Mistress of the Stone (17 page)

Daltry felt a similar lascivious grin creeping on his mouth. He perched his head on one hand and, like a grand potentate, waved permission to Koko with the other.

Koko widened his mouth to a toothy grin, a wet excited breath escaping through his teeth. The monkey snapped a perfectly English salute before pawing furiously on a second button.

Daltry began to have stirrings of his own. His wounds were healing, but it hurt to take a deep breath. That didn’t seem to stop his sex from returning a firm salute of its own.

The depraved little beast, (the one with monkey breath), wormed his way down to the third button even though he could easily cup the prize in his greedy hands.

It was then Luísa woke up. Her eyelids fluttered a bit before they opened, but when they did they flew wide, her soft pouty lips following suit, screaming a slew of curses Daltry had never heard from a woman before.

She jerked to a sitting position even while Koko jumped back, mimicking her screams octave by octave, his little hands shooting into the air in submission.

Daltry, who had been showered with loosened monkey fur and spit when Koko made his hasty retreat, barked a laugh that ended with a painful wince. He didn’t care. The look of horror on both these heathen creatures was worth the suffering.

He choked back his laughter when Luísa smacked him with her grass-woven pillow.

“Were you going to let that beast undress me?” She screeched at him like a wheel about to come off its pins.

Daltry caught his breath and held on to his sides. “Come now, luv. It’s not as if this love affair would ever last. He only wanted you for your treasure.”

Luísa smacked the pillow straight at his face and jumped up, grabbing her shirt closed as she did so.

Koko, ever the accommodating mercenary, clapped his little hands at the magnificent beating, then saluted Luísa on a job well done.

“I’m not through with you either, little man,” she said, pointing a finger at the monkey.

Koko clasped his paws together and hung his head in a penitent pose. He lifted his eyes only once to see if Luísa was still watching.

Her mouth twisted to a smirk and then a full grin before she broke into laughter.

“Blasted monkey. No doubt he belongs to you.”

Daltry sat up against the wall and gestured to the monkey. “You could say Koko is his own man, but he always has an eye out for pretty girls, especially those wearing shiny baubles.”

“Bah!” She barked at Koko, shoving her hands at him.

Koko returned the compliment by jumping on the mat between them and hooting at her.

Luísa crossed her arms. “You don’t impress me, beast.”

The monkey seemed to think about this for a moment before he raced up her leg and into the crook of her folded arms, bussing her cheek with a kiss of apology.

What little resolve she had left washed away in an instant. “You little imp,” she said and cradled him in her arms.

Koko leaned his head against her chest and sucked his thumb.

Luísa pulled out the pendant and showed it to him. “You see. It’s not much. A worthless blue stone on a silver chain. My boots cost more.”

Koko listened to her intently while fondling the jewel. At long last, he seemed to agree with her assessment and gave her another kiss before jumping out the window.

Xander snorted a laugh. “Do your lovers always leave you so quickly?”

“You’re not funny. That hairy beast scared the devil out of me.”

Daltry didn’t smile. “It seems I’ve given you cause to know worse.”

Luísa swallowed visibly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Your sister told me about your affliction. It startled me at first, but I understand now.”

“It’s not an affliction. Being a werewolf isn’t the curse. It’s not knowing when the change will come on that causes us grief. We can’t control it—not on our own anyway.”

“That’s why you use the wolfsbane. To keep you from turning involuntarily.”

“Yes. But it’s a false blessing. The wolfsbane is addictive, and it takes more and more of that vile weed in order to control our urges. That’s why so many of our kind live here, where we won’t frighten anyone should the change take us unaware.”

“But you don’t live here. I’ve heard stories of you sailing the seas for years.”

Daltry looked away. “Yes. After my sister…” He looked up, his brow furrowed in anger. “My sister—”

Luísa knelt down and put her hand on his arm. “She’s dead. I know. She told me. She said Saint-Sauveur killed her.”

“Aye, and that devil has stayed out of my reach since then. It takes a whole army to watch his back, and every were-tribe on the island recognizes him as pack leader.” His hands curled into fists. “But I’ve not forgotten my oath. I’ll have his wolf’s head if it’s the last thing I do on this Earth.”

“Then we both have a score to settle. I want Saint-Sauveur too. He has my father, and I intend to get him back.”

“We’ll get your father, luv, then I’ll get you both off this island.” He sat up straighter and squinted in the dim light, trying to locate his sister, but it seemed he and Luísa were alone. “Why isn’t my sister here?”

“She said she had to gather allies for you.”

Daltry grunted. “Allies! Damn that girl. She’s wasting her time. She’s probably gone to visit Jovis, the werewolf leader on this island. I wish she had waited for me to wake up. I don’t like her going alone.”

“No disrespect, but I don’t see that there’s much that can harm a ghost. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Aye. You’re right, of course.” He sighed in resignation. “She’s suffered so at my expense. If I had been there for her—”

“Someone was with her. She said she didn’t die alone.”

He huffed at her. “So she tells me. But she refuses to name this guardian and that vexes me.”

Luísa’s quirked her mouth into a lopsided grin. “Sibyl lit up when she spoke of her companion. Methinks it was a paramour—and she doesn’t want a troublesome brother giving him grief.”

Daltry nodded. “I knew she’d been seeing someone before she died. I suspected it was someone from the pack. Sibyl caught the attention of every werewolf on the island.” He barked a laugh. “I was always running them off.”

“You love your sister very much.”

“Aye, I do. She’s the only kin I have who hasn’t turned her back on me. If Saint-Sauveur hadn’t reached you first, I would’ve stolen you off the
Coral
and brought you here myself. I want only to give Sibyl peace. You understand, don’t you, Luísa?” He shifted and looked at her hesitantly. “I’m not asking for myself, but for her.”

