by ML Guida
“Rosalind, where are you going?”
A woman’s voice drew his attention away from the painting.
“My room.”
He crept down the corridor past a parlor and toward an open door. He peered around the corner.
“We have to get out of here.” An older woman with the same eyes as Rosalind was dressed in a red gown and wrung her hands. “Didn’t you hear those poor men screaming?”
“Then go pack your bags, Mother. Hurry.”
The woman hurried out of the parlor, and Phearson disappeared into the shadows.
A landscape painting was on the floor. Rosalind spun a dial on a safe, then it made a click. He held his breath. She pulled out several black velvet boxes and put them on an ornate oak table. He held his breath as she slowly opened one. Light glittered off a diamond necklace.
He stepped out of the shadows. “So, ’tis true. Doyle has a small fortune hidden in his safe.”
Rosalind quickly shut the case and stepped back. She put her hand on her heart. “My God, your face.” Her voice trembled with fear.
Phearson looked down and grimaced. His cloak had a huge stain. He glanced at his reflection in a mirror hanging in the parlor and groaned. Blood dripped down his chin and onto his throat. He looked like something straight out of hell.
“Who’s down there?” Rosalind’s mother called. “Esmond, is that you?”
Hurried footsteps pitter-pattered down the stairs. Phearson glanced over his shoulder. The woman rushed down the stairs holding her gown high enough to reveal her ankles. “Esmond, you won’t–” She stopped mid-sentence.
“Good evening, madam.”
The blood drained from her face, and then she released a banshee scream. Her eyes fluttered backward, and she fainted. She collapsed onto the stairs. Phearson rushed up the stairs two at a time and lifted her into his arms. He carried her down to the parlor and laid her on the sofa.
“Please, don’t bite her.”
Phearson whirled around. “I won’t feast on yer mother. Would ye rather have her roll down the stairs, hitting her head on everyone?”
She blushed and lowered her head. “No.”
“D’ye still have the sack?”
She nodded and pulled out a burlap sack. She picked up one box, and her hand shook so bad that she dropped it on the floor.
When she bent to pick it up, Phearson grabbed the sack and stuffed the rest of the boxes inside. “We canna stay here long. I’m sure the rest of the Pious Twelve and yer stepfather are on their way.”
Rosalind gasped and grabbed his arm.
“Correction, we are already here.”
Phearson cursed at the cold voice. How the hell had Doyle gotten here so fast? He’d been so focused on the jewels he had failed to pay attention to his vampire senses.
He shoved Rosalind behind him and whirled around. Doyle and four of his hooded friends crowded the hallway. There was no going out that way. Two more blocked the opposite way.
Rosalind tightened her grip, her nails digging into his flesh. “Phearson.”
Her voice was heavy with questions that he couldn’t answer. Yet he was fast and could get them out of here before any of the fools moved.
Doyle narrowed his eyes. “My bartender is Captain Fear?” He slammed his arm down. “Now!”
Something sharp pierced Phearson’s neck. Hot searing pain surged through his veins. He yanked a long, pointed dart out of his flesh.
“Coated with holy salt water.” Doyle smiled. “Soon you will be paralyzed and at my mercy.”
Phearson raised an eyebrow. “Mercy? I doubt it.”
As the water pumped through him, his arms tingled and grew weaker. With each heartbeat, he felt his strength waning. ’Twas only a matter of time before he collapsed. He drew on his vampire strength. Luckily, he’d just fed and could battle the growing numbness.
Another dart slammed into his back. The numbness grew stronger. His vision blurred. If he passed out, he and Rosalind would both be dead.
Doyle unleashed a sword. “You’re growing paler, Captain Fear. You’re already swaying on your feet. I’ll mount your head on my fireplace. Now give me back my jewels.”
He lunged with the sword high over his head.
Phearson clutched the bag tight, and taking a deep breath, he squeezed out his last remaining power. Hating himself for abandoning Rosalind, he sped out of the room faster than a soaring eagle.
