Pleasure of a Dark Prince (39 page)

“MacRieve, you’re going to have to narrate. I can only look up.”

“We’re out of danger for now—and on our way back to the
Contessa
.”
If the ship’s even there.

“How did you get us out of that back there?” she asked.

Sheer luck.
“Great skill. How’s your neck?” Though it was such a devastating injury, the actual break would be small and quick to regenerate. “If it’s hurting, then it’s healing.”

“Then I’m definitely on the mend. I think I can sit up soon,” she said. “I can’t believe Lothaire gave me the neck adjustment from hell. Strike that—I can totally believe it, but I’m shocked he was right there at the tomb. Makes one wonder how long he’d been watching us.”

Doubtless the leech watched me claiming her. Bluidy vampires!

“When did Lothaire get so freaking
strong
?” Lucia asked.

“He’s an ancient, the Enemy of Old.” And immortals grew stronger with every year.

“What do you think he wants with that ring?”

“Doona know. It was the simplest piece of gold in all of the chamber. It must have some powers that we doona know of.”

“Do you think he’ll be back?”

“I think he’s long gone from this place.”
Like we should be.

“What are we going to do about the great evil getting her finger broken off? Also, I’m going to go out on a limb and say we probably got water in there on the
watchers
. Three out of three house rules broken.”

And I’d already heard something moving within.
“I doona know that anything could have survived that impact. The city was razed and then submerged.”
But if they did survive
… Wendigos were rapacious killers. And then La Dorada—who knew what she was capable of? A warrior as strong as Damiãno had feared her.

Lucia grew quiet for a moment, then asked, “What do we do if the
Contessa
left us? Or, um, sank?”

“Paddle this boat for double the amount of days it took for the
Contessa
to motor here. Or attempt to fix the
Barão
.” A ghost ship. Filled to the brim with hacked-up bodies. “Let’s just hope they dinna.”

She stretched her hand out to him. “Help me up.”

“Lousha, it’s too soon.”

“I won’t move my head.” When he grudgingly tugged her upright, she looked stiff and hurting, but not too bad. “See.”

“Aye, then. So tell me, what’s the last you saw of the passengers and crew?”

“Travis was injured. He head-butted the wheelhouse and was knocked out cold. Schecter was urinating on himself in fear, Rossiter was in the engine room, manning the pumps.”

“What about Izabel and Charlie?”

“You mean Chizabel?” At his frown, Lucia explained what she’d seen. How Izabel’s body had morphed—much like a shifter’s would—from female to male.

“You
saw
Izabel change into Charlie?” Garreth asked.

“Right before my eyes.”

“No shite?” Then his brows drew together. “You dinna change your swimsuit in front of Izabel, did you?”

“Only a couple of times.”

“Bluidy hell. Charlie’s seen my woman naked,” he said in a surly tone. “I almost liked him better when I thought he was a machete murderer.” He steered around a log. “You need to find out what his—and her—story is. Sate my Lykae’s curiosity for me.”

“So what are we going to tell everyone when we get back?”

“Partly the truth. We tell them that Damiãno attacked with a machete last night. So we got in the skiff heading for the
Barão
. But he’d already killed all the passengers there. Then we say the motor got fouled up and we drifted until I could get it working again.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said, with a shrug, then winced at her aching neck.

“Easy, lass. You have to give that time. Coincidentally, we have some to burn….”

For hours, they traveled upriver, praying that the
Contessa
would still be there. Toward late afternoon, he said, “It should be just around the bend.” Then he proceeded to hold his breath….

“They waited for us!” Lucia gave a relieved sigh when they saw the ship, still anchored. “And they’re afloat! I don’t know whose decision it was to wait, but they’re my new best friend. I need a dry bed and a shower.”

“Aye, and coffee and food for me. Seems like our luck is turning.”

The
Contessa
appeared to have taken on some water, but she wasn’t listing—a good sign. The old girl had more in her than Garreth had ever imagined. Her generator was still working, the water pumps humming.

Of course, the ship
looked
like shite. Most of the railings were gone, and the windows were shattered. The sole air-conditioning unit dangled precariously from a sagging window frame.

All over the decks, river vegetation dried, and twenty-foot arcs of mud sprayed over the ship’s sides, most likely from caiman tails digging down as the creatures attacked.

“I bet the ship can make it back to port in half the time.” He motored on. “We’ll be running with the current, and with all the rains, the water’s moving,” he said, adding silently,
And once I have you tucked somewhere safe, I’ll go take care of this Cruach business. Alone.

“Oh, gods, look at that,” Lucia said, pointing out a dead giant caiman hung up on a nearby log. Her arrows still jutted from its eyes. Flies swarmed the bloated carcass from above—piranhas from below. The fish were fighting over it, tearing at it so viciously, the caiman’s limbs and tail jerked as if it were still alive.

“Rain forest garbage disposal,” Garreth said. “It’ll be picked clean in seconds.” Giving the piranhas a wide berth, he steered them to what was left of the
Contessa
’s platform. Once he’d tied the skiff to the ship, he carried Lucia aboard, setting her on her feet so gingerly.

“Stop treating me like crystal, MacRieve. I’m all healed up.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “As am I. So we can be all healed up in the shower together.”

“It’s a date, but first thing’s first. Let’s find everyone.”

Garreth called out,
“Travis?”

No answer.

“I think Travis will probably be out of commission,” Lucia said. “That hit he took would stagger even an immortal.”

“Anybody here?”
Garreth yelled, sniffing the air. No vampires, no Damiãno, no Loreans… so why was he uneasy? When he heard sounds coming from the salon, they headed up.

Izabel and Schecter stood within the room, their faces pale.

Lucia asked, “What’s going on?”

Only when Garreth and Lucia had entered did they see three robed men behind them in the salon, covered in dried blood, with guns drawn.

