowboat slowly passed through it. It felt as cold as the November sea below us and as soft as silk sheets. But my moment of awestricken wonder came to a screeching halt at the next sight before me. It seemed that the magical veil was hiding something. Something… big.

My eyes raked over the enormous vessel before us. Blackened wood covered every visible inch, canons lined the sides, and four large masts towered to the clouds. Portholes were aglow with candlelight, as was the double-decker stern that hung from the back with gorgeous stained-glass windows. My stomach tightened with every dip the oars put in the water. I was being taken prisoner aboard a pirate ship for the second time in my life and I had no way of escape.

“There she is,” Benjamin spoke. “Get a good look, sweetness. It’ll be your home for a long time.”

I spun back around and looked at the man with panicked eyes, begging for mercy. But he only grinned maliciously and let out a deep, growly chuckle.

“Welcome to The Black Soul.”