A Pirate's Revenge (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) (25 page)

Footsteps pounded into the crew’s quarters. She broke off his kiss. Mortification filled her. “William,” she whispered.

“Invisible,” he said.

The same mist flowed out of his nostrils, rushing over them and once again, tingles swept over Mariah, and she and William faded. He quickly lifted her off the floor and pressed the back of his body against hers.

Ronan ripped open the flap that led into Mariah’s make-shift room, tearing the ties. “Mariah, where the hell are you?”  

Mariah clung to William. Ronan could not see them, but their clothes were discarded in a pile on the floor. She glanced at the wetness on her leg, and to her horror, drops of blood pooled onto the white blanket.

His face pale, Ronan unsheathed his sword. “O’Brien, damn you. Show yourself, you bastard. What have you done with Mariah?”

Lark dangled from a wooden stake implanted deep in the ground, his arms stretched high over his head. Brittle grass walls surrounded him, and the sun streamed through slots of the uneven slats of the ceiling, casting bars of light onto his body and the floor. He had been dragged from the belly of the
Fiery Damsel
to a grass hut on Zuto’s island. The demon himself had not made an appearance, but his power radiated throughout the island. Lark felt his presence. Zuto was stronger than Natasa, unpredictable.

An ocean breeze blew the crooked door open, shaking the walls. The chains over his head clanged against the stake, and he swayed like a pendulum, stretching his muscles. Pain pulsed through him as the manacles cut deeper into his wrists.

He inhaled and wished he could smell the fragrant grass and sea, not his overpowering stench of sweat, urine, and raw flesh. He stared at a brass tub filled with clean water. All he had to do was say aye to Natasa and lose his soul, and he could soak in the bath. 

His stomach growled, and he swallowed, barely rousing enough spit. He did not possess the power to splash any of the water onto his sweating body. The temptation to give into Natasa beat upon him. Physical torture was better than staring at the tub. God, he wanted to wash away the black magic filth so badly. He could take pain. Take whatever the bitch would wield upon him. But this mind game was far worse. He hated to admit it—Natasa
was
winning. He did not know how much longer he could endure. He was a simple man, not a hero. 

Enough.

Help, he needed help. He closed his eyes and drew on his power.
Mariah.
He needed to appear in her dream. The
Phoenix
might never find him on this dreaded island otherwise.

Tingles crept over his skin as the magic swirled inside him. An image of Mariah appeared in his mind, and he focused all his energy onto her. The
yari
slowly tightened around his neck, spiking into his flesh.

“Mariah,” he choked. “Hear me.
S’il vous plaît.
”

“Cease.” Natasa stood in the doorway. Her deep scowl meant another encounter of agony.

A sharp pain pierced his chest, and he bit back an anguished cry. Blood seeped from a fresh deep cut under his right nipple. 

“Spells equal pain, handsome.” She snapped her fingers. “Bring it in, slaves.”

He braced himself for whatever new torture the bitch had planned. A native man brought in a wooden table and a chair, followed by three native women who carried trays laden with bananas and slices of mangoes sprinkled with shredded coconut. Another plate had strips of cooked pork that taunted his senses.  A large pitcher of water was set in between the plates of food. Lark licked his lips, and his stomach grumbled.

“Put the table in front of him,” Natasa said. “The bath may not tempt you, witch, but I know you’re hungry and thirsty.” She wrinkled her nose. “Your stench is rancid, and I know you grow weary of it. Food and thirst will be your undoing.”

“
Merde!
You are daft,” Lark said. 

“All you have to do is swear your allegiance to me. You can come down off that stake and soak in the tank while these women feed you. I’ll even have one of these women care to your needs—scrub your back, wash your hair. One little word—” she stretched her arms. “—and all this is yours.”

“Never,” he growled.

The beautiful young women refilled the tub with steamy hot water, and Lark yearned to soak, to wash the filth from the
Damsel’s
brig, to ease the insect bites covering his dry skin. He tore his gaze from the alluring bath and could not help but lust over the women’s curves and shapely legs. He ached to feel those soft hands washing his body. His heart beating wildly, he clamped his jaw tight, not trusting himself to say no to Natasa’s snare.

The tallest man Lark had ever seen stormed into the hut, carrying a wooden chair and a pair of trousers and a shirt. “Where do you want these?”

“Next to the tub,” Natasa said.

The half-naked man flung the chair down and tossed the clothes onto the seat. “Satisfied?” He turned his back to Lark. Bloody welts and bruises marred the man’s flesh. Hot tingles flowed over Lark like rivers of lava and every hair on his body stood up. Power not just strength, emitted from the man.

“No. Hang the clothes across the back of the chair
neatly
.”

“There. Happy?”

Natasa ran her hand over the man’s arm. “Why must you be so stubborn, Zuto?”

Zuto?

“I have more important tasks to do than play these games of yours.”

Lark did not understand why the powerful demon did as Natasa asked. What hold did she have over him?

“They’re not games.” She tilted her head. “See? The witch is weakening.”

Zuto stared at Lark as if it were some kind of test between good and evil. Lark squirmed under the scrutiny. He was slipping, and he knew it.

“He’s foolish and weak,” Zuto said. “If he gives into these temptations, he will not be much use to us.”

Lark had failed the test. “I am not weak,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure why, but he did not want Zuto to think he was a sniveling codfish.

“Yes, you are,” Zuto countered. “You cannot take your eyes off the bath or these damn clothes. You shame your family.”

Lark wanted to argue, but what was his defense? He
did
want the bath and to wear clean clothes. He was a disgrace.

“Zuto, who’s side are you on?”

“Mine.”

