Desire.
Exasperation at his mental intrusion snapped the spell. She pulled away from him. Even if she couldn’t hide what he called desire, she would definitely control it. She hoped.
5
Drake stepped back and offered her his hand. Her eyes took in his extended fingers. It was ungloved. A longing to feel his skin against hers swept through her. She wanted to know the texture of his calloused fingers on her palm. Amina raised her open hand until it hovered over his.
“No, Drake, she is mine,” de Zarate squealed, struggling to his feet. “Maria is my slave, a gift from the Moorish king. Take anything I have, but leave her. She is mine.”
The spell broken, Amina waited to hear the Englishman deny the Spaniard’s claim. Drake’s silence made her yearn for him to speak, to claim her. It also angered her because of her own unexpected wish. Her hands fisted and dropped to her side. What kind of spell had the Englishman wove over her that she wanted to hear him challenge de Zarate’s possessive words?
Drake’s continued silence fed the outrage building inside her. She was no man’s possession. She opened her mouth to curse both men when Drake finally broke the wordless impasse between them.
“I assume your life is worth a king’s gift, de Zarate.”
“She is mine,” he insisted. “Take the Moors and the silk in ransom for her.”
Amina watched Drake’s hand close the distance between hers and his. His fingers enclosed her clenched fist and she moaned softly at the contact, nor did she resist when he pulled her closer to him. The scent of him, sandalwood and spice graced with an unquestioned masculinity, flooded her senses and put an end to any resistance she might have considered.
Drake firmed his hold on her clenched hand. “Perhaps we should allow the choice to be hers.”
Stunned by his words, Amina searched his eyes. Dragons did nothing without a reason. While she couldn’t glean his plan, Drake’s gaze conveyed interest, desire, and an unquestioned challenge. Wanting to know what he intended, she swiftly entered his mind. His amusement stroked her before a surge of power slammed into her, sending her tumbling into a terrifying trap.
Surrounded by glassy shards, she struggled to extricate herself from his thoughts. Pain shot through her, a thin warning that she had crossed a line. She tethered her awareness to the pain, using it to wrench herself from Drake’s mind.
Trepidation raced through her she felt when she lifted her eyelashes to find his hard gaze on her.
Next time, ask.
She glanced at Marut’s powdery remains before she inclined her head. She may be reckless but never foolish. Drake’s abilities were formidable. Had she known, she would have silenced her impetuous tongue before declaring her willingness to mate with an Englishman. Why hadn’t Raphael warned her about Drake?
Raphael’s voice sounded in her head. There was no need since it is impossible for you to be forced to mate, Uriel’s foolish thinking aside. You had to willingly choose Drake or Mephistopheles.
Amina sniffed angrily. Such knowledge might have saved me from enslavement by the Spaniard, archangel.
Your capture was necessary, Amina. You would not have chosen Drake without it. Besides . . .
There was a long pause before Raphael continued. You chose to fight the enslavers.
A puff of angry air flowed past Amina’s lips at Raphael’s insensitive remark. They enslaved my people. I couldn’t tolerate such barbarity, archangel. Maybe if you and your kind had chosen to intervene, I wouldn’t need to attack slave caravans.
She softly cursed beneath her breath. I’m just a pawn in an angelic game of chess. Well, this pawn isn’t going to make it easy for you, archangel, or the English captain.
Raphael’s chuckle was drowned out by de Zarate’s insistence that he owned her. For a few moments, she listened to the pathetic mixture of arrogance and begging.
“Silence,” she ordered. “Silk and a few plates? Is that all a princess is worth, Spaniard? I am no slave and you are a fool to think I’d yoke myself to a coward. May you rot in hell with the demon you served. I choose the Englishman.”
Drake’s hand tightened about hers and she glanced down at their entwined fingers. Had she just given her soul to the devil?
I am no devil, Amina. Only a man who understands your worth.
She ignored him and aimed her fury at de Zarate. “He hides his coins and plates in the hold where he keeps the enslaved ones. The floor planks are marked with his insignia, a rooster.”
