The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  “The rowboat’s waiting for you. Mr. Bones offered to be the one to take you to shore.” The harsh clanking of metal drew her attention. “I trust I won’t have to use these.”

  She looked up and saw the pair of shackles dangling from his hand. It took all her willpower not to let her gaze trail up to his handsome face. She wasn’t even fully awake, and he already had the escort arranged?

  “Are you not supposed to wait for the money to come before you send me away?”

  She didn’t mean for the words to come out as biting and vicious as they did, but the pain of her headache continued to linger, and she couldn’t bring herself to swallow down another mouthful of the foul potion he had made up for her.

  “There won’t be any money.”

  More out of shock than need, Grace finally met his stare. Such a cruel, heartless stare that made her hands shake. Will said James had been wrapped up in his own thoughts since the night before. What had he been thinking about to give him such a sour countenance?

  “No… No money?” she questioned, unable to piece together what was going on in his head. James made it seem that this entire venture was purely for the ransom, the fortune that her father was willing to pay for her return. Did he not want it now? What changed?

  “I want you off my ship,” he declared. “Do I need to put these on you, or not?”

  Grace quickly shook her head, the fight gone from her bones in the wake of this news. James tossed the irons on the table, the chains and cuffs spreading over the numerous maps and charts. She jumped at the harsh crash of metal upon wood.

  “Come on, then,” he said with a jerk of his head. “Mr. Bones has better things to do than cart you around.”

  She stood, her knees weak and chest constricting with this new turn in his attitude. Grace would have sold her soul to Davy Jones just to see James smile at her one last time. “About last night – “

  “I don’t want to hear about last night,” he growled. “Get your arse moving.”

  She averted her gaze as she passed him by on the way to the door. “I only want to say I was sorry,” she mumbled.

  James grabbed her by the shoulder and pinned her back against the wall just by the door. For the first time, Grace was privileged to finally see the golden eyes of The Devil Dog glaring at her. She dropped the mug, its contents spilling onto the floor and seeping through the gaps in the planks. The man she loved, the one she might have assumed to be a gentleman at heart, was truly a beast. This wasn’t some trick of the light to make his hazel eyes change color. Maybe he truly was born of the devil.

  “And I’m sorry I ever brought you on this ship. I’m sorry I ever picked you out of the crowd in St. Thomas.” Grace could feel his nails, sharp as talons, dig into the flesh on her shoulder and rip into the fabric of her dress. “I should have known how much trouble you would cause me.”

  She gave a soft whimper. “You’re hurting me.” The promises spoken by James, Mr. Bones, and Patrick had been a lie. She was in real danger, perhaps she always had been.

  Instead of letting her go, James squeezed tighter and Grace pinched her lips together to keep from crying out as she felt her skin break under his hold.

  “That’ll serve as a reminder that you don’t belong here. Once you go back to your father, I better not see you on these seas again. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, if only to appease him and end this hellish nightmare.

  James finally let her go and shoved her toward the door. Grace couldn’t hurry out fast enough. He continued to push her across the deck and toward the spot where Mr. Bones waited with the oars. Some of the crew laughed and jeered at her as the captain continued to help her along. Others, Grace saw, took pity and turned away from the scene. Men like Mr. Nickels who played the mandolin so skillfully, and the gentle Mr. Noir who stayed at the wheel night and day, dedicated to his job.

  She spotted Will among the crew, silently watching from his place by the mast with a sly look on his face. Did he have something to do with the way James was acting? Or was this inevitable? Perhaps whatever type of monster James truly was, had been hiding this whole time and he chose only now to show her what he was capable of.

  Mr. Bones helped her to her feet and over the railing to shimmy down the Jacobs ladder that had been thrown over the side.

  “Make sure she gets to her father and stays there,” James ordered the old cook, who nodded and tossed the oars into the bobbing boat at the bottom of the ladder.

  Once seated, Grace reached up with quivering fingers and checked the four puncture marks in her shoulder. The blood smeared on the calico dress James had bought her. When she was home, she made a vow to burn the wretched garment and rid herself of the sole reminder of this torment.

  James had done nothing but deceive her from the very beginning. If this was who the pirate captain really was, Grace hated herself for loving him as much as she did. She hated herself for being tricked in the most callous way imaginable. James made her believe that he cared for her, that she might have been more than a prize or piece of treasure. Tears streamed down her face at the unfairness of it all.

  When she looked up at the captain of The Burning Rose one last time, she expected to see the same anger he displayed moments ago. It would have been easier to let Mr. Bones position the oars and begin rowing away to the Kingston docks if she could see the fiery hate in James’ inhuman golden eyes one last time.

  What she saw puzzled her to no end. The harsh lines that disfigured his handsome face had relaxed, leaving a new guise of grief instead of wrath. The gold was gone now, leaving the rich hazel color she had admired so much before.

  Grace stared, memorizing the way he looked down at her from the railing, and wishing she could have shouted for an explanation for his behavior. But it was too late and she was too stunned to utter her demands. She simply let Mr. Bones put some distance between them and the ship, the last she’d see of the Devil Dog and The Burning Rose forever. Those eyes, though. Those golden eyes. Above all else, she’d never forget them.

