Pleasure of a Dark Prince (31 page)

Just before moonrise, Lucia and MacRieve stood on the platform in the drizzle. She plucked on her bowstring as he readied for his mission—by stripping off his shirt.

At sunset, the
Barão
had dropped anchor just upriver from the
Contessa
, within the very same bend—which, as far as MacRieve was concerned, was a declaration of war.

Nothing she could say would dissuade him from his plan.

She was beset with nerves, and for more than one reason. Tonight the moon was full, and though Lucia trusted the witches’ power in the cuff, spells that went against the course of nature had a way of going awry. Like if Fate wanted her way, she’d figure out how to get it.

Plus, Lucia was uneasy about MacRieve being in the water at night. “Just take the skiff, werewolf.”

He shook his head. “I have to get in anyway. And I doona want to be seen. If I stir the vampire I scented, he could attack you while I’m over there.”

“It’s too dangerous,” she insisted.

“Well, I’m no’ too keen on leaving you here with Damiãno, either.”

Today MacRieve had told her that Damiãno was a jaguar shifter, one of a powerful species known for their strength, agility—and dirty fighting.

“If that
gato
comes near you, I want you to drill him between the eyes.”

She had her new quiver at her thigh and her bow ready to shoot, but close quarters—like those on a ship—were an archer’s most disadvantageous combat zone. “I’ll do what I can.”

He gazed at her anxious expression. “You’re truly going to be worried about me?”

“Just because I don’t want to tell all you my secrets doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

“Aye, we’ll be talking about your secrets later.”

After the
Barão
’s sighting, they’d seemed to enjoy an unspoken truce for the last few hours. “You can’t just let me have them?”
And keep your wolf’s nose out of my business?

“My Lykae curiosity demands answers. And now I’ve remembered how I can coax you to tell me anything.” He reached out and cupped her breast.

“Wolf!” She slapped his hand away. “You’re just trying to distract me from my worry.”

“Aye, and I merely wanted to touch your bonny breasts.”

“Can you be serious? I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Lousha, you’ve seen me almost completely turned—do you no’ think the things in the water should fear me?”

Good point. “Wait…
almost
completely turned?”

He chucked her under the chin. “Relax, this is a cakewalk. What’s the worst that can happen?”

As if on cue, the skies opened up, pouring rain.

“Just be careful,” she whispered as he slipped into the black water, beginning his silent swim to the
Barão
.

As she impatiently waited, she tried to analyze this worry. Nearly two weeks ago, she would’ve been overjoyed that he was leaving her behind. Now? She feared she was falling for him, her rough-and-tumble Scot. Which could only be a disaster.

MacRieve could never be satisfied without sex. Hell,
she
could never be. The last ten days had turned into bout after bout of sensual torment—

She heard something moving on the decks and tensed, her ears twitching. Seconds later, she let out a breath. Just Schecter, activating his lure. Every time he hauled it out of the water, her ears registered the frequencies anew.
Noise polluter.

Though Lucia didn’t know where Charlie or Damiãno was, she could hear Rossiter pacing as usual. And Izabel was with the captain in his cabin, discussing something with him in a low voice.

Lucia sighed. Those two had it so easy as a couple, with just two minor barriers between them: Izabel’s twin brother was in love with the same man, and Travis was still in love with his late wife.

If so little stood in the way of Lucia and MacRieve, she’d have reeled him in and never let him go.

Try a marriage to the devil, a chastity-based power, and potentially the end of the world….

Once Garreth reached the stern of the
Barão
, he drew a breath and dove beneath the ship. Barely able to see in the muddy water, he felt his way around until he could locate the propeller shaft.

After bending the metal out of shape, he surfaced for another breath. Just before he returned to mangle the rudder, he hesitated.

Blood.
He smelled it, coming from within the
Barão
.

Ignore it, get the job done, and get back.
But why was it so quiet inside? He didn’t hear a single passenger. Not a soul was moving about.

And he still scented
vampire
.

