Chapter 2
Arial nearly laughed aloud at the shocked expression on St. Albans’ face, and how it immediately transitioned into a pleased—far too pleased—grin. Oh, he thought he had her, didn’t he?
She stifled a pleased smile of her own. Raine St. Albans was in for a bit of a surprise.
“Is that so?” he replied, and she heard the faint tremor as he attempted to keep his silky voice steady. “To the captain’s chamber? What on earth have I done to deserve such an honor?”
Waves of heat and desire shimmered between them, and Arial had to work at it to keep her expression bland, to fight away the memory of his tall, hard body pressed against her…and those skillful lips devouring hers.
Damn and blast, the man was far too attractive and sure of himself for his own good! She couldn’t wait to turn the tables on him, so to speak.
“Since you managed to find your way there on your own three nights ago, let me assure you it’s nothing more than pragmatism on my part. After all, it’ll be much easier to keep track of you there. The brig was clearly not intended to contain a Dracule.”
“And your chamber will be far more comfortable than that cage in which you attempted to keep me. Not to mention this damp, smelly dungeon. Lead the way, Captain.”
She did, relieved to turn from those blue eyes—which, though they weren’t able to lull her into complete hypnosis, were nonetheless compelling and alluring in a completely different—far more dangerous—way.
If she actually trusted St. Albans as much as she desired him, Arial’s decisions would be much simpler. One thing she knew: she couldn’t wait to get him off the Black Lass.
And, unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen until they caught up with the Devil’s Target.
Which could be another day or two—depending whether the storm that was brewing tore in like a furious wild woman, or merely like an annoyed witch.
The Black Lass was the fastest ship in the Caribbean, and her captain was unerring when it came to precise navigation, but even those benefitsXX paled in the face of an angry storm.
Arial and St. Albans climbed two sets of steep, narrow stairs, and she felt the way his attention scored over her from head to toe—lingering on her behind as often as possible.
When they got to the main deck and she stepped out from the stairwell, leaving him behind, Arial heard the man exhale a short laugh.
“Ah,” he said drily. “Well done, Captain Bonny. Well done.”
“What is it, St. Albans? I thought you were quite eager to find the captain’s cabin,” she replied innocently as she stood there bathed in the light of dawn.
The deck around her was empty, for they’d emerged near the stern(?), and the crew was on the foredeck due to the change of shift and, more importantly, breakfast. She sniffed the air, smelling the coming storm as its rising wind tossed her braid and filled the pristine sails above her.
St. Albans looked up at her from the safety of the shadowy stairwell, a wry smile on his face. He was so tall that he had to tip his head slightly, and his shoulders nearly brushed the sides of the passage. But he remained safely out of the sunlight.
“Are you coming, St. Albans?” She knew her eyes were dancing with mischief and that there was simply no chance of him turning around to return to the bowels of the ship. The likes of Lord Norringford would never stoop to retreat.
“Arial,” he growled, his eyes flashing hot, lustful red.
And then he moved—more quickly than she’d anticipated—and the next thing she knew, Arial was caught by strong hands. Lightning fast, powerful, and smooth as glass, he had them both around the corner and tucked into a dense, shadowy spot beneath a suspended cockboat.
“That was a dirty trick, Arial,” he murmured, pressing her against the wall with two large hands on the leather straps crossing her shoulders. One foot jockeyed between hers, and he slid his knee between her thighs to help gently pin her in place.
“Captain,” she reminded him tartly, trying to remember that she was, indeed, the bloody captain of this ship and everyone on board was required to adhere to her commands and laws.
But her heart was thudding wildly and her mouth had gone dry.
Other parts of her were far from dry, however, filling and dampening and beginning to throb with heat.
“Captain,” he said, sliding his warm fingers up to where the braid began at the back of her crown. “You’re shedding.”
He brought his hand around and she saw the feather pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “This is not the first time I’m relieved my Asthenia isn’t feathers,” he murmured, looking at the delicate, downy feather. “There’s a woman I know…”
His voice trailed off as he stared at the fragile piece left behind from her transformation—just a small one of brown flecked with black and amber.
“A woman you know?” she forced herself to sound disinterested and cold, though her body thrummed with heat and desire even as she wondered why in the bloody hell he’d thought of another woman when he practically had her plastered against the wall.
And her cool, unemotional facade faded, her next words becoming more irritated than she’d intended. “What about this woman you know?”
