A Pirate's Revenge (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) (16 page)

Fire burned within her pupils, and her face darkened. “I don’t like that word, slave. Crank it one more time.” 

Lark shook, dreading the turn of the crank. He screamed again as muscles tore.

“Maketabori, hear me. Send me something to turn this witch.” The lantern dimmed, and Natasa’s eyes glowed darker. Dark magic had spilled into the brig. Natasa lifted her fist and opened it. A black scarab beetle lay on her palm, and its wings flickered.  

Lark panted.

“This a magical scarab. It feeds on magic, not flesh. It will feel like it’s eating your insides, but you will not die, unfortunately for you. Ready, love?” She put her hand on Lark’s stomach and the scarab crawled off. “Go, my pet,” she said. “Consume all the white magic inside him.”

“Stop! Please!” Sweat leaked into his eyes, Lark wrenched, but his over-taut body refused to shift. Fear pumped through Lark’s veins, and he could not stop trembling. 

The scarab’s spiny feet pricked his abdomen. It lifted its head, and long jaws clamped together. The scarab squeaked, jumped and burrowed into his gut, its jaws ripping away flesh and muscle. Blood spurted. Lark screamed.

“Now, let’s leave him with his pain.” Natasa linked her arm with Palmer’s.

Palmer smiled and pulled her close, obviously enjoying the bitch’s touch.

“My pet will feast until only black magic remains. Soon, Lark will be ours.”

The scarab tore away flesh and tissue inside him. Lark couldn’t think due to the unbearable pain. Natasa said ’twasn’t eating his insides, but demons lied. Tears formed in the back of his eyes. Hate burned into him.

Must kill.
 

Natasa
was
turning him. Breaking him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to ignore the blinding torment and think of only Mariah. His breathing calmed, tingles rushed over him. His sister’s sweet face formed in his mind, and he focused all of his energy on her.

Mariah.

The yari tightened on his neck, the stones burrowing into his flesh. Agony gripped him, and he forgot to breathe.

Concentrate. Breathe.

He thought of
Grand-mère
. Her laughter. Her love. Her faith in him. She used to play with them. He and Mariah would climb the trees and hide from her. When she walked underneath him, he would swing down, his legs hooked around the branch and scream, “Boo!”

She would shriek and laugh. “
Ma loutre
.”
My otter
was her constant endearment for him, one he longed to hear again. She would wrap her arms around him and hug him and kiss him on the cheek. He missed her sage scent that always chased away nightmares.

Why had he challenged her? He remembered their fights, his rebellion.

Fresh air moved over his sweaty skin. Was he imagining it? Was that sage?  A whisper brushed next to his ear.

Pain is fleeting. Faith is not. Remember you are Fey.

He turned to the side, hoping to see
Grand-mère
.
He swallowed disappointment. Pain surged inside him, and he arched his back.

Lark, fight it. Call your sister before ’tis too late.

Sweat poured down his face. He lowered his back and inhaled and exhaled, blocking out the agony. 

There is no pain. There is no pain. There is no pain.

He could do this. He was a Fey. He gritted his teeth, and with one giant push, sent out a call. Power fluttered in his heart, and tingles surged through his blood.

Mariah, where are you? Hear me. I need you.

The scarab screeched inside him and crawled around in his bowels, biting him. Tears streamed down his face. His overstretched limbs burned. Dizziness swept over him, and spots swirled in front of his eyes. He had no strength left. He tried to send another spell, but nothing moved within him. Had his spell reached Mariah? Or was he doomed to change into a warlock?

The heavy sails surrounding Mariah blocked out any cool breeze, and she sweltered inside the tiny cabin. She missed the frosty mountain air and was slowly suffocating. She thought about propping open the sail, but she didn’t want to tempt any pirates to sneak into her chambers. She tossed and turned in her hammock, the blankets twisted around her legs.

“Mariah…Hear…me…I…need…you.”

She recognized the harsh voice, but could not place it. William? No. She shook her head and wanted to wake up. Her eyes refused to open. A gray mist hedged around her, and her thoughts became jumbled, as if the fog had control of her mind. She stumbled in the thick vapor and managed a faint whisper. “Where am I?”

“You are dreaming,” the voice said. An image appeared. Violet eyes peered out from underneath shaggy dark hair. Lark. He was alive!

The mist cleared, and her relief was short-lived. Lark was beaten and bloody, his breeches torn. He was strapped to a breaking wheel, his arms and legs stretched, the joints threatening to rip out of the sockets.

“Oh, Lark,” Mariah cried. She wished she could unshackle him, ease his pain, but her feet refused to move. He fought against a force she could not see, and his eyes had darkened.
Mon Dieu!
Not a good sign. Not good at all.

“Hear…me…I…need…you.” Lark’s words were labored.

A small bump glided around under his skin and disappeared. He winced. 

The vision faded. Mariah reached for Lark, but only air filtered through her fingers. She woke up and sobbed. “Lark.” 

No time for tears. She slipped out of the hammock and opened
Grand-mère’s
velvet bag. She’d seen a drawing of a bump running along a witch’s arm once just like the one she’d seen in her dream.
Grand-mère
had said it had been a magical scarab that fed on white magic. But she had to be sure and flipped through her spell book until she found magical creatures.

According to the book, a purification spell would defeat the creature. She needed time. Time she didn’t have. 

She retrieved her athame, a bowl, and her wand and a vial containing herbs that
Grand-mère
had personally charged by casting spells under a full moon. The combined herbs had proved powerful against dark magic but needed to be out in the open to work, not confined in her cabin. She only hoped they would be strong enough to kill the scarab. She rushed out of her makeshift cabin, careful not to disturb any sleeping pirates and headed topside. 

