Mistress of the Stone

by Maria Zannini

  Daltry pushed Luísa further back. “Your business is with me.”

  Silas ignored him, tilting his head so he could get a better look at Luísa. “Mistress,” he said bowing with a grand gesture. “We shapeshifters want only one thing, to control our fate. We are a cursed people.” He turned to Daltry with a thin watery smile, anxious to provoke him. “Ask your man here. He will support my claim. We are a people without free will. Saint-Sauveur says he can change that, but only if he is allowed to channel his prayers through you.”

  “Bah! Prayers! Saint-Sauveur is as holy as a sailor on leave. He’s plied the pack with lies and empty promises. Follow him and you’ll give him dominion over all shapeshifters.”

  “Better to have one master than be slaves to our fever,” Silas countered. He knelt before Luísa, his knees creaking like snapping twigs. “Mistress, if you can free us, I know Jovis will gladly follow you.” His voice was as sweet and sticky as syrup. Despite his deference, there was a taint in his meaning.

  “Rubbish!” Daltry hoisted Silas to his feet, the toady all arms and waggling legs as he tried to get away. In another instant, he’d throw him out.

  Silas wiggled free, a testament to his oily ways, and he fell to his knees and crawled to Luísa. “You must listen, milady! We can pay you in a currency of value.”

  Luísa scoffed at him and turned away. “You have nothing I want.”

  “I have information.”

  There was something in the tone of his voice that seemed to grip Luísa in his snare. She turned, studying the face of this cur, a wolf that reeked of treachery. The need to find her father would outweigh her common sense—if she had any left at this point. He had to get rid of this toad before he filled her with his lies.

  “Get out, Silas, before I turn you into shark bait.” Daltry tried to grab him, but he ducked, scrambling in front of Luísa again.

  “Mistress,” he begged, his voice as oily as black tar. “I can tell you where your father is being imprisoned.”

  Luísa stared back at Daltry as if looking for confirmation.

  Flea-bitten cur! He should’ve silenced Silas long ago. “He’s lying,” Daltry growled. “You’ve seen what he is.”

  Silas snarled back. “Luísa… Milady,” he corrected himself. “I offer proof.”

  From within his waistband, he retrieved a scarlet silk handkerchief.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  “Back to your parlor tricks, Silas? That’s no proof.”

  Silas ran his fingers down the length of the silk until he came to a corner. Embroidered in gold were the initials, I.L.T. in a fancy flourish.

  Luísa’s eyes brimmed with tears. “That’s Papa’s kerchief.” She looked up at Silas. “Where is he?”

  “He’s being held in a village of werehyenas. Very dangerous,” Silas cautioned. His long hooked nose shadowed a crooked mouth. Silas couldn’t tell the truth if you spooned it out of him.

  Luísa snatched the handkerchief from Silas’s hands and studied it. She lifted the kerchief to her nose and sniffed the fine silk fabric. “Papa’s. I gave this to him three years ago. I even embroidered the initials myself.” Her gaze fixed on Silas. “You’ll show me where he is. We’re getting him out.”

  “Out of the question,” Daltry countered.

  “That is not for you to decide, Xander.” She grabbed Silas by the collar, pulling him up to face her. “Can you do it? Can you get me in?”

  “Do we have a bargain, mistress? Your father for you.”

  Luísa gave Daltry a long hard look. There was pity in her eyes and newfound resolve. Foolish girl.

  “I’m sorry, Xander.”

  Damn, Silas! He was ruining everything and endangering Luísa in the bargain.

  Luísa turned to Silas, her hands clutching the kerchief like a lifeline. “You have a deal.”

  The invalid bowed his head, his hands cupped in obeisance. “Thank you, milady. I can lead you to the village. The werehyenas leave at dusk to hunt. It will be nearly empty when we get there.” He glanced at Daltry dismissively. “Between the three of us we should be able to get him out.”

  “This is madness!” Daltry thundered.

  “You don’t have to go, Xander.”

  “Yes, Xander,” Silas cooed. “I can find someone else.”

  Daltry shoved Silas against a wall and breathed out a guttural warning. “If this is a trap, Silas, I will rip you into shreds so small no one will recognize the remains.”

