His forehead creased in irritation. Was the barrier he couldn’t breach the work of the one she called Siya? Each time he searched Amina’s mind, he found no residue of another’s presence. Whoever this Siya was, . . . was Siya female or male? The idea Siya might be a man spiked a fierce jealousy in him. Before he could rein it in, possessiveness exploded like dragon claws, ready to defend what belonged to him.
Amina was his.
Drake scrubbed his open hand over his face. The emotions churning in his gut stunned him. He’d never felt so strongly about any woman, not even Caroline. Hell, he hadn’t even bedded Amina and he was ready to do battle with this unknown Siya to claim the wench. A voice, long dead but never forgotten, surfaced in his mind.
In your wanderings, Michael, you will find the one who completes you. The one destined to become your soul’s mate.
Drake swore softly when the words poured into his head. He hadn’t thought about Lila the Moor since he left Plymouth to join his uncle Francis Drake to plunder Spanish galleons. Lila’s death soon followed Caroline’s murder and both had shaken him to the core.
It was to Lila he had gone the day a demon savagely murdered his betrothed. The ancient Moorish woman had comforted him, revealing not just his purpose in life but also why he’d been chosen to receive the powers he held. The knowledge that his existence was the reason for Caroline’s death was a devastating blow. One he had yet to fully recover from despite taking the demon’s life among others.
Archangel?
Namesake. It is so rare you call upon me.
I am still getting accustomed to the notion that I am in need of an angelic guardian because of some ancient prophecy. I also find it peculiar that I can change molecules and atoms at will. One day I will ask you to explain this ability to me.
And the demons? Have you come to accept their existence, Michael?
Drake chuckled. I’m not about to debate an archangel about my youthful foolishness. Is Amina the one Lila spoke of?
She is.
A light spray of sea water hit Drake and he stepped away from the railing. The archangel Michael’s terse answer, although expected, wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He had chosen an unfettered life at sea. He didn’t need a wife, since he already had one. He didn’t want any woman clinging to him, wanting the emotional bond he refused to give. He required a woman’s body in his bed to satisfy his lust and nothing else.
You do realize she is destined to be more than a momentary dalliance, Michael. You saw the union of your life threads. Fate intended this joining from the moment you and Amina were born. You can no more repudiate a life mate than you can yourself.
Drake inhaled and slowly exhaled. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, or change who I am. He stared at the water. Do stop reading my thoughts, guardian.
Learn to mask them. The archangel’s tone gentled. Fate does not ask you to be other than you are, Michael. Your destiny is set according to prophecy, as is your life mate’s. In time Amina will bear you a child, a son. From his line will Fate be born human.
A son?
Yes, Michael. You and Amina will have a son.
“A son,” Drake murmured.
“Captain, we’re done here.”
He abruptly turned to face his first mate. Hodge’s face was unreadable and Drake wondered if the sailor had overheard his muttered words. The archangel’s revelation had stunned him enough to voice his thoughts.
“Shall we leave this ship to the Spaniards? We’ve scavenged what’s worth taking. The men are returned to the Phoenix. It’s just you and me.” Hodge executed an extravagant band said, “After you, Father Dragon.”
Drake flashed his first mate a threatening look and earned a mocking grin in reply. “You overheard?”
“Aye,” Hodge quipped. “Just surprised you didn’t set fire to the galleon, being a dragon and all. You know you’ve got a wild one on your hands. She’s not like the other wenches you’ve taken to your bed. I think you best look to your rod, especially since you gave her the knife back.”
“I believe dragon fire is hot enough to melt whatever Amina tosses at me,” Drake said.
His laughter mingled with Hodge’s boisterous chuckles and the two men strolled over to the plank and made their way onto the Phoenix.
Amina leaned her forehead against the sill of the cabin’s window, uncertain how long she’d lingered there. The air had become somewhat chill and waning sunlight filtered through glass panes. She briefly thought to search for candles but couldn’t find the will to do so and remained where she sat.
