Mistress of the Stone (35 page)

The tomb was a maze of dead-ends and multiple passageways, each one more twisted and narrower than the last. He pulled her like a rag doll, methodically eliminating each passageway off his list when it proved empty of Izabel’s final resting place. Only the squeaks and scratches of mice kept them company. Luísa’s skin crawled. How much longer could they search?

“We’re lost.” She stamped her foot and whined.

“Silence, woman.” He lunged at her, raking her with the heat of his torch. “We must take care. This tomb could be full of traps and poisons. The islanders did not want Izabel’s bones disturbed.”

Luísa let out a ragged breath. Saint-Sauveur was likely to get them both killed. She wiped the dried blood that had streaked down her throat. Flakes of dark crimson flecked across her fingertips. Her blood was magic. Who knew? “What happened to Izabel’s children?”

“She had only a daughter,” the Frenchman said distractedly. “It was said a sailor found her and took her away. But before she left, Izabel bade her to take half the moonstone. For only the whole stone could rescind the curse, and she wanted her people to suffer.”

“And did she curse the werewolves too?”

“No,” he said curtly. “That was God’s doing.”

Luísa stopped dead in her tracks, halting him with her. “Then how do you know the moonstone can help you?”

He slapped her, the cruel blow stinging like a hot coal. “You ask too many questions!”

Luísa rubbed her burning cheek.
A lifetime of this. With him.

The Frenchman pulled her toward him and patted her slapped cheek. “Don’t be so glum,
mademoiselle
. You’ll learn your place soon enough.”

“I only asked a simple question,
Capitán
. There was no need to hit me.”

He studied her for a bit before answering. “Aye, but there are no simple answers, and unlike Daltry, I am not amused by brazen women.” He raised the lantern to her face and studied her. “You are a
jolie fille
. A pretty girl.”

“No need to translate,
Capitán
. I speak your foul language fluently.”

“
Oui
. No doubt. But there are other languages,
ma petite
.” He rubbed a fat thumb across her lips. “Language with a tongue, but no voice. A language that will please us both, very, very much.” He tickled her chin and blew a fetid-smelling kiss at her. “I promise you.”

Luísa glared at him with all the loathing in her being. “The only promise I want from you is that you’ll release my father and the crew of the
Coral
. After that…”

“After that,” he snapped at her. “You will share my bed and bear my young. And I will get drunk on the satisfaction that I alone taste your honey.” He barked a laugh. “I wish I could see Daltry’s face when he learns that I keep you between my legs.”

She blinked, suddenly aware that her lover was still in danger. “What will happen to Xander?”

Saint-Sauveur’s eyes narrowed and a creased scowl pinched his face. “My dear adversary had the bad manners to survive the last musket ball I gave him. He won’t survive the next one.”

Luísa grabbed Saint-Sauveur by the arm, violently at first, and then with gentle kneading on the rich brocade. “Let him go,
Capitán
. Banish him from the island and I will promise you an obedient wife.”

“And have you imagine your lover in our bed? Never.”

“Think me so ignorant,
señor
? It won’t take Xander long to find another woman. Once you’ve stolen his means of helping his sister, he’ll not trouble you again. He won’t need me.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The man is smitten.”

“Lust,
Capitán
. Nothing more. His feelings were nothing more than lies and the hunger of the wicked. He only wanted me so I could save his sister. I mean nothing beyond that.”

“Then why should I let him live? Don’t you want your honor avenged?”

Luísa sniffed at him in resignation. “You wish to avenge my honor?” For Xander’s life, she’d be willing to sacrifice her happiness, but she’d have to let this coxcomb think it was his idea. “Let him live with his failure,
Capitán
. Vengeance is fruitless on the dead.”

He drew her to his chest and kissed her, drilling her with a thick slimy tongue, reeking of onions and old meat. “Ha! Only a woman scorned can be so cruel. I think I will enjoy you very much,
ma chere
.”

He dragged her down another blind passageway. This corridor pitched to an upward slope with sweaty walls. This time Luísa’s pendant turned hot to the touch. She cupped it in her hands, but still it remained silent.
Were they close?

Their tunnel opened up into a cavernous chamber so big, an army of men couldn’t fill it. In the center stood a wide stone altar piled high with gold and jewels.

Luísa’s mouth dropped open. She’d never seen so much treasure, even on their most profitable raid. The sight of it reignited the thrill of plunder, but Saint-Sauveur had no interest in booty.

He grabbed Luísa by the arm. “This is a ruse to distract us. We’ll go back. There are many more tunnels to explore.”

But Luísa refused to budge. “No,
Capitán
,” she murmured. “We’re in the right place.”

“Rubbish! There’s no crypt here.”

She circled the altar. “I don’t think there ever was one.” Her whispered voice quivered, resonating against the smooth stone walls. The cave repeated her words over and over again. The moonstone sang to her.
Keep looking.
Its mate was here.

She fondled the baubles, a mountain of spoils at her fingertips. Treasure beyond imagination, and yet only one lowly stone was important.

I am here, mistress. Find me.

Tiaras, scepters and gold cluttered the round altar. She raked through each coin and bauble, casting them off the table until they littered the floor.

“Come, Luísa. There’s nothing here.” He pulled her away from the table, but she stood fast.

“It’s here,” she insisted. “I’m telling you. It’s here. I can feel it. I can hear it.” Once again, like a woman possessed, she sifted through the greatest plunder her hands had ever touched. All of it worthless on this night, except for one.

Her fingers dug into the belly of the treasure and something pricked her like fire. She froze and closed her eyes. With a trembling hand, she pulled out a blue stone on a silver chain, the perfect twin to her own talisman.