  Silas pushed him back, straightening his back as best he could. “Stay or go, Daltry. The mistress will see you for the coward you are.” He scraped his bad leg behind him and edged closer to Luísa. “You should know, milady, this man didn’t want you to find your father. Captain Tavares himself will tell you that it was Daltry who betrayed him to Saint-Sauveur.”

  “What?” Luísa’s hands doubled into fists. “Is that true, Xander? Were you responsible for his capture?”

  “Luísa, luv—”

  “Answer my question!”

  “It’s not what it seems. I thought he would lead us to you.”

  “Such a smooth liar you are, Daltry. I heard your coffers were heavy with the gold Saint-Sauveur paid you when you surrendered the captain to him.”

  Daltry lunged at Silas but this time it was Luísa who intervened, holding him at bay with an unsheathed blade. Daltry stopped cold.

  “I’ve heard enough. We leave for the village before the sun sets.” She pushed the leather flap of the doorway open. “You don’t have to come with us, Xander. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you didn’t.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “You’re not the man I thought you were.” Luísa stared at him as if they were strangers to one another.

  The innocent who had once nursed him was gone. He had stolen more than her virtue. He had stolen her trust, and that cut him deepest of all.

  Daltry trudged out, forcing his feet to move forward. He’d lost her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Reaching the werehyena village didn’t take long. Daltry followed dutifully, despite Luísa’s insistence that he stay behind. Whatever they had before had vanished. Silas, that mangy cur, smashed any hope of reconciliation. But for once, he couldn’t blame Silas. The truth would have come out sooner or later, and when that happened, he knew Luísa would reject him. She could never love a man who betrayed her father.

  Yet, it didn’t absolve him from his responsibility to her. He intended to keep her safe until he could get her off this island. That would be hard to do under normal circumstances, nearly impossible with a wild woman who didn’t have the good sense to know when she faced mortal danger.

  Luísa, Daltry and Silas crept up to the outskirts of the village and waited until dusk when several of the pack changed into their hyena state and rushed off in search of prey. The air was thick with moisture and smoke.

  A few grass huts stood in a circle around a large open center where they did their cooking and baking at a huge open fire pit. The coals still smoldered from an earlier meal, but they were ready to hunt again.

  Werehyenas maintained a strong sense of community, but they had all the social graces of cobras. Fights broke out often with little provocation. They needed to approach with care. Werehyenas were not fussy about who they put in their cooking pots.

  The afternoon rain dampened everything and helped to hide the scent of their advance. Twice he helped Luísa along by the elbow, but she jerked her arm away from him, thanking him with a scowl that could peel milk paint.

  The third time, he pulled Luísa back when she had gone too far ahead of them. She turned to protest when Silas hushed them both. “Shh.”

  “We’ll wait for more of them to leave,” Daltry said. “Do you know how to climb, kitten?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  His kitten had claws. But so did he, and if she intended to dismiss him summarily, she’d learn right now he was not a man to be rebuffed by the likes of a girl, whether he deserved it or not. He had tried to he
lp Tavares, but the fool walked right into the trap even after he had warned him.

  Silas dragged himself up a slanted palm, while Daltry followed Luísa up a storm-damaged mahogany, careful to keep their scent upwind.

  “Easy, she-cat,” Daltry purred. “Don’t be in such a hurry to get killed. The werehyenas are powerful fighters, but they don’t like confrontation if their numbers are small.”

  “How long do we wait then?”

  Daltry scanned the village for any new activity. “They hunt at dusk. If we’re lucky, your father might be left alone. The werehyenas weren’t happy they got stuck with guard duty.”

  Her mouth fell open and she stared at him with daggers in her eyes. “You knew he was here all along, didn’t you?”

  Daltry didn’t look at her. “You’re not going to like what you find, luv.”

  “There are a lot of things I no longer find to my liking, sir.”

  Luísa laid her cheek on an outstretched arm as they waited for the sun to set. She peered over at him only once, a look that said she had a question. Her mouth opened slightly and then closed, a tinge of pain in her eyes.