Her eyes closed, she sighed, wishing she could fathom what was happening to her. Why her path once so clear was suddenly muddied and complicated. She had set out to kill as many demons as possible before they killed her. So why was she now mated to an Englishman? And one who had no idea who or what he truly was.
Raphael’s revelation had stunned her. Michael Drake’s mother was a Moorish Tamahaq. Enslaved by the Portuguese, Mariam was being transported to the Spanish-held island of Jamaica when Francis Drake attacked the galleon. He saw Mariam and took her as his mistress, sharing her with no other man. She was with child by the time the ship docked in Plymouth. Drake named his son Michael Francis Drake and left him in the care of his mother until he was five years of age when Drake returned to reclaim his son. Drake gave his son to his childless brother with the promise of an inheritance.
Amina silently sang Mariam to the ancestors. She had died in the year 1578, not knowing where her son resided or even if he lived.
Her emotions twisted inside her. How was she to reconcile the path she had chosen with the one Raphael said was laid out for her? Her journey did not include a mate or love for anyone, except her twin. She certainly hadn’t envisioned the pirate Michael Drake.
He was Imohag and had no understanding of what it meant to be of the people. As a child, Amina had been taught the origins of the Imohag and the Tamahaq. Desert-bred descendants of Lilith, Imohag were destined to play a significant part in Satan’s defeat when Fate walked the earth. Hers was the warrior’s path, a path she fully embraced from the day her mother was murdered.
She had excelled at revenge until she was betrayed. Amina squeezed her eyelids at the memory of her humiliating capture. She’d been sold to a powerful Moorish sultan who in turn gave her to de Zarate. What she hadn’t known—until de Zarate set sail to Cartagena—everything had been an elaborate trap set by Marut to deliver her to Mephistopheles. She should be grateful to Drake for his attack on the galleon before it rounded the Horn of Africa. Yet the emotion was a bitter pill when one form of enslavement was exchanged for a far more dangerous kind. Life mates. She and Drake were forever joined.
She cursed in her native Tahaggart. She didn’t want any of the feelings trying to root inside her. She wanted no part of Michael Drake. While the pleasure and joy she felt with each contact promised unimaginable delights, she wanted more than a man who had little use for her sex, and even less for her race. She’d always assumed her mate would be Imohag. Just not one ignorant of his race, of why he was born.
“Remove your gown. It offends me.”
At the sound of Drake’s voice her head whipped in the direction of the cabin door. She had named him right, dragon. He was magnificent, arrogant, and dangerous. His shoulder-length hair slightly unkempt, the striking emerald eye, and the sinewy body poised to strike at the least provocation to defend what he claimed as his. Poised on the threshold, his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. He waited for her to make the first move.
Amina’s fingers gripped her dagger’s hilt as she rose from the cushioned seat below the paned windows. She’d cursed her lapse into carelessness that he was able to enter the cabin without her knowledge. It was a mistake she’d never make with a demon and it angered her. The stealth of Drake’s entry revealed how thoroughly the man had turned her world upside down.
6
Amina studied the man leaning against the doorjamb, his green eyes engaged in a
long, languid perusal of her. She quivered when his gaze lingered at the junction between her thighs.
Heat.
She felt intense heat coalesce and with it, an inexplicable tightening at the pit of her stomach. Drake’s eyes glanced at her breasts and her nipples firmed beneath the invisible tweak of masterful fingers. She gasped, sucking in air before forcefully expelling it.
His mouth curved upward, a mocking smile she wanted to carve from his face and feed to wild dogs.
“Such violent thoughts, hawk. What have I done to deserve your abuse? I only asked that you remove that ugly gown you wear.”
“If I refuse, Englishman?”
Drake said nothing, the faint lifting of an eyebrow his only reply.
Amina sucked her teeth in insult. “The Tamahaq decides when she is bedded, and by whom.”