  In his life, James had been keelhauled, whipped, tied to the mast for days without food or water, abandoned on a deserted island, lost at sea, beaten, stabbed, shot, run over by horses, and once had a harpoon lodged in his side. None of it, absolutely none of it, could compare to the immense pain he endured when he assaulted Grace and pushed her across the deck to the waiting rowboat. He would have rather tied a cannonball to his ankles and thrown himself overboard than treat her so savagely as he just did.

  He thought putting on a show for the crew would be a necessary thing and he’d have the chance to explain to her that he meant none of it. They could have made a good spectacle together. But with the new addition of Will, who could hear just as well as James could, there was no room for apologies, no chances to atone for all that transpired that morning.

  More than that, he regretted finally giving her a glimpse into his dark secret. Showing her his wolfish eyes, the ones that struck terror into the hearts of his enemies, might have been one of the only ways he could effectively deter her from stepping foot on a sailing ship again. If she feared the man that roamed the seas, then perhaps he would never have to see her again and be tempted to undo the damage he had done. It was better this way.

  Now, he had to watch her leave and pretend that he enjoyed tossing her to Mr. Bones’ feet as if she were a worthless thing that meant nothing to him. What a lie that had been. But those who watched on seemed to believe his pretenses.

  His inner wolf was far less pleased with his actions and he knew that he would pay for it later. While he waited for Mr. Bones to come back, there were more pressing matters to attend to. He had already told Patrick there would be no ransom to collect, so the men would be itching for more coin to fill their pockets.

  But when he turned back around to face his crew, it wasn’t his quartermaster he needed to consult with. It was Will. He spotted him near the mast and their eyes met. Silent communication passed between them and
they moved toward his cabin in unison.

  Patrick made to intercept. “Captain, where – “

  “Not now,” he barked and pushed the Irishman aside. He was in no mood for giving explanations or orders. His nerves had been scourged and left raw after watching the only woman he had ever come to love row away forever.

  “Captain!” Patrick shouted.

  Before he realized what he was doing, James spun and punched him across the jaw. The quartermaster staggered back and tumbled to the deck, holding his cheek that would be covered in a dark bruise within an hour. The crew, seeing their captain was tetchy, gave him and Will a wide berth on their path to the cabin.

  James had whipped disobedient sailors, keelhauled those who defied him, and even nearly hung a man from the yardarm for daring to question his orders. He had threatened Patrick before, but never struck him so suddenly without real provocation.

  Some men went to Patrick’s aid, but James couldn’t bother with him now. There would be time for excuses after this more pressing matter was dealt with. He had to empty his head of Grace and fill it with something else or he’d be tempted to kill every man who so much as looked at him sideways.

  Once they were in private, James turned to Will, the man who claimed to be a werewolf like himself. He had no reason to doubt his guest, but what he could tell him now would prove if he was worth keeping around.

  “Tell me about this man who’s after me,” James demanded, in no mood for small talk or pleasantries. He needed something to distract him from losing the woman he had grown to love over the last few days. Evading a pirate hunter was the perfect diversion.

  Slightly taken aback by his brashness, the older werewolf crossed his arms – something James saw him do often. “His name’s Bart Croxen. They say he’s from France, but I’ve heard the man talk and he sounds like an Englishman. He was in Nassau looking for ye and rumor says Jack Rackham told him ye sail to the east of Hispaniola. He’ll be lookin’ for ye over there, but I wouldn’t put it past him to search around Kingston and Tortuga too, just for good measure.”

  James listened carefully and nodded before moving around the table to consult with his maps. His eyes skimmed over the whole of the Caribbean. “When did you hear he was in Nassau?”

  Will turned and leaned over the table on the other side. “About a week ago.”

  “He could be all the way to St. Martin by now. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass him around St. Thomas.” James rubbed at the stiff hairs on his chin. “It’ll still take us four or five days to get to the islands.”

  He didn’t have to look up to know that Will’s eyes had gone wide. “You’re not goin’ after him, are ye?”

  James shot him a challenging glare. He hated when Patrick questioned his decisions and they were good friends. He knew nothing about this sailor who had been left for dead in a rowboat in the middle of the Caribbean. Will had no authority to doubt him.

  “In case you haven’t heard, I’m not a mouse,” he sneered. “I’m not going to let some cat toy with me. I’ll go after Bart and take care of this threat myself.”

  Will didn’t seem convinced or daunted by James’ subtle show of force. “He’s got a first-rate ship. At least a hundred guns and over two hundred men who jump when he tells them to.”

  James’ eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen him.” Will shrugged. “Okay, he captured me once off the coast of Cuba, but I gave him the slip.” He kept his mouth open as if he were wishing to say something else, but thought against it. “You’ve got to be pretty sure of yourself to be going after Bart. How old are ye? A hundred years? Two hundred?” His dark eyes seemed to be inspecting James, looking for some hint to give away his true age. By Will’s earlier confession, he was only five or so years older than himself.

