pleading the belly.
Her sword finds the hollow of his throat, the pressure enough to break the skin and draw blood, but her gaze doesn’t lower on the crimson drops. She keeps staring at him even as she shows her teeth in a silent growl, an untold threat, as he smirks back, the curve of his lips all too familiar. So are his eyes, so blue and intense, sparkling with the perfect mix of mischief and smugness – she knows those eyes, has drowned in them more than once. Those eyes on someone else’s face – same mouth, same jaw, same freaking hair – are unsettling, and she finds herself blinking, once, hard, before remembering it isn’t him. Same lineage, same blood running through their veins, but not him.
She puts more pressure on his throat, satisfied when the smirk turns into a grimace – in that moment, a pirate through and through.
“He’s never been into blondes,” the man still dares saying – he’s got some nerve, she’ll give him that. “Always brunettes, just like his mama. Really twisted, if you ask me. But then again…”