Devourer of Men: A Captain Hook, Crocodile, and Wendy Darling Reimagining
Chapter 3

Getting inside the Captain’s room takes no effort at all.

Mills, the innkeeper, was all too happy to give me an extra key when I told her I wanted to surprise my very best friend Captain James Hook.

“He looked like he was in need of one,” Mills said. “A friend that is.”

“Oh you have no idea,” I’d answered.

When I push inside his room, I replace him fast asleep in a rickety chair, his pistol limp in his hand. It isn’t even the witching hour. The night is still young.

Leaving the door open, I cross to him and bend down. There is just a foot between us.

I take in a breath and come away with the scent of pirate. Rum and spice and old cigars.

His mouth is slightly ajar, the even breaths of sleep stealing past his lips.

He’s shaved in the days since he left me.

Why?

He looks younger by half. Less rakish pirate, more merchant’s son pretending to be something else.

Perhaps he’s trying to hide from me, as if a beast like myself wouldn’t know him in the dark.

There is an odd telling in my chest, a rising thump of my heart.

As I sailed here, I plotted all of the ways I’d make Captain Hook scream. But now that I’m standing in front of him, a scream doesn’t seem quite as satisfying as a moan.

Perhaps I’ll toy with him first. Perhaps I will enjoy it.

Quietly, I pull out the other chair from the table by the window and sit in a slouch.

The Captain doesn’t move.

An oil lamp is still glowing on the bedside table and it fills the room with heavy, flickering light.

I pull out a handful of peanuts and crack one open and wait.

He comes to at half past midnight.

His lashes flutter against his cheeks and then he straightens, stretches out his legs, then remembers he should be on alert for very scary beasts and jolts upright.

When he spots me across the room, his instincts take over and he lifts the pistol and pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits the wall just over my shoulder and the plaster pebbles, plinking to the floor.

“You missed me, Captain,” I say and toss a peanut shell. “I missed you too.”

He’s on his feet in a flash and because he’s a little drunk and disoriented, I easily dodge out of his path.

I’m faster too. Being an ancient supernatural monster does have some perks.

He spins, eyes wide. “You,” he says.

“Me,” I answer and toss a peanut into my mouth, talking around the food. “Did you expect someone else? Don’t make me jealous, Captain.”

He barrels at me again and I let him corral me in the span of his arms.

He runs us back and I hit the opposite wall with an exaggerated umph and he presses into me.

His breath is hot, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “I’m going to kill you.”

I laugh a little. “You keep saying that.”

“Stop fucking smiling!”

“Maybe you should try smiling more, Captain.” I flash him my teeth. “Perhaps I’ll give you a reason to smile.”

He scoffs and brings the sharp tine of his hook to my throat. It digs into my flesh, piercing skin, and when the first hot well of blood comes to the surface, I’m hard.

My heart is racing in my ears and my stomach is see-sawing and I fucking love it.

Will he kill me?

Death might be the sister of adventure. The heart surely thumps the same.

“Go on,” I tell him. “Spill my blood and see what happens.”

What will happen? I don’t know. I’m inspired to replace out.

“You lied to me,” he spits out.

He’s referring to Wendy Darling.

“You left me,” I counter.

“I should have killed you while you lay unconscious.”

I tsk-tsk. “And what would your father have thought of that? Killing a man while he lay unconscious under your roof? Poor form, Captain.”

He grits his teeth and leans into me with more of his weight, pushing the hook deeper into my throat. But now that he’s closer, there’s no mistaking the bulge between my thighs.

I smile again.

All of the color drains from his face.

The tension fades from his body and he staggers back.

So that’s how it is.

I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or delighted to have found a sore spot. I was just on a discovery mission and went with the first, most obvious one.

The Captain clearly has daddy baggage to unpack.

I do too, if I’m being honest. I just ignore mine better. Vane and I both. We grew up as the Darkland elite, fed a lie. We may be voracious beasts, but there are some things we could not swallow.

“Shut up,” the Captain says limply.

“What purpose would that serve?”

He collapses into his chair, still a little disoriented, maybe a little defeated.

The unease in my chest…is that what guilt is supposed to feel like?

“Captain,” I say.

He blinks up at me. His dark brown hair is ruffled, a little dry and wavy from the salty sea air. He’s tired and worn and yes I think that might be guilt. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a moment of guilt in my life except for when my sister died.

