by ML Guida
“You’ll not kill the child until I use its blood to trap Natasa in Salem forever. Am I clear, Charybdis?”
“Yes, I heard you. But don’t betray me, or I’ll tell Natasa.” She ran her cold fingers down his cheek.
He jerked away. Her thirst for blood was worse than Natasa’s. “But first you said you had something to show me.”
“Patience, love. Patience.”
“Patience is not one of my virtues,” he said.
“Isabella is more trouble than her sister, Angelica.” She waved her dainty hand. “Fine. Create a fire.”
“Follow me.” Zuto got off the rock and headed toward the jungle, not caring if she trailed him or not. He walked down a soft trail to his hut, longing for a nap and to nurse his throbbing wounds, but there was no time for this. If he wanted to get rid of Natasa and seal her gateway in Salem forever, he had to work fast.
Soft footsteps echoed behind him. He led Charybdis to his hut. A crackling fire burned in a pit. It never went out and allowed him a gateway to see his enemies. He might be trapped on this cursed island, but he had other means to spy.
He sat in front of the fire. Warmth spread over his naked skin. He liked his hut; here he could forget about his god Maketabori, Natasa, the Soaring Phoenix, and the Fiery Damsel. Here he’d found peace. Until now.
Charybdis sat next to him and curled her legs under her gown. “Is this where you spend time with Natasa?”
Zuto kept his face discreetly blank as he answered Charybdis’ sly comment. “No. I do not share my hut with anyone I detest.”
She laughed and rubbed his arm. “Maybe I’ll tempt you.”
He jerked his arm free, her cold touch sending his skin shriveling. “You said you could teach me how I can separate my spirit from my body...”
“Actually, I can teach you how to project your thoughts, consciousness, emotions into reality, either as images or fully materialized creations.”
Bitch. She played as many jests as Natasa. “I can already do that. That is not anything new.”
“I can also help you project images from your mind and others and manifest them into their worst nightmares. These nightmares are real, very real.”
Zuto crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting.”
“My, you’re demanding.”
“You have no idea.”
“And in return?” Her voice purred.
“I won’t kill you.”
Her smiled disappeared. “I didn’t mean to cross you. I’m only curious.”
His gut recoiled, and his shoulders sagged. Bitterness stained his mouth in thinking of having to satisfy another filthy wench. “What is it that you want?”
“I know how the blood will help me destroy Eldric, but how is it going to keep your precious Natasa in Salem?”
“Get used to disappointment. Telling you my secrets was not part of the bargain.” He had no intention of telling her that the power of a red dragon, a vampire, and a mermaid would lessen Maketabori’s hold on him. Not that he could escape from the cursed island, but it would weaken the mind-link between him and Maketabori. Hopefully not enough to pique the God’s interest.
She wrung her hands. “Fine. As long as you don’t trap me somewhere horrible.”
“Don’t betray me.”
Her face whitened. “I have to wait for the damn baby to be born.” Her words were fierce, but she couldn’t hide the fear swelling in her eyes.
“No.” He waved his hand. “I’m tired of your questions. I’ve already told you that you’ll be the Queen of the Merpeople and have all the worshipers you want. Give me what I want.”
“I heard you.” She held up her trembling hands. “Don’t give me that scowl. I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you. I promise. Now close your eyes.”
He gave her his best and iciest glare that brought his fiercest pirates to groveling snivels. But she didn’t even flick a hint of fear.
“I’m not going to do anything to you, you cynical demon.”
“If you want to plan out your revenge against Eldric, you’ll keep your word.”
She twisted her hair into a bun and pinched her cheeks, making them rosy. She picked up a shiny shell, and stared at her reflection. “I said I will.”
He didn’t think it possible, but she was vainer than Natasa. ’Twas why he preferred the Native women. They were down to earth, and their deep brown eyes and browned skin pleased him more than Natasa’s and Charybdis’ porcelain skin. “Then stop messing with your hair and show me.”
“You’re the one not listening—close your eyes.”