His gaze returned to her hips, lingered for a moment, and went back to her face. Amina’s blood ran hot in her veins, her thighs suddenly sticky with moisture. She sucked in air, cursing softly when she tasted their mingled desire on the surface of her tongue, and steeled herself against his approach, wariness and anticipation colliding inside her with each step he took. For the life of her, she couldn’t pull her gaze from the man.
Drake’s chestnut-brown hair framed his handsome features, a leather tie keeping the thick mane from his face. Well-shaped eyebrows angled above striking emerald eyes, while long eyelashes struggled to soften his habitual expression of arrogance. Her perusal was interrupted by a bright glint and she looked in its direction.
A lucent pearl earring dangled from his ear, mimicking his arrogant swagger. Without his usual hat, she saw that Drake’s ears were beautifully shaped. She wondered what he would do if she ran her tongue along the curve of his ear until she reached the pearl and nipped at the jewel until it fell from its mooring, leaving her free to love the soft lobe before she sought his seductive mouth?
“I will let you play once you obey me,” Drake taunted. “Your gown…what did de Zarate call you? Ah yes, Maria.”
Her knife whizzed past the very ear she had just admired and embedded itself in the doorframe. Her balled fists on her hips, Amina glared at him. “You know my name. Never call me Maria or I will cut off your . . . what do you English call them . . . those round bits of flesh between your legs?”
“My testes?”
She nodded.
“We also call them cods.”
“I will slice off your cods and feed them to you if you dare call me Maria again.”
Drake halted and returned to the door, pulling the knife from the wood before retracing his path to her. When he stood a few feet from her, he extended the knife’s hilt, grinning as she snatched the blade from his fingers. “Forgive me. Remove the gown. Amina.”
She snorted, her affronted silence blanketing the space between them. Amina allowed her gaze to slowly rake Drake’s body, before snorting a second time. As beautiful as he was, she was Tamahaq and bowed to no man.
She folded her arms across her breasts, her body stiff with defiance. Her eyes followed his ungloved fingers as they reached for the ribbon that fastened his breeches. Her breathing mirrored the rapid pace of her heart as he untied the silk ribbon. Ragged aspiration echoed in the cabin when his hands leisurely pushed his breeches down his hips. The harsh breaths belonged to her.
A familiar craving sucked at her until her skin tingled. She longed to experience the magic of those hands stroking her until the ache went away. The need was potent, raw, terrifying, and seductive. His scent teased all of her senses until she wanted to bury her face in his skin. Her mind wondered what he’d feel like deep inside her, her body his to possess.
A string of angry curses exploded from her lips. Drake’s laughter earned him a furious glare.
“Will you translate for me, hawk? I would know for certain you called me an ass or camel’s dung.”
“Camel’s dung,” she replied, her amusement displacing her anger. “I hadn’t considered the lowly ass. You are full of mysteries, Captain. Now that I know you speak Arabic, I will use my mother’s tongue when I insult you.”
Drake continued to undress until he stood naked before her. Amina’s gaze dipped to the semi-erect shaft nested in a thatch of dark curls. Apprehension washed over her at the size and shape of him. His member was long and thick. There was no way she could take him inside her. Even so, her lips parted and her teeth nervously nipped her lip. Her fingers ached to touch his penis, to see if it was as silken as it looked. She wanted the man.
Amina closed her eyes and counted to ten before she lifted her lashes. As much as she despised his arrogance, she wanted him. Wanted him as her mate. Wanted the child he would give her. Wanted the passion she saw in his eyes. What she refused to do was to become his slave. No Tamahaq was ever a man’s slave.
“I am no whore to do your bidding,” she said. “If you want to bed me, you must woo me.”
Drake’s mocking grin become sensual. “You wish to be wooed? Is that how de Zarate brought you to his bed?”
She spat. “Do not speak of de Zarate. His way is to rape, not seduce.” Her voice was soft when it taunted him. “Are you like the Spanish pig, dragon? Is rape the only way you can get a woman to pleasure you?”