  He never meant to hurt her. How he wished he could make her see that. The disappointment in her eyes cut him like a knife. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, convince her that there was more at stake than she could know. Instead, he swallowed the knot in his throat and waited for the sun to dip below the tree line. Nothing he could say would soften the ragged edge of truth.

  Inácio Tavares didn’t put up a fight when Daltry cornered him at a mission on enemy soil. Word reached them that he and a woman posing as Luísa hid in Spanish-held Florida. That was dangerous ground for an Englishman or a Frenchman.

  Saint-Sauveur wanted to wait until they moved to neutral territory, knowing Tavares wouldn’t stay away from the sea for long, but Daltry disagreed. They had to bring Tavares out in the open. And Daltry knew just the bait to lure him out.

  Sibyl cautioned him that the moonstone was tied to the daughter and not the father. He was going after the wrong prize.

  She was wrong—she had to be. All signs pointed to Tavares. Why else hide in Florida? The man knew he was being chased.

  Daltry gambled on Tavares’s love for his daughter to lure him out. He paid several men to spread lies about Luísa’s capture on the open sea. Then he waited for Tavares to make his move.

  Within days of the news reaching his ears, Tavares booked passage on a fast clipper with a captain who asked no questions. He’d sail the next morning.

  Saint-Sauveur was waiting for Tavares at the dock, but Daltry intended to accost the wily pirate before he departed and snatch both him and the moonstone talisman for himself. He waited for Tavares in his room that night, his sword drawn and lying on a table near his chair.

  When Tavares entered, his hand went for his saber and then stayed it. The old man laughed, as if at some private joke, then pulled out his sword slowly and threw it down in forfeit.

  “Didn’t think it would be you, Daltry. How queer life’s mysteries.” He opened his hands to show there was nothing more hidden. “Where is my daughter?”

  “Still on the Coral, old man.”

  Tavares’s eyes widened. “Then she wasn’t captured?”

  “No,” Daltry said softly. “Not yet.”

  Tavares paled, but said nothing. It was only then Daltry began to understand.

  This entire ruse was to give Luísa time to escape. Tavares had gone through great lengths to lead them astray. Sibyl had been right, and he had wasted valuable time going after the wrong prize.

  Daltry wasn’t sure if he saw anger or relief on the Captain’s face, but he did see forfeit. Tavares lightly touched the fine rosewood handles of the pistols on either side of his hips then lifted them out and tossed them on the bed. He wiped his mouth with a red silk kerchief, the very one Silas used to gain Luísa’s trust.

  “I can pay you a handsome fortune, Capitán Daltry, if you would help me lead the Frenchman away.”

  “I’m sure you can, sir, but it isn’t money I want. I need the moonstone. Fool that I am, I thought you had it. But now I see that I was wrong. It was Luísa all along.”

  “Please, Capitán. Leave my daughter out of this. Luísa is my life.”

  Daltry felt two inches tall. The old man was only trying to save his daughter. He would have done the same. But now it was out of his hands. The most he could do was offer Tavares a way out.

  Daltry threw a satchel at him. “Go, Captain. Leave while you can. But have a care. Saint-Sauveur is waiting for you at the dock.”

  “A mercy, Capitán?”

  “I didn’t do this for that French toad, sir. I needed the moonstone for my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “The Isla de Sempiterno. Do you know this place?”

  “Sí. I know it.” His eyes hardened into obsidian.

  “Then you know why I must have the moonstone.”

  “My daughter is an innocent, señor.”

  “So is my sister.”

  Daltry waltzed to the door, turning as he opened it. “I’ll not hurt her, Captain. On that you have my word. But Saint-Sauveur is not of the same mind. Pray I find her before he does.”

  He walked out cursing his stupidity. The cards had spoken truly.

  With his capture, Tavares had given Luísa and the Coral time to escape the Caribbean waters. It might’ve been unintentional, but his sacrifice was not in vain. Luísa had escaped them for nearly a whole year.

  Only a daughter of the Sorceress, a direct descendent of that witch, Izabel, could open the gates of hell and channel the dark forces within. Tavares had known that all along. But Saint-Sauveur didn’t. Not at first. It was the only thing that kept Tavares alive after he’d been captured.

