by Lynsay Sands
Unfortunately, that looked like where this was headed, Jess acknowledged. She wasn’t seeing a way out here. She apparently had the self-control of a gnat. All the man had to do was touch her and she melted like butter in the skillet. This was bad.
“Well,” Vasco said on a sigh. “I suppose I had best remove yer cousin and take her above for Cristo to look after.”
Jess frowned, unsure whether that was a good thing or not. It would keep Allison from being fed on by Vasco, but what about Cristo? Would he—?
“And then I will deal with Ildaria before I return to you,” Vasco said, eyeing her solemnly as he reminded her, “It was my original plan before you distracted me with your tuzzy-muzzy and jugs, and it was a good one. It is better if I handle her first. Then I can grope for trout in your river again without worrying about anything I left undone.”
“Grope for . . . ?” Jess echoed with bewilderment.
Vasco grinned at her confusion. “I will show you when I return,” he promised with a wink, and then slapped her behind and released her to walk to the door. He opened it, and then paused to peer back at her and suddenly smiled. “You are pretty as a picture.”
Jess was just softening at the compliment when he added, “But I want you naked in bed when I get back. I plan to fuck you for four days straight at least and in every hole. Clothes will just get in the way.”
Jess groaned and dropped her face into her hands with despair. The man had no couth at all. How could someone she found so damned repugnant intellectually make her body burn and weep for his attention?
How could she find a vampire sexy? He drank blood! Feeding off mortals like they were little better than cows. He was a monster, and she found his kisses and caresses irresistible? What was wrong with her? she wondered, and shame immediately claimed Jess. Fortunately, she was saved from suffering it for too long when the sound of the door closing reached her ears.
Lifting her head abruptly, Jess saw that Vasco had left, and sagged with relief before turning toward the bed. “Allison, we have to . . .”
Her words trailed off into silence. Allison was gone.
Three
Jess tied a knot in the end of the strip of cloth she’d ripped from the bedsheet and considered her handiwork grimly. During a fevered search of the room after Vasco left, she’d found an inflatable life jacket in an armoire next to the bed. The presence of the life jacket had rather surprised her. It was the last thing she’d expected to find on a pirate ship full of vampires, but then who said vampires had to know how to swim? Even vampire pirates?
At any rate, the life jacket was uninflated, folded neatly, and packaged in a square bag made of very thick but clear plastic. It was about the size of a ream of paper, but much lighter, and it had a small handle on the top. Jess had threaded the strip of cloth through the handle and now had some really ugly neckwear. On the other hand, she was hoping her efforts would keep the packaged life vest out of her way while she climbed out of the ship. She was also hoping it would prevent her accidentally dropping and losing it as she jumped into the ocean.
That was her plan. Jess had thought long and hard about what to do . . . well, really, she’d thought short and hard about it. Time wasn’t exactly her friend at the moment. But anyway, she’d decided that escape was her only option here. She had to get off this ship before Vasco returned and she ended up in bed with him, and probably, eventually, a dead, soulless, bloodsucking pirate. Her very soul was at stake here.
Aside from that, Jess was really the only hope any of the other tourists on this ship had. She hoped to get off the ship, swim to shore, get help, and send them out to the ship to save everyone else.
It was possible her plan would fail miserably, of course. She might drown, be eaten by a shark, a whale, or a giant squid. Or she might get to shore and be locked up as completely insane when she started babbling about vampire pirates and such. She might also make it to shore, get help, and get back to the ship only to find that the tourists had all been slaughtered in her absence and fed to the sharks. But Jess was hoping her absence would save them. She was hoping that when Vasco discovered she was missing, he would set out to search for her and leave the tourists alone for as long as it took for her to get them help. Because hopefully he would stay away from the room long enough that she’d be able to get a good distance away before he noticed her absence.