Her eyes searched the deck until she spied three African men chained with the Spanish captives. They were Imohag who set their tents in Morocco and who had fought beside her to free the enslaved. She took a step in their direction. Drake’s fingers squeezed hers and he shook his head. She glared at him before she spoke to the men in their native tongue. They nodded and she snatched her hand from Drake’s possessive fingers.
“These men are unique, Captain Drake,” she said. She pointed at de Zarate. “That dog never understood, and enslaved and abused them. If you have no use for de Zarate, let them kill him.”
The grandee’s terrified squeak prompted Amina’s laughter. “Did you expect kinder words from me? You deserve to die beneath their knives.”
“Another time I would grant your wish, hawk,” Drake drawled. “Unfortunately, there is an agreement between his nation and mine. I am obligated to let him go free once the ransom is paid.”
She glared at the Spaniard. “I’ve made no such agreement, de Zarate.” Her gaze went to Drake. “Give the men their liberty, treat them with dignity, and they will honor you with their loyalty. Consider this the Tamahaq’s gift to you.”
Closing the distance between her and de Zarate, she reached down and jerked a dagger from inside his waistband. “This belongs to the Tamahaq. You had no right to claim it since you were not chosen.”
She wiped the hilt on his shirt before reversing it to press the knife's tip to his throat. Her grin unfolded as terror saturated his eyes. Tiny beads of sweat erupted on his forehead and his lips flopped apart when she skimmed the knife’s tip across the pale surface of his neck.
“You are fortunate this day,” she said. “Where is the key to this thing about my neck?”
“I do not have it. I gave it to Xavier for safekeeping.”
“Do you believe me a fool?” Amina hissed. “Where is it?”
“The chain,” de Zarate stuttered. “The key is on the chain round my neck.”
Using her knife to slit his shirt, she pressed the blade’s flat edge against his chest before she slid it between his flesh and the chain. Amina lifted the finely spun gold with the knife’s tip and jerked, her hand snaking out to catch the key when it broke away from the chain.
“You deserve death, de Zarate, for all you’ve done to the people you’ve enslaved,” she said, dragging the knife’s tip lightly down his chest. “Be grateful Fate wishes otherwise and I’m in a forgiving mood.”
A line of crimson bubbled and trailed in the knife’s wake, and fearing what she might do next, de Zarate jerked back and fell on his arse.
Her scornful laughter swept across the deck like wisps of deadly smoke. Captured sailors cringed at the sound, a few making the sign of the Christian cross. She ignored them and slotted the key into the collar’s lock and twisted. It fell open on her shoulders, its weight no longer oppressive or painful. She positioned herself before Drake and raised her chin. He inclined his head, reached up and took the collar from her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said.
An ironic smile formed on his lips before he sent the gold band sailing over the ship’s railing into the dark blue water. “Do not thank me yet. There is always a price to pay for my acts of kindness.”
“Is that a threat?”
Drake laughed. “No, hawk, just a promise.”
Amina inhaled deeply and savored the taste of air without the taint of gold. The air’s purity infused her spirit, her body, and her mind. No one except the angels unders
tood what the gold did to her and her sister. The metal limited the Tamahaq’s power to attack those she fought, along with the slow drain of her ability to defend herself and the excruciating agony that came when she tried to help others.
Her eyelids lowered and Amina reveled in the unleashing of her abilities. She methodically tested each one, hugging herself to find that she really was free.
You are beautiful.
Shocked, she opened her eyes to find Drake’s emerald gaze intent on her. She had momentarily forgot she stood on the deck of a Spanish slave ship, her fate resting in the hands of an English pirate.
Her life mate.
He was the reason for her present happiness and, once they truly mated, he would be the bane of her existence. The power that resonated inside him was extraordinary. As a warrior, she welcomed the honor to fight at Drake’s side. As a woman, she feared him. Feared what he stirred inside her. Feared the power she would cede to him because of the longing.
Desire. That was what he called the sensation even now teasing her blood, causing the warmth between her thighs. She’d caught a glimpse of his thoughts when he looked at her and she wanted to experience what he offered. The satisfaction, the pleasure, the claiming—she wanted all these and more with Michael Drake, and that was a problem.