“Phearson!”
Her pitiful cry stole his heart, but he had no choice.
“Seize her!” Doyle yelled.
Phearson grimaced. If he would have carried her, it would have slowed him down, and they’d both be caught. He’d had no idea how potent holy salt water was and foolishly he thought he was more powerful.
Phearson flew out of the house, his feet barely touching the ground. He startled the horses waiting outside. They neighed and pranced. He tried changing into a bat, but nothing happened.
“After him, you fools,” Doyle yelled.
Shouts and heavy footsteps clamored out of the house.
“We’ve got him now!” someone yelled.
His heart beating wildly, Phearson shot into the cemetery. Horses galloped after him. He refused to be hunted down like Pierce, his body tossed into the river for alligators to feast on. He quickly climbed a nearby oak tree and crouched down on a branch. Darkness covered the cemetery, and his pursuers had to hold lanterns to see where they were going. Their pursuit slowed.
“Where did he go?” Doyle demanded. “He couldn’t have gotten far–not with two darts of holy salt water pumping through his veins.” He urged his horse forward.
“I saw him go through here,” another man said.
Hoping for surprise, Phearson jumped out of the tree and knocked Doyle off his horse. Doyle screamed. Phearson dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The men chased him out of the cemetery and onto the cobblestone street. He only had one chance and headed toward the slow moving Savannah River.
Shots hissed past him. His vision grew dim, and the river went in and out of focus. The horse came alongside of the riverbank.
“We have him now!” a triumphant voice cheered.
Phearson stood on the horse, and in one desperate attempt, dove into the black river, still clutching the burlap sack of jewels. He swam underwater against the current until he thought he’d pass out. He clawed his way to the surface, praying he didn’t run into an alligator. He popped his head out of the water. His limbs were spent. His pursuers were a ways down, looking for him. He forced himself to swim to the bank and crawled up on shore. Pain burned through him. The sky buzzed around him faster and faster.
A torn canvas lay spread out on the ground. Obviously, someone was supposed to be mending it. He dragged himself toward it, then covered himself and passed out into oblivion.
Chapter 13
The two men held on tight to Rosalind’s arms. Her heavy heart slowed to a sad beat. She couldn’t believe Phearson had abandoned her. He hadn’t even tried to take her with him. What a fool she was! All he’d wanted was the jewels. And like a foolish, lonely girl, she’d believed him.
Her stepfather burst through the door, brushing dirt off his clothes. “Damn it!”
Hate flared in his eyes. He stormed over to Rosalind and punched her in the face. Pain exploded in her eye.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her toward him. “The only way he could have gotten into my safe is if you opened it.”
Rosalind kept her mouth shut. She had no defense, no plea, no excuse.
Suddenly, he released her. “I won’t beat you. But I can’t allow this to go unpunished. Tomorrow, you’ll join your father.” He motioned with his hand. “Take her to her room.”
Her mother pushed herself up from the couch, her face stricken. “You can’t be serious, Esmond!”
“I can’t abide by this, Clare.”
She sat up straight. “But she’s my daughter.”
“You’re right. She’s your daughte
r. Not mine.”
She walked over to him. “I won’t let you kill my child.”
“I’m your husband.”
“Mother.” Rosalind shook her head. Her stepfather was extremely dangerous right now. He’d been evil before, but now he’d lost his treasure.
“No, Rosalind.” She put her shoulders back. “I won’t let him kill you. The provost will hear of this. Rosalind deserves a fair tr–”
Mr. Doyle struck her mother across the face, and she fell to the floor.
“Yes, you will. Lock her in my room. I will deal with her later.”
“You bastard!” Rosalind pulled on her arms and kicked her feet, but the men only gripped her tighter, their fingers digging into her flesh. “Leave her alone.”
Her mother turned her head and blood dribbled from her upper lip. Shock shone in her wide eyes. Her husband had never hit her.
Until now.
Rosalind’s captors dragged her up the stairs and tossed her into her bedroom. She fell onto her knees.