She raised her fist.

Zuto grabbed her wrist. “Do not strike me.”

She ripped her hand out of his grip. “I’ll…Wait. Where are you going?”

“I’m done here.”

“No, you’re not.”

Zuto stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. “What do you want, wench?”

“I need to know what powers you gave that pet dragon of yours.”

“He’s not my pet.” Zuto cocked his eyebrow and folded his arms across his broad chest. “Why do you want to know?”

“I can’t focus on the bitch or your damn pet.”

“If you can’t contact her, or focus on the dragon, then obviously she’s no longer a virgin and mated with the dragon,” he said, his voice tired and annoyed. “Use your head, Natasa.”

“Slaves, leave us,” Natasa ordered.

The servants bowed to her and hurried out of the hut.

“Let’s see, what should we talk about?” she asked.

Zuto snorted.

Natasa picked up the pitcher and poured water into a glass. “The water here is so fresh, cool and clean.” She cast her gaze over Lark, and he shuddered. “Much better than what you’ve been given aboard the
Fiery Damsel.
” She raised the glass. “Want some?”

Oui! Dieu, oui!
Lark refused to answer.

“Oh, are we going to be silent again?” She took a sip. “So good.” She licked her lips.

Lark swallowed, hating himself for wanting the tiniest sip. Zuto was right. He
was
weak.

“I see it in your eyes. You want this.” She put the glass down and sauntered over to the tub. She dipped her hand into the water and splashed water onto Lark. Warm droplets streamed down his skin, weaving a line of cleanliness through the dried blood coating Lark’s skin. He sighed, wishing she’d splash him again and again.   

Do. Not. Give. In.

Natasa laughed and tossed her head back. “You’ll be mine soon.” Her eyes darkened. “I have a question I need answering.” She traced her hand on his damp chest. “Is your sister a virgin?”

Lark glared. “Why?”

“Tell me,” she purred. “Is she?”

“Burn in hell.”

“By your answer, I don’t think you know. Not that close with your sister, eh?” She chuckled and grabbed the back of his arse and squeezed. “Such a handsome man. At least you used to be.” She cupped his balls. “Soon you’ll be deep inside me.” 

“Never!”

She patted his arse again and walked away, her hips swaying. He glared at her, dreading she was right. If he turned to the dark side, he would lay with her and become her depraved lover.
Mon Dieu! Mariah, help me, before ’tis too late.

“If the dragon and witch have mated and she was a virgin, then they’ll be coming.”

“Apparently,” Zuto said, his tone droll.

She spread her hands wide. “We no longer have the advantage. We need a plan.”

Zuto tilted his head. “So make one.”

She pounded her fist into Zuto’s chest.

He lifted his eyebrow. “Maketabori will not be happy if he doesn’t get Hannah Knight. You’ve failed.”

“You mean we’ve failed,” she said.

“’Tis not my fault.” Zuto’s mouth curved, but the smile never reached his eyes.

“’Tis the crew of the
Soaring Phoenix
. Their meddlesome interference continues to block my plans. Maketabori can’t possibly blame me.”

“I hope the master sees it your way.” 

“Ooooo!” She slapped him across the face.

Zuto laughed.

“Unless you hand over the bitch and her father,” Natasa said. “You’ll always be my slave. You best remember that—lover.”

Zuto stopped laughing and glowered. The light dimmed, and the hut shook. Power laced with evil vibrated and sparked across Lark’s flesh.

Natasa stepped away from Zuto and put her hand on her throat. “Do not try and frighten me.” She stood tall, her back straight, but the tremor in her voice belied her fortitude. She stalked out of the quaking hovel and left Lark with an angry demon.

Zuto walked around him. “Still trying to defy her?”

Lark did not answer.

The demon stopped in front of him. “’Tis useless, you know. She’s evil. You’ll lose.”

Not wanting to admit the inevitable, Lark moistened his cracked lips. “Why does she care if Mariah is a virgin or not?”

Zuto cocked his eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“Forget it.” He couldn’t even muster the strength to force his weary voice to argue with the inquisitive demon.

“You and I are the same, witch. Both trapped in hell. Sex magic is powerful.”

“I know this.”

“Yes, but did you know when a witch mates with a shape-shifter, their powers grow? But for them to be unstoppable, there needs to be one more ingredient.”

“What ingredient?”

“Love. Or at least that’s what the lore says. I, for one, think ’tis nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“’Tis a fantasy. Love isn’t more powerful than black magic.”

Lark shook his head. “You are wrong, Zuto. Love is the only thing that matters in this world.”

“’Tis why you are weak.” Zuto glanced at him and at the door. “You’d better pray to your God ’tis true. Natasa will not stop at anything to reach her goal and please our master.”

“She wants
Capitaine
Knight and his daughter.”

“True. But they are not the only ones she wants.”

“My sister?” He hesitated to ask, but needed to know. “
Pourquoi?
” 

Zuto opened the door and stared at Lark. “You’ve called upon your sister with your spell.”

Lark stiffened.

“Yes, I felt your magic. A mistake—one you will soon regret. Your sister will be dead soon.”

“No, she’s more powerful than you think.”

“Ah, not against a dragon. When she reaches the island, my dragon will fall under my command and kill her.”

He left, and Lark released a howl. What had he done? He’d called Mariah to this dreaded island only to sign her death decree.   

Ronan entered Mariah’s cabin. Although invisibility cloaked them, William shielded Mariah with his naked body. Guilt surged through William at the sight of his wounded friend. Neat stitches ran along Ronan’s right cheek. His face was still blotchy and bruised, and his left eye was swollen shut. His vampire powers had not yet healed him.