Trust didn’t come easy for Zuto, and he pretended to close his eyes and relaxed his fists, but he kept steady watch on her, ready to strike her down if she broke her word.
She put the back of her hands on her knees and touched her index fingers to her thumbs. “Take a deep breath.”
Zuto copied her stance, and she curled her lips. “I knew you were watching me. I know you desire me.”
“You’re wrong. Now what?”
“Take a deep breath.”
Zuto forced himself to inhale; deep sea air filled his lungs.
“Again.”
He opened one eye. Charybdis was taking slow breaths, her breasts rising up and down. He needed to learn this power of hers. All he could do was appear in dreams or project his eyes to create terror, but he needed to be able to project physical power to take down a red dragon. Her softs sighs lured him into a trance. He listened to the steady waves roll up on the sand and the sound of his own breathing. Cold hands pressed against his cheeks. He’d hadn’t even heard her move.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She blew a foul breath up his nose, scalding him. ’Twas as if hot smoke gushed into his lungs, burning them. He coughed hard, tears blinding his vision.
“I passed my power to you. Now concentrate. Stare into the fire and picture who you want to project the power to.”
“Wench.” He gagged but managed to stop hacking up bits of his lungs. His thundering heart beat harder and harder, sending blood rushing through his veins. Power surged through him like a bolt of electricity. He wiped the back of his mouth, fighting not to lunge at her and wring her lovely neck.
He sat stiffer, taking a sobering inhale, and this time, he wouldn’t close his damn eyes. Through the breaking flames, the tall image of Leif formed. Isabella was with him, her blue dress torn and stained. She was weak and pale, her eyes dull, obviously about ready to pass out. Leif was naked, but the fool wasn’t raping her. He could easily overpower her, but the idiot was being a gentleman. For fool’s sake, the man was a pirate.
They were on a high mountain ledge on an island Zuto didn’t know. Behind them, there was a dark cave, a perfect hiding place to punish Leif’s stupidity.
“Have you picked your person?”
“Yes.” His voice was bitter. He didn’t come forth with the identity.
“Who?”
He shrugged. She couldn’t see his victim—how interesting.
“Ah.” She looked at the flame. “Now, blow into the flames and picture what form you want to confront them. I suggest you pick something horrifying.”
He curled his lips into a smirk. What better monster than himself? Both Isabella and Leif feared him; he’d bring forth their worst nightmares.
“I have to warn you it doesn’t always work the first time you do it.”
“It will work with me.” Controlling power was no longer a problem for him. He was getting stronger, and someday, he’d have the power to escape this cursed island. He took a deep breath and blew into the fire. Black smoke whooshed out of his mouth, staining his lips with a foul bitterness, then snaking into the dancing flames.
In the darkness of the cave, his red eyes looked back at him, but he couldn’t form his body no matter how much he tried. Not one to ask for help, he spewed out more smoke.
Charybdis toyed her fingers in his hair. “Having trouble?”
He grabbed her wrist a
nd shoved it away, not caring if strands of hair ripped out of his skull. Within the flames, he could see the outline of himself, his broad shoulders and muscular body and his glowing red eyes. Leif would have a nasty surprise and would regret not following his orders to rape the girl.
Chapter 8
The high noon sun shined on Isabella’s ashen face. She swayed back and forth like a windblown flower. Sweat glistened off her face, and she slumped backward, way too close to the ledge of the cliff. If she fell, she’d plummet down a jagged, rocky mountain that would lead to a jungle of trees, ferns, and bushes.
Leif caught Isabella before she collapsed and smashed her head onto a rock. He cradled her close. She smelled so good—like a bouquet of flowers. It had been so long since he’d inhaled anything so heavenly. For the last eighteen months, he’d been trapped on a ship with the foulest pirates. When they made port, he’d relieved his seed into whores that were saturated with sweat and cheap perfume.
Isabella groaned and wrinkled her brow but didn’t wake. Guilt swirled in his gut at the deep claw marks on her diminutive shoulders. Even though he was trying to save her, the possessiveness got the better of him. William was right. He was obsessed with treasure. He tenderly wiped the blood away from her shoulder but only smeared it. This was all his fault. He could have ripped her arms off. He was worse than a bloody vampire.