There was a lot of hoping in this plan, Jess acknowledged grimly, and walked to the porthole she was going to try to leave the ship through. She’d decided that slipping out of the room and trying to jump over the side of the ship wouldn’t work. There were too many crewmembers who might see her jump, and they’d just fish her out and lock her in the cabin. She needed to escape without being seen and hopefully have enough time between her jumping and their realizing she’d jumped ship that they couldn’t find her easily and fish her out. The porthole was her best bet. If it was a porthole. Jess wasn’t sure. It was rectangular rather than round, although the corners were rounded. It was bigger than the other portholes in the room that were actually round, but it was still quite snug, and if she got out at all, it would be a tight squeeze.
Sighing, Jess stepped up on the captain’s chair that she’d set before the porthole and quickly unsnapped the four locks on the window and swung it open. She took the time to stick out her head and look around, to be sure no one would be able to see her leaving. Not spotting anyone hanging over the side of the ship looking her way, she pulled her head back in, and then slid one arm out instead. Her head followed, and then she eased the inflatable life jacket out to dangle from her neck before she tried to squeeze her other arm out. It was a tight fit, and Jess was pretty sure she scraped a good deal of skin off her left arm forcing it through, but eventually she had it out and was standing on the chair with her head and shoulders out of the porthole. Her breasts came next, but they weren’t too much trouble. They were a good size, but more malleable than arm bones were, and she was able to squeeze and pull them out. Once that was done, Jess just had to get the rest of her out. Mouth tightening, she placed her hands flat on the wood hull on either side of the window and began to push.
Yeah, getting out was easier said than done, she soon learned, and wondered if this was how babies felt during birth. It seemed to take forever, was painful, and Jess felt like she was skinning herself alive, but she finally managed to force enough of herself out of the hole that gravity took over and dragged the rest of her out. Fortunately, Jess had the good sense to push herself away from the ship and grab ahold of her neckwear as she tumbled out. It saved her hitting her head on the ship hull, and losing her life jacket.
Jess hit the water hard, and almost gasped as she was enveloped by the cold liquid, but managed at the last minute to remember to keep her mouth shut. She sank a lot deeper than she’d expected, and was gasping for breath when she resurfaced, but immediately turned in the choppy waves, looking for the ship. The boat was moving much more quickly than she’d realized, Jess acknowledged as she saw that it was already several boat lengths away. No one had heard the splash of her entering the water and was peering back at her pointing and shouting the alarm, but then she hadn’t expected there to be. The reggae music that had been playing since sunset would have covered any sound she’d made.
Sighing her relief, Jess did her best to tread water with one hand while unsnapping the flap on the bag holding the inflatable life jacket with the other. It was trickier than she’d expected in the choppy water, and she went under once or twice for a brief moment, but eventually managed to get it open and get the life jacket out. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of those newfangled ones that inflated as soon as water hit it. She was able to get it on, and get it buckled in place without problem, and then pulled the lanyard to make it inflate once it was in place.
That task done, Jess turned in the water, searching for land. Her heart sank when she saw how far away the lights of shore were. Six or seven miles hadn’t sounded that far when Cristo and Vasco had mentione
d the number. She’d run marathons that long for charity and managed it. But six or seven miles certainly looked a good distance at sea. Of course, some time had passed since Cristo had guessed at how far out they were and, judging by how rough the water was, the wind had definitely picked up. She might be seven or eight miles out now. Maybe even nine.
Well, Jess thought, far away or not, she had no choice unless she wanted to wait around for Vasco to discover that she was missing, search the ship for her, and then turn around to come look for her and carry her off to be his vampire bride.
“No thanks,” Jess muttered, and struck out for shore.
She’d read once that the average person could swim about three miles per hour. She was not an average swimmer. Jess figured she had a good four-hour swim ahead of her. Maybe even five . . . plenty of time for a shark to find and dine on her.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Zanipolo grumbled, dropping into a chair at the table the maître d’ had led them to.
Raffaele waited until the server had handed them each a menu and left before saying, “I would not say it was a waste of time. We at least now know the rogues are not on staff here.”
“Then where are they?” Santo asked grimly.
