Pleasure of a Dark Prince (28 page)

Or maybe that was owing to the werewolf whose bed she shared? MacRieve was wearing her down every day—and night. As if she needed anything to erode her control. Her house of cards was in the midst of a maelstrom. With one stray touch, all would come tumbling down….

Over these days, life aboard the
Contessa
had taken on a routine. Damiãno always seemed to be around, and though she sensed the male could be a threat, Lucia couldn’t muster any real fear. Damiãno might have been of the Lore, but no species could match Garreth in strength.

As for Rossiter, when he wasn’t pacing in his cabin, the doctor got Charlie to teach him about the inner workings of the ship, and together, they did everything from refueling the generators to changing engine filters.

Lucia didn’t think Rossiter had been asleep for an hour since they’d left. He was growing paler, his tall body rangier, and sometimes she thought she detected a growing glint in his dark blue eyes, like a… madness setting in.
How could it not?
Like her, Rossiter was running out of time.

Schecter continually crept about at all hours of the night, dipping his sonic lure into the water, and just as continually, Izabel gave Travis long looks.

When Travis didn’t think anyone was around, he’d checked her out a couple of times, then had appeared furious with himself. Yet it seemed Travis hadn’t noticed Charlie was giving him long looks as well.

Despite the fact that the Texan wasn’t particularly kind to either twin, both of them were falling for him.

Lucia actually liked Izabel. For a mortal. The girl was affable and no-nonsense, and reminded her a little of Regin. Though Lucia could never shake the feeling that something was off, it didn’t deter the budding friendship. And Izabel had confided secrets, explaining things about the captain that had puzzled Lucia, like his anger whenever Charlie made improvements to the boat—or his irritation at any reminder that Izabel was an attractive young woman.

It turned out that Travis was a widower of eight years. His wife had apparently been a paragon, running tours with him, helping him restore this boat. She was the one who’d lovingly hung all the maps and quaint lists that remained to this day. The embroidered tablecloths and curtains had all been done by her hand.

In Iquitos, it was rumored that Travis remained true to his dead wife, and the
Contessa
was a de facto shrine to her.

Lucia had asked Izabel, “Why don’t you just tell Travis you want him?”

“Two reasons. The ghost of his perfect wife. He hates anything that might tempt him from being faithful to her memory. And then there’s Charlie. Doesn’t matter.
Capitão
will never want me. Not everyone has it as good as you and Mr. MacRieve.”

Lucia had been startled by her statement—because things
were
good with MacRieve. Though he was a rough-and-tumble werewolf, he could be remarkably patient. As they walked the decks, he would teach her Gaelic phrases. He’d chuckled a couple of times at her early attempts at pronunciation. Then he’d stopped laughing when he realized how quickly she was learning.

And he was thoughtful. A few days ago, she’d heard MacRieve arguing with Schecter about taking “scientific credit” for a “previously uncataloged find.” Curious, she’d sidled to the corner, peeking around.

In his big paws, the Scot was painstakingly cradling a delicate cocoon. Just emerging from it was a butterfly with silver wings, glittering with opalescence. She’d never seen anything like it.

“Schecter, what in the hell do I want scientific credit for?” MacRieve gave a grunt. “Just want to name it.”

“Well, if you don’t care about credit, then what would it hurt to allow
me
to claim this species and give it a designation? Honestly,
Mr
. MacRieve—”

“Schecter, go fook your science. I’m naming this after my lady, and if you say another word about it, you’ll get this butterfly all messed up with your jugular blood.”

The professor gaped, speechless for long moments. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Uh, well, yes, of course. What will you call it?”

“Lucia Incantata,” MacRieve murmured. Her toes had curled when he’d absently added, “
Reminds me of her eyes…”
She still sighed whenever she recalled the look on his face.

That night, he’d “surprised” her with the butterfly, setting up a mosquito net in the cabin to keep it in.

The offerings only continued. When she’d mentioned how lovely she found the blooms of those Victoria lilies, the next morning, she’d awakened to find a flawless white lily bloom by her bedside. The vase? A rinsed-out Iquiteña bottle.

On top of everything, he’d given her a never-emptying arrow quiver. She’d gasped when he’d proudly handed it to her. “You just happened to find one of these lying around on board?” It was so elegant, with fine leather ties that could be strapped to her back or thigh.

“Had it with me the whole time.”

The item in his bag she’d seen wrapped in leather…
Which meant he’d brought it for her even when he’d been furious with her. “Did you filch this from the fey?”

With a wolfy grin, he’d said, “Well, they damn sure doona sell them.”

“MacRieve!” Yet once she’d gotten over her breathless excitement, she’d felt a tinge of sadness. This was a gift from a would-be lover, something to help her archery. Too bad she couldn’t keep the archery
and
the lover. Still, she’d rewarded his thoughtfulness amply….

He didn’t
promise
gifts as some men were wont to do—MacRieve merely delivered them, delighting her Valkyrie sensibilities.

Yes, atop decks, life was constant. Belowdecks, she and MacRieve indulged their lusts.

Any time it rained during the day, he’d offer his hand with the grated words,
“Come, Lousha.”
Just as he would command later when he wanted her to climax. She’d be shivering with anticipation by the time they got to the cabin.

With his palm over her mouth to cover her screams, MacRieve did wicked things to her. During each encounter, he grew more aggressive with her body, kissing her harder, touching her even more possessively. She knew he considered her
his woman
—and the idea only aroused her more.

The first night on board, he’d told her that she’d pray for him to be inside her. Again, he’d been right. When he spread her thighs wide, then lazily petted her sex, it drove her wild. Especially when he stroked just at her core while rasping in her ear, “One day I’m goin’ tae be wedged so deep right in here. You’ll be hot and wet and fit me like a glove.”