I go to the table and pour a shot of rum and hand it to him. “Drink.”

There is a careful glint in his eye as he regards the glass, then checks the bottle behind him.

“I can assure you, Captain, if I wanted you dead, I would just eat you. Every tasty little bite.”

He huffs and takes the offering and slings back the rum. He grimaces from the burn and then drags his knuckles over his mouth, wiping away the excess drops.

What beautiful, wet lips.

There is a throb low in my gut that I wish I could mistake for something other than desire.

This is no time for fucking and yet…

“What are you doing here?” he finally asks.

“A very stupid question when you clearly know the answer.”

The glass lists in his hand, so I take it from him.

“She’s not here,” he says. “I’ve been searching for any clue for days and no one has heard of her.”

“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong places and asking the wrong questions.”

His brow furrows as he scowls up at me. “I know how to ask fucking questions.”

I drag my chair to the center of the room and spin it around so I can sit on it backward and drape my arms over the back. “Your pride is getting in the way.”

“It is not,” he says, sharp with defensiveness.

“Ask me if I’ve found any clues,” I tell him.

His gaze narrows more and his mouth turns down at the corners. “Have you?” The words come out quietly, burning with hope.

“Yes.”

He sits forward. “How? When?”

“I am efficient. And persuasive.”

“And you call me prideful.”

“I said your pride was getting in the way. You can be prideful and not trip over it.”

“Get to the point, beast.”

I lean forward like I’m about to tell him a secret. He leans in too, like he’s about to hear one.

“I met a girl last night,” I start.

He rolls his eyes and sits back dramatically and I taste the tinge of jealousy on the air.

“And when I was buried balls deep in her sweet pussy⁠—”

His jaw flexes with the grinding of his molars.

“—she told me a tale.”

This is only partly true. I just like poking him to see how he may dance.

The truth is, I did meet a girl, but the information was acquired through the help of a banished fae queen who has the power to dig inside minds and extract worthwhile information.

There was no fucking involved.

“Let me guess,” the Captain says. “She told you that you were the best lay she’d ever had?”

“Well that goes without saying.”

He scoffs.

“I really do fuck like a god. Ask anyone.”

“I would rather not.”

“I could show you.”

He fidgets, shifts his weight, and the chair takes note of his agitation, punctuating it with a loud squeak. His face burns hot. I think I quite like him without facial hair. There’s nowhere for him to hide.

“Quit trying to derail the conversation,” he says. “Wendy. Stick to Wendy.”

I spread out my long legs and the Captain’s gaze follows the movement and I catch him eyeing my crotch. “The girl told me a friend of hers had a grandmother who spent time in the Tower many years ago and that she shared a cell with a woman named Wendy.”

The oil lamp catches a draft and the flame dances, the light flickering across the Captain’s face as his eyes jump back to mine. “Wendy Darling?”

“Yes.”

The chair creaks again. “Is she still alive?”

I shrug. “I’m to see the girl—” I pull out my pocket watch and the Captain winces at the ticking, “—in an hour and ten.”

“At this ungodly hour?”

“Everland does not sleep.”

“Where?”

I cluck my tongue at him. “You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to work together, Captain. After all, you left me unconscious back on Neverland and sailed off into the sunset, absent a beast.” I stand. “So I really must be going.”

“Wait.” He stands too and reaches out for me, catching me by the wrist.

I look down at his skin on mine. His is smooth and unmarred and a little baked by the sun. Mine is pale and storied in ink and scars.

We are a dichotomy, the Captain and I. He wants to forget who he is and I am afraid I might not remember who I was.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly and frowns at his own admission, as if it’s surprised him, sneaking past his lips, traitorous little words they are.

Do I care if he’s sincere? Do I care if we search for Wendy together or apart? It might be fun to make a game of it.

But because I like torturing prideful men, I say, “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Christ.” He rolls his eyes and drops my arm. “I’m sorry I left you unconscious! I’m sorry I sailed away without you. Was that loud enough for you?”

“Well you don’t have to shout, Captain.”

He points his hook at me. “I change my mind. I’m back to murdering you.”

I laugh and turn for the door. “Come, Captain. Let’s get a drink and some food while we wait for our meeting. I promise to be a good boy and only eat what’s on my plate.” I wink at him over my shoulder. His face is pink again and I think I’ve never seen anything so fucking delectable.

With a ragged exhale, the Captain turns down his oil lamp and follows me out the door.