A Pirate's Curse (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix)

by ML Guida

  She rolled out of the hammock, landed on her arse and winced. She clutched the hammock and pulled herself up. The pirates continued to blissfully sleep. Snores and the stench of body odor filled the cabin. She needed air. Fresh air.

  She stepped into the corridor and inhaled deeply. Her mouth was completely dry, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of it. She intended to find something to ease her throat. Instead she crept down the corridor, drawn to Kane's cabin. She leaned her head against the door. She missed having Kane's strong arms around her. Could she get past him turning into a vampire? She was living in some horrible tale where the prince changed into a monster.

  She needed to see Kane. Make sure he wasn’t in pain. Opening the door, she peered inside.

  Kane was stretched out on the bed. His left arm cradled his head and his right arm tossed across the bed holding an empty rum bottle. His long black hair graced his back. The quilt fell revealing his sculpted curves of his buttock and the dimples in his lower back. His thighs were lean and hard, affirming he climbed the tall masts of the ship. He was so beautiful, a wounded Greek God, exposing his tempting body.

  Her gaze lingered on his nakedness, taking in her fill, her fingers itching to touch him once more. But she kept her arms close to side, afraid what she might do. Sinful sensations rushed through her. An aching need swept over her to have his fingers run through her hair again, his hands exploring her body and his hot mouth on her skin.

  She stepped into the cabin and edged over to his bed. He turned his head and sighed. His eyes closed, his thick eyelashes were long, longer than she had ever noticed on a man. His scar on his cheek took nothing away from his handsomeness and added to his virility. He was a man who knew war, cruelty and darkness, but yet, knew tenderness and gentleness.

  She wanted to run her finger down his scar, feel the history of the man, the pain, the sorrow, the joy. His hair stuck to his back glistening with sweat. He shivered. On the nearby table sat a bowl with red water and the rag stained crimson. She snapped up the bowl and rag and hurried down to the galley. She emptied the bowl, filling it with fresh water and grabbed a clean rag.

  Back in Kane’s cabin, she put the bowl down. Kane hadn’t moved. She dipped the rag and wiped the sweat off his back, careful to avoid the red angry flesh around the sutures.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Hannah stilled. What should she do? She didn’t answer. Instead, she dipped the rag into the water, twisted it, squeezing out the excess water. She returned to gently dabbing his back.

  Kane whipped around and in one quick motion, grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the bed. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She detected rum on his breath and his words were slurred. Her heart pounded. “I…I wanted to check on you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Where’s William?”

  “William? I don’t know. Sleeping, I guess.” Had someone told him about their kiss? Should she confess or remain silent?

  He released his grip on her. His eyes were glazed and his face was red. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She cupped his cheek, her finger caressing his bumpy scar on his face, wishing she could take away the one she had made. She frowned. “Kane, you’re feverish.”

  “Why do you care? I’m a bloody vampire. A monster.”

  She cringed. “You’re not a monster.” Her empty words didn’t ease the pain in his eyes.

  “Just get out, Hannah.”

  “No, you’re shivering.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go back to bed,” he murmured. “I’m immortal, remember? Lucky me.”

  Her voice softened. “You hate being a vampire?”

  He rested his head onto his palm. “’Tis curse. I want to be a man again. Not be a slave to the blessed moon.”

  He closed his eyes and his head slowly slipped down her arm. He sighed. She nestled closer to him. She grabbed the blanket pulled up around them and her hand pressed against his chest, her thumb brushing over his nipple, turning it into a hard nub. His heart thudded beneath her hand.

  “Hannah,” Kane warned. “You’re playing with fire.”

  Snuggling next to him, she molded to his flush body. She could feel his arousal against her thigh. He was drunk. Although she was fully clothed, the thought of rape flitted through her mind. Ignoring her fear, she coaxed, “Shh, go to sleep.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and he stiffened, groaning. Rubbing his back, careful not to hurt his wound, she held him. He swore, but slowly relaxed. He laid his head on her shoulder, his scent of sandalwood drifted over her, comforting her. She ran her fingers through his thick, silky hair, twirling his strands. He kissed her neck and she trembled, waiting for more, wanting more, wishing his lips would take hers. Kane kissed her but once more his beard rubbing against her shoulder, nuzzling her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his leg resting over her thigh. His body draped around her, cocooning her into safety and warmth.

