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

We are escorted up a back staircase by a servant, then deposited into two connecting rooms. We’re told supper is at six-sharp and that we’re to see the court tailor at two for more appropriate attire.

I’m always in the mood to be pampered.

When the servant is gone and I’m alone, I walk the perimeter of the room, taking in the details.

It’s appointed well with a stone hearth and a large mantle. An oil painting framed in a gilded frame hangs above, depicting a medieval battle between the witches and one of Everland’s many kings.

Next to the hearth, is a desk, then two red velvet wingback chairs that sit beside a wall of windows that overlook the castle’s inner courtyard.

The bed is square against the wall I now share with the Captain and directly across from it is a door leading to a washroom.

Tucked behind the door, I find a bar cart stocked with brandy and rum.

I make my way there and pour myself a shot.

Glass in hand, I go to the wingback, drop into it, and light a cigarette.

Is there anything more comforting than velvet and burning tobacco and warm brandy?

I think not.

The door connecting my room with the Captain’s rattles from the other side but the lock holds fast.

“Beast!” the Captain yells. “Open the door.”

I take a swill from my glass.

The door handle turns back and forth.

“Roc!”

I close my eyes and rest my head against one of the chair’s curved sides. The sun is pouring in through the windows now, warming the velvet.

The Captain lets out a disgruntled sigh, and then his footsteps stalk from the door, out into the hallway, and then he’s bursting into my room.

“Why didn’t you unlock the door?”

I open my eyes.

He steps back.

My mother said I came out of the womb with eyes as bright as jade.

My father would tell me, “Every time you looked at her, she would mark herself with an X to ward off evil.”

He was boasting, of course. But that wasn’t how ten-year-old me took it.

Ten-year-old me believed that the reason his mother threw herself off a cliff was because she couldn’t stand to exist beneath the gaze of her eldest son.

I know my attention is both the bait and a weapon.

I try to use it responsibly but sometimes I forget.

The Captain licks his lips. He gets control of himself and turns to his frustration because it’s always easier to be angry than it is to be flustered.

“Beast,” he says like it’s a curse word.

“Why didn’t I open the door?” I repeat back to him. “Because I didn’t feel like it.”

He grumbles and his dark brow forms a V over his eyes.

The Captain is used to bossing people around and I think the fact that I would rather eat rocks than be commanded makes him bratty.

And a bratty Captain has me feeling feelings I’d rather not feel. Like the desire to throw him onto the bed and blow that frustration right off his face.

Innuendo fucking intended.

But I’ve already taken his hand. How much more can I devour?

And for that matter, how much of Wendy can I take?

For the first time in my entire fucking life, I am seeded with doubt.

I don’t like it.

I take a hit from the cigarette and let the smoke create a veil over my eyes.

The Captain goes on, muttering about my lackadaisical nature and how it will be my undoing. He gestures with his hand and hook as he talks, pointing the sharp tine at me.

“Are you even listening to me?” he says a few minutes later.

“I’m sorry, what?”

With a sigh, he goes to the bar and pours himself a drink and slings it back in one gulp.

I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and fire ignites in my chest.

He sets the glass down and shuts the door with the curve of his hook. When he returns to me, he lowers his voice. “Whatever we’re doing here, it seems like a bad idea. Something isn’t right.”

He’s correct about that.

Something has changed about our Darling, Wendy. She’s different but I can’t quite put my finger on how yet.

“What is your plan?” the Captain asks.

“Plan? You think too highly of me. There is no plan.”

He gives me a look like I’ve just greatly disturbed him. “You must be joking.”

“Must I?”

He huffs out.

I take another hit, exhale.

“Why don’t you seem worried?” he asks.

“Worrying is for nuns and rabbits.”

“What…what the bloody hell!” He lifts his arms and then lets them drop dramatically to his sides. “You are impossible.”

“I think you mean impeccable.”

“No I don’t!”

“Perhaps impenetrable? No that’s not right either. I am definitely penetrable.” I give him a grin. He crosses his arms over his chest, his hook sticking out, and he inhales long and deep.

He makes it far too easy.

I take another draw from the cigarette and hold the smoke in my lungs.

“Something is wrong,” he says again, lower, more incessantly.

I exhale a purposeful breath and the smoke clouds in a beam of sunlight. “I know,” I tell him and his shoulders drop with relief.

Grounding out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, I get up and meet him on the rug. “Wendy was afraid and it wasn’t of us.”

The Captain frowns. “How do you know?”

“I could hear it in her heartbeat first, and in the tremor in her voice second.”

His frown deepens. “You think she’s in danger?”

“Very much so. And I would bet it has something to do with the Crown Prince.”

The Captain nods and paces away, his arms now clasped behind his back. “The prince isn’t her son?”

“No, but it does beg many questions. How long has Wendy been queen? Does he hold a grudge against his stepmother? And most importantly, where the fuck is the king?”

“Wendy’s husband, you mean.”

“Yes, that idiot.”

He glances at me and speaks what we’ve both been thinking. “Do you suppose she had a choice in this marriage?”

“When does a woman ever have a choice when it comes to kings?”

The Captain grits his teeth.

I share his same anger, but I just hide mine better. No sense showing my cards. Yet.

The anger will show it’s face when it needs to, when the moment counts.

“What are we going to do? This is far more complicated than I thought.”

I walk to the windows that overlook the courtyard below. Some castles only use their courtyards for function and practicality. Livestock and water reserves and crop storage. Everland’s is for show. Well manicured gardens and a giant stone fountain in the center. From up here, it’s easier to see the trimmed boxwood hedges were planted to form an intricate design of swirls and arches.

There are people milling about, women in ornate dresses carrying lace parasols and men in linen coats smoking as they walk.

All of it is normal enough, but there is an underlying thread of something here.

“We’ll attend this supper tonight,” I tell him. “And then we’ll know more.”

“And if we are walking into a trap?”

I turn around and smile at him. “Oh Captain. You should know by now, crocodiles are very hard to catch.”