FORTY-FIVE

“Cromites,” Lucia sneered. That was why the
Contessa
hadn’t left them. These bastards had been lying in wait with hostages.

All three had eyes glazed with fanaticism and bloodstained robes. Though they brandished guns, their customary weapons were holstered at their hips—swords with Cruach’s horned symbol on the hilts, and more blood smeared on the blades.

“You’re the ones who killed the
Barão
’s passengers,” Lucia said.
Not
Damiãno.

The eldest Cromite, clearly the leader of the trio, answered, “All were sacrificed in his name.”

The shifter had merely picked up the machete that Izabel had dropped. Of course, then he’d been quick to shove it against Lucia’s neck.

“And you brought guns?” MacRieve scoffed. “Did you come here to tickle me?”

“Give us the dieumort,” the leader said. “Or we’ll kill these two.”

MacRieve shrugged. “So be it.”

Schecter gave a cry, seeming to go weak in the knees, grasping Izabel’s arm. The girl flung him away.

“Are you crazy?” Schecter said. “Just give them whatever they came for.”

“You canna comprehend the shite day I’ve had.” MacRieve’s expression was thunderous. “I will no’ be giving anything to anybody!”

The leader said, “I’ll shoot
you
.”

“At your bluidy leisure.” MacRieve’s beast was already stirring. “Let’s do this—”

“We don’t actually care about retrieving the dieumort. We only want it destroyed.” The leader motioned to the youngest-looking one, and the man opened his robe, displaying a belt laden with explosives. He raised his shaking fist, his thumb just above a red button on a detonator.

MacRieve muttered, “You’ve got my attention.”

“Don’t give it to them!” Lucia said. “They’re going to try to kill us all anyway. They’d love to sacrifice themselves.”

MacRieve shook his head. In a low tone, he told her, “This could actually kill you.” His eyes flickered pale blue as he gazed at her face. “I canna risk it—”

Suddenly, a deafening boom sounded. The bomb man’s head burst, blood splattering the wall map behind him.

Lucia jerked around. Travis sagged against the wall just outside the salon doorway, with his shotgun smoking and his head bandaged. “Run, Izabel!” he yelled. “Go!” She and Schecter were already darting through the doorway.

The remaining two Cromites turned to their dead comrade. And aimed their pistols.

“MacRieve!” Lucia screamed. “They’ll shoot the bomb!”

He was already diving in front of the fallen man, intercepting the bullets, his pale blue eyes locked on the ones shooting.

Knowing the carnage to come, Lucia shoved the door shut in Travis’s ashen face, slamming the bar lock in place.

Under a hail of fire but still shielding the bombs, MacRieve lunged for the two Cromites, slashing out at their throats with his claws. The two crumpled to the floor, one nearly decapitated, the other futilely clamping his hands over his severed jugular.

Dashing to MacRieve’s side, she cried, “Ah, gods, look at your chest!” It was riddled with bullets.

“Reminds me… of our first date.”

“You crazy Lykae.” She pressed her lips to his forehead.

“He wants you, Lucia,”
the last living Cromite gurgled, making her entire body tense.

She leapt up, reaching the mortal, then gripped his bloody head.
Broken neck day, paying it forward.

“Wants Lucia av—”

She twisted, gazing at the ceiling as satisfaction rushed through her. Every time she slew one of these followers, she imagined the Broken Bloody One
felt
the pain.

And that was just a hint, husband. I’m about to teach you what misery is….

With effort, MacRieve turned to her. “We could’ve used him for information.”

“My temper got the best of me. Sorry,” she said, returning to his side. She hated lying to MacRieve, but she was so close to keeping her secret buried forever. And somehow her motives for secrecy had shifted from concealing her shame to protecting her Scot.

“Lousha… think one o’ these bullets is inching to my heart. Might pass out for a bit. You stay out o’ trou—” He went unconscious.

Banging sounded on the door, and Travis yelled, “I’m about to blow this fucker down!”

“You’ll hit us,” Lucia called. “Just give us a second. We’re fine.”

Yes, fine, yet with gored bodies to get rid of.
Can’t get discovered now!
She was already in enough trouble.
How to get rid… how to get rid… ?

Her gaze fell to one of the busted windows. Rain forest garbage disposal. She hastened to the lead Cromite’s body, maneuvering it to the opening. Then she tossed it over the side.

Floating, floating.

Travis began assailing the barricaded door with what sounded like the butt of his shotgun. He’d break through soon.

Come on, fish!

She exhaled in relief when the piranhas boiled up in a feeding frenzy to consume the man. Two more Cromites to go. She made fast work of them, carefully extracting the bomb belt from the last one before dumping him to the fish.

“Clever girl,”
MacRieve rasped, opening one eye.

She whispered, “So what do I do with the bomb?”

“Sink it… weigh it down.”

She peered around for something heavy to tie it to, coming up with nothing… Then she narrowed her eyes on the second busted window, on the air-conditioning unit drooping from it.

Lucia hauled it back into the salon, then punched the center out. Digging out the guts of the machine, she cautiously buried the bomb inside. Then she lobbed the whole contraption into the river, watching it sink with satisfaction.

By the time Travis broke down the door shortly after, Lucia was kneeling beside a semi-conscious MacRieve, having just tied the embroidered coffee-station tablecloth around his chest to conceal the worst of his wounds.

As the captain’s weary gaze took in the scene, Lucia glanced around, trying to see it from his eyes. His late wife’s embroidery now served as a bandage. Air conditioner parts littered the floor. Copious amounts of blood had spurted from the Cromites’ jugulars when MacRieve had attacked. Yet there were no robed men to be found.

“I think I need a drink,” Travis drawled, sinking down on his stool. “Every damned trip gets weirder than the last.”