  She inhaled his spicy breath and felt his rhythmic heart. The terrors of her stabbing him, his blood drenching the floor, dissipated and for the first time, she sagged into the mattress. Unlike the crew snores, his gave her comfort, and she could listen to him all night. Her eyelids shut and fell asleep listening to his deep breaths.

  She woke to the sun shining through the window. She gazed at the man next to her. He had stopped sweating. Thank goodness.

  Her stomach growled. What if he was hungry? She slipped from underneath Kane’s arm, reluctantly leaving his warm bed.

  She rushed down to the galley. What if Kane found out she had kissed William? Anyone board ship could have seen them. Blast the ale. She was a fool.

  Men were seated at the table. William spied her and stood. “Hannah, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  The kiss from last night hurtled back to her and she avoided his gaze. “I want to make Kane something to eat.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  Doc stared. “Not until you eat something. You don't look so good, lass.” He motioned to a chair.

  “I’ll eat with him.” If she ate, someone could tell Kane before her. She needed to tell him. He deserved to hear it from her.

  In the galley, Cook cut potatoes. “What do you need lass?”

  “I want to cook for Kane.”

  He raised his head. “Ye want to what?”

  “Please, Cook. I owe him.”

  He gave her a leery gaze. “I’ll not let you fix anything bad for da Capt’n.”

  “You can watch me?”

  “Let her do it, Doc.”

  She turned. William leaned in the doorway and nodded.

  Under Cook’s watchful eye, Hannah fried four pieces of salt pork and chopped potatoes. She poured hot water into a teapot and grabbed a jar of honey. As fast as she could, she loaded up a tray with the tea, salt pork, potatoes.

  “I can carry that,” William said.

  She stepped away. “No, I want to do it.”

  He bowed to her. “This way, lass.”

  She wished William would not come with her. What if he told Kane about the kiss last night? Or what if he would blame Kane for her sleeping with him last night? Call her a whore. She bit her lip as William knocked on the door.

  Kane called out behind the door. “Bloody hell, who is it?”

  “Good morning sunshine,” William winked at her as he opened the door.

  Hannah walked in and put the tray on the table. She cleared her throat. “I made you breakfast. I thought you might be hungry.”

  Kane glared. He had been a sleep earlier. Now, he looked like a serpent ready to strike.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Damp and darkness enveloped the belly of the Fiery Damsel. The only light was the glow of lanterns shining on the rack, thumb screws, stocks, iron masks and shackles coated with gore. Lark’s hair hung in his eyes and sweat and dried blood coated his half-naked body. His torn trousers were more like rags than clothes. He stared at the floor covered with hardened human carnage, dirt
and salt and curled his toes, hating the filth blackening his feet. He yanked on the chains securing his wrists to the wall again, but he only managed to cut deeper into his flesh. He inhaled dead briny air and his own foul body odor. Had it only been a week ago since Palmer and his men ambushed him and imprisoned in this hellhole?

  Hard footsteps treaded down the stairs. A rock formed in his gut and he forced his trembling legs to hold up his weight as he braced his shoulders back and waited for more pain, humiliation and hopelessness. Palmer never failed to disappoint him.

  Out of the murkiness, the dark silhouette of Quinton Palmer emerged. His two lackeys trailed him. Lark glared and spit on the floor, hitting Palmer’s boot.

  Palmer swung, slamming his fist into Lark’s jaw, knocking his head into the wall. Pain exploded on the right side of Lark’s face. Blood drenched into his mouth. He glared at Palmer through blurred vision. One day he’d stake the bastard’s heart, but not today. Today he was Palmer’s slave.

  “Now, boy, I told you about disrespecting me.”

  Clenching his fist, Lark pulled on the chains again.

