Mistress of the Stone (6 page)

He hoped they were still alive even if it had to be in chains. They had already suffered much at the hands of Saint-Sauveur. Many had died trying to keep the Frenchman from reaching the
Persephone
.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Saint-Sauveur had boarded the
Persephone
as calmly as a morning stroll along the Seine. His loaded matchlock already had its fuse lit by the time he reached the quarterdeck.

Daltry had to turn his back on him when two men with cutlasses attacked him from the rear, a near fatal error in retrospect. He heard a sharp crack and then his flesh sizzled as if it were on fire, raking the left side of his spine. He dropped to his knees and turned around, just in time to see Saint-Sauveur grinning with delight. The bastard saluted him.

“You should have never come back,
mon ami
. The pack stands with me.” They were the last words Daltry remembered before he lost consciousness.

The pack!
Wolves who couldn’t see any farther than the ends of their noses. Saint-Sauveur had promised them a way to break the curse, but it meant giving the Frenchman eternal life and absolute power. They’d be trading one demon for another. What good was free will if one man controlled their fate?

Daltry squeezed his eyes tight then opened them. There was little light in this hold other than the dim yellow glow from an oil lantern and the pinhole streaks of sunlight that pierced the hull. His eyes burned, blurring his vision when he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

Every little sound seemed louder, scratching against his bones like a knife.

And his smell grew sharper. His wolf side ached to come out, even while his human side yearned for the bitter taste of the wolfsbane. Two sides fighting for control of a body that shivered with need.

He pulled against his chains. How long had he been here? And how long had he been without a measure of that herbal venom? The
Persephone’s
surgeon knew about his dependence, but probably hadn’t dosed him, thinking his captain was past saving.

Damn his luck. He needed it. Even a small amount would curb the hunger and return his control.

Daltry yanked at his chains. He’d have to turn if he wanted to break free and once he did, his wolf side might not wish to return to his frailer human skin. It hurt to be human. Right now, it hurt a lot.

His nose twitched when he caught the whiff of a visitor. Male, young and scared shitless.

A redheaded boy popped out from the hatch and two wide eyes stared down at him.

“Come down, lad. I don’t bite.”
He lied.

The lanky youth slid down the splintered ladder, plopping to his bare feet.

“You’re English,” the boy said.

“Aye. As are you, it seems. What’s an English lad doing on a Portuguese pirate ship?”

“It’s a mixed crew,” he said with sullen adolescent bravado. “Captain Tavares fetched me aboard six years ago when they took down the
Victory
. My mates were sold into slavery, but the Captain kept me. Said I was to keep his daughter company.”

Daltry tilted his head with a saucy look of approval. “I’ve seen the Captain’s daughter. Not a bad sentence. Wish I had fared as well.”

“The Miss doesn’t like our kinsmen much. But she’s always treated me well.”

A blush bloomed over the boy’s face.

Daltry smiled.

“You love the mistress of this ship, don’t you, boy?”

“My name is Dooley, and I don’t love anyone.” He scrunched his lips, turning his mouth a scarlet red. “I said she treated me well. Don’t go adding any meaning to my words.” His scarred bony hands doubled into fists. He wasn’t about to back down, not with his honor at stake.

“Relax, Dooley. I meant no harm. But I couldn’t blame you for falling in love. She’s a fine looking woman.”

His face blanched and he leaned in conspiratorially. “Best she don’t hear you say that. She can cut a fly in half with a dagger.”

“Mean, is she?”

Dooley looked behind him, rolling his shoulders as if to hide under them. “Miss is a kind soul, but she don’t show it much. She don’t want the crew thinking her soft. But she nursed me once when I had the pox. Everyone else stayed away and some wanted to throw me overboard, but the Captain wouldn’t allow it. And the Miss never left me.”

His eyes turned soft and watery blue. The boy loved her very much.

Daltry was beginning to wish he had such a guardian angel right now. The breath rasped out of him in a shudder.
So hot.
How long could he last?

His vision blurred once more. Instead of one boy in front of him, there were two. There was no time left. He’d let the animal out and take his chances.

Dooley inched closer to him. “Are you all right, Captain? Your eyes look queer.”

The sweat rained off his face and he lunged toward the boy, held back only by the chains. Dooley jerked away.

“When I was brought aboard, I must have had a small pouch tied around my neck. It’s medicine that I need. Come, Dooley. Do a mate a favor and bring me that pouch. I can’t last long without it.”

“If you had anything on you, the Mistress would’ve taken it. I’d have to ask her.”

“No!” He didn’t mean to yell at him, but he was too far gone for diplomacy. Daltry took a deep breath, then let it out in short huffs. “No, Dooley. You don’t have to say anything to her. Just see if you can find the pouch and bring it to me. I need it, lad. I’ll die without it.”

“I—I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good lad. Go now. Go and fetch my medicine.” He licked his lips expectantly. Maybe there was a chance.

Dooley turned to leave when the ladder shook anew. Litter and dust drifted in the breeze, a herald for the hurricane to come.

Down came the long shapely legs of a woman, curves so lush he couldn’t find a straight line on her. She stood covered from head to foot in leather and felt, with breeches snug enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

Her hands were gloved and her thigh high boots only accentuated the full curves of her bum. Every button on her shirt was fastened but to no avail. She’d probably been undressed numerous times in the silent minds of lustier souls.

She had the face of an innocent, yet her eyes betrayed a deeper knowledge. He was sure nothing escaped their notice. Surer still that she was as unforgiving as she was lovely.

Luísa gave Daltry a measured look, then glanced at Dooley. In her hand was his leather pouch.