Drake watched the emotions flit across Amina’s expressive face and could give a name to each one: pride, defiance, courage, and vulnerability. What surprised him was the desire that touched the golden-tinged eyes, only to be quickly replaced by the wariness of a warrior’s gaze. He recognized their short-lived truce had ended and chided himself. What had he expected? Gratitude? Submission?
With a slight shake of his head, he buried what he knew was a futile hope for a measure of peace with Amina. While gratitude might be an emotion she might show, submission definitely wasn’t a quality she possessed in abundance.
She peered at him and he grasped how a field mouse felt when first sighting the shadow of a hawk. Amina stood ready to strike fast and sure to inflict the greatest damage. She also was relentless, even reckless, and willing to die rather than submit. It was that spirit that denied Mason’s attempted rape. And the same spirit would have seen her take her life rather than yield to Marut.
Drake winced. He was inside Amina’s mind when she used her gift to defend herself. Had he not intervened both times . . . his gut knotted at the idea her stubbornness might have ended with her death. The thought inexplicably terrified him. He would never allow her life to be placed in danger again, not as long as he wielded his powers. Whatever bond existed between them forced his hand.
The thud of a chest brought his focus back to the woman who stood proudly before him. He wanted to see what was beneath the atrocious Spanish gown she wore. Despite the heavy black silk, there was no mistaking the lithe, feminine body encased inside. She was taller and smaller-breasted than the women he usually bedded. His eyes lingered over hips curved enough to incite even a eunuch’s useless prick to be reborn.
He began to imagine what it would be like to have her legs wrapped around his hips as he rode her to rapture. Hear her moans of pleasure as he sated his lust.
A soft moan breached his fantasy and he lifted his eyes to peer at its source. A gentle sea breeze had set Amina’s unbound hair into motion, exposing a face with breathtaking features. He was beginning to understand the Spaniard’s obsession with the Moorish woman. She wore sensuality on the surface of her skin like it was perfume. There was nothing timid, or retiring about Amina. Her defiance was as evident as the color of her skin.
Drake’s eyes met her gaze. Her long dark eyelashes framed irises the color of molten amber as she challenged his bold assessment. His cock stiffened in response to her gaze, the tight feel of his linen breeches against his skin a potent warning that this woman was not going to be an easy conquest. He buried a sigh in his chest. If only he could discover a way to possess her without bloodshed — especially his. His mind mulled over several options to achieve his victory when a sudden flash of metal glinted in the sunlight and he cursed softly.
He’d forgotten the witch’s dagger. “Do you intend to use it?”
Her gaze and the knife’s tip drifted lower, stopping where his cock rested against his thigh. Her eyes slowly returned to his face. “Perhaps”
He watched the languid sweep of her pink tongue as it followed the curve of her bottom lip. Images of that tongue stroking him. Her mouth sliding down his shaft and the friction created by her flesh against the sensitive head swarmed his thoughts. He witnessed her silken brown skin rubbing his flesh as her breasts kissed his chest, her wet cradle sliding down his cock and milking him until he was empty and sated.
As you can see, dragon, I can play this game as well.
Drake sucked in a ragged breath, inhaling restraint along with air. He shuttered his mind completely. He was going to enjoy sparring with Amina.
Yes, but can a hawk truly defeat a dragon? Victory will be mine in the end.
The knife halved the distance between his groin and his exposed throat. He didn’t flinch. When Hodge, his first mate, moved to take up a position behind Amina, Drake made a sign for the sailor not to interfere. Arms folded across his chest, he didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Will you cut my throat, wench?”
“I’m tempted,” she replied.
Slender fingers played expertly with the knife until a sea tern’s angry cry pierced the air. Amina’s expression shifted. A pensive look settled on her face, her lips slightly moving as if she were engaged in conversation with another. Drake ruffled through her thoughts and found himself mired deep in intense sadness and guilt. His rarely used compassion spiraled into existence and his hand reached out to her.
Hawk?