  Palmer chuckled low, one chilling Lark’s bones. He narrowed his eyes. “I want you to do what I am asking.”

  Lark sucked in the blood pooling in his mouth and spat. He grinned as crimson splattered onto Palmer’s white shirt. “Go to hell.”

  Palmer wiped the blood off his shirt and licked his fingers. “Blood. I never grow tired of the taste. It gives me power.”

  Twisted fuck. Ignoring the nausea growing in his stomach, Lark clamped his mouth shut and stood tall, sticking out his chest and lifting his chin.

  “Do as I say or die,” Palmer warned.

  “Quit talking about it and do it.”

  “Oh, I will. No doubt about that. Witches are nothing but filthy liars. Ready to betray decent folks the first chance you get.”

  Lark bit back a retort. He had to be jesting? He considered himself to be decent folk?

  Palmer leaned closer and yanked his hair. “You’ll talk boy.”

  Lark inhaled Palmer’s breath and shuddered. It stank worse than the damp, moldy brig more like rotting meat left out on the deck too long. He’d never get used to the stench.

  Releasing his hair, Palmer nodded at Stevenson. “Do it.”

  A crank creaked. An evil grin spread on one of the lackey’s grimy face.

  “No,” Lark yanked on his chains.

  On the rack, Ronan Macmillan was stretched out. As the lackey turned the crank, the chains inched and creaked, stretching Macmillan’s arms and legs. Macmillan growled against the pain, baring his teeth. The other vermin smashed a bludgeon in his gut. Macmillan arched in and released a muffled groan.

  Lark jerked and pulled. Blood streamed down his arms from his raw wrists. He mumbled a spell under his breath, but the yari compressed around his neck and crushed his windpipe. The words died on his lips and he gasped for breath.

  Palmer shook his head. “How many times must you go through this boy?”

  The pressure lessened, and Lark inhaled. Panting, he mumbled, “You bastard.”

  Palmer stepped closer to Lark. “Tell me what I want to know. Do another spell and you’re dead. Remember, you can be replaced.”

  Mariah’s face flashed in Lark’s mind. She was powerful, more power than Hannah, the woman Palmer was hunting. But could she escape his wrath? Mariah would never survive in this forsaken place. Palmer would do worse to her. A woman on board the Fiery Damsel would be the whim of every man. She'd receive no mercy.

  Gritting his teeth, Lark said, “You leave my sister alone.”

  “Then tell me what I want to know.”

  Macmillan screamed. Swallowing, Lark slumped and the chains dugs into his wrist. He lowered his head. “They’re heading for Saint Kitts. That’s all I know. I swear.”

  Palmer frowned. “Why are they going to Saint Kitts?”

  Macmillan yelled. Lark’s fingers gripped his manacles at his agonizing cry. He lifted his head and gazed at Palmer, “I won’t tell you anything unless you stop torturing him.”

  “I could order the yari to kill you.”

  He met Palmer’s gaze, his chest heaving. “Then do it. But by the time you find my sister, the Soaring Phoenix will be long gone. The choice is yours.”

  Palmer glared his disgusting water eye leaked and made it impossible to read what the pirate was thinking. Lark held his breath. Had he just condemned his sister and Macmillan to hell?

  Palmer held up his hand. “Very well.” The creaking stopped.

  Lark glanced at Macmillan, his bleeding body tore into Lark’s soul.

  “Well?”

  Lark glared. “They’re taking the girl to marry her fiancé, Jacques D’Aubigne.”

  “D’Aubigne? Mmmm, interesting.” Palmer gripped Lark’s matted hair and yanked his head back again. “If you’re lying to me...” He shoved Lark’s head into the wall and turned away. He waved his hand and his lackeys followed. As he clunked up the stairs, he taunted, “But for now, I’ll leave you with your pain before I order you to heal yourself.”

  The footsteps faded. Macmillan released a ragged breath.

  Lark moistened his lips. “Macmillan, I’m sorry. The bastard should torture me.”

  “He knows you would not talk, mate” Macmillan answered in a strained voice. “You got to quit trying to cast any spells or do you’ve a death wish?”