Raffaele shook his head. He had no idea, but he was quite certain they weren’t at this resort. They’d walked over every inch of the place, including the kitchens, and every room marked Employees Only, as well as the other restaurants. Although they hadn’t stopped to order anything at any of those restaurants; they’d merely entered, given the staff a quick once-over, and left once certain that there were no immortals on staff. This was the last restaurant and the last spot they’d had left to look.
“You are ready to order, señors?”
All three men turned to peer blankly at the waiter who had approached their table, but it was Raffaele who recovered first and shook his head. Opening his menu, he murmured, “No, sorry. We’ll need a minute.”
“Sí. Of course. I will return,” the man said, smiling brightly.
Santo shifted with agitation as the waiter moved away, and then asked, “How many people did you see with bites?”
“A good forty or fifty throughout the day,” Raffaele guessed. Once they’d noticed the first two groups with bite marks on them, they’d started examining everyone who had come down to the beach. At least those who had got close enough for them to look over.
“And they were all young,” Zanipolo said suddenly and, when Raffaele glanced at him with surprise, added, “Didn’t you notice? They were all in their early twenties.” He pursed his lips briefly, and then added, “They were all fit and attractive too.”
“Or maybe we didn’t see anyone older or unfit with bite marks because they are sensible enough not to go to the beach wearing little more than tiny triangles of cloth connected by bits of floss,” Raffaele said dryly.
Zanipolo grinned at his comment. “Careful, cugino, your age is showing.”
“Were the—?” Santo began, and then paused to scowl at their waiter as he approached again. “Not yet. We will signal you when we are ready,” he said, waving him away.
“Sí. Of course, señor.”
The waiter’s smile was a little strained this time, Raffaele noticed, but turned his attention to Santo as the man asked, “Were the bite marks not all on the neck?”
Raffaele shook his head. “Some were, but most were on the arms, wrists, legs, ankles, and even thighs.”
“Odd,” Santo said with a frown.
“Smart, more like,” Raffaele countered. “Fifty people with bite marks on their necks would definitely draw more attention than a rogue would want. Bite marks in different spots on several individuals could pass as bug bites of some kind, and that’s what most of them thought they were. At least in the case of the people I bothered to read.”
“Did you learn anything else from the people you read?” Santo asked at once.
Raffaele eyed him briefly. He didn’t really want Santo getting too invested in this matter. The trip was supposed to be so he’d relax, after all. However, curiosity soon got to him, and he reluctantly asked, “Like what?”
Santo shrugged discontentedly. “Anything. Trips or tours they might all have in common?”
“You mean like maybe a nest of immortals run the local ziplining place and they feed on each customer as part of their payment?” Zanipolo suggested.
“Sì. Like that,” Santo said at once.
Raffaele shook his head slowly, and admitted, “I did not think to search for that kind of information.”
“Maybe we should,” Zanipolo said solemnly, and then added, “That group at the table in the corner behind you were one of the ones where everyone seemed to have a bite.”
Raffaele glanced over his shoulder at the table in question. They looked a little different dressed than they had on the beach in almost nothing, but he recognized them anyway.
“The group has been on a lot of tours,” Santo said, focusing on one member after another with narrowed eyes. “A monkey safari, a catamaran trip, an island tour, the Seaquarium, shark feeding, ziplining, scuba diving . . .”
“Those are all day tours,” Raffaele pointed out. “Immortals are more likely to run night tours of some kind.”
“Maybe not,” Zanipolo argued when Santo sat back in his seat with a cluck of irritation. “What do they care if they’re out in the day if they’re rogues who feed freely off of every mortal who passes through? I mean, we saw a lot of people with bite marks, Raff, and that was just here at this resort, and it was only the ones dressed scantily enough for us to see the marks. If this all comes down to a local tour, and there are tourists at every resort with these marks . . .” He arched his eyebrows. “That’s a lot of people bitten.”
“A hell of a lot of people bitten,” Raffaele muttered, frowning at the thought. This could be a lot bigger nest than they’d considered.