She shook her head and stepped away from him. She placed the knife on her right palm, the sharp edge of the blade directed away from him. He stared at her. The expression on her face mirrored the marbled impassivity of a statue, while her body dipped into a curtsy of such elegance and grace he knew she was no common Moor, nor any man’s slave.
Seconds became anxious minutes as he waited for her to rise. When she didn’t move, air sank to the bottom of his lungs, an unforgiving weight that made it difficult to breathe. His gaze darted between her face and the knife resting on her palm, his mind befuddled by what it all meant. Finally, she inclined her head and raised the knife-laden palm in offering.
Confusion stifled his tongue when her voice, melodious and warm, said, “You are my life as I am yours.”
Drake stiffened. He didn’t know how to respond. Was she giving herself to him, the knife a reflection of his power over her? Not likely, he told himself. Amina wouldn’t willingly become a man’s slave. His mind weighed and tossed away explanations for her curious behavior.
Amina’s soft chuckle caressed his ears before she murmured, “Does the dragon fear the Tamahaq?”
He took the knife and examined it. The well-crafted dagger was made to fit a woman’s hand, the blade slender and light in weight. A curious intaglio was etched on the silver and iron hilt of the deadly weapon. His eyes met hers.
“If I knew what Tamahaq meant, perhaps I would know whether to be afraid or just entertained.”
A glint of anger surfaced in Amina’s eyes, followed by the sultry promise he witnessed earlier. Lust kicked him with the strength of a mule when her lips parted and curved into a smile that caressed even white teeth. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her full lips before her teeth gently nipped the moistened flesh. His blood ran hot at the seductive gesture and the ache of skin pulled tight over his cods forced him to break eye contact with her.
“I will teach you.” The tinkle of laughter and her soft words told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Their gazes still locked, his mouth curved up, belying the banked aggravation her words provoked.
“I am not de Zarate. Never forget that. I will not be made slave to a Moor’s whims. No matter how beautiful.”
Amina�
��s rage erupted and pounded his mental shields. Her anger was palpable, abrasive, and wearing like pumice against a stone. After a few seconds, Drake shrugged and turned to beckon an English sailor. “Escort her to the Phoenix and lock her in my cabin, Timmons.”
Drake counted to ten before returning his gaze to Amina. He entered her mind and seeded images of their bodies entwined, his cock thrusting deep into her. He grinned at the shivers racing through her body. When he felt he had done enough damage, he flashed her a cynical smile.
“I assume you’d prefer the comforts of my cabin to the bite of slave chains and confinement in the hold.”
He handed her the dagger. She gripped it, hesitated a brief second before she whirled and stormed to the plank connecting the Spanish galleon and the Phoenix. Drake enjoyed the graceful sway of her hips as she marched across the thick piece of wood. When she stood safely on the Phoenix’s deck, she whipped about.
Do you believe you can control me, Englishman?
He winced at the sharp prick of her intrusion. His shrug was a slow unencumbered gesture. Of course, hawk. I am your dragon and I hold your jesses.
The image of her knife buried in a dragon’s heart and Amina’s scornful laugh were a potent mental reminder taming her would not be an easy task.
Drake’s temper finally burst its restraints. He strode over to the galleon’s railing, and stood inches from the plank that connected the two ships. He was near enough to see the angry dismissal on Amina’s face. He ran his tongue hurriedly across his lips, and then fired an image of smoldering flames crawling across her body, each one a sensuous caress. When a flame nestled between her thighs and torturously followed the length of her cradle, she swayed, her lips pressed tight to trap the moan trying to escape. Even so, Drake heard the sound ripple along the mental joining they shared.
My cabin, Amina. You cannot win this skirmish.
Pride rode her spine as she followed the sailor to the captain’s cabin. Drake’s gaze tracked her until she disappeared from view. She continued to surprise him. He’d not met a woman like her, not even his monarch. Amina was fierce, determined, compassionate, and loyal. Yet she had secrets that burdened her with sadness and guilt. Secrets hidden behind an impregnable wall he was unable to penetrate. Secrets that may stand between him and his desires.
Fate's Match Page 5