The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Even now, he could feel the beast within him scratching for release. It was that beast that made him so vicious in battle and aided his reputation. Bullets didn’t exactly bounce off of him as his legend said, but the wolf kept him alive even when shot through the heart. It was the wolf’s eyes that shined through to help him travel across the black sea on starless nights. And it was the wolf’s insatiable hunger that drove him to seek that solitude he needed every month.

  More than the perpetual ache of the coming shift, James felt another pain deep in his chest that was just as unsettling. Grace hadn’t come above deck since they left St. Thomas that morning. Though Patrick had delivered the dress James bought especially for her, the governor’s daughter wouldn’t come up.

  He could hear her pacing and silently talking with Mr. Bones as he cooked the meals for the crew and told stories of his days serving in the English navy. With their holds now bursting with supplies and fresh food, the old man could do what he did best. James wanted to hate the cook, all because he was in the company of his newest conquest. If he hadn’t any respect for the redheaded spitfire, he would have gone down himself, put her in a pair of irons, and dragged her onto the quarterdeck so he could watch her pout and scorn him as she did before.

  “No,” he growled in response to his old friend.

  Patrick cocked an eyebrow in amusement. “The lass tangles yer lines, doesn’t she?”

  James didn’t want to admit it, but she did. The men followed his lead without question and after a few hours at sea, he stopped hearing the little dissenting comments among the ranks about taking the lady aboard. They were right. It was bad luck to bring a woman on a ship, but she seemed to be less of a distraction to his crew, and more of a distraction to the captain.

  Through the strong stench of sweat, tar, sea, and the general disgusting odor of his crew, Grace’s distinct scent somehow made its way to wrap around his senses. It was the constant reminder that she was so near, under his protection and control. And yet, she taunted him because she pretended to despise him. James knew the truth, though no one else would have ever suspected the lady was attracted to him after the way she behaved on deck the day before.

  Instead of replying to his quartermaster, James looked to the horizon. Dusk was coming upon them fast and the crew knew what to expect. Their captain would go ashore and stay there all night. Part of the codes he set down for his men, was that none of them were to ask about his business on Isla de Mona. He never told them the truth and only Patrick kept his secret. Some of them whispered about giving sacrifices to the devil so his crew would remain safe. Others suspected the island did inhabit natives and James was going ashore to visit a lover or family that he refused to speak of.

  If they knew what their captain really did amongst the dense woods on the island, they would probably jump ship the next time they made port.

  “Drop anchor and douse canvas,” James ordered before passing off the wheel to one of the crewmen standing by, ready to steady the rudder as they eased their way into the inlet. The sliver of white beach lay ahead of them and he knew exactly where they had to stop before running aground.

  Patrick followed close on his heels as the captain stepped down onto the main deck. He didn’t need to announce his departure to the crew, but the quartermaster always slipped it in as he gave the usual orders.

  “Make repairs and rest up,” James muttered to Patrick when they came to stand next to the railing. “At dawn, we sail for Kingston.”

  “What if the wench comes topside?”

  James turned and gave Patrick a hard, golden stare. He, above all the rest of the crew, knew what the yellow eyes meant, and no amount of loyalty or friendship could make him forget what happened when someone crossed The Devil Dog.

  “Don’t call her that,” the captain snapped. “She’s a lady and even though I’m not on the ship, the crew will treat her as such.” He leaned closer. “Especially you. Am I clear?”

  The wolf’s disproportionate rage was fueled by the fear that rolled off Patrick, but James knew he could never strike at his old friend. He couldn’t expect the Irish seadog to behave anything other than what he was. He had a mouth and telling him to shut his gob might have been like trying to hold back the sea itself.

  Patrick only nodded and took a step back from his captain.

  “If she does come up, don’t let a man touch her,” James continued. “She can do as she pleases, but don’t let her out of sight. She doesn’t want to go back to Kingston and she’s sailed before, so she might know how to set us adrift.”

  Fear morphed into bemusement. “She doesn’t wanna go back to Kingston?”

  James tried to will away the gold from his eyes, but the beast was too close to the surface to subdue. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to stay on this ship either. Kingston is the next best place for her.” He slipped off his coat and handed it to Patrick. “Don’t set sail without me.”

  Without another word, he jumped onto the railing and dove down into the sea below, escaping the crew, the ship, and Grace’s intoxicating scent. Perhaps a night away from her would clear his head, though he doubted it.

  The cold water received him, and James began his long swim to shore, spooking schools of fish in the process. Once he sloshed up onto the sandy beach, he looked over his shoulder to The Burning Rose to make sure it was still anchored at the mouth of the inlet. It was, as always. If he didn’t retain such a good rapport with his men, they might have been tempted to unfurl the sails and leave him marooned on the island.

  The sunset sky blazed behind the silhouette of his beloved ship, but along the deck of the forecastle, he could make out a splash of red as vibrant as the colors in the bands of clouds along the horizon. Grace stood there, her hair tossed in the wind and leaning over the rail to get a better look at him as the light began to fade.

