Free The Pirate Fairy by A.J. Llewellyn

ship and renamed her. Freedom came with piracy, and he had a lot more success than some. He had often dreamed of returning to the port in Tarragona, and had done one time, about three years after his imprisonment. Christoph had no longer worked at the jail but when he’d asked a few locals in one of the tavernas, the innkeeper had remembered him.
    “He was a sad one. They say he was married but was in love with another.” He dropped his voice. “They say it was a man. One of his prisoners. He left the island long ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”
    Denny might never know if he himself had been the prisoner Christoph had loved, but when he was honest with himself he realized he probably wasn’t. They’d shared an intense physical connection but their contact had been brief. Denny had learned over the years that sensuality did not mean love. Men could share the highest form of intimacy and not have genuine love feelings for one another. Denny had found lovers who pleased him, and he them, but until he’d met Merritt, love had eluded him.
    Barthelmass urged Denny to work his wings again, but this time wouldn’t touch Denny to help him. Denny tried hard and managed to get some action, and he did until his still-sore wing smacked the wall and sent spirals of pain shooting through his back and shoulder.
    “You’re getting there. Wait until you can fly. You won’t regret your curse then.”
    “How do you know? You don’t have wings, do you?”
    “Well,” Barthelmass demurred, “my ladylove says my cock flies her to the moon.”
    Denny winced. “I could have lived without knowing that.”
    Barthelmass shrugged. “You asked.”
    True enough. Denny finished every last bite of food and drink then finally plucked up enough courage to look at his face in the mirror above his desk. He looked horrible.
    “We’ll send somebody to give you a shave later,” Barthelmass promised. “And we need to take care of your straggly hair.”
    Straggly? Denny touched his sparse hair that had once been long and luxurious. He looked an old man. An old man with wings. Cripes. I’m never gonna get laid again . What the hell had happened to him?
    “You haven’t been sipping nectar,” Barthelmass told him. “You’re a fairy. You’re supposed to drink flower nectar and honey. Don’t worry. We can make you look okay. You know what? Frogmorten can help you.”
    “Who?”
    “The humanized bumblebee. He pollinates flowers all the time. If you ask him nicely, I bet he can accommodate you.”
    “Can you ask him to come and see me?”
    “Sure thing.” He glanced at Denny. “He’ll expect repayment.”
    “I’m sure he will.” Denny didn’t mind. Thanks to Barthelmass’ interference with his person, Denny was gagging for some cock. But the bee man didn’t turn up for a couple of hours, during which time Denny fell into the trap of letting memories from his past come back to haunt him.
    He plunged back to the time he, his father and Polly had been forced to enter a spike, or workhouse, because his father was behind on his payments for basic things like rent. Denny’s mum was gone. But that was another story.
    Denny was ten years old and the New Poor Law had been passed. Adults as well as children could be admitted and forced to work as a way to pay off debts. Denny, and Polly, who was eight, spent the eleven months the family was confined in the workhouse picking oakum, which would later be used to fill the hulls and working joints of ships.
    “You are helping your country,” their overseer would say, his voice booming as he paced between rows of virtual slaves bent to their tasks.
    Denny hated the work, which involved picking apart old cords and rope with a metal spike—hence the nickname for the workhouse—and rolling the coarse threads into balls. Polly cried a lot but managed to get some work done. Their father had the worst job. He had to crush human bones to use for fertilizer. Though the work was easy, the new law meant