Chapter 2
It took everything she had for Arial to keep her voice steady and her knees firm. Her head was bloody spinning, her breath wanted to come in pants, and the entirety of her body felt as if it had been turned into a puddle of liquid. Hot liquid.
She stepped back, off St. Albans’ boots (how the bloody hell had she ended up stepping onto them?) and let the wooden pike she gripped fall to her side.
The man’s expression was almost payment enough for the pain in the arse taking on his mission was going to be. It was a combination of shock, ruefulness, and lust.
And, she noted with pleasure, his fangs had retracted a little.
“Pardon me?” he managed to say in that smooth, deep voice that made her belly shiver.
“I said, I decline. Your offer of payment.” She smiled and gripped the stake more tightly so as to hide the trembling of her fingers.
She settled her other hand on her hip for the same reason.
“At least, in that form. Corvindale indicated you’d be willing to pay me—and in cold, hard cash, St. Albans.
Not your…er…prowess in bed.” She managed to make her tone sound doubtful, but wasn’t certain she’d succeeded.
Especially when those lethal vampire eyes settled on her once again.
She steeled herself against the little tug…
the warm furl of desire and supplication that was part of the thrall of the Dracule.
It snaked around her insides, curling about her belly, sliding up over her shoulders, and drew her thoughts and self closer.
Or attempted to.
She blinked and the strong sensation evaporated like a soap bubble.
“I’m going to have you thrown overboard if you continue to try and enthrall me,” she said. “Not only is it arrogant and rude, but it’s making me very angry. And clearly, it’s not working.”
He stared at her, and uncertainty replaced the alluring glow in his eyes. “Of course it was. You were putty in my hands. You were just about to let me…” His voice trailed off as she continued to look at him with a knowing expression.
Now the shock was even stronger in his sea-blue gaze.
“You…broke away. You stopped me. It wasn’t working.”
If she hadn’t been so annoyed by his presumption, Arial would’ve felt sympathy for his suddenly lost expression.
He looked like a little boy who’d just learned he had to go to school instead of playing pirates.
Thank God she’d never had to do that. Everything she’d learned, she’d learned here or on her mother’s ship, through her own reading and studying and a little bit of tutoring when she needed it.
“No, St. Albans. It wasn’t working. None of the three times you attempted to enthrall me worked.”
Then his eyes narrowed. “But you let me kiss you. You kissed me back.”
She lifted a brow. “While fully conscious of that decision.”
Something flickered in his expression, followed by an abashed smile. “Well, that’s something. You appeared to enjoy it.”
“One can look at it that way,” she replied.
“Or one can look at the fact that I explored the situation, and then chose to end it, and here we are—back to the discussion of payment. And the mission at hand. Instead of…” She flapped her hand toward the curtained area of the chamber, where, surely, he’d been intent on getting her.
The fact that St. Albans had kissed her—and remarkably well; her body was still thrumming hot—instead of immediately trying to feed on her was the main reason she’d allowed him that close.
And because he was someone she wanted to kiss.
Who wouldn’t? He was handsome—but then most all the Dracule were handsome. She supposed that might be part of the bargain they made with Lucifer—along with the immortality and extra strength that came along with it. However that worked.
But St. Albans…he was extraordinarily handsome, with his dark mahogany hair and sleepy blue eyes.
His skin was sprinkled with an ocean of freckles, giving him a bronzed appearance.
He was tall—too tall for her taste—but she appreciated his broad shoulders and the shape of his hands.
And his mouth…well, it was dangerous and perfect at the same time.
“Thus,” she forced herself to continue, “we need to speak plainly on terms. I’ll take you to find the Devil’s Target, and you’ll pay my fee. Which will be: the entirety of the spoils on the ship, except for the one item you wish to retrieve. Is that agreeable?”
“It is.”
“Very well. We have a deal.” She’d started for the bellpull, which would ring for Bladsoe, her first mate, when she noticed St. Albans’ expression. “What is it?”
“I do believe the agreement of a deal requires some form of…consummation between the two parties.” His eyes were so very dark and blue, and though they held none of the Draculian glow, they seemed to burn.
“In lieu of a written contract, a handshake is customary,” she replied, furious by the way her belly had dropped at his words, and the way her pulse spiked. How dare he have this effect on her?