  Even from this distance, he could hear her quickened breaths. Had she run out on deck to see what had become of the captain? Did she hear the splash when he dove overboard? By the distressed look in her blue eyes, he knew her mind must have been scrambling for an explanation. Patrick rushed up the forecastle, but staying true to his captain, did not lay a hand on her.

  The quartermaster began to explain away the captain’s strange behavior while the wolf continued to press his host for a retreat. James obeyed the only entity that could ever give him orders, and disappeared into the woods, discarding his sopping clothes as he went.

  Branches scratched at his skin as he ran through the dark forest, his feet pounding against the untrodden earth, cutting a path through the wilderness. All around, exotic birds that nested in the treetops fled from the new predator in their midst. Inside, the wolf continued to push and slash at his fleshly cage.

  James pushed himself just a bit farther before falling to his hands and knees. The sun hadn’t completely set yet, but the mounting pain became too much. His bones broke and reformed, taking on the shape of the beast.

  He had known what he was, almost from the beginning. He cut his teeth on the fairytales his mother fed him, the ones that were passed down from her parents who grew up in a superstitious Europe. Tales of a monster, neither man nor beast but an unholy mix of both, were said to stalk the wilds around their village. They were supposed to be myths, simple stories to scare little children into behaving. When James grew older, he came to realize the harsh truth that these monsters weren’t only real, but that he was one of them.

  He let out a scream of agony as the shift took hold, changing him into that half-wolf, half-man creature. Here, on the Isla de Mona, he let the beast out for one night. That’s all it asked of him and James was willing to give it that much in exchange for his supernatural gifts that made him so successful as a pirate.

  Slowly, the roar of the beast displaced his human tongue and his naked body became covered in dark fur. The pain never became easier to bear, not after over fifty years as a werewolf. James learned quickly not to resist it, but to welcome the shift. The faster he
changed, the sooner the ordeal ended.

  When it did end, he stood upon shaking limbs, gruff huffs of air expelled from his flared nostrils at the end of his muzzle. No one had seen him shift, not even Patrick. If James could help it, no one ever would. That’s why this island, claimed by the beast, was so precious to him. It was his refuge, his home away from The Burning Rose.

  Here, he could run and hunt in the safety of seclusion. Here, he became the monster that everyone believed him to be.

  Grace searched the tree line for any sign of James, but found none. As soon as he darted into the thicket, he was gone. Beside her, a pirate made an excuse that he had to take care of some private business, but she didn’t care. The only reason she had stayed below decks under the watchful eye of the cook was because she couldn’t face the captain. All day and night, her heart flopped back and forth like a dying fish, unsure whether to hate him or let herself embrace that secret longing for his attention.

  “He’ll be gone ‘til mornin’,” the man said. “Then we’ll be on our way back to Jamaica.”

  She turned on him with a glare. “I’m not going back to Kingston,” she stated.

  The man, whose accent gave him away as hailing from Ireland, laughed. “The captain said ye’d say that. We’re goin’ to Jamaica all the same.”

  The patter of footsteps on the forecastle steps made her forget her distress toward James’ sudden absence. As the pirates - with their scraggly beards and patched up clothes - gathered before her, Grace realized she had a much more pressing issue at hand. She was alone amongst these thieves and murderers who were feared by all decent, honorable sailors in the Caribbean. At least with James onboard, she could have believed the lie that she was perfectly safe. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She might have refused the dress that James had sent her, but there was no hiding the fact that she was a woman on a ship full of men.

  The Irishman stepped in front of her and pulled a pistol from the holster on his thick leather belt. “Any man who gets within a yard of the lass will be flyin’ by the boards with a bullet in his skull.”

  The lusty and devious stares softened at the burly man’s threat. Grace backed up to the railing and clutched at the polished wood, as if that would save her from whatever schemes they had. Whoever the Irishman was, the pirates seemed to listen to him. He must have held some rank equivalent to first mate, as she witnessed on The Lady Adventure. Come to think of it, these pirates – flea riddled and mangy as they were – appeared just like the sailors she served beside on her previous ship. The only difference was their questionable morals.

  “We wasn’t gonna do nothin’ to the lass,” one squirrelly sailor claimed as he moved past them all. “We was gonna listen fer the cap’n.”

  Something in what the young pirate said brought them all to attention and they raced toward the bowsprit, tilting their heads to the island to silently wait. A frown formed between Grace’s brows as she, too, listened for whatever it was they spoke of. How could they hear the captain? He wasn’t anywhere on the beach and surely no normal man could shout back orders from this distance.

  The Irishman stowed his gun back to its home and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

  “What are they talking about?” she whispered, hoping not to disturb any of them.

  Her answer came as a soft, but melodious howl split through the encroaching twilight. Grace had heard the baying of stray dogs from the Kingston docks, but this was unlike anything she had ever heard before. That howl must have been part of The Devil Dog’s persona, the one she had heard about from the other sailors. That was James.

  Why would he keep up this fierce image for his men? Was it to keep them in line? Why waste his breath howling for them when it was the enemy he should have been howling for?

  “He does that every time we come to Isla de Mona,” the Irishman told her, as if sensing her endless, mute questions.

