Mistress of the Stone (25 page)

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 help 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.

Her hand slipped toward her knife sheath, and she drew her dagger. “Wretched beast, let him go, or face me.”

Mila howled the loudest, and she smacked Tavares again and again, pushing him forward. His hands lay bound in front of him, and he stumbled on legs not accustomed to walking.

“Who is this,
Capitán
? She looks like she would make a fine meal.”

“Release him!” Luísa bellowed.

Mila lunged at her. “Don’t order me about, girl.” Her breath came out wet with spit and heat. She stroked her choppy black hair in contemplation and spoke coolly. “But where are my manners? I am not without grace. You want him. I’ll give you a piece of him in good faith.”

In less than a heartbeat, she snatched Tavares’s hand to her mouth and bit down on his little finger, ripping it off at a knuckle. She spat it out at Luísa’s feet, even while Tavares doubled over and screamed in pain.

Luísa bolted toward her, knife at the ready when the jungle swarmed around them. The werewolf pack surrounded them on all sides.

No one breathed at first, aware that the first move could mean death.

Mila wiped the blood off her face and backed away from Tavares.

Luísa used it to her advantage and dashed toward her father, dragging him away from the alpha female. She cut his ropes and ripped the sleeve off her shirt to make a bandage for his wound. “We’re getting out of here, Papa,” she whispered.

Daltry pushed them behind him.

“We’re leaving, Mila.” He nodded to the dismembered digit lying on the ground. “You can keep the finger.”