“That’ll be all, Dooley.”

“But, Miss—”

“I’ll handle this from here, boy. Off with you.”

“Yes, Miss.” He saluted, two fingers at his temple, then scurried up the ladder and out of sight.

Luísa turned, her arms folded tightly across her chest, bridging her breasts and raising them higher. Her hair was loose and full, framing a soft face and suspicious eyes. She smelled of sandalwood soap and mint and something more. He gazed down at her full bosom and tight breeches. A pirate’s garb did little to hide the woman inside. More was the pity he couldn’t appreciate it at the moment.

“You don’t look well,
Inglés
.”

“Let’s not play games, Luísa. I need what’s in that pouch.”

She unfolded her arms and waggled the leather satchel in front of him. “This? Then Paqua is right. You are a werewolf.”

Daltry grit his teeth. “The pouch, woman. Give it to me.”

“Answers first, shapeshifter. Where is my father?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Why is his name in your little book?”

“I keep a lot of names in that book. I hunt pirates, remember?”

“Why is my name in there?”

He hesitated. Even if she knew the truth, she’d never believe him. “When I hunt a man, I like to keep an inventory of the things that make him vulnerable.”

Her eyes grew dark and steely. “My father, heretic—his name was crossed off in your book.”

Daltry licked his parched lips. He was in no condition to spar with this woman. “His name is crossed off because I learned he no longer captained this ship. You noticed there was no prize money entered under his name.”

The answer must have taken her off guard because she hesitated a moment longer than necessary. It didn’t take long for her to reclaim her confidence.

“You know who took him,” she said with authority. “And now you will tell me.” She hopped up on a keg that had been lashed to a beam, then crossed her legs. “I’ll ask you one last time,
Capitán
. Where is my father?”

“The pouch!”

Luísa seemed to ignore him at first, redirecting all her attention to the small pouch. She slipped off her gloves, one finger at a time, laying the gloves on her lap like any prim lady of the court. Delicate fingers teased the pouch open then tilted it, pouring its precious cargo into her open hand. Bits of the fragile remains drifted off her palm like the feathery plumes of a spent dandelion. Daltry sucked his breath in, frantic not to lose any more of his salvation.

“The pouch,” he repeated. “For pity’s sake.”

She leaned back on her perch. “Do you want this? Do you, demon? Then tell me what I need to know.”

Daltry had never felt so close to tears. To be tortured at the hands of a girl who had no idea how much danger she was in. God help them both.

“The
Isla de Sempiterno
,” he growled at last. “That’s the last place I know he was taken.” He swallowed, his body aching for relief. “Luísa, the wolfsbane, if you please.”

Luísa poured the crumbly remains back into the pouch, flicking off the bits that clung to her moistened skin. She reached inside and pinched out a small dose.

The pirate queen approached him, a look of youthful innocence masked behind eyes that had seen too much of the world. She smoothed his damp hair off his face and studied him. Were the legends true about her?
Could she see the wolf inside?

Without another word, she slid the pinch of wolfsbane past his lips, her fingers grazing along the bottom half of his teeth.

Daltry’s eyes closed and his tongue pressed the venom to the side of his mouth where its magic could seep into the rest of his body. The narcotic effect of the wolfsbane would be fast.

His breathing slowed with his heart. He opened his eyes only to see the woman who had beat him at his own game.

A narcotic fiend. That’s all she needed. He had blurted out a location so fast, she couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth. But he writhed in pain, too wracked to lie—she hoped.

Luísa didn’t believe for a minute he was a werewolf, but he was a drug user and that made him less than reliable. If she was to pry any answers out of him, she’d need him sober and sated.

“Better?”

He nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

The
Coral
rolled and she leaned into him, her hands bracing against his hard chest.
Madonna
, he felt good. Drug addict or not, he was tempting. But there was no time for her fantasies. If his claims were true, they’d have little time to launch a rescue.

Luísa tucked the pouch under her belt. “I have never heard of this island,
Capitán
Daltry. But if what you say is true, I will return this pouch to you.” She turned to climb the stairs. “On the other hand, if you lied to me, I will toss this bag overboard—and you with it.”

Chapter Four

Luísa pulled out every chart they had on these waters and still she couldn’t find the island Daltry had named. Had he lied? ‘Twas likely, but she still had hope.

Her gaze fell upon the map the Frenchman had given her. There was no island by that name there either, but there was an area where it could hide.
The Dragon’s Corridor
. A vast region perpetually shrouded in fog. The mapmaker had drawn it in the shape of a dragon. It was as good a place as any to hide an island. With a good wind, it’d be less than a week’s sail from their present location.

A rap at the door broke her concentration.

“
Andale
,” she said brusquely.

Paqua glided in, his face chiseled with dangerous calm. “The
Coral’s
in good sail, Luísa. We should reach our coordinates in a few days.”

“We have a new heading, co-captain. We’re going here,” she said, stabbing a finger at the fog dragon.

Paqua placed his hands on the table and studied the map, his brow furrowing into canals. “There’s no island there,
niña
.”

“I think there is. I think that’s where the
Isla de Sempiterno
has been hidden.”

“Bah! Foolishness.” He snatched the map in a fist and shook it at her. “This chart is worthless. We must stick to the plan.”

There was a quake in his voice. Not of annoyance, but apprehension. He strangled the chart inside a fist as if he wanted to destroy it. She tried to pry it out of his hand, but he waved her away. “It’s worthless, I tell you.”

She paced around him, intrigued by his protest.
He was lying.

“You know where that island is, don’t you?”

The whites of his eyes glistened against his leathered brown skin. “Such nonsense. That island is a myth.”