Chapter 5
Raine had to curl his fingers into his palms to keep from touching her as she walked past. Between the luscious scent that was Arial Bonny and the fact that she carried a hint of fresh blood from her recent meal, not to mention the fact that merely kissing her made him lose his mind, he was in sad shape.
It was probably best if he let her go back to the captain’s chamber alone, with that huge bed and tempting bath tub, while he remained in the moonlight.
But even as he allowed her to pass on by, as he denied himself what he wanted most violently, Lucifer’s Mark over the back of his shoulder throbbed and twisted.
Luce was not pleased with Raine’s sacrifice, and he indicated that displeasure through the rootlike brand that represented Raine’s damaged soul.
But the pain was a welcome distraction from the wild fascination Raine felt for the female pirate, and so he focused on that as he stared out over the black sea.
Now he could smell the storm brewing in the distance. Chilly, musky, and dark. At least if heavy clouds obstructed the sun, he’d be able to spend more time on the deck and less time—
Raine stilled, his breath clogging as he felt the strength begin to leech from his body. Pine needles, a pine bough, something…somewhere nearby. Somewhere on this ship. But how, and—
He turned as a shadow emerged from the stairway leading to the belowdeck. Glowing red eyes burned in the night, and before he even saw it, Raine knew the man was holding an evergreen branch.
His Asthenia—his Achilles’ Heel. The one thing in the world that would weaken him, bring him to his knees. It wouldn’t kill him; the only way to do that was to cut off his head or stake him in the heart with a wooden pike. Or let him fry in the sun for days.
But the proximity of his Asthenia—different for each member of the Dracule—made him helpless as a babe. Paralyzed. And in enormous, tortuous pain.
“Who are you?” he managed to say, fighting to hide his growing weakness as the prickles of a thousand tiny knives cut into him.
The man stepped into a shaft of moonlight, holding a thumb-sized piece of evergreen delicately in his fingertips. His fangs glinted in the moonlight. “You don’t remember me, St. Albans?”
Raine’s thoughts wanted to turn to mush, but he battled back the encroaching weakness. He was still standing, and he might have one good lunge at the creature in front of him. If he could knock the pine needles from his hand, he might be able to survive…
“I’m afraid not,” he managed to say with great disdain. As if the man wasn’t worth his time to recall. Though he did seem slightly familiar.
“More’s the pity for you, there, since you won’t know who it was that killed you.”
Before Raine’s thoughts could catch up with the need to react, the man rushed at him—and it all happened so quickly.
Raine smashed into the railing, and then before he could catch his shaky breath, his attacker grabbed him by the shirt and wrestled him over the side.
But as he did so, the evergreen finger slipped from his grip and tumbled harmlessly away. Raine felt the surge of his strength returning, and with a triumphant groan, caught the nose of one of the Lass’s cannon heads as he plummeted toward the churning sea.
He held on for a moment, breathing heavily and catching his thoughts, and then fury galvanized him. He crawled along the cannon toward the ship and managed to squeeze through the opening safely inside.
But his assailant had anticipated him, and no sooner had Raine’s hands touched the floor than the attacker was there, swinging at him with the cannon’s long, metal plunger.
He rolled out of the way in the nick of time, receiving only a glancing blow over the back of his legs.
“Who sent you?” Raine scrambled to his feet, ducking and spinning, and now, his own eyes blazing hot with fury and his fangs long and ready, he flung himself at the other man.
“You don’t know?” hissed the vampire as they fought to grab hold of the other in a wild parody of embrace. The space was small, and they slammed into the wall, and grappled wildly—fangs flashing and limbs pounding.
“Moldavi,” Raine guessed—it had to be. “How did he—” His breath was knocked out as the other man landed a punch to the gut, but when he doubled over, Raine reared back up suddenly and caught his opponent in the head with his own.
Though his nameless attacker had originally had the advantage of surprise, Raine more than compensated with his anger and strength now that the remnants of the pine bough’s affect were gone.
He dodged a fist, and, grabbing the man by his shoulders, whipped him into the wall, then spun around and crashed his head into the cannon.
The other vampire cried out with pain and fury, and kicked out, catching Raine in the side of his torso, knocking some of the breath from him. But he was undeterred, and slammed his fist into the man’s face. Blood poured from his assailant’s nose, and the scent of it only fueled his rage.
He tore and kicked, pummeled, and then went for the other vampire’s throat—plunging his fangs deeply, and goring him with his sharp teeth.
Hot, thick blood rushed over his lips and tongue and drove him to further violence.
He tore, punched, kicked, and drank. The blood from Moldavi’s make—his minion—was tainted with that of the evil vampire lord, but it fueled Raine and fed the inherent violent tendencies of his kind.
At last his bloodlust eased, and he stepped back, chest heaving, and swiped a hand over his mouth. What was left of the vampire was hardly more than ribbons of flesh and muscle, and the gleaming hint of white bones beneath the mess.
Raine heard a noise behind him and turned to see Arial standing there. Her eyes were wide and shocked, her face pale in the lantern light.
Behind her loomed Bladsoe, casting a broad, wicked shadow, along with several other crew members.
They were all staring at him, but the horror and disgust in Arial’s eyes was all that he saw.
“Put him in the brig,” she said, her expression cold and hard.
“Arial,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I need to speak—”
“It’s captain,” she snarled. “And you need do nothing. Put him in the brig,” she snapped at her crew. “Now.”
Raine couldn’t blame them for hesitating, considering the mincemeat he’d made of the vampire on the ground. And the fact that he himself was bloodied from head to toe.
He considered making a break for it—he could easily fight his way through the five or six crew members; especially in this small space. But if he did that, he was announcing both guilt and regret—neither of which he possessed for defending himself.
And he’d have to give up his mission.
And he’d have to leave Arial Bonny.
Instead, he allowed himself to be manhandled into the iron cage.