Chapter 4
Arial knew her sharp, powerful beak couldn’t actually form a smile—but if it could, she would have been grinning from ear to ear as she coasted on the sharp blast of wind.
Free.
There was nothing like the experience of powerful winds rippling over her feathers, buffeting her along with it as she tipped and angled her wings to glide through the air.
She felt the sensation riffling, sleeking over every single feather on her body: from the long, smooth ones that formed her wing tips and tail to the softer, downy ones under her wings and chin, to the broad, silky white ones covering her body.
She could see far and wide and yet could discern the shape of a fish swimming too close to the surface yards below.
She felt the sullen heat ease from the air as the storm barreled in.
She even dove directly into the wind once or twice, just to give herself the chance to fight against it, to use her muscles and the power of her wings to dance with Mother Nature.
There were moments like this when Arial was tempted to remain in this form forever.
But then she thought about pleasures (and challenges) like Raine St. Albans, and she admitted she loved her human form as well.
The rain began quietly, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before it turned to a sharp, stinging downpour. For now, the sprinkling frosted her vision lightly and she couldn’t feel the drops anywhere but on the very front of her face—between the eyes, just above her beak.
She was hungry, so she’d hunt…but first she’d revel in this freedom. She soared, dived, glided, and shot straight up into the air—cutting through the wind and sprinkling rain.
The masts of Bonny Lass punctured the graying sky in the distance, and her white sails glowed against the darkening sea. And, as Arial was acutely—so acutely—aware, on that vessel was a very dangerous man.
Dangerous to his enemies. Dangerous to his friends.
And dangerous to her.
Yet, she was compelled to return to her ship sooner than she might have done, for Raine St. Albans was there. And he was waiting for her—with a hot, meaningful look in his eyes and a wicked, wicked mouth.
As she skimmed along just above the churning waves, Arial saw the white flash of a fish too close to the surface. She swooped down, her talons swiping through the air, breaking the water, closing over the squirming, fighting creature, and then she soared high.
On another kind of day, when the weather was smooth and the air was fine, Arial might take her meal to a nearby outcropping of rock to dine.
Most times, however, she perched in a hidden alcove on the backside of the Lass’s stern.
Other times, particularly if the weather was bad and her crew might need her, she landed, transformed, and brought the fish into her cabin.
There, she closed the curtains and became what she thought of as her “wild self” in order to dine.
She never dined with her crew. She rarely ate anything that wasn’t freshly caught by her own talons, simply because she felt it necessary to maintain that wild part of herself.
By hunting for her own food and transforming regularly, she honed and maintained her natural instincts and skills.
Arial felt she was more night hawk than woman most of the time, and that was what made her such a fearsome pirate and competent ship’s captain.
A sudden gust of wind caught her by surprise, but instead of being startled, Arial merely smiled inside her beak and allowed the force to catch her up and push her along.
The masts of her beloved ship were taller and more pronounced now as she streaked through the air toward home.
The white sails shone like a beacon, and even from her distance, she saw the glint of light reflecting from the window of her cabin.
Where, surely, St. Albans awaited.
A shiver of expectation caught her by surprise and she tightened the grip on her catch. Like the vampire who awaited her, she too found sustenance in a fierce, wild manner—so different from the other men and women she knew.
Perhaps that was part of the reason she found herself so attracted to the man, despite the way his insouciance and arrogance infuriated her at times.
He was so bloody sure of himself—yet, she thought with another inside smile—he was utterly befuddled by the fact that his Draculian thrall had no effect on her.
Now she could see the details of her ship: the scrollwork carving along the top edge of the body, and the fierce hawk-woman figurehead she’d had designed for the prow.
Not that anyone on the Black Lass knew about her wild self.
No one but St. Albans, that is—and that was only because he was so damned bloody nosy, intelligent…
and he’d gotten so close to her that she’d not been as careful as she should have been the one time she transformed near him.
Or perhaps it was the simple fact that, being an extraordinary sort of human himself, St. Albans was more likely to understand and recognize others who were also extraordinary in their own ways.
Still gripping the fish in her talons, Arial did a high, wide circle above the Lass, assessing the position and movements of her crew as the storm closed in.
She was hungry and wanted to eat, but with the storm so near and the heavy clouds obscuring the sunlight, she wanted to make certain her men weren’t in need of her navigational skills.
And then there was, of course, St. Albans—who wanted to explore a special sort of navigational skills with her…in bed.
A thrill of heat had Arial diving and swooping until she could access the small alcove she’d had installed on the backside of the stern.
It was just below the guard rail and above the rudder, carefully camouflaged from the poopdeck so the carving on the side of the ship created a small extrusion blocking anyone from above from seeing the area.
The biggest challenge was making certain no one on board saw the massive hawk flying into the backside of the ship.
And always when she finished eating, she cleaned out the area of the remains—bones, tail, head—pushing them into the ocean, then flew back out and landed lightly on the aft deck behind a large cargo crate she’d positioned—and insisted remain there—for just that purpose.
This time—after she’d eaten, then cleaned up and flew out of her hiding place—she landed lightly on the cloud-darkened deck with a soft click of talon. A figure moved from the shadows quickly toward her hiding place. Arial grinned, and shook her head mentally. St. Albans, of course.