Again and again, she tried to imagine how his shaft would feel plunging into her body. Most women in her situation would fear his size. But after his onslaught of teasing and petting…

Yesterday, she’d nearly begged, murmuring how much she needed him inside her.

He’d gnashed his teeth, puncturing the paneled wall above their bed with his claws. “Gods, woman! No’ till you ask me. Out o’ bed!”

Every night after they were sated—or as much as they could be with their limitations—he held her in his arms. They watched her butterfly dance in the lamplight, talking for hours.

They’d speculated as to why Nïx had warned her about the
Barão
and why its captain kept returning to remote tributaries if some of his passengers didn’t make it back to port. “Maybe Captain Malaquí’s been finding demons out there,” Lucia had said. “He could be sacrificing unwitting cryzos to them in exchange for power.”

“We’ve heard of crazier things in the Lore….”

And MacRieve told her more about the necropolis. If they could locate Rio Labyrinto, they could find the city of the dead. In that place were depictions of gold, possibly directing them to “the mythical” El Dorado—which, MacRieve had told her, might or might not even be a
place
.

“Everyone thinks it’s a location, a lost city,” he’d said, “but the phrase is actually based on a legend of a native chieftain. He was so rich that he ridiculed anyone who wore the same jewelry twice. Instead, he had his gold ground into a mist, then painted on his body. At the end of the day, he’d wash it away, and it’d be lost forever. El Dorado means ‘the Gilded Man.’”

If El Dorado had merely been a man, then he probably would’ve been buried in a
necropolis
. Had he been buried with his gold? If he were surrounded by his golden treasures—
like arrows?
—then maybe El Dorado could still be a man
and
a place.

Lucia didn’t expect a neon sign pointing to the dieumort, but she and MacRieve had enough clues to… get them to the next set of clues. In truth, she’d never been on such an ill-defined mission. But if it were easy to find a dieumort, then it would’ve been found before.

And Lucia sensed they were getting closer, daydreaming incessantly about that perfect golden arrow, imagining how it would hiss through the air once she shot it.

She pictured the look on Cruach’s hideous visage when he realized she’d just dealt a death blow….

At other times, Lucia would read to MacRieve from an Amazon guide book that Izabel had given her. As Lucia discovered more about the perils they’d face in Rio Labyrinto—the anacondas and those creepy caimans—MacRieve carved arrows for her new quiver. With that sly look, he’d said, “If I canna fill your quiver in one way, I will in another.”

She’d chuckled. “Good one, werewolf.”

He’d grown quiet, seeming startled. “First time I’ve heard your laugh.”

“And?”

“And now I canna rest until I hear it again.” He’d leapt atop her, tickling her till she’d squealed with laughter….

She was so tempted to tell him everything. Especially when he held her against his chest, warm in the circle of his muscular arms, murmuring, “Let me in, Lousha. Confide your secrets in me.”

She knew he wanted her to reveal what her nightmares were about. But Lucia didn’t believe in confiding, had never comprehended why others sought to unburden themselves—thereby
burdening another
. No, she’d never understood the act of transferring misery, but especially not with a secret like this.

A fact-of-life secret, something that simply couldn’t be changed.

How would MacRieve react if he knew his mate was married? The rage would have to overwhelm him. And when she explained who her husband was and how she’d come to be wed, nothing would stop MacRieve from confronting Cruach. Which would be tantamount to suicide. Or worse.

Sometimes Cruach didn’t kill victims. Sometimes he
kept
them.

So she continued putting MacRieve off. Yet she felt he was only biding his time, as if he had no doubt she’d ultimately open up to him.

Which will never happen.
Lucia had decided she would do whatever it took to keep her involvement with Cruach concealed from MacRieve. But on other matters, she was less resolved….

Regin always asked herself,
Is the cake worth the bake?
Invariably, for Regin, it was. Now Lucia had caught herself wondering if having a life with MacRieve might be. When all this was over, if she could truly kill Cruach…

No! What the hell am I thinking?
Even if she didn’t have to stop an apocalypse, she couldn’t surrender her archery. It would be like erasing her identity.

You get off on being known as the Archer,
he’d said.

Yes. Yes, I do.
She’d go from being the Archer to being the Lykae’s Mate.

Never
, she decided.

Then she went to go catch dinner.

THIRTY-ONE

A three-foot-long fish plopped onto the deck in front of Garreth and Damiãno. Jutting from its head was an arrow with a line attached. Bow fishing.

From behind them, Lucia said, “Please put your penises away, gentlemen. Dinner is procured. By a woman.”

Garreth twisted around, found her slinging her bow over her shoulder, brushing off her unsullied hands. As she sauntered away, the lass said over her shoulder, “I caught, you boys can clean.”

Gods, that female. Drives me crazy.
When Garreth glanced back, he saw Damiãno was gazing after her as well. “Look at her again like that, Damiãno!” He stepped in front of the man. “Do it, and let’s end this
now
.”

The man’s eyes flashed to a glowing green.

In a low tone, Garreth said, “You’re a goddamned shifter!”

“And you’re an
escocês
dog.”

That raised his hackles. “Scottish dog?” Revealing a good look of the beast within him, Garreth growled, “I’ve got your number, shifter. So stay out of my bluidy way.”

In turn, Damiãno revealed a hint of his own beast— a black jaguar with fangs as long as Garreth’s fingers. “Don’t get in mine,
escocês
.”

No fear of me—interesting.
“You better truly be here as a doc and for no other reason.” Jaguar shifters were rumored to be exceptionally powerful.
Might actually be a worthy opponent.

“I’m here to protect the Amazon. Don’t ever forget that.”