“Señors, I apologize to interrupt.”
All three men turned to eye their waiter as he stopped at their table again. He was still smiling, but it was a cross between a pained smile and one of apology as he said, “But if you wish to order, you must do so now. The kitchen is closing.”
Raffaele raised his eyebrows at this news and glanced at his watch, surprised to see how late it was. They’d been searching the resort for much longer than he’d thought. It was almost ten o’clock. Lifting his head, he glanced to Zanipolo in question. “Well?”
Zanipolo took a quick glance through his menu, but then let it slip closed and shook his head as he got to his feet. “If the kitchen is closing, the restaurant is too. I don’t want to keep these guys past their shift. We can go down to the waterside pub-style restaurant. They’re open until two or something, and had a burger on their menu I wanted to try anyway.”
“Oh, no, señors, por favor. You are welcome to order. We do not mind the staying late,” their waiter protested, glancing from them to the maître d’ with alarm. It seemed obvious he feared getting in trouble.
Smiling faintly, Raffaele reached into his pocket and retrieved a couple of bills as he stood. He slipped the tip to the man as he shook his hand, and then said loudly enough for the maître d’ to hear, “We aren’t feeling like Italian tonight, after all. Maybe another time. Sorry for the trouble. Have a good evening.”
“Gracias,” the waiter said sincerely. “Por favor. You must come back. Anytime. I will be happy to serve you.”
Raffaele nodded and ushered Santo and Zanipolo out. The three of them were silent as they made their way across the resort toward the beach and the restaurant there. It was a much more relaxed restaurant, a bar as much as a food place, and had a band playing when they entered.
“This is more my style,” Zanipolo said cheerfully as they took their seats and accepted the menus offered them.
“It reminds me of the restaurant where we played in St. Lucia,” Santo said, his voice a deep rumble.
“Yeah,” Raffaele agreed with a smile, glancing aroun
d at the high, round wooden tables and the barstool chairs. They’d asked for the deck, and had been led straight to a table along the rail. It overlooked the dark beach and the water beyond.
A beautiful view, Raffaele decided, and it truly was. The night was so clear and the ocean so calm inside the reef that the moon and stars were reflected on the water’s surface as if it were a mirror. Shaking his head, he murmured, “You can see for miles.”
“Yeah, but I was talking about the food,” Zanipolo said with amusement. “Look, they have chicken fingers, and fish and chips.”
“I thought you wanted a burger?” Santo said, sounding amused.
“Sì, but look at all the options,” Zanipolo said.
Raffaele didn’t look. He was busy squinting out at the ocean.
“What’s got your attention, cugino?” Zanipolo asked suddenly.
Raffaele frowned. “I think there’s something floating out there.”
“What? A boat?” Zanipolo asked, turning to peer out at the water now too.
“No. Not a boat,” he said with certainty.
“Madre de Dio,” Zanipolo gasped suddenly. “It looks like a floater.”
Raffaele’s mouth tightened at the word. That was exactly what he’d feared it was—a dead body floating in the water. Someone who had fallen off a cruise ship, or simply been dragged out by the currents and was now being floated gently back in, he thought, and then stiffened as an arm came up out of the water and then slid back in as the other arm rose and did the same.
“Is that—? They’re swimming! They’re alive!” Zanipolo exclaimed with excitement.
“Not for long,” Santo predicted grimly, and then pointed out, “Whoever they are, they’re beyond the reef that protects the swimmers on the beach, and I’m quite sure that’s a shark fin I see off to the right out there.”
Raffaele didn’t comment. He was already on his feet and leaping over the railing surrounding the deck. He hit the soft sand below with a jolt and took off running, shedding his clothes as he went. By the time he reached the water, Raffaele had torn off his T-shirt, kicked off his shoes, and undone his pants. He paused at the shoreline long enough to push them off, and then raced into the cool water, his gaze measuring the distance between the shark fin and the swimmer. By his guess, it would be close, but he should reach the swimmer before the shark did . . . hopefully.