Luísa fussed with the pendant at her breast. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes, then planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “You saved my life, Xander Daltry. Man or wolf, I owe you a debt.”

“Luísa, you should understand the risks.”

“I understand family. And I understand duty. I still think you have the wrong woman, but lead me to this second moonstone and I’ll gladly do what I can.”

Daltry felt his apprehension evaporate. “Bless you,” he whispered.

Luísa fingered the knotty weave of the grass mat bed. She glanced up at him before casting her gaze elsewhere. “You’re probably hungry. I’ll see what I can muster.” She stood up, careful to step around him.

Daltry scrunched the blanket around his loins. He was uncomfortably aware of an erection that refused to diminish.

“Sibyl usually keeps tea for me in that little gray jar above the hearth.”

Luísa rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, I’m a little suspect of her tea.”

Daltry rubbed the back of his neck. “Hmm…I thought she slipped me something extra. But not to worry, the sleeping powder is something she adds to the water.”

Luísa picked up the clay jar and unwrapped the cloth covering. The crumbled remains of chamomile lined the bottom of the bowl. If they were lucky, she might get two cups out of it. She brought it over for him to sniff. “Are you sure this tea is safe?”

He took a shallow whiff and then a deeper one. “It’s safe.” He looked up at her. “Did she drug you too?”

“Yes. She wanted to make sure I stayed put.”

“My sister is nothing if not resourceful. The tea leaves are harmless though. She’d not keep the two ingredients together.” He readjusted the coverlet to better hide the growing appreciation of his houseguest.

He had to stop staring at her. But he couldn’t help it. Soft blush cheeks and the warm embrace of her smoldering gaze kept him prisoner. Even the scent of her inspired him with carnal thoughts.

The need for a mate gnawed at him. He’d not mated when he should have, and Luísa’s proximity reignited the primal urge.

A woman had been selected for him, a werewolf like himself, but he had no conscious desire for her, except for the savage ache that drove all of them. Luísa was different. He wanted her, needed her—not as a wolf, but as a man.

His common sense told him not to threaten the only chance he had to save his sister’s soul, but the animal side of him, the part that knew only passion, wanted this woman beneath him. The hairs on his hands grew incrementally.

Luísa came toward him with a fine china cup and weak tea. Her eyes seemed to see through him, perhaps preferring that to acknowledging his nakedness.

“What’s it like,” she said. “Being a wolf?” She sat at his side, student to his every word. There was an eagerness in her voice and the need to know. She picked up a soiled rag and scraped at the crusted blood on his arm. “Does it hurt to change?”

“A little. You get used to it.” The rag skimmed across the hair on his arms, teasing it with a delicious itch.
Harder, Luísa. Harder.

“It must be lonely—living like that.” She paused her ministrations, and her breaths grew shallow, suddenly aware of her proximity to him.

“There are more of us than you know. We live among the common folk every day, though I dare say, we keep our distance. We’re in no hurry to meet the hangman’s noose.”

Daltry put down his tea then took her hand, pressing it gently against his chest. Her touch—even through the cloth—seared him, and yet he couldn’t bear to let her go. “Do I still frighten you?”

Her gaze flitted to the floor and then the hearth, everywhere but to him. “That depends. You don’t plan on changing into a beast right now, do you?” She tried being flippant, but it only served to make her look more self-conscious.

Daltry rubbed a callused finger along her chin. “There are many different types of beasts, kitten. Not all of them dangerous.”

She lifted her eyes hesitantly. Instead of censure, she wore a look of puzzlement. Her lips parted, anticipation and fear lacing her expression.

She saw through him, he was sure of it, but she didn’t understand the wildness inside.
A virgin.
This girl, a child who had seen the world in all its rawness, was as lost as a lamb. And now this lamb lay within reach of a wolf.

He leaned toward her and inhaled her fragrance, lifting her face until their lips were a breath away from each other. He nuzzled her and felt her stiffen when he pulled her into his arms.

For a moment, she refused to speak, even to breathe, hanging on to one heartbeat.

“Xander,” she whispered.

“Don’t be afraid, Luísa. This wolf won’t hurt you.”

Chapter Fourteen

Luísa shut her eyes, hoping he couldn’t see her obvious need. “What are you doing,
Capitán
Daltry?” Her voice sounded so husky she thought it belonged to someone else.

What was she thinking? She simply couldn’t give herself to this man, no matter how great the craving.

He hadn’t done more than rub his nose against her face, and yet it felt as if she had been laid completely bare to him. Could he tell that her body lusted for his? Could his kind read her heat the way animals did?

His voice resonated against her skin, and she felt more than heard him. It hadn’t been easy living on a ship full of men. Men—no, brothers who went off to brothels and other lovers whenever they made port.

Luísa had been left behind to quell her need in other ways, submitting to her own fingers when the need overwhelmed her.

But this—this was different.

She grazed her fingertips across his lips and felt him shiver. Or was that her?

His back pressed against the wall, Daltry spread his legs and cradled her between them. She felt his rod thicken from beneath the thin blanket.

God forgive her. Could she go through with this? After all this time of wanting to be with a man, was she ready for what came next? She wasn’t even sure what
next
was.

She was no stranger to what men did with themselves in privy. She’d once caught Dooley pleasuring himself and felt ashamed to have been spying. He may have been a boy, but his Jolly Roger bloomed to the size of a twelve pound mallet, and he stroked it until his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he spurted his wad all over the floor. Dooley groaned when he came, sending Luísa into a frenzy of her own. The look on his face made it look glorious and painful all at once.

Daltry pulled her attention back to him. He held her against his chest and breathed into her ear. “Do you trust me?”