  Saint-Sauveur was furious when he realized the deception and was ready to slit Tavares’s throat there and then. Whether out of pity for a father’s sacrifice, or respect for the old man’s audacity, Daltry intervened. Tavares could still be useful as bait, he argued. The old man cast him a suspicious look, perhaps thinking Daltry planned some other foul deed. But his only goal was to buy more time, for the pirate and his daughter.

  With Saint-Sauveur temporarily placated, Daltry had made a hasty departure and set sail for the last harbor the Coral made port. He needed only to spread one more lie, and that would be for Luísa’s benefit alone.

  But Saint-Sauveur went a step further. That was where the finger came in. The brutal sod had bitten it off himself and sent it with a courier in search of Luísa. He had set the perfect trap, one she could not decline.

  Saint-Sauveur’s savagery happened so fast, Daltry didn’t have time to react. He wrapped Tavares’s hand in his white kerchief, the blood dying it bright red. Poor Tavares. Daltry couldn’t even give him a word of pity, lest Saint-Saveur become suspicious.

  Daltry had to find Luísa first. It was the only way to save her from the French beast.

  Fate had planned otherwise. In the end, he had saved no one, and to salt the wound further, now he had lost the love of a woman dear to him.

  The sun’s crown peeked just above the tree line. No more of the werehyenas ventured out. It was just as Daltry suspected. They all went out on the hunt and left their prisoner bound and out of sight.

  He signaled to Silas that they were moving in, then shimmied down his tree, Luísa following right behind him.

  “Do you think they’re gone?” Silas’s head bobbed all around him, wary of his surroundings.

  The man had the backbone of a jellyfish.

  Daltry sniffed the air, but the wind carried nothing in its wake. “It seems that way. Even the youngsters have gone.”

  Silas stroked his short beard. “Feeding frenzy. They can’t stand to be left behind. Let’s go in quickly. We don’t know when they’ll come back.”

  Daltry pushed Luísa into a curtain of giant palms. “You’ll stay here. We’ll get him out.”

  “The blazes I will,” she said, shoving
back. “You’ve betrayed my father once, Inglés. Do you honestly believe I’d trust you again?”

  “Come, Luísa.” Silas beckoned. “They’ll be keeping him in the main hut.”

  They’d made it all the way to the first hut in the circle when raucous laughter echoed all around them.

  “Bloody hell,” Daltry muttered. His hands tightened into fists, and he felt the change coming. He had to hold back. The werehyenas would kill them instantly if he changed now. He looked over at Silas. He too held back.

  A mounting snarl came up behind them.

  “Daltry, Daltry…I expected better from you. You shouldn’t have listened to that parasite, Silas.”

  Daltry let out a languorous breath. The voice belonged to Lazarus, one of the alpha werehyenas. “You’re right of course, Lazarus. But I truly did think you were ruled more by your stomachs than your brains.” He turned to face the alpha.

  Lazarus circled them, paying careful attention to Luísa. She was a stranger on the island, and strangers made werehyenas nervous. “What do you want here, rogue? Saint-Sauveur said the man was not to be moved until he returned.”

  “Saint-Sauveur won’t be returning. We’re taking the man now.”

  “That was not the bargain.”

  “You’ve been paid, and handsomely too. The pack will take the man now. Release him.” Daltry was bluffing, but it was all he had. They had no chance against so many.

  The mob hooted, a rumpus of taunts and jeers, when two figures emerged from the main hut. The first was Tavares, looking half-starved, his clothes mere rags on bony limbs. Behind him, pushing him forward was Mila, the alpha female and the most ruthless of all the werehyenas.

  “Is this what you want, rogue?” She shoved Tavares in front of the open fire pit so he could be seen clearly in the diminishing light.

  Tavares’s eyes widened when he saw his daughter, but he made no sound.

  Luísa tried to rush toward him, but Daltry held her back. He couldn’t afford to lose them both.

  Luísa shrugged loose of Daltry’s grip. “Let him go,” she ordered.

  The words met with hollow laughter.