Saint-Sauveur snatched it from her. “
Fantastique!
Merci à dieu
. After all this time I finally have it. I have them both.” He yanked the moonstone off Luísa’s neck. Carefully, he joined them together, but they wouldn’t stick. He growled, the angry wolf coming out in him.

“Curse her protection spells! It will only merge in the right hands. Your hands.” He shoved both halves of the stone at Luísa.

She cupped them, one in each hand, and felt their raw power. The moonstones called to one another. Was there truth in Saint-Sauveur’s claims?

Each stone thumped with a heartbeat, separate but equal until they found their rhythm and beat as one.

“The devil take me,” she whispered. “Something’s happening.”

“What is it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her hands gripped each stone. She was afraid to open them, afraid of what she’d find.

The stones sought each other, pulling toward each other like a compass needle pointing north.

She opened her palms and showed them to Saint-Sauveur. “What do I do now?”

“Join them,” he ordered. “Fuse them together and repeat these words.”

The moonstones shimmered like the wings of a dragonfly. Its pulse was regular and strong. Soon, her heart beat with theirs. A warm glow overtook her, and for once she knew peace. She finally understood. She was in no danger, for she was the rightful mistress of the moonstone.

“They want to be together,” she murmured.

“Then do it. Do it! The blood moon has risen.”

Luísa folded her hands and joined the stones. When she opened her palms again, they were as solid as a single gem.

The chamber rattled with a thunderous noise as a hatch above them slid open, pelting them with tiny bits of loose rock. The rock walls of the shadowy chamber sparkled as the light from the blood moon poured in, bathing the room in a ghostly pink glow.

A bolt of light shot straight up from the hand that cupped the whole stone. Almost immediately, Luísa found herself encased in a cage of moonlight. She touched her bars, remembering how it had sealed Sibyl and slashed her lover, but this wasn’t the same. It was no cage, but a harbor. And it told her it existed only to protect her.

Protect her from what?
She stared at Saint-Sauveur.

The Frenchman grabbed Luísa by the arm but earned a scalding burn for his trouble. “
Sacre dieu
! What sorcery is this?” He stretched out his fingers, inches from the soft bars of moonlight. “Luísa, can you hear me?”

She nodded. “I’m all right.” Though she knew it wasn’t her well being that concerned him. Luísa held the merged stone and looked into it. She swooned and stumbled backwards, but the gentle arms of her harbor held her up.

The stone’s magic had entered her mind, and it showed her a world where were-creatures had become the dominant species, a world that knew only bloodshed and savagery. She looked up at Saint-Sauveur and saw the monster inside him. The demon who would unleash hell on earth. Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.

“Luísa!”

Luísa clutched the stone to her breast. “I’m sorry,
Capitán
,” she said at last.

“Sorry? Sorry for what, woman? Show the stone to the moon and repeat these words.”

Luísa shook her head. “It’s too late.”

“Nonsense. The moon is high above us. The gates between Otherworld and the mortal realm are wide open. We can change things now, change them forever.”

“No, Saint-Sauveur. I mean it’s too late for you.” She nodded in the direction of a growing shadow to his right.

From the dark emerged Shadrach, a heavy mace swinging behind him.

“Long time, I have waited, Saint-Sauveur. Long time,” the gargoyle said in a rough gritty voice.

“How did you get in?”

Shadrach barked a mirthless laugh. “Don’t you realize, blasphemer? The moment the stones were merged, the gates between our worlds opened. Every gate. Everywhere. The dead and the living are one, and so are all the other creatures in between.”

The shadows in the cavern grew, and the drag of feet and breathy moans filled the chamber. Lurid grins and dead eyes greeted them with earnest.

Luísa’s throat tightened in horror as they formed a circle. But these were not avengers, but witnesses. These limbless ghouls, their flesh eaten and their tongues torn out, had come for the ceremony.

One more figure walked into the breach of light. This one Luísa recognized.

“Paqua!”

“
Querida
.” His gentle smile gave her courage.

Saint-Sauveur lost none of his gall. He bounded in front of Luísa with his sword drawn. “I control the moonstone. And I control your lives. Leave here and vex me no further.”

A low murmur of laughter echoed in the crypt.

Shadrach rolled his mace to the front and swung it gently. “You’re mistaken, heretic. Luísa controls the moonstone. No other.”

“But I control Luísa,” he countered. “I hold her father and her crew as hostage. If she doesn’t obey…”

Shadrach lifted the mace and swung it over his head.

“What are you doing?” Saint-Sauveur cried out.

“Keeping a promise,” he replied, the mace still in motion.

“You will leave, all of you. Obey me and I will grant you pity.” His cries were like scratches on pitted steel.

“Pity, coward? The same pity you gave Sibyl when she refused your advances? The same pity you gave her when you strangled her?”

“It was an accident,” he screamed, his voice as shrill as a woman’s.

“You killed her!”

“A misfortune, Shadrach. My lust overwhelmed me. I didn’t realize my own strength.”

Sibyl walked into the room, and stayed Shadrach’s arm. An obedient servant, Shadrach lowered his mace.

She stared at Saint-Sauveur in disgust. “I begged for mercy, Luc. Instead you killed me.”

Saint-Sauveur fell to his knees. “Sibyl,
amoureuse
,” he murmured. “It was an accident, truly. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You meant to have your way with me, even after my brother refused your offer to marry me.”

“I would’ve given you anything!”

“Anything but my freedom.” She squeezed Shadrach’s arm, a shy smile on her face. “Faithful friend. You are and always will be my only love. I leave you to your oath, and gladly.”

She glided past him and Paqua took her by the arm and led her out of the room, disappearing through solid stone.

Shadrach raised his mace once more and grinned with grisly satisfaction. Saint-Sauveur screamed, but it was short-lived. His head, severed at the neck, bobbled off his shoulders and thudded into the dark. The headless body jerked in spasm, blind arms reaching for mercy.