Pleasure of a Dark Prince (40 page)

Oh, if he only knew
half
the weirdness aboard his ship.

“Where the hell did those men go?”

“They escaped,” she lied baldly. “Darn them!”

Nodding slowly, he said, “The one without his head—did he make tracks too?”

“They took him with them. Madcap fanatics!”

“What did they want?”

“An artifact we own. It had a religious meaning to them. End of the world, doomsday type of stuff.”

“I saw MacRieve catch at least two bullets before you shoved me out,” Travis said, “but he looks like he’s just taking a nap.”

“Scottish men are…
hardy
?”

The captain rubbed his hand over his face. “See, what I think happened is this—”

“Travis,” she interrupted in a steely tone. “You’ve got a head wound, you’re a drinker, and if no one ever hears about what you think happened, then I’ll pay for all the repairs to the boat. A lump sum.”

After a hesitation, he narrowed his eyes, “Quadruple it, and you’ll see my memory go real fast.”

“Done.”

“One question though. Damiãno wasn’t with you?”

She shook her head, giving him the story she and MacRieve had agreed on, amending the identity of the
Barão
’s killers to the robed fanatics.

When he heard the fate of those passengers, Travis’s pale visage grew leached of even more color. “Are you sure it was those three that did it? It could’ve been Malaquí.”

“Malaquí was killed, too.” She thought she detected disappointment in him. Which couldn’t be right.

Izabel ran in then, her eyes going wide at the sight of MacRieve. “
Deus do céu!
Is he going to be all right?”

Lucia said, “It’s just a flesh wound.”

She nodded dumbly. “And where’d those creepy men go?”

“Escaped,” Travis answered. “Long gone.”

When MacRieve roused once more, Lucia said, “Here, help me get him back to the cabin.”

With Travis and Lucia’s help, MacRieve was able to make it to his feet. But when he lurched, Travis ducked under his arm, laying it over his shoulders to help him walk. “Big bastard,” he said with a grunt.

Once they’d navigated MacRieve back to cabin seven and heaved him into the bed, Travis said, “We’ve gotta get underway right now, get him to a hospital.”

Lucia gazed at the fresh blood seeping from the captain’s head wound.
MacRieve’s not the one who needs to get to a hospital.

The captain raised his face and called, “Chuck!” He frowned when no reply came, then asked Izabel, “You’ve seen him since last night, right?” Travis seemed genuinely worried.

Izabel said, “He’s fine.”

Travis’s concern shifted to ire. “Then where the hell is he?”

“Charlie’s… he’s…” Izabel trailed off, looking at Lucia with pleading eyes.

I can’t believe I’m doing this
. “Charlie was patching a hole when we came in. Looked pretty bad.”

Izabel quickly added, “
Capitão
, your head’s bleeding again. I’ll put you back in bed, then go help Charlie. We’ll get the
Contessa
under way in no time.”

Lucia waited for Travis to bark that no one could improve anything. Instead, he gazed down at Izabel and muttered, “What would I do without you two?”

Izabel, in turn, looked crestfallen. And now Lucia understood why.
Okay, perhaps they do have a decent-sized barrier between them.

Just then, Schecter came running into the cabin. One of the lenses in his glasses was cracked, and his cowlick had finally deflated. “Uh, there’s a beam wedged against the engine room hatch.”

“So?” Travis snapped, looking like he wanted to murder the professor.

“So… I think Rossiter’s in there.”

At once, the captain and Izabel charged out. When MacRieve cracked open an eye and muttered to Lucia, “Go. Like that mortal,” she ran after them, hurrying to the engine room.

She found the captain straining to move the beam, his head bandage already saturated with red. Schecter was worthless. Izabel was gone, no doubt “looking” for Charlie.

“Here, let me help!” Lucia said. Acting as if she struggled, she wrenched the beam away, then dashed forward to open the hatch. When steaming fumes gusted out from within, she coughed, waving her hand in front of her face.