  Lark twisted his sore neck. “There’s got to be a way to get free.”

  “A way to break a spell from Coaybay?” Macmillan snorted. “You’re wasting your time. But you can’t give in to Palmer. Do you think he suspects that you’re holding back?”

  “No. He thinks I only have visions. Let us hope it stays that way.” Lark closed his eyes. The Soaring Phoenix headed for Saint Kitts. The girl’s powers were growing stronger. If she failed to control them, she’d end up with Palmer’s sword in her gullet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hannah sat on the bow gazing at the approaching island. The winds relentlessly blew strands of her hair into her face, aggravating her already annoyed mood. She braided her hair into a loose French braid, but stubborn strands fluttered around against her cheeks and into her eyes.

  Her hands gripped her trousers and she sighed. Soon, she’d be forced to wear gowns and act the proper lady again, be trapped in a world of rules where women were expected to follow a man’s every command. Her father's world wasn’t her world. Why couldn’t father understand this?

  Aboard the Soaring Phoenix, she had more freedom than she had her entire life. Despite that, a man made a decision for her, disregarding her feelings. She frowned. What exactly were her feelings? She’d never experienced anything for a man before. No one had ever made her feel so protected, wanted. Not like Kane. How could she marry another man after Kane?

  She bristled. Obviously, Kane didn’t have the same feelings for her. She was a virgin and had gypsy powers, a liability. Maybe he was more like her father than she had hoped.

  “Hannah.”

  Hannah jumped and whipped around.

  Kane shuffled toward her. Pain gripped his face, but he didn’t falter. His suffering was her fault.

  He sat next to her, resting his hands on his knees. She stared at his hand, hoping he would clasp hers. Wishing she was brave enough to grab his. The water sloshed onto the hull of the ship and spray graced her face. ’Twas cool, refreshing, but contrasted with the disappointment drawing closer.

  The island grew nearer. She could make out swaying palm trees. She could feel her father’s chains wrapping around her ankles and wrists, imprisoning her in his world. Soon, she’d be separated from Kane and venturing into life she didn’t want. What life did she want?

  Not knowing what to say, she blurted, “Are you going to release my father?”

  “No, he broke his word. I warned him if he tried anything again.” Kane leaned closer to her. “What happened with you and William?”

  Her heart pounding, she glanced a
t him and his eyes held her captive. She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I'm not daft, lass. I see the way he looks at you.” His face clouded. “I need to know if there’s something between you.”

  She shook her head. “No, there’s nothing between us. I swear.” Was that true? Was there nothing between her and William? She gritted her teeth. “Why should you care? You’re sending me away to marry another man.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Aboard this ship, I need you to keep your distance from him.”

  “Why?”

  “’Tis causing tension between my brother and I, and I can’t have this discontent on the ship.” He ran his finger down her cheek and she shivered. “Agreed?”

  She shrugged. “Obviously, I don’t have many choices. If I do, are you going to throw me in the brig with my father?”

  “No. Your father threatened to attack me. I warned him what would happen if he caused any trouble aboard this ship.”

  “But I stabbed you.”

  “’Tis different.”

  “Is there anyone else you don’t want me to consort with? Cook? Amadi?

  He chewed his lip. “Any man who looks at you.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Including Jacques?”

  His eyes darkened. “If…”

  She tilted her chin. “I don’t want to hear excuses.”

  He growled. His hand slipped around her and pulled her to him, his lips parted. She closed her eyes, wanting this, yearning to taste him again. Her fingers slid up his broad chest, and gripped his massive shoulders, feeling the slight tweak of muscles as he moved. He gently opened her mouth with his tongue, and his kiss became hungry, fierce, drawing the breath from her. She’d never tire of his spicy taste.

  Why did he want to send her away? To be with another man? Was she just another conquest?

  She swallowed the hurt building in her chest and concentrated on kissing him, desperate to mold herself into his hard chest, giving her will to him. Embracing him tighter as a terrifying desire built inside her, something she’d never experienced. All she knew was she didn’t want this to end.