Captive of the Deep

Lords of the Abyss III:

CAPTIVE OF THE DEEP

By

Michelle M. Pillow

Captive of the Deep © copyright December 2010, Michelle M. Pillow

Cover art © Copyright 2010, Natalie Winters

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Published by The Raven Books

All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence.

Published by Raven Books

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Raven Books and all affiliate sites and projects are © Copyrighted 2004-2010

Lords of the Abyss III:

CAPTIVE OF THE DEEP

By

Michelle M. Pillow

Thank you everyone who waited patiently (and not so patiently *wink*) for the final installment in the Lords of the Abyss trilogy, and for following me into this underwater world of mermen and their rescued ladies.

Even though this title can stand on its own, the author recommends that the previous books be read before this one, in order to fully appreciate the Lords of the Abyss trilogy. For more information, please visit the author’s website www.michellepillow.com or www.theravenbooks.com

The Lords of the Abyss trilogy includes the books The
Mighty Hunter, Commanding the Tides,
and
Captive of the Deep
.

Lyra hated the ocean. She hated the smell of fish, the taste of salt on her tongue, the briny smell in the air when the waves crashed against the wooden ship. She hated the creaking of the hull and the endless rocking, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Holding her hand over her mouth, she tried not to gag. It was a complete exercise in uselessness. Her stomach hit the railing as she puked over the side.

The fast clip of the wooden ship against the waves sent high splashes of water over the side. Lyra was drenched, but she didn’t dare move as she held tight to the rail. Her heart pounded and for a moment it was only her, the rail and the long stretch of moonlit ocean, and the endless rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and...

“Just kill me now,” she moaned to no one in particular, as she twisted the cap on her mouthwash. The taste of mint had become as familiar as the smell of salt, and just as hated. The few people milling around the deck were used to seeing her bent over in misery. She’d been that way for the last two months as they sailed from Spain to the Americas. The only reason she was on this ship was her brothers and father needed her help. A very rich man paid big money for her family’s sailing expertise. Her father, Captain Bill Harne, was the best of the best. It was said he could sail through a hurricane and come out smiling. Her oldest brother, Will, had been born for the ocean and probably spent more of his life on sea than land. The others—Jackson, Kristopher, Rocky and Winston—had varying levels of experience, but all of them were strong swimmers and dedicated to lives on the sea. Then there was Lyra, the baby of the family, spoiled by her mother and kept on land while her brothers braved the corners of the Earth. Her mom had been desperate to have something other than a sailor in the family. She ended up with Lyra, who wasn’t really much of anything.

“Mom would have laughed to see you now,” Jackson teased. “She would’ve said it served you right for agreeing to this trip.”

“The seasickness or this hideous dress?” She glanced down at what could only be described as bar wench gone to sea. At least her brothers got to look like respectable men from the 1500s. It was all part of the deal with the rich boss. He wanted the authentic Spanish Armanda experience. Apparently, the guy’s great-great-great-something-or-other was an important part of Spain’s history. The truth was, whenever the man spoke about it, Lyra’s mind fuzzed out and she stopped paying attention.

“Now that you mention it, that gown does look a little less bulky.” Jackson glanced at the skirt.

“I threw the petticoats overboard.” Lyra grinned through her physical discomfort. “You try wearing a corset and fifty pounds worth of material on a rocking death trap. I still say that I should be able to dress like a lad. I’d give anything for a linen shirt and breeches at this point.”

“Not up to me,” Jackson said, slapping the pads on his arms. He wore an old fashioned linen ruff around his neck, an embroidered, padded epaulette, short stockings and puffed shorts much like what was worn on the old Armada Galleons. “This isn’t how I would have spent my fortune.” He eyed her with mock curiosity. “How is it you swam in from the same gene pool as the rest of us?”

“I’m pretty sure the family gene pool was dried up and I just kind of crawled in.” She gave a wry laugh.

“You know, you could have said no to the trip.”

“You all begged me to come. I’m the only one out of you sorry lot that can speak Spanish.” She gave him a sheepish look, not feeling better, but definitely glad to have an empty stomach.

“I suppose it’s better for you here than hanging by yourself at home. Mom wouldn’t have wanted you to become a shut-in either.”

“I’m not a shut-in. My job is online. I stay home and work.” It has been three years since her mother’s death and Lyra still missed her. Not wanting to talk about it, she said, “Tell me a story. Distract me.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time we docked in Antwerp?” Jackson grinned. His devilish looks had been the ruination of many a young hearts, but his heart had never been stolen. Hair as black as midnight and eyes that twinkled like stars—that was Jackson. And Kris. And Will. And Rocky. And Winston. Heck, even their father. Lyra took after her mom with dark blonde hair down to her waist and wide green eyes. Right now her hair was bound back at her nape to keep it out of her face.

 
“Yes,” Lyra answered, “you did.”

“East London Harbor in South Africa?”

“Yes.”

“Robben Island on the Western Cape?”

“Yes.”

“Hong Kong? Rotterdam? Pohang?”

“Yes, yes, and oh please not that one again yes.” Lyra laughed, covering her ears, as her brother successfully distracted her from her seasickness. “Don’t you have stories that aren’t all about you and some lady you met at port?”

“Sure, but those aren’t the good ones.” Jackson motioned that she should follow him. “You empty? We should go. Captain needs you to translate.”

“Man, I hope I don’t have anything left,” she muttered grabbing her stomach. “How long until this is over?”

“Less than a month,” Jackson answered. “And about two hours less than the last time you ask—”

He never finished the sentence. The boat pitched to the side with a loud crack. Lyra screamed as her arms flailed in the air. She could see Jackson’s expression fill with panic and concern as he reached for her. His hand missed her arm and she flew into the railing with a bruising thud. Her ribs throbbed in agony. Automatically, she grabbed at the first thing she could find, a long wooden post beneath the rail, and held on for dear life as the boat pitched in the other direction. Her legs tangled in the skirts as she slid over the deck.

The next seconds were the most horrific in her life. Men emerged from below deck only to be swept away as the ship was jarred again and again. She couldn’t help them even though she tried to stop a few as they slipped past her legs, but could barely hold on herself. Jackson was swept away trying to reach her, captured by a rush of water over the deck. Lyra screamed again and again, begging and pleading, demanding that whatever it was stopped. But, in the end, it was no use.

“Monsters,” a man yelled in broken English. “They come from below!”

* * * *

Rigel the Warrior ignored the tension in his gut as he swam slowly beneath the ocean’s surface. His instinct told him they were close to their prey, and with each hunt’s end there came a bittersweet result—they caught the scylla they sought. Yes, they needed to hunt the creatures. They couldn’t let them roam free for they would terrorize the humans from the surface world, killing them by wrecking their vessels. But, to catch them meant the scylla would die despite the Merr’s efforts to keep them alive.

Seeing the telltale flash of silvery black fins in the water beside him, Rigel narrowed his eyes and listened to the water. That was not the creature he hunted. It was one of his brothers.