Raven Pirate Assassin Spy

by Landra Graf

  Hiding emotions came easily, but she’d never experienced positive ones so strongly before. “He’s become a valued member of the crew.”

  “And? Even the most valued are sometimes not worth the trouble.”

  She leaned forward and cut the ropes keeping her brother secure in an effort to build trust. Still wielding the knife, she stepped back, edging her bottom onto the desktop. “Are you sure about that, brother? Solid crewmen are becoming increasingly difficult to find. Especially ones worth anything.”

  “Except, that one,” Luther pointed behind her, “isn’t worth much. I paid a small fortune to get him out of New Orleans, and for what? His ability to charm men into giving up a few secrets, and a collection of women’s smiles after he’s conned the panties off them.”

  The mercenary paused then, sitting forward in the chair and bracing his forearms on the arm pads. “Wait a minute. Is that what he’s done to earn your endearment?” He turned in his chair, his scrunched eyes honing in on her lover. “Did you defile my sister?”

  Lies required quick thinking and stealth, but she normally faced problems with a blade and threats. Fear gripped her like a tight corset, choking her breath and chest. Air wouldn’t enter her lungs. Nothing worked right, and then everything went black.

  She jumped up seconds later, wiping away the cold water thrown in her face. “What the hell?”

  “Indeed, what a girl you turned out to be.” Luther held out a hand, and she grabbed it, moving to a standing position near the desk. “You fainted.”

  “I’ve never done such a thing in my whole life, and I’m not a girl.”

  “First time for everything. Like when you screamed at a spider?” Of course, he’d say something ridiculous, bringing up memories that had no place here.

  “Where’s Ian?” Screw her brother. She wanted the man she loved.

  “Right here,” he replied, pushing between her and Luther and wrapping his arms around her. “Do you feel okay?”

  “Fine, but he can’t kill you. I love you.” Damn it. She was trembling now. She’d never wish these emotions on her worst enemy. The highs and lows they’d brought her—awful. Even more unpleasant, Luther could use this against them. Regret swamped her like a stomach bug, tensing her gut and frame.

  “I don’t think love will stop him, Sorella.” He pressed a kiss to her head. She wanted the real deal, not some poor attempt at propriety.

  “Really kiss me.”

  Through clenched teeth, he replied, “Now is not the place or the time.”

  “Do you love me or not?”

  He pulled back, “What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I do. I wouldn’t lie for just anyone. I murdered someone for you, actually put a blade in a body. I went to the damn British Embassy, risked arrest in my own hometown, all for you.”

  She smiled a silly stupid grin at the thought. He’d done all those things for himself, too. Except for killing a man. He’d protected her when he abhorred killing and knocked out her sibling so she wouldn’t have to. Looking back on those situations gave her a renewed love for the man before her. He was in a class of his own, and he had done all that insane stuff to get her to this moment.

  She’d have to end her brother if he didn’t give Ian a pardon.

  “You two? Really?” Luther dragged a hand through his beard. “I can’t believe this. Sorella, are you really saying you love this merchant?” The word came out as an insult; no surprise since she’d been raised to marry a president’s son.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Luther picked Ian up by his neck. “Now answer my question. Did you defile my sister?”

  “I can’t—breathe.” Once his feet touched the floor, her lover coughed and then responded, “I don’t believe I’ll answer that, but I love her and if she’ll have me—granting you spare my life—I’ll provide for her the best I can until the end of my days.”

  “Sounds an awful lot like a marriage proposal.” Her brother looked back at her. “Do you accept it?”

  “Uh, yes?” What the hell is happening?

  “Then by the powers that be, you’re man and wife.”

  He was free of Luther’s deadly fingers around his neck, and Sorella kissed him as if it was the last time they’d get the opportunity. She pried his lips open, battling with his tongue until her brother cleared his throat, and she stepped back. No doubt they’d be up to much worse once they were alone, but he still didn’t understand everything.

  “You’re a gang of mercenaries. How can you marry people?”

  “Airship captain?” He waved his hands in the air as if conjuring the answer.

  Ian shook his head. “Meaning?”

  His captain elbowed him. “We have authority to marry people.”

  “Really? Interesting, but what about my life?”

  “You’re my sister’s husband. That doesn’t mean I won’t kill you, but since she wants to keep you around, I’ll consider her trade.” Now brother focused on sister. She freed herself of his arm and stepped up, ready for the challenge. Ian would never tell anyone how much it turned him on. Her tough exterior and her bravery were something fierce.

  “You agree to spare his life now, or I end yours.” His captain struck with the opening bid.

  “My life, the soldier’s, and the German ship.”

  “The German ship is no one’s. It needs to be burned.” She pointed out the window. “We have no idea what havoc is still to come from that ship following us. Best to cut losses and get out of here. The guards will be released at Europe’s border. They only work to feed their families. Your life for my husband’s, and you let my crew burn down the kaiser’s experimental vessel.”

  Luther stroked his cheeks, beard included. “Fine. It’s a deal. Consider it a wedding present.”