The door slammed shut, and the sound of the lock rang in her ears. She rushed to the door and leaned against it. Anger and remorse flooded through her. Phearson, not her stepfather, had stolen all of her dreams. She would never escape, never going to save the poor men down at the Pirate’s House Inn.
She pounded her fist against the oak as tears flooded her eyes. How could she have been so blind? And now, not only was her life in danger but her mother’s as well. All because she’d trusted the wrong man.
The right side of her face throbbed horribly, and her eye swelled shut. She sat on the bed and rubbed her tender arms. Tomorrow, she’d definitely have bruises. Was her stepfather really going to kill her? She didn’t want to die. Didn’t he want her to marry Captain Foster? She froze. What if his plan was to kill her all long?
She wasn’t going to sit here helpless. Maybe she couldn’t get out, but she could have the element of surprise.
Desperate, she tore her room apart, looking for anything to use as a weapon. She opened the armoire, but only gowns hung neatly. She went over to her dresser and opened a drawer. She pulled out a hand mirror and glanced at her reflection. The skin around her puffy eye had turned purplish red. Tears had stained her dreaded mask. She smashed the mirror, hating herself.
The mirror shattered. This was her weapon.
She pulled out a large shard of glass, careful not to slice her finger. She took a ribbon and tied the shard around the end of her mirror. ’Twas not a sword or dagger, but it would be enough to stab whoever walked into the room and give her a chance to escape.
She narrowed her eyes. “Or stab a traitorous vampire in his black heart.”
Sunlight slowly chased the night away, and Rosalind’s stepfather strangely enough did not come into her bedroom, strangely enough. Maybe he’d just said he’d kill her in anger. Maybe he’d changed his mind.
Heavy footsteps thumped on the hardwood floor. Her heart racing, she pressed her back against the wall, her weapon high over her head.
The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. A man walked into the room, his back to her. Not caring who it was, she stabbed him in the shoulder. He cried out and grabbed his arm.
Two men rushed around him and cornered her, their pistols drawn. Her stepfather came up behind them.
“Put that weapon down.”
“No,” she said, as she swiped at him. “Stay away from me.”
He flinched, the bloodied glass narrowly missing his arm. “You can die with a bullet to your heart or hang from the tree. Either way, you will die.”
She gripped her blade tighter. “You can’t do this. It’s murder.”
“Is it? You’ll find the provost and I have an arrangement.” He pulled a piece of paper with the seal of justice on it. “When I told him that ’twas Captain Fear who murdered his boy, and you were his accomplice, he gladly signed permission for me to hang you. He wants revenge as much as I do. So, since we can’t find him, you’ll do nicely in his place.”
She didn’t care if she were shot. She lunged toward him, but one of the men seized her wrist and pinched it until the mirror shard dropped to the floor. He twisted her arm and yanked her backside to him.
Her stepfather flashed his gaze over her then smiled. “That’s better. Time to go.”
Panic blinded her, and she wiggled wildly, but her captor twisted her arm more, and she was only met with more pain.
“Since you’re about to die anyway,” her stepfather said. “I have a secret I’d like to share with you.”
She gasped for breath. “What…secret?”
He whispered into her ear, “I killed your father.”
“What?”
He clasped her chin with his long fingers and pinched hard. “I was the one who started the fire. Both you and your father were supposed to die in that fire. I had no idea the strength that man had.”
“But why, Esmond?”
At her mother’s voice, her stepfather released her. Two men held onto her mother’s arms. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying all night, and she had a purple bruise on her left cheek.
“Because of you, Clare. I wanted you. You belonged to me. You’ve always belonged to me.”
He’d killed her father. He’d killed her father.
Fury boiled inside Rosalind. She wanted to scream, but hate, anger, and shock squeezed her throat.
Her mother yanked on her stepfather’s arms. “I hate you. I hate you.”
“You’ll learn to forgive me,” her stepfather said. “Once this wench is dead, you won’t be chained to her, and we’ll be free to live our lives.”