The flash of anger in Drake’s eyes told Amina her insult hit its mark.
“I thought you were different,” she said, before turning her back to him, mentally counting to ten. “If you want me, you must woo me.”
Drake’s fingers gripped her shoulders and spun her until she faced him. His green eyes darkened and he inhaled violently before forcing the air out in an angry burst.
Amina held her tongue and waited for the explosion.
Drake blanked his thoughts, wanting to conceal his admiration for her spirit. He needed to show her who was master in his cabin, on his ship, and in his life.
It was time Amina learned the dragon had teeth.
“I have little tolerance for a woman’s defiance, especially from one who a short time ago was a captured slave. I am master of this ship and you will bow to my authority or return to your chains.”
He took the knife from her hand and slit the front of her tattered gown, setting her breasts free. He flung the dagger at the wall behind his bed. “You belong to me.”
Amina reached up to drag her hair across her exposed breasts. An intoxicating fragrance wrapped itself around his senses. Drake inhaled the scent deep into his lungs before gently moving the locks obscuring a luscious mound.
“Bastardo. De lo que diablos te gererans?” Amina hissed.
“All Englishmen will claim kinship to the devil when presented with beauty such as yours. Devil you may call me but I am no bastard, despite Spanish rumors. My mother and father were properly wed when I was conceived.”
He lifted a dark curl from between her breasts and fingered the silky strand. “What is your answer, Amina? Will you call me master?”
She ignored the fingers toying with her hair and stared. “I have no master, dragon. Yo soy domadora de dragón. By prophecy, I am your one true mate and mother to your son. You are my life as I am yours.”
Drake stared at her, shaken by her words. He’d assumed he alone knew that part of angelic prophecy. Shielding his mind, he called to the archangel Michael a second time.
Archangel, I believe we need to talk.
We will speak about the Tamahaq later, but first you must claim her and bind her body to yours. Mephistopheles has sent others to capture Amina. I will do what is necessary to delay them, but you must make her yours. Now.
He bristled at the archangel’s curt command but, as always, he obeyed. He slowly crowded Amina until she tottered against his bed. She glanced at the door before her eyes returned to his face. For the span of a breath, they remained locked in a silent contest of wills.
An uncharacteristic regret flooded him at the thought of using force to claim her. He was certain it would damage the warrior in Amina and, despite his need for conquest, he wanted her
submission willingly.
He reached for her, stopping when she held up her hand.
“I accept you as my mate.”
Amina’s surrender took him by surprise. He expected a battle, feared he would have to tear down her walls. His fingers stroked a breast, his senses reveling in the silken texture. “You give yourself to me of your own accord, Amina?”
Her head lowered, she averted her eyes. His fingers cupped her chin. “Look at me. Do you give yourself freely to me?”
Amina raised her head, her gaze troubled, even fearful. Gone was the Amazon who threatened him. His thumb caressed her jaw. “Where is the woman who swore to slice off my cods and feed them to me? I would see her in your eyes, not this frightened dove. Do you give yourself freely to me, Amina?”
She nodded, reluctant to reveal the desire seeded deep inside.
“I need you to speak the words,” Drake pressed. “Do you bind yourself to me? Am I truly your life’s mate?”
She stared at him and sighed. “What is it you want to hear? That I am afraid? Yes, Drake, I fear you and I don’t want this binding. You are not what you seem, and for that reason, I am wary of you as I’ve never been of another man or creature. I cannot read your gifts, only experience them. Prophecy and destiny require I give myself to you. I do so willingly, but that does not change what is in my heart.”
“You have no reason to fear me. I will never harm you,” Drake said. “As to what I am, we are the same. We have similar gifts.”
She shook her head. “Our gifts are not the same, dragon. You threaten everything I am. Everything. I don’t want it but you are my life’s mate, and that gives you power no other has ever possessed. Not even my . . . .”
Fate's Match Page 6