“A handshake will suffice.” He stepped forward, and Arial, with some misgiving, did the same.
She extended her hand, and he took it in a firm handshake…but just as she was about to pull it away, he tightened his grip and lifted it to his mouth, turning her hand to expose the inside of her arm.
“St. Albans,” she warned, expecting his fangs to shoot forth and slide into the sensitive skin of her wrist.
But instead, he merely pressed his mouth to the translucent white skin, where her blue veins pulsed erratically beneath. His lips were soft and moist, and the touch sent warm and delicious prickles in a swarm all over her arm and torso.
She felt the slide of his fangs against—but not into—her skin, felt the heat of his breath, suddenly more harsh against her. His lips and tongue traced the length of her wrist, up toward her elbow, over her tattoo…slowly, sensually, sleekly.
At any moment, she expected him to plunge his fangs into her flesh, to release the hot surge of blood that pounded recklessly inside her. She shivered, aware that her knees were weak and she wanted him to touch her and kiss her everywhere.
With that realization, her eyes bolted wide from where they’d become drugged by arousal, and she tugged her hand away.
To her surprise, he allowed her to do so, and she curled her arm—unmarked but for the moisture left by his lips and tongue—against her belly.
“I’d say that will suffice to seal our deal,” she said, then added briskly, “The longer we delay pulling anchor here in Barbados, the longer it will take to find them.”
He seemed to take a moment to collect himself. As well, he was taking no pains to hide his thrusting fangs—as if to demonstrate that he hadn’t used them. She refused to allow him the satisfaction of looking lower to see whether other parts of him were full and extended.
“I cannot argue with that. As far as I’m concerned, you can pull anchor now,” he said, glancing toward the glass windows where the crew was moving about, doing their tasks in preparation for leaving port. They were as ready to get away as she was. “Are they trustworthy?”
Arial crossed her arms over her middle. “As a priest. Which, I realize isn’t saying much, but you get the idea.
” She’d handpicked every man on this ship, save two newer mates, and they were not only loyal to her, but would give their lives for her.
Each one of them, without hesitation. As she’d do for them as well.
He was still looking out through the windows, his brow furrowing so there was a vertical line above his nose. “You don’t ever…er…worry that one of them might…well, you are a woman, and of rather small stature—”
“Do I worry one of them might attempt to assault or rape me?” Arial gave a short bark of laughter. “Not at all. I’m not their…sort. If you understand my meaning.”
Which was, partly, the reason for her predicament here with St. Albans: that she’d fallen for his smooth voice, godlike good looks, and the fact that she hadn’t taken a lover in far too long.
“Ah.” He seemed far too pleased with that information. Before she could respond, he continued, “Do you know where the Devil’s Target is?”
“Not precisely, but I will soon,” she replied.
When he looked at her curiously, she wondered if perhaps she’d said too much. Even her crew didn’t know—except for Bladsoe. But though St. Albans appeared ready to press for further information, she shook her head and reached for the bellpull, yanking hard twice. “I’ve got work to do.”
Then an unpleasant and yet titillating thought struck her. “I suppose you’ll have to stay in here, at least while the sun is up. Unless you want to bunk with the crew belowdeck.” She couldn’t hold back a sudden grin. “They’d love to have you, I’m certain.”
To her surprise, he smiled back. “How kind of you to officially invite me to share your quarters, Captain Bonny. I accept.”
Arial frowned—that was a problem she hadn’t anticipated—and swept from the chamber to harass her men into working faster. The sooner they were out to sea, the sooner she could find the Devil’s Target…and the sooner she could be rid of St. Albans.
Arial managed to avoid both her chamber and St. Albans for several hours as the Black Lass cut speedily through the choppy, dark blue waves of the Caribbean.
But as the sun began to sink lower, she knew it was only a matter of time before he made his appearance on the shadowed deck and disrupted her thoughts—and pulse—again.
It should have occurred to her what accommodations would have to be made for a Dracule sailing with her when the Earl of Corvindale wrote, requesting her help.
(The fact that Corvindale had actually asked instead of demanded was in itself remarkable.) And Arial hadn’t thought too much about it, being pleased to have a way to assist Corvindale and his cabal of vampires as he worked to destroy—or at least hamper—Cezar Moldavi.