Damn it, Dracul. I thought you said I could heal the poor lass.
Dracul narrowed his eyes. I never said to spit. I said our spit would heal her wounds.
Then what the hell I am supposed to do?
Lick her.
Leif snorted. You’re kiddin’?
Dracul lifted his head and turned around a circle, wrapping his long tail around his body. Do you want to heal the lass or not?
Just tell me what to do, you reekin’ lizard.
I do not stink.
Leif growled and clenched his fist. ’Twas so frustrating arguing with something in his mind. ’Twas enough to drive him mad.
Do as I say.
Leif hacked up spit and edged toward Isabella’s shoulder. The sweet smell of blood tantalized his vampire hunger, but he pushed it away, determined to help her.
Do not spit on her. I said to lick her. Haven’t you ever licked and suckled a woman before? Or are you that green?
If you were alive, I’d skin you piece by piece.
I am alive. I live in you. We are one. Take care of the lass. Now.
His voice had turned into a menacing snarl. Leif wanted to argue, but Isabella’s beautiful face turned paler. Swallowing his spit, he took a deep breath. He wasn’t a greenhorn and hadn’t been a virgin for a long, long time. So, why did this lovely lass make him feel like a nervous groomsman on his wedding night?
He peeled back the blood-soaked tattered cloth and licked her shoulder. Her blood was more succulent then any human’s, and he wanted more, much more. His fangs elongated, and he tilted his head back.
Do not feed on her.
Dracul’s roar jerked him out of the hunger. What the hell was he doing? It seemed like he’d been a vampire for centuries and didn’t know any better. He was more monster than human.
Determined to beat the hunger, Leif returned to licking her shoulder as if he was cleaning the last remnants of cherry pie off a white plate. Energy pulsed through his veins, and his tongue tingled, and he shivered. Power swelled inside him. It was different than the vampire strength of killing and flying. This was softer. Like an ocean breeze stinging his face with salt. He hoped Dracul was telling the truth and this wasn’t another way to torture him. He was sick of being tortured. Quinton Palmer had been a master at it.
Stop. Look.
Leif lifted his head, his eyes widening. His heart thumped, and he couldn’t breathe. The deep cuts in her flesh, exposing blood and tissue, melded together as if an invisible needle sewed the flaps of skin together. There wasn’t even the tiniest scar.
He caressed her skin, his hand shaking. “It...it...it worked.”
His voice was loud and echoed off the mountain. Nearby birds roosting in the top of trees cawed and flew into the air.
Dracul tilted his head as if he were a king. You doubted me?
Leif ran his bloodied hand through his hair. Aye, I did.
Lick the rest of her wounds, you fool.
Leif glared. Isabella was so beautiful and so pure. He hadn’t seen a woman like this since his sisters, and even when he visited Tortuga, he never went to their little cottage by the sea. He was too afraid Palmer or some other bloodsucker on the Fiery Damsel would find them. Isabella was different than his blond sisters. Her brown hair reminded him of his old Highland pony’s mane. He couldn’t resist and slid his fingers through her thick strands. It was just as silky as the pony’s had been. No, ’twas silkier.
She was taller and more slender than his sisters, and her breasts were small, but she tempted him like no other woman had for a long, long time. If he was a fiend like his crew mates, he’d rip her bodice to gaze upon her naked chest, but he wasn’t one of them. Rape disgusted him, and he hated himself for not rescuing the poor lasses who suffered a cruel fate. But if he intervened, the scallywags would question his loyalty and ’twas not something he could risk. Not if he wanted to keep his sisters free from a life of starvation or worse.
He took a deep breath and gently licked her other shoulder. She moaned, and he jerked up, but her eyes remained closed. Not wanting her to catch him, he quickly lapped up the stained blood. Once again, the cruel bruises, bleeding flesh, and torn muscles melded and mended together, not even leaving the tiniest scar. Her skin tasted like honey with a bit of salt. He wanted to lick her whole body, bringing her pleasure and having her cry out his name in ecstasy, but he refused to give in temptation.