His Lykae’s curiosity got the best of him, and he leapt to the gangway, soundlessly landing.

Again he listened, hearing nothing but ship sounds, the eerie kind one hears only in the dead of night—the anchor chain scraping the windlass, wood settling, ropes tightening as a breeze picked up.

Dripping water, he stole into the main salon. The room was unsettling to Garreth, reminding him of a Victorian-era funeral parlor, overly gilded but somber.

He’d known the ship was a refurbished rubber boom trawler—the vessel’s very name meant
the rubber baron
—but he hadn’t suspected the
Barão
would be a time capsule from the rubber boom days.

And some of those days had been dark indeed.

As he moved farther within, he spotted a pair of reading glasses crushed on the plush floor rug. Atop a serving table, afternoon tea had been set out some time ago—now the cakes were crusted, the cream spoiled. When he spied a teacup with lipstick on the rim and a plate of half-eaten cake beside it, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Something had gotten these passengers—
unexpectedly.

And a trail of crimson spatter led out of the room in the direction he’d detected the vampire’s scent. Garreth followed the blood down a dimly-lit and narrow companionway, past one empty cabin after another. Wood creaked behind him, and he twisted around.
Just the ship settling once more.

The trail ended at the door of the last cabin.
Locked.
Tensing for a fight, Garreth broke the polished brass knob. Inside, a coffin lay. An eerily simple casket—wood, no varnish or sets of pallbearer handles. Of course, the vampire wouldn’t likely be carted around in it.

Garreth crouched beside the coffin. With fangs bared and flared claws raised to strike, he tore open the lid.

Empty.

But then another scent impression teased Garreth. He rose, exiting the vampire’s room, tracking it farther into the boat until he stood before the freezer. Drawing a breath, knowing what he’d find, he opened the door.

All the passengers were inside. Dead. Their bodies had been butchered into pieces and stuffed within.

Among the limbs, he spied Captain Malaquí’s glaring tattooed arm. When Garreth had seen the man just this afternoon, had Malaquí already known the others were dead? And that his time was nigh…?

The vampire was missing, with a trail of blood leading to—or from—his cabin, and all the people aboard had perished. Should be easy to deduce what had happened. Yet these people had been
hacked
at.

What weapon could have done this? A sword, an ax?

His eyes narrowed. Charlie had had a machete this morning.
I knew something was off….

“Lousha!” Garreth twisted around, sprinting for the water.

“What the hell is MacRieve doing?” Through the pounding rain, Lucia had spotted him boarding the
Barão
! “Why would he go…” She trailed off.

The
Contessa
had just seemed to
ripple
beneath her feet before stilling once more. “That was weird.” She’d no sooner spoken than the entire vessel shuddered, moving
sideways
, straining against the anchors. Wood groaned from the pressure. She hunched down, her eyes darting.

From his cabin, Travis barked,
“What the hell was—”

Like a shot, the
Contessa
reared up, briefly tilting to the side, sending Lucia skidding to the opposite side of the deck. As she scrabbled for purchase, her mind tried to grasp what could do this—what would be
big
enough to do this.

And how much more could the
Contessa
take?

When the boat was hit again, rising up off its hull before settling, Schecter shrieked from the port side of the boat.

Lucia’s eyes narrowed as a suspicion arose, and she clambered around the pitching decks toward him. Once she’d reached the side, her jaw slackened at the scene.

Schecter. Hanging on for his life to a splintering railing. Directly beneath his dangling body, an immense caiman peered up, about to strike.

Her lips parted around a shocked breath. The creature was
colossal
, with red eyes the size of basketballs. And it wasn’t alone. The water all around the boat churned with eddies.

MacRieve had told her that there were in fact giant caimans—but that they lived in Rio Labyrinto, not anywhere else!

Wait… the ship was only a few hours from there. Dear gods, was Schecter’s lure actually working, drawing them here from the hidden tributary?