  Ian nearly laughed out loud. Of course, these two would find such things to be run of the mill—dealing in lives, men, and enemy war ships like they were pottery and fine cloth. Chalk this up to the craziest day ever, another adventure. Yet things were right in the world, and he’d found a bit of happiness for one day. Sorella was his wife. No matter how things went now, at least they were in it together, pledged to each other for better or worse.

  Luther eyed them. “That doesn’t mean I’m done with you, and, technically, you owe me at least a favor for making my life so damn difficult.”

  He pulled his wife to his side, loving how her words were perfect, and she was perfect nestled against him. Then they both spoke at the same time. “Name it.”

  ***

  Sorella stared out her cabin’s porthole at the setting sun. Bastille and the crew had returned, and the orange sky burned a little brighter as the German ship sank toward the ocean. Her first mate also reported that Luther’s refugee camp did indeed exist with plentiful food and no mistreated members. Some of her crew were even reunited with loved ones and had chosen to stay behind for a night.

  Then she and Ian had dined with her brother—a wedding dinner, he’d called it, to celebrate their rushed, but desired, nuptials. Luther had accused her and Ian of already being an old married couple as they debated everything and nothing over the table. She had enjoyed the volatile nature of their relationship, though, had enjoyed being challenged.

  Now on her wedding night, she waited in her chamber for her husband to join her. He’d stayed behind on Luther’s vessel for one more drink, and she’d warned him he’d be locked out for taking too long. An empty threat, of course.

  “Sorella,” Ian called out, the cabin door creaking as it opened.

  “I’m here by the window.”

  “Thank goodness. I was worried you’d run away as soon as you came to your senses.” He shut the door behind him, and she heard his boots strike the floor as he crossed the room.

  “Who says I’m not planning on it?”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “You’re a tease, wife.”

  “And you love it
.” She turned in his arms, running her fingers through his hair, gripping tight and pulling him in for a kiss.

  When they finally broke for air, she asked, “What did my thieving brother want to talk to you about?”

  “Nothing to do with a job. Some things he’d found out, things we may want to concern ourselves with.” He started in on her clothes, unbuttoning and tugging.

  “What things?” She bent her arms to accommodate his actions, and her shirt came off, baring her bosom to the night.

  “Do you ever wear undergarments?”

  “In battle,”

  He smiled. “Really? Otherwise, you’re naked as a newborn under one layer of clothing?”

  She nodded.

  His mouth and deft fingers continued their assault on her breasts, but she thought his fingers could be put to much better use pleasuring her lower half.

  “Hurry. I need you,” she pleaded.

  “As my captain commands.” He worked her pants open and set to his task. Only a few minutes with those magic fingers, and she cried out his name.

  As he bent her over the bed, face flat to the mattress, and plowed into her from behind, it took even less time for a second orgasm to crest. Then he joined her in completion, at last allowing himself release in her body. She knew his seed was filling her, possibly allowing her to bear his child, and pride surged through her. In their profession, childbearing would be dangerous, but, still, the idea lit a spark of joy in her and provided a content feeling she’d not known before. She whispered, “I love you,” as he collapsed beside her.

  Sometime later, after a few more rounds of lovemaking, they held each other. Moonlight flowed through the porthole and cast a strange glow throughout the room.

  “We were talking about my brother and things?”

  Ian lifted his head from her stomach, “Yes, things. His spies say the kaiser has signed an agreement to build a tunnel from France to England, but it’s a plot to lull the two countries into a sense of false security. Because France and England have trade agreements with Germany, they’ll welcome the tunnel. Once it’s built, the kaiser plans to attack.”

  “Makes sense. He already tried to take England by air and sea. Those options didn’t work out well.” Sorella pushed aside the ball of fear taking up residence in her chest. Pretty soon, war would erupt everywhere. “Anything else?”

  “Another debutante-raised-assassin is being put in place to marry the president’s son.”

  “What?” The very thing she’d attempted to prevent with her disappearance was moving forward anyway. “How?”

  “I don’t know all the particulars, but Luther found out the kaiser has beautiful girls from every European country, daughters of men in political power raised similarly to you and ready to be deployed into enemy territory, so the wedding proceeds in six months. The announcement is expected any day.”

  “Dio. We have to do something.”

  Ian moved up beside her and pulled her into an embrace. She went willingly.

  “That’s not our assignment, sweet Sorella.”

  “Will it be someone’s?” She hoped so. Hell, she’d talk to Luther about it tomorrow.

  “I don’t know. For now, I’m going to grab some happiness and worry about the problem later. It’s our wedding night, not the end of the world.”

  Sorella pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “For the moment, you’re right…. This time.”

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  Coming Soon

  A Rose by Any Other Name by Landra Graf

  Chapter One

  “Why, how now, good mother,” said the princess. “What are you doing there?”

  Emmaline Fay sat down on a plywood bench in front of the Storytelling Spectacular stage and sighed. Draped and twirled around light posts, dozens of light strings lit up the high school parking lot. Vendor carts were positioned throughout, surrounded by mechanized rides. Carnies yelled out invitations at the students milling around, and the smell of funnel cakes filled the air.