Purple and blue bruises covered her ankle, and blood leaked from the ugly gash. ’Twas as if the vine had been bent on severing her delicate foot. He moved her red-stained hem away and lifted her foot. She groaned, and he froze. Isabella’s chest slowly rose up and down, and her eyelashes graced her cheeks. God, she was a beauty.
He proceeded to caress her wound. He held her calves, and he was surprised at the toned muscle. Most women’s calves were soft and curvy, but not Isabella’s. She was obviously a woman used to hard labor, and he couldn’t stop imagining those strong legs wrapped around his hips as he pumped his inside her. She was still asleep, and he slid his hand up her thigh and discovered that it was as sculpted as her calf.
He heard a sharp gasp and quickly looked at Isabella’s face, but she was still asleep. Her breath wasn’t as deep, and he wasn’t sure if she was asleep or just pretending. He put his tongue on her ankle and took one long lap.
“Stop it, you leech.”
Isabella kicked him hard in the chin, and he flew backward, dropping her leg.
“How dare you take advantage of me when I was passed out!”
Red stars blurred his vision, and he shook his head to clear it. He rolled to his side. “I wasn’t molestin’ you.” He rubbed his throbbing chin. “I was healin’ you.”
“Excuse me?”
He edged away from her so he wouldn’t frighten her. “Look at your shoulders.”
She warily looked at hers, and her eyes widened. She ran her hand over her smooth flesh. “I can’t believe it.” She studied him as if he was a miracle. “You really did heal me.”
“I was tryin’ to heal your ankle. Will you let me finish?”
“Then why were you running your hand up my leg?”
He met her accusatory eyes. “I couldna resist. I’m a pirate, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“I promise I’ll behave. Will you let me continue? Or do you want your ankle to swell and get infected?”
She slowly slid her ankle out from underneath her shredded dress. “You promise?”
“I give you my word.”
She lifted her chin and sat tall and haughty. “I’d like to see what the value of a dragon and a pirate’
s word is worth.”
Leif didn’t answer. His word hadn’t meant anything for so long. His deeds haunted him, and he loathed himself, but until the bloody curse was lifted, he was trapped in an endless nightmare aboard ship—straight out of hell.
Determined to prove his word held some of his family honor, he got on his hands and knees like a dog and quickly lapped her ankle. He could feel her eyes watching his every move, waiting for him to break his vow, but he’d disappoint her and show her not every pirate on the Fiery Damsel was a loathsome creature. He ignored the temptation to look up at her dress and concentrated on the task at hand. She turned her ankle, and he licked up the last cut and bruise.
He sat back on his haunches and gave her a satisfied smirk. “I told ye I’d keep my word.”
“So, you have.” Her voice was soft and gentle. “You’re not like the rest of them, are you?”
“I’m not a saint, if that’s what you’d like to believe. I’ve done what I had to do to survive.”
“Commit murder, rape?”
“Never rape.”
She nodded and gazed off the ledge, her mouth turned into a slight frown, and sadness glistened in those soft eyes, but her skin had a grayish color to it. The bruises, cuts, and blood were gone, but something wasn’t right. He could smell something foul like when his mother had died. Her skin had held the same color, and she’d smelled of dead and decaying flowers. Isabella had the same odor.
Dracul raised his head and his nostrils flared. ’Tis black magic, Dracul said. My powers can heal flesh and bone, but I’ve not powers against this. ’Tis growing inside her like the black plague.
“My dragon said you’re dyin’. Is there somethin’ else that ails you, lass?”
She lowered her gaze. “The demon came into my dream and forced me to drink from a chalice.”
“Cursed, bastard. What was in it? Poison?”
She looked at him. Dampness stained her cheeks. “Yes. I’ll be dead before the next full moon. I so wanted to see Angelica’s child.”
“Bloody hell, that’s in two days. Dracul said ’tis black magic and his powers can’t heal this. Why would Zuto do this?”