She strained her eyes, scanning the shore for the tiniest glimpse of her Inglés as Dooley rowed them back to the ship. But Xander was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Luísa and her father could hear the merrymaking a hundred yards away as they rowed back to the Coral. The crew greeted them with cheers and whistles. Not only did they have their captain back, but Luísa as well. Save for their beloved shaman, the Coral was whole again. They were a family once more.
Every man aboard shook the captain’s hand and Black Barbosa went so far as to give him a hug. They’d endured so much, and no one was immune to the sense of relief that soon they’d be going home.
Papa was retiring from the pirate’s life, and soon he’d marry her off to some rich governor so he could live out the rest of his days as a gentleman farmer.
The men were drunk with merriment, toasting one another for a life preserved. Luísa slipped away from the festivities and walked to the other end of the ship where only the moonlight lit her way.
She stepped lightly on those heavy planks, soaked with blood and seawater. Papa was right. Their days aboard ship were over. But she had one last task to do. One more chance to heal a wound.
The moonstone would remain whole for a few minutes more. She slipped it off her neck, both chains still attached to each half of the stone. A curse atop a curse, Shadrach’d said. Was there such a thing? And would it be just?
The noise from the crew at the other end of the ship seemed to fade away. She was alone with the moon and the dark of her heart. For the first time since she was a child, she fell to her knees and prayed.
“Paqua, if you’re still with me, give me a sign. Let me know I’m doing the right thing.”
The stone warmed in her grasp and called to her in Spanish. Querida.
She squeezed her eyes tight. Gracias a Díos.
Daltry walked the beach for hours. His sister was finally at rest.
The weight of her misery had burdened him for years. But now that he knew he’d never see her again, grief consumed him as if she had died on him anew.
His wandering led him to a cove underneath the watchtower of the Sorceress. With the witch gone, it sat quiet. All the gargoyles had disappeared from the island, though no one could say where they’d gone.
But something still remained. He squinted his eyes to the top of the tower. One lone figure crouched at its parapet.
Shadrach?
His answer came in moments when the figure swooped off the balcony and glided toward him.
Shadrach bowed, his mouth set in a gargoyle’s grimace, his gray face damp.
“Why are you here? Your mate is on board her ship.”
“My mate? What use does she have for a werewolf who can’t control himself? She is better off in her world, while I stay in mine.”
“She loves you, Xander, though God knows why. If you feel the same, you should go to her and let her decide whether you’re too much trouble.”
“How can she love a werewolf?”
“How could your sister love a man of stone?” He patted Daltry on the shoulder. “Go to her, my friend. She needs you more than you realize.”
“But what could I possibly say to her?”
Shadrach shook a chipped finger at him. “She doesn’t need your words, Xander. She needs you.”
Shadrach was right. If nothing else, he could at least say goodbye. She deserved that much. So did he.
Daltry commandeered a small rowboat and paddled to the Coral. The fore of the ship lit with music and singing. The crew celebrated, and rightly so after all they’d been through. This was a mistake. Luísa would never see him. Why should she?
He nearly turned back when he caught the subtle silhouette of a woman aft of the ship. Luísa. And she was alone.
He came up along the lit side of the Coral and yelled out a greeting. Dooley saw him first and waved him aboard.
Daltry climbed up and bowed smartly to Captain Tavares. The singing died down, but only a little. The men had been drinking steadily since their captain’s return, and they were too merry with grog to worry about one lone wolf.
“Captain, sir. With your permission, I’d like to speak to your daughter.”
Tavares studied him with all the scrutiny of a tallyman. He nodded. “Very well. I’ll summon her.”
“If you please, sir. I’d like to go to her.” His gaze drifted to the dark side of the ship.
Tavares tilted his head, his sunken features and pale flesh a testament to a man tortured but not beaten. His grace spoke of a man who had sacrificed everything for a daughter returned to him. He rubbed the stumps of his missing fingers. “I should’ve trusted you, Inglés.”
“Yes, sir. You should have. I would’ve never let her come to harm.”
Tavares’s chest rattled with each breath, the remnants of illness and persecution. The old man clasped hands with Daltry, a palsied grip that revealed his gratitude. “Let us put the sins of the past behind us, Capitán.”
“All our sins, sir?”
The old man pursed his withered lips then nodded. “All of them, my friend. Now make your peace with my daughter. Woo her if you can, and then quién sabe, perhaps we will talk.”
“Thank you, sir.” He bowed his head in respect.
Daltry didn’t think he’d ever have a conversation like this with a pirate, but then there weren’t many pirates who had a daughter who sailed as part of the crew. He wasn’t quite sure what Tavares would want to talk about, but for now he’d settle for permission to see Luísa one last time.
He walked briskly to the other side of the ship, his steps slowing down as he neared her.
The moon shone brightly, but it was sinking fast. Soon it would disappear beyond the horizon.
Daltry stopped and studied the woman before him. If he had anything more to say to her, it was to thank her for giving his sister peace.
Luísa got off her knees and stared deep into the night sky. She raised the blue stone toward the dying moon.
What was she doing? “Luísa?”