  There was no hiding his shock now. “A hundred years? How long can we live?”

  James wasn’t ashamed to admit that he knew nothing about werewolves except what the fairytales said and what he had personally experienced. When he turned fifty and still looked to be in his early twenties, he knew that must have been another benefit to his supernatural condition. But to know that someone could live well close to two hundred was mind-boggling.

  Will’s head listed to the side as he stared in puzzlement. “Ye don’t know?”

  James leaned his fists on the map. “I thought I was the only werewolf in the Caribbean until I met you. There are many things I’m coming to realize that I don’t fully understand.”

  “Surely ye know some things, though,” Will offered. “Ye couldn’t have lived as long as you have unless you do.”

  James had never talked so openly about what he was with anyone, not even Patrick. He told him about the monthly shift on Isle de Mona and how he had to make sure Mr. Bones stocked up on plenty of beef each time they made port. He talked about how he’s used his abilities to his advantage by building his reputation as The Devil Dog so his enemies and crew knew to expect the golden eyes from him whenever he became angry.

  All the while, Will listened so intently that he too, began to lean against the table as James did and add in bits of his own life story. Born in Port Royal before it was nearly wiped off the map, he didn’t know his father either and his mother could barely afford to feed them both. He joined the navy, just as James had, but came to discover that a ship was no place for a werewolf who needed to shift once a month.

  Like James, Will had transferred from ship to ship, looking for a station he could thrive in. Finally turned to piracy as so many other privateers had, Will thought he could do as he pleased. That was still not the case and James found him just in time after he had to leave his previous ship.

  As the conversation progressed, it became clear to James that he had found a sort of kindred spirit in Will. They had shared the same curse, walked a similar path, and understood one another perhaps better than anyone else alive.

  The more they talked, the more James realized that he couldn’t turn his fellow werewolf away. Perhaps he could be a vital help in the coming fight against the privateer, Bart Croxen. He had taken care of pirate hunters before and he was sure that Bart would be no different.

  They made the deal and shook hands on the terms. Will agreed to the code of conduct that every pirate on James’ crew was expected to abide by. James may have lost Grace, but he gained a new ally. It wasn’t a fair trade by any means and there was no way that Will could ever fill the new hole in his heart, but it was something to keep him occupied. That’s all he needed, was to keep his thoughts on anything but the beautiful redhaired woman that left him for good.

  Chapter 8

  Kingston, Jamaica, three days later

  “Dear, please come down to the parlor now,” her mother said from the door. “You can’t make this man wait all day.”

  Grace stood in front of the window, the afternoon sun warming the skin on her face, but she barely felt it. She hadn’t felt anything for three days. Not hunger, not happiness or even the mild discontentment she had felt months ago before James invaded her life.

  All that was left was the cold and constant fatigue of sorrow. The Devil Dog had stolen the light from her, leaving an empty hole in her chest that ached night and day with ceaseless persistence. It was the reminder that she had lost everything, and it was her own damn fault because she allowed herself to feel too much.

  She didn’t even want to be dressed, barely breathing beneath the corset her maidservant had cinched her in. The only reason Grace slipped out of bed that morning was because her father demanded it. A man, a new suitor, was waiting for her downstairs.

  Resign to her fate, she didn’t protest against her father. From the moment Mr. Bones left her at the mansion gates, her family gave into her every whim. Whether they were simply glad that their daughter had returned, or if their indulging was driven by guilt, Grace wasn’t all too sure. When they suggested throwing a party to celebrate her return and she turned down the idea, they gave up without a
fight.

  Ever since, she got what she wanted, and it didn’t feel quite as liberating as she had hoped. Perhaps it was her own flavor of guilt that compelled her to get dressed and suffer another meeting with a man that didn’t deserve her. She had locked herself away from everyone in the mansion for days, denying her family the pleasure of her company so she could thoroughly wallow in self-pity. She even turned away Lydia, the one person that could have lifted her spirits.

  The time of mourning had passed and Grace knew she had to get on with her life. James certainly was. He was probably off raiding a merchant ship at that exact moment and had forgotten about her completely. He would have written her off as a loss, a petty thing he had wasted three days on.

  Yet, Grace couldn’t help but remember the way he looked as she rowed away, or the sweet and romantic things he said to her in the cabin that second night she stayed aboard The Burning Rose. She remembered how close he was to her when they locked swords and the thrills that rippled through her core when he offered her mercy if she gave in.

  When comparing those events to how he treated her that final morning, Grace couldn’t make sense of it. She wanted to believe he hated her all along, but did he? Where did James begin and the Devil Dog end? What line in the sand could be drawn between the hazel eyes of the man she loved, and the golden eyes of the beast that lived somewhere beneath the layers?

  “Are you thinking about that pirate again?”

  Grace turned as her mother came toward her with that concerned, thoughtful look in her eyes. She didn’t reply, but let her mother hug her anyway. There was all the sentiment in the world between those arms that held her tight, as if her mother were trying to squish the broken pieces back together. It wouldn’t work.