  “Your crew come here often?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as a stiff wind blew a strand of hair across her face.

  “Enough times that we know the way by heart,” he replied. “The captain won’t let us set foot on that beach while he’s there. And we only come for him.”

  “And you don’t know what he does on the island?”

  Grace gasped when the pirate grabbed her wrist and tugged her away from the railings so suddenly. The one who protected her just moments ago was now dragging her across the forecastle and toward the stairs. “That’s none of yer concern, lass,” he said as she fought against his grip. “And I can’t have ye wanderin’ around on deck all night.”

  With the rest of the crew watching, he took her down below deck, submerging her back into the humid, rotten air she had sentenced herself to suffer for the last day and a half.

  “The captain wanted me to look after ye, but I can’t do that and keep this crew in line.”

  He brought her to the aft part of the ship, dark and away from the crewman’s quarters, until they arrived to something like a holding cell. This must have been where The Devil Dog kept his prisoners until a ransom could be paid. Perhaps this is where she was meant to be kept all along.

  The pirate pulled out a ring of keys from his vest pocket, unlocked the lattice iron door and tossed her in. He locked it tight and turned on her without a word.

  “Am I to stay in here the whole way back to Kingston?” she shouted back to him, wrapping her half-healed hands around the bars.

  “If it were up to me, ye would,” he called back without so much as a look.

  Grace let out a huff and leaned her forehead against the cool metal of her cage. At least one awful decision had been made for her. The whole time she sat and listened to Mr. Bones’ anecdotes about his time serving with James and on other ships, she debated back and forth whether to allow herself to feel anything for the pirate. Now, she had the convenience of being locked away from him, exiled from his company for the next two or so days while they journeyed back to Jamaica, back to a home where she didn’t belong.

  In this cell, she could pine away with the memory of their dance and the way he looked at her the night they met. It was so foolish, so ridiculous and Grace was ashamed for the way she felt. She meant nothing to him. She was just an easy way to make some money, an object to be sold off. Yet, deep inside, she wanted to be more to him. So much more.

  With a groan, she sank down to her knees and listened to the creaking of the ship, the dull roar of waves slapping against the hull, and the men above and below decks as they carried on with their duties. Here, she didn’t have that chance to make James see that she could be more than just a pretty thing to throw away. This might have been the safest place for her and her wailing, bleeding heart. So, here she would stay.

  Chapter 4

  From the sheltering shade of the forest, James stared out across the spread of sea that separated him from his ship. He let out a tired sigh, his muscles strained and weak from the shift back into his human form. The sun was just beginning to crest over the eastern horizon, washing the ship in a tawny glow as the shadows receded into the watery depths it floated upon.

  He stood, clad in only his trousers since some of the island monkeys made off with his shirt and vest. James could have tracked them down to take back what was stolen from him, but he was far too fatigued, and he needed to expend what little energy he did have into making his way back to The Burning Rose. Making that swim the evening before had been effortless, even when his body was threatening to tear apart. Now, with his eyes burning and limbs barely able to keep himself upright, James wanted nothing more than to stay on that beach for the next few hours.

  He couldn’t do that for two reasons. First, the ship had a destination, a course that had to be laid and he needed to give the orders to cut sail and steer for Jamaica. Secondly, Grace was on board. All night, he thought of her and how her pretty red hair fluttered in the wind when she stood on the forecastle. He needed to see her, to hear her speak. She was more addictive than any strong drink any tavern in
the Caribbean could offer and the mere thought of being under her gaze put a little more strength back into his legs.

  With halting, weary steps, he made his way across the beach and felt the waves sweep around his ankles. He took a deep breath and made the swim. As he drew nearer to the ship, he heard the men shouting that their captain was back. Then came the thud of the wooden rungs of the Jacobs ladder bumping against the side of the ship and he blindly reached for the ropes to hoist himself up.

  Patrick was there to help him over, probably knowing that his captain would be exhausted. James gave a sputtering cough as the wind chilled the water dripping from his skin and a blanket was draped over him. He opened his mouth to call out the orders, but Patrick was too quick. The crew sprung into action and hurried to their posts.

  “Aweigh anchor! Cut the sails! Mr. Noir, set a course for Jamaica!” the Irishman bellowed.

  The wolf was tempted to scold the quartermaster for doing what James felt was his right to do as captain, but he was too busy willing away the spasms in his limbs to care. He clutched the edges of the blanket and pulled it tight over his bare chest. “Any trouble?” James asked as he leaned back against the railing he had just climbed over.

  “None, captain,” Patrick answered. “A quiet, calm night.”

  And that’s how James wanted it. They did their best to keep Isla de Mona a secret from their enemies, but there was no stopping another pirate from coming in to disturb them.

  “And Grace?” he asked, fighting the urge to shiver.

  “Below, captain. I put her in the brig for the night.”

  James’ eyes narrowed. “You wanna run that by me again?”

  Either Patrick was stupid or mutinous.

  “I put her in the brig, captain,” he defended himself, his thick shoulders squared. “I couldn’t keep an eye on the lass and keep this crew in line. Lettin’ her roam about the – “