She twirled around, her soft hair feathering across her face like a veil. Shock and relief filled her eyes, yet something more. Was that pity?
“Xander.” It was a fierce whisper, as if she were afraid to speak too loudly. The medallion was in her hands, both stones still locked as one. She raised her locket, presenting it to him like a token. “I can change your curse.”
“What?”
“The curse. I’ve found a way to help you…I think. You have to trust me.”
“I do trust you, my love. But how? What spell could possibly help us now? Your chance to rescind the curse has passed.”
“I can’t rescind the curse, but I can change it with a new curse.”
Was that possible?
She flung herself into his arms, squeezing him as if she feared he’d evaporate on her. “I leave the decision to you. Do you trust me?”
“With my life, beloved. Chant your spell while the moon still shines.”
Luísa pressed her cheek against his, her arms anchoring him to her body. She whispered to him in Spanish. “Tu eres me corazon.”
“You are my heart too. My breath. My soul. Whatever happens. Remember that.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she looked up at him as if she were trying to burn that moment into her memory. “Are you ready?”
“Aye, luv. Let’s get on with it.” Daltry wasn’t convinced there was any magic left in the stone. If it didn’t work, he was no worse off than before. But if it did, would the wrath of a vengeful moon prove worse?
Luísa raised the amulet above her head and beckoned the waning ghost on the horizon. Could she really change the tide of destiny?
The flags on the mainmast went slack and even the ocean ceased its roll as Luísa greeted her sister, the Moon. “Hear me, luna preciosa. I seek a ruin atop a ruin. A curse on all weres.”
Daltry wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, but it was too late to turn
back now. He had placed his life in her care. Luísa spoke to the merged stones between her hands like a child wishing on a star. “Creatures of the night they’ll always be. But now their will is tied to thee.”
The moon flashed and grew as big as the sun, flooding the deck with moonlight. The tides heaved in a great swell, rocking the boat dangerously close to shore and then relaxed, gliding them back to their anchor. The stones in Luísa’s hands glowed and her body trembled from the magic that arced through her.
Daltry collapsed, the enchantment wrapping around sinew and bone, blood and breath. Magic charged through him, the spell searing through his body like pitch on fire. He scrambled to his feet but only made it to his knees. “Sweet Jesus! What’s happening?”
He turned into his wolf state within the blink of an eye, the pain of transformation ripping through him as if he’d been drawn and quartered. Bones twisted and fur replaced hair. He couldn’t breathe from the torture of the change.
Bloody hell! He stared down at his long clawed hands, his body covered in fur. Was this permanent? It had never happened this fast or with so much agony. Daltry wheezed with painful breaths as the moon dipped below the horizon.
Moments later, he had returned to human form and collapsed face first on the deck.
“Xander!” Luísa rushed to his side.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in her arms.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he gasped.
Luísa helped him up. “Did it work? Were they the right words? Tell me, please!”
He held her, unable to explain what had happened. Even now he could scarcely believe the feeling of lightness in his body. She had done it. Luísa had changed the curse of all were-creatures. It was a new curse, but a fair one. Clever girl. He caught his breath, and the fire that seared his innards became an ember that warmed him.
He collapsed against her, too weak to stand. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair.
“I couldn’t remove the curse entirely, Xander. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You gave us more control than we’ve ever had before. Turning only on the full moon is a blessing, not a curse.” He kissed her.
Luísa helped him up and they trudged toward the railing. She studied the stone, its inner light diminished. With a gentle nudge, she split them apart once more.
She took the half that once belonged to Izabel and threw it into the sea, so that no one else would ever use it again.
Daltry felt for the leather strap around his neck that held a fresh bag of wolfsbane. He snapped it off and tossed it into the sea after the stone. The withdrawal would be painful, but he’d never again have to rely on a drug to control his turning.
Luísa looked down at the half stone still tied to its silver chain. She placed it over Daltry’s head then pressed her cheek against his chest with a sigh. It was over. They were both free now.
“The amulet is yours,” she said. “You alone own your destiny.”
He lifted her chin and kissed her, a small token of his love and gratitude. “Perhaps, little pirate. But you own my heart. You always will.”
There was no way to know what the future held, but for once neither was tethered except to each other. He had found his mate, and she, her anchor. They’d never be parted again.
About the Author
Maria Zannini used to save the world from bad advertising, but now she spends her day hunting scorpions, wrangling chickens and fighting for a piece of the bed against dogs of epic proportions. Occasionally, she writes books.
Visit her at mariazannini.blogspot.com. It’s where all the cool kids hang out. You can also find her on Twitter @MariaZannini, or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/mariazannini.
Look for these titles by Maria Zannini
Now Available:
Touch of Fire
Between mage and man lies fire.
Touch of Fire© 2008 Maria Zannini
Leda has been ordered by the House of Ilia to use her fae gifts to find an alchemist’s bible, no matter what the cost. In a world where technology has been replaced by Elemental magic, this book is more dangerous than any spell or potion.
A ragged scrap of parchment is Leda's only clue and it leads her to the last man known to have had the book—a savagely handsome ex-soldier turned scavenger. Greyhawke Tams. He’ll serve her needs nicely, in both her quest, and her bed.