Starboard lanterns glowed in the night, shining down onto the sea. The wind whipped her night gown around her body, and she shivered. She crept over to the side, not wanting anyone to question her. There was no time to ask if she could perform a spell.
Le capitaine
would not like her conjuring a spell without his knowledge, since he thought she was one step above the devil. 

The night watch was busy at the bow, and she headed to the stern, sneaking behind the helmsmen and hoping she could avoid prying eyes. She blew out the lantern hanging on the stern, not needing light to do the spell due to the waning moon. She used the athame to trace a five-pointed star on the deck. She poured half of the vial of herbs into the bowl, then hoping if seen, the watch would think she was a man, she peeled out of her nightgown. Lark’s soul was in jeopardy, and stripping naked enhanced the magic.

She raised the bowl in offering. “Isis, Mother Goddess, I humbly ask for your help for my brother, Lark. Call forth your healing medicine and strengthen him. Keep him from turning to the dark side.”

The wind swirled at her bare feet and rose up her body until it blew into the bowl. The herbs twirled out of the bowl and glowed in the dark, changing into colors of purple, yellow, black, and red. They swooshed around, taking on a human form. The image of the Goddess stared at Mariah with bright yellow eyes.

Mariah bowed her head. “Isis, I ask for your help. Take the rest of this vial to Lark.”

Isis took the vial and slightly bent her head. “I shall find him.” Her form broke apart and spun into the air, flying through the dark sky like sea mist.

“Please save him,” Mariah said, her voice tiny and desperate. 

She placed the bowl onto the deck and grabbed her gown. She slipped it over her head and wiggled into it.

“Why are you naked?”

Mariah froze. William.
Merde!
She twirled around, straightening the gown.

William stood in the shadow of the bulkhead. She did not need to see his face to know he was displeased. How long had he been standing there?

“I was performing a spell.”

“You always take your clothes off when you do a spell?”

Heat spiked her cheeks. “Being naked purifies the spell.”

“Who was the woman? Kane will not be pleased that you are bringing people aboard his ship without his knowledge.”

“’Twas not a woman. The potion took the form of Isis, the mother of all Goddesses. One of her powers is medicine and healing. Something that Lark desperately needs. If you will excuse me—”

He blocked her way and crowded her against the edge. “So your spells or potions can conjure up magical creatures or humans?” 

Her heart pounded, and she glanced over the rail at the churning water below. Was he planning to push her over? 

“I do not conjure magical creatures.” She pressed her hands against his chest to skirt away, but he did not budge. “The spell took the form into the image of the Goddess herself and answered me. Magic sometimes takes human forms.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pinning her to him. “What was in the vial?”

She struggled to push away. He was too close, and his masculine scent cast its own spell over her. An urge to kiss him seized her.

Stop.
Keep your wits.

“Charged herbs will strengthen Lark and keep him from turning dark.” 

“What the hell are your charged herbs?”

“Herbs that have been enchanted.”

His thumb brushed over her wet cheek. “You’ve been crying.”

“Lark…I saw him…in a dream. He came to me.” She stared up at William and wished she could see his face. “He is…he is…strapped to a wheel.” Her voice faded, and the sobs burst through, her shoulders quaking.

He tightened his arms around her, holding her closer and rubbing her back. “I’m sorry.”

She laid her head on his chest, burying her face into his shirt. The steady rhythm of his thumping heart calmed her fear.

“These herbs will help him?”

She swallowed and wiped away her tears. “
Oui
.”

“What are they?”   

He pushed her windblown hair behind her ears.

“Dittany of Crete, pennyroyal,” she said.

He leaned closer, his mouth brushed against her neck. “And,” he murmured.

Her concentration fled. “Um, pennyroyal…
oui
….pennyroyal,” she whispered.

“You said that,” he moved his mouth down her throat.

“
Merci
,” she panted. “Solomon’s Seal, periwinkle and…” His lips captured hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, making her forget the last herb. She glided her hands up his brawny chest and gripped his strong shoulders. All she could think about was kissing him, tasting him, losing herself in his embrace.

The kiss deepened. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushed her nipple, and she groaned. He squeezed the sensitive bud. Her legs weakened. She gripped him tighter, fearful she would fall backward into the ocean. A strong arm held her tight, and her foolishness lessened. She knew her dragon would not let her fall.

“William,” a low male voice said.

Mariah stiffened.
Le capitaine
. Caught in a compromising position in her night gown, a clinging night gown. She was kissing William practically naked and worse, she was enjoying it, indulging in it, wanting more. What was she thinking?

“William,”
le capitaine
said, the voice louder and insistent.

William lifted his head, and she could make out the shape of his eyes. Was it her imagination or had she glimpsed a flame in those eyes? Was it the dragon?

“What, Kane?” he growled.

“I was in a sound sleep with Hannah when Amadi knocked on my door. I’d like to ask the lass what evil witch she summoned to my ship.”

William glanced down at the front of her night shift and scowled. “Bloody hell,” he said. He pulled off his shirt and handed it to Mariah. “Cover yourself. Now.” He blocked Kane’s view, his broad back shielding her.

She draped the shirt over her gown. Heat swarmed over her cheeks. She was in a scandalous way. “Kane.” Hannah strolled over and frowned at Kane. “What are you doing?”

Hannah would not allow
le capitaine
or anyone else condemn Mariah. Mariah stopped trembling and straightened William’s shirt.