Chapter 6
Arial was numb.
She couldn’t believe he’d done what he’d done.
Though she herself had torn into flesh with talon and beak, it hadn’t been like that. It was a natural activity for the wild, it was required for the sort of creature she was.
But apparently, pointless, horrific violence was part of St. Albans’ life as well. She’d almost believed otherwise.
The smell of blood lingered from the death of one of her crew members. How dare he do such a thing? How dare he assault her sailor? How dare he lose control like that? How could he do that to a man?
How could he?
Thank God she hadn’t let him feed on her. Arial felt ill. Lightheaded and nauseated. And very, very weary. And sad. She’d had such a connection to him, and now…
She knew better.
Arial paced her quarters, having dismissed a concerned Bladsoe shortly after returning from the brig. Somehow he sensed there was something more to this than the captain disciplining a man.
The sun would rise soon, and she had a decision to make: did she continue on the mission Corvindale had asked her to take on—without St. Albans’ help—or did she call it all off and return to Barbados?
And either way, what did she do with St. Albans?
She was, she admitted to herself, shocked that he’d allowed himself to be jailed at all. The fact that he’d surrendered so readily seemed odd. The way he looked at her—without a hint of the ferocity that surely had fired him to destroy a man as he’d done—dug deeply into her gut.
It almost made her wonder if —if there was something she was missing.
She almost started for the door. Maybe she should speak with him. Let him explain.
But she never allowed any sort of violence on her vessel. Any crew member who caused any problem was locked in the brig—just as St. Albans had been. It was a necessary, unbending rule for a vessel at sea.
I should sleep instead, she told herself.
Tomorrow—whatever she decided to do—would be a difficult day. She’d either be fighting through a storm, attacking the Devil’s Target, or betraying a promise made to the Earl of Corvindale that would help to bring down Cezar Moldavi.
She would not think of St. Albans.
He was there…in her dreams. Strong, warm, sensual. His mouth teased the corner of hers, nibbling at her lips, nuzzling her chin and along the bare expanse of her throat and shoulders.
Arial sighed, shivering beneath the delicious, prickling sensations. Her body was hot and liquid, pleasure fluttered through her as his warm breath gusted over her damp skin.
St. Albans, she thought desperately. Why did you do it?
She planted a hand on his chest, felt the ridge of solid muscle there, the light covering of hair sprinkled over his pectorals…
“Arial,” he murmured, and covered her breast with a large, warm hand. “My enticing captain.”
St. Albans…how could you lose control like that?
“Arial…you know I control myself. You saw me.” His mouth was doing amazing things to her in the dream. Hot, sleek, insistent.
She moaned and shivered, and then, somehow, she slipped back into the lull of slumber…but now, she was accompanied by the remnants of the dream.
When Arial awoke, it was to a knock at the door of her quarters. She opened her eyes to see the gray light of dawn filtering through the windows of her cabin—or perhaps it was merely the sun fighting through storm clouds.
“Yes, Bladsoe. Come in.”
He poked his head inside the door as she sat up. “The brig is empty. St. Albans is gone.”
She stiffened with astonishment. “Gone?” she repeated, then sagged back onto her pillow.
How?
And then she remembered the dream. Her heart gave a little leap and she touched her lips, then her chin and throat where he’d kissed and nuzzled and licked. Surely he wouldn’t have come in here…surely he wouldn’t have risked it.
It was a dream.
But then, as she rose from her bed, she saw a finger-length brown and black feather on the table. It hadn’t been there when she went to sleep.
And then she knew.
Raine St. Albans might be gone, but she’d see him again.
And then she’d have to decide what to do with him.