“You actually think I’ll stay with you?”
“You have no choice. Even if I have to lock you up, you’ll stay with me.”
Her mother shook her head. “No, I’ll fight you. I’ll–” She stopped suddenly. “If you let Rosalind go, I’ll willingly stay with you. But you must promise not to hurt her.”
“Mother, no!”
Her stepfather walked over to her mother and grabbed the back of her head. “Tempting, I’ll admit. But I’ll have you willing or not willing, ’tis no matter to me.”
Her mother spat in his face.
He wiped his face. “Do that again, and I’ll have every one of my men rape your daughter right before your eyes. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” her mother said, her lip trembling. She hung her head.
“Shall we adjourn to the cemetery? We have everything ready.”
Rosalind went limp. She really would hang. No one would rescue her. Her stepfather had won. He had her mother, was going to finally get rid of her. He’d continue kidnapping men and selling them to pirates. The only thing he didn’t have were his jewels.
She clenched her jaw tight, cursing Phearson silently. Even he would get what he wanted. With her ruby and her mother’s jewels, he surely had enough to bribe a crew. But that wasn’t the only thing he’d stolen. He’d stolen her heart. Tears stung her eyes and despair seized her lungs.
The men nearly lifted her off the floor as they followed her stepfather.
Rosalind should be kicking and screaming, but all the rebellion in her died. She was powerless to stop her stepfather and his men. At least she’d finally get to meet her father.
Chapter 14
Phearson woke to a man pulling the sail off him. He shielded his eyes from the morning rays.
“What are ye doing hiding underneath my sail?” a bearded sailor asked.
“’Twas cold last night,” Phearson murmured. He dragged himself to his feet. The sleep had helped restore some of his strength, but he felt like he’d been on a rum feast. His head pounded, and his stomach swirled uneasily. It must have been the holy salt water. He needed blood.
He grabbed the astonished man by the neck and dragged him under the dock.
“Please don’t kill me,” the man pleaded. “Did Captain Hopper send you? I promise I’ll finish mending the sail. Please don’t sell me.
I’m too old for hard labor.”
Phearson’s brain was sluggish, but he was sharp enough to realize this man might have something to do with the Pirate’s House Inn and decided to play along to see if he could get information.
“Captain says you’ve been too lazy.”
“No, no. I spoke with Esmond Doyle. We plan to get him some fresh young bucks. Please, I swear that canvas will be mended good as new.”
Phearson thought Hopper was as probably as mean and nasty as Palmer. His crew would be ripe for a mutiny.
Weariness gripped Phearson. He unleashed his fangs and sank them into the man’s neck. The man pushed on Phearson’s chest, but soon grew weak. Normally, he’d drain him dry to please his captain, but Palmer wasn’t here. He was free.
He released the man and left him alive but passed out. Strength renewed him, and the dizziness left him. He rushed toward his flat.
His victory was empty without Rosalind. He hid the sack in his chest, then changed his smelly and now bloody clothes. Anyone a mile away would smell him coming.
He shoved daggers, another pistol, and his sword into his belt. He was an excellent shot and wouldn’t let the Twelve have Rosalind.
He left the flat and hurried toward Doyle’s.
He made his way through the crowded street, not paying attention to the well-dressed men and elegantly dressed women.
“Mr. Palmer?”
Phearson stopped in his tracks. Michael Kelly, the provost’s assistant blocked his path.
“Morning, Mr. Kelly.”
“I wanted to thank you for your information. We were able to track down that creature. ’Twas Captain Fear.”
“You caught him?”
Kelley shook his head. “Sadly, no. But we have caught his accomplice. She’s scheduled to hang today.”
Cold fear stabbed Phearson in the heart. “What?”
“’Twas the business with the provost’s son. Nasty business. He didn’t waste any time getting a judge to sign her execution. No need for a trial.”
Trying to keep the anger out of his voice, he asked, “Where is this execution supposed to take place?”