The sea sprite, no larger than a starfish, sat on the harlot’s motionless chest. She laughed as she dipped a hand into the blood pouring slowly out of the body. “Has immortality turned you into a poet?”
Dylan’s shoulders lifted as he cleaned the blood off of the dagger. “Thanks to you, I have a lot of time to think while the Silver Wave is docked.”
“You can leave any time you want.” She raised her dripping fingers to her lips.
“Some day,” he muttered, “but not today. I still have half a world and a hundred women to see before I die.”
Ten straight years aboard the corsair, ten years bound to the sea and all her ways was not enough to deter him. Having amassed a small fortune for himself – and the crew – what need did he have to leave when life’s pleasures could merely be brought to him? His name had spread from England to Africa, and there was a lot more ocean for it to cover. Every assassin that failed to kill him only added to his fame, the legend that was Captain Dylan Osbert.