Once the miasma cleared, she saw Rossiter on his hands and knees clawing his way up the steps. He was shirtless, covered in grease and sweat, and up to his waist in water. He also looked drunk from fumes, his eyes bloodshot.

As Lucia rushed down to help him up, she spied a line of oil residue high on the wall from where the water had risen. “The water got that high?” If so, then the ship had been sinking.

Rossiter rasped, “I was singularly motivated… to keep the pumps running.”

She couldn’t imagine how terrifying that would have been for him—a mortal trapped with little light, the water rising, knowing he was about to drown.

Travis said, “If not for you, we’d have gone down.” Over his shoulder, he added, “All because of the giant fucking
caimans
!”

Everyone on board hated Schecter, but Rossiter had the most reason to. Aside from his harrowing night, the doctor’s mission was now finished—with no hope for finding his orchid. Schecter might just have killed him.

Once they got Rossiter back on the deck, his wild-eyed gaze landed on Schecter. With a maddened bellow, the doctor attacked.

FORTY-SIX

“I haven’t seen a punch like that in ages,” Lucia said as she entered the wheelhouse. Chizabel was piloting the boat into a dramatic orange sunset.

The already cracked windshield had been no match for caiman attacks, and now as the wind streamed in, her long black hair flowed behind her. Izabel was so feminine; you’d never know she was half-man.

“And then when Doc Rossiter kept beating Schecter?” Izabel said. “I never knew the expression
beating the piss out of someone
was literal.”

“I meant to step in and break it up sooner. Really I did,” Lucia said. “So where’s Travis?”

“Capitão
’s sleeping in his cabin. Rossiter shot him up with some morphine.”

The doctor had wanted to examine MacRieve as well, but Lucia had insisted his wounds were superficial, assuring Rossiter,
You’ll see him up and running in no time.

“Is MacRieve still alive?”

“He’s resting, too.” The Scot had been passed out again but was regenerating nicely. “Prognosis is good.”

Izabel raised her brows at that. All the humans had thought he was surely at death’s door.

Lucia guessed she and Izabel would dance around the subject of her being part man a little longer. So she stared at the sun over the water. As distraught as she’d been just this morning, Lucia was now filled with hope.

In her possession was a dieumort, which moved her one step closer to freeing herself from Cruach. And one step closer to a future with MacRieve, the Lykae who’d somehow gone from enemy to lover to love of her life.

But she wasn’t prepared for MacRieve just yet. Earlier, on the ride back to the
Contessa
, Lucia had feared he would ask her to marry him. Though it wasn’t necessarily the Lykae way, he’d told her she’d be his wife one day. And if he’d proposed, what could she have said?
Rain check? Let me get back to you when I’m a widow.

Now, in a matter of days, she could return to the Scot—free at last. Free of Skathi
and
Cruach. “How much longer until we get back?” Lucia asked.

“Four days. Max.”

“You know the way?”

Izabel glared. “Better than anybody on this river,” she answered. “So
Capitão
told me about your night. Damiãno really attacked you? I knew he was
louco
!”

“In a big way.”

“Travis said the robed men were religious fanatics after some relic you and MacRieve found.”

“That’s it exactly. I’m just glad we made it out alive.” Lucia pulled up another stool. “So, last night was revealing in a lot of ways.” Rossiter was a hero, Schecter a criminally irresponsible scientist, Izabel part… guy. “You want to tell me what’s going on? Are you human?”

Izabel gazed around as if she were being pranked. “Uh, yes. I am. Is there another option?”

Lucia answered with a question: “So do you know why you’re… like you are?”

“I was cursed by what I can only figure was an evil woman. Voodoo, Santeria, who knows?” She frowned. “How come you’re not freaking out?”

“I was rattled at first. But I’ve always believed in the supernatural, so I got over it soon enough,” Lucia answered. “So when did Izabel Carlotta became Isabel and Charlie?”

