Ahoy, Neverbreeds!
Do you remember what happened between Angelina McFarland and James Hook when they first met in Neverland? Right! The apple…
For all the many years of your loving support and friendship, I want to give you something back today. It’s a bonus chapter to my fantasy romance NEVERLAND.
Read the encounter between Angel and Jamie once again, but this time from the perspective of a nefarious, if somewhat surprised, pirate captain. ;-)
So it’s one last time – Off to Neverland!
This is an exclusive excerpt of approximately 8,000 words.
You can read the full story of Angel & Hook in the books NEVERLAND and PAN’S REVENGE
With my teeth, I pull out the cork of the bottle and spit it over the railing. When I set the bottle’s mouth to my lips to drown the hangover of last night with a solid draught, however, not a single drop slides down my throat. “Who of you mangy dogs drank up all the rum?!” I yell across the quarter deck.
“I believe that was you, James,” answers Jack Smee with a sneer in his voice, which only he would dare do on this ship. Any other pirate on the Jolly Roger would turn tail at the prospect of walking the plank for such lack of manners in front of their captain.
Of course, Jack knows he’s safe from the sharks in the waters. I could happily do without each of these bilge rats, but not without my best friend and first mate. His loose tongue be damned, however.
“Ralph!” I call the cook who’s also in charge of stocks on board. When the long, slim man appears in front of me, I command, “Take a handful of men with you and go to the port. If I’m going to fancy a nip of rum tonight, there better be some in my quarters.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” Potato Ralph mutters and gathers the men for a little raid in town. It’ll be hours until their return. With a part of the crew missing, I refuse to set sails and spend another day looking for my treasure that Peter Pan, the carrion crow, stole from me years ago. I guess I’ll be drinking the afternoon away in a pub and playing cards instead.
I take off the black pirate hat with the even blacker feather and pull on the velvet purple brocade coat that we liberated a snooty biscuit eater from last week. The thing is tight, uncomfortable, and constricts my throat. By Davie Jones’ soggy grave, who would ever slip into such a rag voluntarily?
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Dutch
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Already translated.
Translated by Inge Badts
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Patricia Tessari
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