She closed her eyes and swept into the transformation back to—
No!
In an instant—too late—she’d recognized the shadow. It wasn’t St. Albans; it was the square, solid Lorimar, and he was swinging something heavy and dark toward her. Arial gasped and dove awkwardly to the side, becoming paralyzed in a moment of partial transformation.
Her body arced with pain as she froze in mid-change.
She tried to cry out a warning—but it came out as a distressed squawk, and attempted to swipe a lethal talon—but it was only a dainty foot.
The wind was knocked out of her by something strong and forceful, and Arial felt herself tumbling to the deck…
just as an enraged bellow reached her ears.
All at once, the shadow that was Lorimar was whipped around so sharply the movement ruffled her softest, downiest feathers. Arial closed her eyes, concentrated, and pushed herself through the rest of the transformation.
Oh God. It was sharp and painful, and agonizingly slow, but she managed it…
and felt her fingers spring free into five slender digits, her eyes shift back to more contained, human-like vision, and her body curve and soften into that of the woman she was.
Her clothing remained intact—and, fortunately, that included the pistol she wore at her waist.
Still a bit murky in the brain, and aching everywhere else, Arial nevertheless wasted no time in drawing her firearm free as she spun to see two men grappling on the deck. One of them was Lorimar, and the other was—unsurprisingly—St. Albans.
But what was a surprise to her was that the two men were in a vicious hand-to-hand battle. How could it be that the stronger-than-mortal and quicksilver fast St. Albans hadn’t decapitated or otherwise torn his opponent to ribbons? Especially since he’d had the element of surprise?
Then, as the two men twisted and writhed together, Arial saw the red glow in Lorimar's eyes. She snatched in her breath. Another vampire? Here on her ship? How?
She looked down at the pistol and shoved it back into her belt with a frown. That wouldn’t be useful in this situation, blast it.
But what could help was her wild self. She flexed her toes inside their boots, imagining her icepick claws digging into the man’s back. She spread her arms, preparing to shift back into her untamed persona, when suddenly St. Albans lunged to his feet next to her.
He staggered a little, but he held Lorimar by the shirt and, with a sleek, powerful movement, slammed the other man into the ground. His arm whipped out and his hand came down, leaving wide, deep trails of blood down the side of Lorimar's face, throat, and cut his shirt into ribbons.
The bright, fresh scent of blood filled the air, overpowering even that of the salty sea, and Arial felt her mouth water and her eyes sharpen. The wild part of her was never fully sedated, and—like a shark, a feral cat, or an undead—the scent of blood awakened her.
She almost allowed herself to shift into her other self, but stopped—for St. Albans was a man fueled by cold, hard fury. She watched him: his fluid movements, the flash of fangs, the burning heat in his eyes as he tore and pummeled with fisticuffs, fangs, and feet.
Finally, St. Albans grabbed a collapsed Lorimar by the torn, bloodied throat and shoved him up against the railing. The other man kicked out frantically, but St. Albans was fueled by fury and he merely took the blows.
“Who sent you?” he growled, closing his fingers tightly over the other man’s throat. They dug into Lorimar's flesh, the dark blood slick and coursing over his digits.
Arial watched, aware that her heart was pounding and her knees were abominably weak—a travesty for the fearsome pirate Captain Bonny. She nudged away those weak, feminine feelings that made her insides hot and fluttery and walked over to the two men.
Time to assert her authority.
“You came onto my ship under false pretenses. I’ll have you thrown overboard if you don’t answer the questions. Who sent you? And why?”
St. Albans spared her a look, his mouth tightening as if annoyed that she was interfering. “Arial—”
“Captain,” she reminded him flatly, still looking at Lorimar. “Answer the questions or over you go.”
“And if I do?” hissed the imprisoned vampire. Despite the danger of his position, the man’s eyes burned red and they captured her gaze. Suddenly Arial felt an unpleasant wavering inside her. Her vision swam a little, and her ears felt as if they were blocked while her anger began to wane—
She shook her head fiercely and broke the connection with the vampire. Next to her, St. Albans turned to stare at her, then cursed under his breath.
Arial ignored him and responded to Lorimar. “If you answer the questions, you’ll go in the brig until we reach land where I can put you off. Somewhere preferably remote and isolated.” She bared her teeth in a humorless smile.
“You heard the captain,” St. Albans said, and squeezed Lorimar's throat. “If you want a chance to live, you’ll tell her. Who sent you? And why? Was it Moldavi?”
Lorimar's face twisted in pain, and Arial sensed it wasn’t because of the grip around his throat. She knew enough about the Dracule vampires to be aware that they each bore Lucifer’s Mark on the back of one shoulder, and that sometimes the mark throbbed with pain when the devil was displeased.
“Of course it was Moldavi,” Lorimar growled. “He knows you want the medallion. Had to…stop you. And…” He seemed to be struggling with some inner battle as he forced the words out. “He hates…Corvindale…anyone who is allied with him…”
St. Albans looked at Arial, his brows lifted. “That’s no news to me, captain. He hasn’t given us any information we didn’t already have or suspect.”
Arial wanted to smile back, but she was the fierce pirate Captain Bonny and fierce pirate captains didn’t smile. So she said, “Agreed. I see no reason to contaminate my brig with this creature. Get rid of him.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. With pleasure.”