  She’d arrived early, and her best bet at being located by her friends involved staying in the center of the school fair. The May night ran a bit chilly, so she pulled on the edges of her jean jacket, the effort out of habit rather than actually generating warmth. Right then, the stage curtains parted, the bucket lights rimming the edge of the platform casting an eerie glow over the warped wood. An old, short, gnome-like man hobbled to a three-legged stool in the center of the elevated setting. He wore shabby clothes, and a long, silver beard flowed past his waist.

  After a slow totter, he finally sat, stroking his beard and placing the barrel of a pipe between his lips. “Welcome, young and old. Sit and let me tell you a tale. For a small price, of course.”

  Those words prompted a few of the folks at the front to drop coins into a glass jar poised on the edge of the stage. Emmaline didn’t hear them hit due to the noise from the fairway behind her, but the money put a smile on the man’s face. “Thank ye kindly. My name be Nicodemus, and I have a tale of woe to share. Once upon a time—”

  “Emma, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” The words, uttered by her best friend in the whole world, were paired with two hands gripping the back of her jacket and tugging hard. She went with the motion, rotating her body to the left and bringing her legs over the bench to stand.

  “He just got started. We should stay for the story.”

  Rose, all five foot three, long blonde locks, and pouty lips, grinned the big grin she used to try to convince and bargain with others. It worked nearly every time. “But Jason found a fortune teller, and he’s holding our spot in line. We have to go. Maybe she’ll tell us how many kids we’ll have.”

  Before she could object, her friend took off, skipping through the throng of people, and Em followed like she always did. They both came to a stop in front of a six-foot-tall patched tent monstrosity with Tiki torches and a braided, multi-colored rug spread out in front of the entrance like a welcome mat.

  “Why are we doing this?” She dug her heels into the ground, a last ditch attempt to avoid the tent.

  Rose giggled, “For fun, silly.”

  The whole event screamed fake and a waste of cash. Her mind desperately searched for an excuse to not participate when the smell of linen laundry soap, summer, and berries filled her nostrils—a unique scent known to haunt her dreams and waking hours, thanks to a flannel shirt Jason had left at her house a few weeks ago.

  “Ladies, ready to discover our future? Or at least how many touchdowns I’ll score playing for Wisconsin?” Jason Prince, the most handsome guy in Charming, Iowa, stepped in front of them, smiling wide. He’d also become one of the most arrogant, but even a flaw like that didn’t make him unlovable. Treating her best friend and, by extension, her, like a queen also earned him brownie points.

  “Wow, you sure know how to keep that ego in check,” said Rose. No response came from the jock beyond the waggling eyebrows and a female squeal as he pulled his girlfriend into a bear hug.

  Emma did her best during displays of affection to remain neutral, but it still hurt in ways she’d never tell anyone. “All right, I’m in, but only if you two will quit the touchy-feely stuff until after the reading and no offers for godmothering are on the table.”

  Rose broke away from her man and wrapped her arms around her. “Thank you, Em. We can keep it clean until after, but no promises on the godmother thing.”

  “Next up,” a carnie called from the tent entrance.

  As a group, they stepped forward past the beaded curtain and into a dimly lit area, their shadows casting strange shapes against the walls. The whole ambience called for slow and cautious movement. Then the voice…. “Come in, children.” The grandmother’s croak made Emma shiver. Her friends, on the other hand, continued forward, silly grins plastered on their faces. They weren’t creeped out; if anything, the spooky atmosphere enhanced
their excitement, but not her. No, she didn’t find humor in “scary.” “Guys, I’m going to—”

  “You can’t back out now, scaredy cat,” Jason said, securing a hand around her wrist. “I already paid. Don’t worry. I can protect you both.”

  She shook her head but didn’t resist. When it came to arguments, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Instead, she settled for insults. “Moron.”

  Rickety chairs were positioned around a table covered in some silky, colored fabric. Rose sat down first. They flanked her, sitting on either side. Only then did Emmaline glance at the supposed fortune teller, who looked like Mrs. Wiggs, the high school janitor.

  The woman was ready for a performance. A couple of long, stringy strands of gray hair were visible from beneath some sort of dark colored cloak, dozens of bangles dangled from her wrinkly arms, and she wore enough makeup to put a beauty shop out of business.

  Ever the practical one, Emma decided to not waste any time. “My friend would like a reading, please.”

  Stormy gray eyes met hers, and the old woman replied, “Certainly. Which one of you?”

  “Me. I want the reading.” Rose bowed her head, hands on her purse. A shimmer of gold reflected in the light as she undid the clasp. “Do you need something personal?”

  “No, my dear. Just a palm, preferably the one you write with.” Abandoning the purse at her side, the reigning prom queen extended her right hand.

  Emmaline attempted to contain a laugh. Rose and Jason seemed completely enraptured by the sight of this woman’s liver-spotted and wrinkled fingers wrapped around her creamy white ones. As soon as the two hands met at the middle of the table, the old woman’s head pitched forward. The effect proved creepy as hell. Momentarily, Emma thought the woman was experiencing a seizure as her entire body shivered and shook.

  They all let out a collective gasp, but she edged her chair back, one leg snagging in the carpet laid over the grass. “Guys, let’s get out of—”