Lucia readied her bow, stringing two arrows. The creature’s hide would be plated thick, so she aimed for the red eyes—big enough targets.

When she nailed the caiman in both sockets, it thrashed twice, sending up copious waves of water and mud that splattered the side of the boat. Then it disappeared.

Lucia strapped her bow across her body, then dove across the deck for Schecter, snagging his wrist. “What have you done?” she demanded. “What is this?”

He replied in hysterical gibberish—so she feinted like she was dropping him. “What was that, Schecter?”

“Lure. Worked!”

“Where is it?” She couldn’t hear the contraption, which meant it was still underwater.

“I don’t know! Got jostled, caught in the anchor line,” he answered, looking so petrified that she believed him.

She’d just swung him back on solid footing when Travis and Izabel stumbled out onto the deck.

“What the hell’s going on, doc?” Travis snapped. The big Texan was wielding his shotgun.

Izabel herself had a machete. “Wh-what could do this?” she cried over the rain.

“Ask Schecter!” Lucia turned, but he’d already disappeared.

Rossiter staggered out from the cabin area. “Somebody want to tell me what’s happening?”

“Schecter’s lure worked. We’re surrounded by giant caimans,” Lucia said, but no one believed her—they couldn’t see in the dark.

When lightning flashed, illuminating the creatures swarming the boat, Rossiter’s jaw slackened. “Schecter did…
this
?”

Travis’s eyes went wide. “I’m going to kick his worthless ass.”

“Can that wait?” Rossiter gazed around uneasily. “We need to get under way, stat!”

“Might help if I could find my fucking deckhand!” Travis said with a scowl. “We’re taking on water—we’ve got to get the pumps going before I can crank the engines.”

“I’m on the pumps!” Rossiter yelled, running at once for the engine room.

Gazing toward the bow, Lucia said, “The lure’s still working. I’ll try to find it, get rid of it.”

“Wait, Lucia,” Izabel said, “where’s Mr. MacRieve—”

Another lurching hit to the ship sent Lucia tumbling across the deck, her claws like grappling hooks over the wood. From a distance she saw Travis and Izabel launched into the galley wall; Travis hit head-first, the blow knocking him out cold. Looking dazed but unharmed, Izabel dropped her machete to tend to him.

The next rock of the boat loosed a weighty beam above the two. It plummeted toward the captain’s motionless body, but little Izabel
caught it
, straining to hold it over her head.

Lucia dashed up to help, but before she could reach Izabel, the woman…
changed
.

Involuntarily backing up a step, Lucia gaped. She’d lived a long time. Never had she seen this. Giant caimans could be explained, but this…

Clearly, Izabel needed no help. Right before Lucia’s eyes, she’d just morphed.

Into…
Charlie
. And… and
he
was managing the beam handily.
Can’t think about this right now—

“Lousha!” Dimly, she heard MacRieve yelling for her. She whirled around, hurrying to the platform to warn him away. He’d just run out onto the stern of the
Barão
.

“MacRieve, something’s in the water!” she yelled as the boat rose up once more. “Stay there!”

“Fook that!”
sounded back.

Then he dove in.

“Damn him!” She had to clear a way back for him. With the help of her new quiver, she shot repeatedly, aiming for the caimans’ eyes, arrows flying as if she were flanked by a hundred archers.

She killed several of the creatures, but something was still rippling the water behind MacRieve. It was just below the surface but making a sizeable wake.

“Swim faster!” Had to be a caiman—but one as big as a freaking submarine. She couldn’t see it through the muddy water and pouring rain. Though she shot it over and over, its rugged hide and the water buffer shielded it. She could do little to slow its advance.

And MacRieve kept pointing
at her
! Taking precious moments to yell.

“Just swim, Scot! There’s something on your tail!” Why wasn’t he swimming faster? The thing was right—

“Behind you!” he roared. Their eyes briefly met; his were filled with dread.

She whirled around just as lightning flashed. Damiãno had a machete raised above her head.

THIRTY-FIVE