Cresting Waves

The Hostage

Searing heat on the underside of his jaw jerks Zayn awake, his body recoiling from the source of the pain.

"Don't move, don't make a sound, or I'll shoot!" A low voice hisses above him, making him freeze. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open, straining in the dark to see the person threatening him. With a pistol. A hot pistol. Shit. The burnt skin on his neck throbs.

In the faint moonlight, Zayn makes out the tall figure of a man, dressed in a billowing shirt and tight trousers. It's too dark to make out much else, but Zayn only has one guess-pirate. He opens his mouth, and the pistol jerks closer, making Zayn flinch.

"Scream, and I'll blow your head off." The man says, voice quiet but firm. Zayn's mouth snaps shut. "Get up."

"I'm not wearing any pants," Zayn protests in a whisper, bare feet sliding against the sheets.

"Your sleep clothes will suffice. Get up. " The man's voice is low and drawling, but his tone is harried. The click of the pistol loading is loud in the quiet room. Zayn swallows.

Slowly, he folds back the duvet, climbing off the mattress and giving the end of the gun a wide berth. Standing, he smooths the long sleep shirt over his bare thighs, trying to contain a blush at his state. As soon as he's up, the man wraps a large hand around his upper arm, shoving the barrel of the gun against his back.

"Walk. Don't make a sound." Zayn takes a shuddering breath, his heart beating hummingbird fast. He can feel the pulse of it in the burn below his jaw, a lightning crackle of pain on the singed skin.

The man leads him through Zayn's own house, eerily quiet. They move through the servants' passageways, emerging on the side street behind the grand manor.

"What of my sisters?" Zayn stutters out, stumbling barefoot on the cold cobblestones. "My parents?" Whose body had made the steel of the gun glow red hot?

"No harm will come to them if you comply."

"Comply with what?"

There's screaming further in the town, and Zayn jerks his head around. In the distance, something is on fire. The man leads him through the quiet streets, ducking into a dark alley when a group of people run past, in obvious distress. At their heels is a band of pirates-or at least that's what Zayn assumes. If one is here holding him captive, there must be others in the town as well.

"C'mon." The man leads him further, in a descent down the island. When he realizes they're headed toward the port, Zayn's heartbeat picks up further. He digs his heels into the rough stone, pitching his weight backward.

"Wait, wait. No. Where are we going?"

The pirate grunts, yanking Zayn upwards into a stumbling walk again. "To the Captain."

"To the ship? Wait, no, please! I can't-I can't swim!"

This stops the man short, pausing them both just before they step onto the worn boards of the pier. "You live on an island and you can't swim? "

Zayn can feel a blush creeping up his neck, even as his heart rabbits in his chest. "Please don't take me to the ship."

The man shakes off his disbelief, forcing Zayn forward. "Captain's orders. You will board his vessel." They sneak to the end of the pier, past the sleeping harbor master. It's only the hard press of steel to his back that keeps Zayn's mouth shut. Still, he struggles when the pirate tries to force him into a small dinghy.

"Get in quietly or I'll throw you in the sea," he threatens, voice low and hard.

On wobbly legs, Zayn lowers himself onto the boat, nearly fainting as the wood tilts and shifts under his feet. "I'm going to throw up," he states, sitting down suddenly and pressing a fist to his mouth.