Izabel sighed. “Two years ago, I’d just gotten dumped by my first love, and I was drinking and wished with all my heart that I knew why men thought the way they did. This strange, mesmerizing woman told me she could answer my question. The next morning I woke up hungover. Oh, and a man.”

Evil sorceress, had to be.

“I came to the Amazon, hoping to find a cure or an explanation.”

A cure wasn’t likely. Sorceress spells tended to stick, unless lifted by another one of equal or greater power. Lucia knew a witch—Mariketa the Awaited, a party-hearty mercenary of the Wiccae—who could possibly nullify it, but she’d had her hellacious powers bound for fifty years, until she could better handle them. Izabel was doubtless stuck like this for the duration.

“Can you switch back and forth at will?” When Izabel nodded, Lucia asked, “Are you going to tell Travis? It’s only a matter of time before he figures it out.”

Izabel’s eyes watered. “He’ll never understand. I’m leaving as soon as I get him to the hospital.”

Poor girl.
Before she would’ve been thrilled that Izabel was leaving Travis. Now Lucia resented the fact that the girl felt she had to.

What’s with all the sympathy I’m feeling for humans?
Maybe Lucia should open up a stray shelter for mortals. Feed them kibble. “Iz, you need to give him a chance. He might surprise you.”

“It’s not that easy. You see, ‘Charlie’ needs love, too. And Travis… there’s just no way.”

“If you can change back and forth, then just stay in your female form.”

“It makes me sick when I don’t change into Charlie enough and vice versa.”

“That’s why Charlie was often pale.” Now that Lucia thought back, she recalled both twins had dressed in the same plain T-shirts and cargo pants. Iz had worn baggy clothes in case she’d had to transform into him without notice. “Can you change into Charlie right now?”

“Yes, but I don’t take requests,” she quipped, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “You won’t tell
Capitão
, will you?” She looked utterly distraught at the idea of him knowing.

Lucia raised her brows. “You really think he’d believe me?”

“No, not in
um milhão de anos
, a million years,” she answered. “So are we still… friends?”

“Yes, we’re still friends, Chiz. Though I’m not going to change in front of you anymore or anything.”

Izabel gasped. “Oh, like Charlie would have your skinny ass, skank!”

“No, because Chuck digs the drunk dudes like his low-hanging-fruit sister.”

Izabel choked out a laugh, her expression startled. “First time I’ve ever been able to laugh about this!”

Then my work here is done.
“Listen, if you’re ever in New Orleans, I want you to look me up. There’s some crazy stuff in that town, maybe we could find someone who knows what happened to you.”

Her eyes went wide. “Do you mean that?”

“Yeah. I’ll get you my number before we make port….”

As she exited down the companionway steps, Lucia met up with Rossiter. He’d showered and dressed—and still hadn’t slept.

“I was just looking for you,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to see to your husband?”

“What?”

“I could examine him.”

“Oh. MacRieve. He’s fine. It truly was only a graze. But thanks for the offer. And thank you again for keeping the ship afloat.”

He gave a rueful grin. “There was an element of self preservation at work.”

If he’d ever needed to rest, it’d be after that hellish night he’d just spent. But for him, there would be no succor in sleep, no oblivion. Again, sympathy rose in her. “Look, I’m sorry this expedition didn’t work out for you.”

With a shrug, he said, “Hey, I’ll live.” Then he almost stifled a grimace.

No, he wouldn’t.
I don’t like humans, I don’t like humans….
As much as she inwardly chanted that to herself, she still had the mad urge to help this one.

Before she did something she’d later regret—like telling him
Psst, you wanna become a myth like us?
—Lucia said, “Um, got to go make a call.” Then she brushed past him.

As she headed for the stern deck, she dialed Nïx—and actually got her. She found the soothsayer lucid. Mostly.

“Nïx, I have some good news and some really shitty news,” Lucia said. Then she explained everything that had happened, finishing with, “So, uh, a jot of water might’ve gotten in the tomb.”

“Now
who
did you wake up?” Nïx asked in a confounded tone.