The last thing Grey remembers is a bar brawl leaving him flat on his face. When he awakes, his situation hasn’t improved. He’s been bound in service to a contemptuous little fire mage with luscious curves and a deceptively innocent face. Grey’s not fooled—he’s hated the Elementals ever since he lost his younger brother to their brutal rites of passage.
But something about Leda tangles his brain faster than any woman he’s ever known. And soon it becomes clear she needs more than his “services”. A barbarous overlord wants that book and he’s willing to shatter Leda—body and spirit—to get it.
She needs his protection. Whether she wants it or not.
Warning: Sex, sin and sauciness abound. This just in: Virgin butter not only helps nervous young virgins on their wedding night, it makes a damn fine hair liniment too.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Touch of Fire:
The Reverend Mother used to tell acolytes that if men were going to brawl, they should at least be naked and glistening with oil.
Leda’s money was on the hulking brute with the Cydian blade, but right now she needed the other guy to win. That one had information she needed, and she wasn’t going to get it if he got himself killed. She was just about to intercede when her quarry tripped on his feet and knocked himself out cold.
Idiot.
The Cydian giant punched the air, knowing he’d be declared champion. The innkeeper waddled over to the center of the bar, grunting on every breath. Local custom dictated that the loser pay for damages, but this one didn’t look like he had the coin to pay for ale, let alone broken furniture.
The tavern smelled of smoke and sweat. Leda stood up on tiptoes, bobbing her head above the shoulders of fetid drunkards, all trying to get a better view of the coming settlement.
From a corner table, the home magistrate watched the fracas through bleary eyes, indifferent to the outcome. His spine crackled in a series of pops before he ambled over to the wreck of a man still sprawled out on the floor. He rustled through the man’s pockets, finding nothing but a dented copper piece. The judge flipped the coin to the innkeeper. “There’s not enough here to cover your damages, Gos. Looks like you’ve ended up with another indentured servant.”“Bah! I’ve enough drunken fools working for me now. I don’t need another. Throw him into—”
Leda pushed her way to the front. “How long would you have kept him in iron?”
“What?” the innkeeper barked, cupping his ear so he could hear her better.“How long?” she repeated. “To pay his debt.”
The innkeeper squinted at her with pig eyes, then spat toward a nearby earthenware jug, missing it completely. He waved his arms about him. “Look at my place! He owes me at least two month’s worth of work.”
“More like three.” A portly woman with an ample bosom pushed her way under the innkeeper’s arm.
Gos nodded, squeezing the woman’s shoulder with a meaty hand. “True that, Dodie. Three months.” He turned back to Leda. “Why do you ask? Does he belong to you?”
“No,” Leda said. “But I need a manservant and I’ll pay for his damages if you’ll consign him to me.”
“Done!” the rosy-faced matron shouted. She wiggled from beneath her man’s arm and stuck the flat of her hand out to Leda.
Leda suppressed a snicker and dug into her coin purse. She placed three squares of silver in the woman’s pudgy hand.
The woman kept her hand out. “He did more damage than that, priestess.”Leda quirked a brow at her. “If you know I am a mage, you’d know better than to bargain with our kind.”
The broad-faced woman ti
lted her nose with a sniff. “I only want what’s owed, priestess. We want no magic trouble here. You can see for yourself the damage the oaf has caused.”
Leda nodded, not because she agreed with the plucky woman, but because she admired guile. It wasn’t everyone who was willing to haggle a price from a blood mage. The fae-kind weren’t exactly known for their benevolence with the plainfolk.
She handed Dodie another square of silver and closed the woman’s palm over it. “For the damage,” she said. “And for a night’s lodging for me…” she hesitated, certain this heathen was going to be more trouble than he was worth, “…and my manservant.”
Dodie bit into the last piece of silver, then slipped them all into the cleft between her bosoms. “Agreed. But you get only one room. Meego will haul him up there for you.”
She motioned to a bruiser of a servant with a crooked nose and shoulders as wide as an ox-yoke. The oaf nodded dumbly, grabbing a black iron collar and a pair of pincers from behind the bar before shuffling over to the sleeping man. He crouched down and snapped the metal band around the loser’s neck, pinching it closed with a folded rivet as a lock. He heaved him up over his shoulder with a grunt and a trumpeting fart.
Leda winced. Could plainfolk get any cruder? Sometimes it seemed the fae-kind employed the only semblance of propriety left in decent civilization. She hoisted her traveling bags in one hand and grabbed a lantern with the other then followed the smelly lout up the stairs. At the landing they turned left and tramped down a long corridor. Meego jerked to a stop in front of an unlatched door, butting it opened with the head of the unconscious man.
Leda set the lantern down on a candle stand by the door. The room was stingy but clean, the scent of tallow oil permeating the floorboards. A small bed hugged one wall. Next to it was a table with a pitcher full of water and a basin. The servant trudged toward the bed to dump his load.
Oh, I don’t think so. Leda snapped her fingers. “Hey, genius. On the floor. There is no way in two hells he’s sharing my bed.”
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