Her tone drew his gaze back to hers, and what she saw there told her whoever this woman was, St. Albans wasn’t thinking about her.
Arial’s breath snagged as she drowned in the unleashed desire in his blazing eyes—blue for the moment, but an unreal hue that she’d never seen in nature.
They glowed like cerulean fire: so bright and yet hot at the same time.
His beautiful lips were parted, revealing the tips of his fangs, and the fingers that still pinched her feather shook slightly.
His other elegant hand had curled around the back of her head and neck as the wind blustered through his mahogany hair.
She realized all at once that her own hands had settled on the front of his chest. His heat burned through the fine linen shirt that covered slabs of muscle so hard and well-defined she felt them through the fabric.
He lowered his head, pressing her back against the wall with his hip and murmured, “Arial…”
She lifted her face, heart galloping wildly—matching the same crazy thumping of his beneath her palms—
Clang!
Clang! Clang!
She jolted back, slamming her head into the wall, then pushed him away. She knew that sound, dammit.
The sounds of running feet and shouts filled the air.
More clanging, followed by the ringing of the warning bell.
One of the lines had come loose from the sheets, and the wind was whipping the metal fasteners against the cargo chains, mizzenmast, and anywhere else in its path.
The situation wasn’t a life or death matter, but it was urgent, for someone could get slammed by the heavy metal pieces, and the sail could tear.
She’d seen a man get knocked overboard once when a furious gust of wind whipped a chain and loose sheet at him, sending him flying.
Arial barely noticed that St. Albans had managed to remain in the shadows when she extricated herself.
She brushed past him, rushing toward the prow.
Her crew would have the matter in hand, but of course she would check to make sure all was well.
As she dodged a small pyramid of cannonballs and leapt over a coil of line, she berated herself for allowing herself such an intimate moment in full view of any crew member who might have come by.
For all they knew, Raine St. Albans was a violent murderer and had escaped from the brig. Finding him pressing their captain up against the wall would have caused no little alarm and most likely an ugly fight that would end with someone dead.
It took her and the crew nearly a half hour to subdue the wild lines, chains, and fasteners being buffeted by the rising wind. Fortunately, the sail in question remained intact, and there was little damage except to a small window in the dining room, which had been smashed.
By the time she was finished dealing with preparations for the coming storm—which had grown uglier and darker on the horizon in concert with the twisting, writhing winds—Arial had been occupied for nearly an hour.
During that time, she’d seen neither hide nor hair of St. Albans, which wasn’t a surprise.
But she did wonder whether he’d made it unscathed to her cabin or if he’d found another place to hide.
She started to make her way back to her private quarters, then hesitated. The wind was different, and it carried on it a scent that smelled forbidding. The back of her neck prickled as she stood on the high poopdeck, watching as the storm unrolled on the horizon to the west.
She knew the Devil’s Target was to the north. Once they reached it, St. Albans would join her crew—well, knowing him, he’d try to lead them—in taking over the other ship. He was after something called the Svar Medallion, a mystical property that was somehow important to the Dracule.
Arial didn’t care about that. She wanted the spoils from the Devil’s Target—but more than those riches, she wanted revenge on the vampires who sailed on it in the name of Cezar Moldavi.
Moldavi was one of the most hated and feared of the Dracule, as well as those who sailed, traded, and even pirated on the seas. Though Arial hadn’t been to the Far East for over a year, she well knew the trouble and violence Moldavi wrought with all of his spice ships in that area of the world.
But it was when his men had taken over the Bonny Lass, the ship her mother had left her, and set fire to it—burning not only the vessel, but all of her crew, with the exception of Bladsoe—that Arial vowed personal vengeance against the man.
Thus, despite her mixed feelings about St. Albans, Arial was more than willing to help him and his friends from London as they worked to destroy—or at least hamper—Cezar Moldavi.
And if obtaining the Svar Medallion would disrupt Moldavi, she’d move heaven and earth to help Raine St. Albans do it.
Even if it meant risking her peace of mind.
Which having him on board and in her bloody cabin would certainly do.
Arial watched the storm gathering for a moment—sniffing the air, feeling the texture and temperature on her skin, listening to the feel of the ocean below—then made her decision.
With a quick glance around to be certain she was alone and no one was in sight, Arial slipped to the shadowy side of the mizzenmast, closed her eyes, and transformed.