Even though it was hard, even though she despised the sweating and the foul stench of the men and filth around her, Grace had to admit that sailing was one thing she might have been accomplished at. Her hands were better suited for the cutlass than knitting needles or a paintbrush.
She fisted the pencil, squeezing it until the thought fell away again. She belonged here, in a room with four walls and in a corset that fit too snug for her. Not on a pirate ship or in the arms of a man that could never be hers.
Yet, every time she pictured the sea or heard the creaking of the rigging in her mind, the image of James’ golden eyes came back to haunt her. Days ago, shortly after she finally stepped foot out of her room, Grace let her curiosity take hold. Without her father knowing, she slipped into his personal library and combed through the volumes to find something that could explain what she saw.
She flipped through multiple anatomy texts that detailed the newest developments in the study of the human body. Nothing in the chapters about eyes could yield what she wanted. Then, she allowed herself to think the profane and turned to the volumes on mythology and lore.
There, she found the images of beasts that were the stuff of nightmares. The more she read by the flickering candlelight in the library, the more engrossed she became. Monsters, fairies, and demons paraded through her skull as she searched for the answer.
One turn of the page, and she found it. Werewolves. Everything she had ever heard about The Devil Dog and everything she witnessed herself confirmed it. The monthly trip to Isle de Mona, the golden eyes, the howling, the inhuman strength and speed in combat, all of it.
Grace slammed the book shut that night, taking the risk of awaking her parents with the sharp crack as her whole world shattered in that moment. She had not only kissed a pirate, but also a werewolf. She let an unholy creature hold her close and whisper in her ear, tantalizing her imagination and teasing her with the promise of adventure. Even now, her core vibrated with that now familiar visceral pleasure of knowing how much she still needed him. He was a pirate and a werewolf, but Grace didn’t care. She loved him all the same.
Now perched upon her stool in the parlor, she cursed herself one more time.
“Miss Norrie?” She turned to see one of the maidservants standing in the parlor door. “Commodore Carter is here to see you.”
She blinked and set the pencil down on the easel stand. “Tell Commodore Carter that my parents are away and I’m not receiving visitors at this time.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but he said that he’s aware that your parents are away. He wanted the pleasure of your company in private.”
That could only mean one thing. It certainly didn’t take him long. Just a few days of courting. Grace let out another sigh and nodded. “Send him in.”
She didn’t even bother to hide her hideous attempt at art when the commodore entered with his hat clutched between his hands.
“You do me a great honor by accepting my call alone, Miss Norrie,” he said with a shallow bow.
Grace stood from her stool and gave her curtsey before moving to the sofa. “Liza said you have some private matter to discuss with me. I imagine it must be of some importance.”
Carter sat across from her on the opposite sofa that was much too low for him. He looked awkward with his knees up so high. Though she knew she couldn’t grow to love him, not in the way she loved James, Grace had become fond of the commodore and his stories. However much her mother disapproved of the particular details he described, Grace appreciated the small taste of the sea in his tales. It would be the closest she would ever come to a ship again unless she were to travel, which was unlikely as it was.
He wasted no time and Grace tuned out much of the mawkish sentiments. She ignored his declaration of affection and hopes that she would someday be a happy bride for him. Grace would fake a smile until her dying breath, but she would never be the happy bride he longed for. Her heart belonged with a pirate who may or may not have been dead at that very moment.
All the same, when he asked, “Will you be my wife?” she responded with a simple nod.
His face split into a grin and Carter became oblivious to the utter lack of glee that most women would display when they were just proposed to. He reached out and kissed the back of her hand that was sullied with charcoal dust. Grace felt none of it.
“I imagine you will want to tell your parents yourself,” he said as he stood to take his leave. “I’ll see to the details of the ceremony.”
Grace looked up, her eyes glazed over with indifference. “Might we be married soon?” she asked.
His brows shot up. “Soon?”
“As soon as possible.”
It might have seemed an odd request, especially given that she didn’t want to marry the man in the first place. However, there was one thing marriage could offer her. It wasn’t an escape from the life she had been forced into, but it was a way to escape from James’ memory. If she had a home of her own, servants to look after, and a husband to tend to, she would have no time to think about those hazel eyes shifting into a wolfish gold. She wouldn’t have time to dream about the seas or imagine the sound of the sails cracking above while the waves crashed below.
As a wife, she could empty her head of the childish, fleeting notion that she could have the life she truly wanted. A free life. A life with The Devil Dog.
James wrung his hands behind his back as he stared out the wide window in his cabin. He watched how the waves curled and crashed around the dead water trailing behind the ship. The evening sun caught on the crests of the rippling surface, reflecting back like glittering jewels. No matter how many times he gazed out over the ocean, he could never get used to its breathtaking beauty.
If only such majesty could quell the disquieting thoughts bouncing around in his head.
It wasn’t like him to turn tail and flee from his enemy. It wasn’t like him to feel such dread over the future and what it held in store for him. Yet, here he was, afraid and running away like a coward. But Patrick wouldn’t understand his reasons. Hell, James didn’t quite understand them either. All he knew was what he felt in St. Johns when Bart blasted him with the same power James had utilized against his own crew to put them in their place.
James wasn’t accustomed to being dominated, to be the inferior and weaker one between him and his enemy. Bart wasn’t just any enemy. He was his father, and another werewolf. A loup-garou, as he put it.
He rubbed at his face and ran his fingers through his thick hair, wishing that somehow this was all a bad dream. He wanted to go back to the days before he met Grace, before his world had been capsized. Things were simpler then. He was fatherless, loveless, and all he needed was the sea. Now, the sea wasn’t enough.
So absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the light patter of footsteps coming toward his cabin, nor the thrumming heartbeats of the nervous men that rapped upon his door.
“What is it?” he called, knowing this must have been the moment Patrick had warned him about. They were only a few hours out from Antigua and they were already coming to him with their complaints. Couldn’t they have waited until they came upon a merchant vessel? The men always felt better after the loot was distributed and their pockets were full.
He turned from the window and faced the half a dozen men who had been chosen with this task of confronting their captain. A few stood, wrinkling their hats in their dirty hands while others tried to summon a brave face as the loose fabric of their tunics shivered.
“Captain,” said the gunner, Mr. Jenson, “we’ve got grievances.”
James found it hard to be angry at them for what they thought they were about to do. He couldn’t blame them for their discontent. “Speak them,” he replied as he folded his arms.
So they began, prattling on about how they didn’t think it was right and fair for them to leave Kingston without the ransom, then to pass up every worthy prize on the way to Antigua, and now for them to be sailing back on what they saw a
s some wild goose chase. They complained about their empty coffers and how they didn’t even have time to get a drink while in St. Johns. None of them had stepped foot off the boat for over a week and they saw it was high time for a change.
When they started griping about their aching bellies because there was no proper food in the cargo hold, James stopped them.
“We should have plenty of food,” he argued.
One of the younger deckhands stepped up. “No, sir. Mr. Bones told us there was hardly any beef left to make a stew.”
He hadn’t taken them seriously up to this point. James was ready to eat a bit of humble pie and admit that he’d been sailing on another board lately, but this wasn’t what he expected to hear. They rationed everything, and Mr. Bones wasn’t so senile that he’d expend their food supplies in so short a time.
Without even addressing his crew, he made his way out of the cabin and rushed below deck to investigate. He ignored a befuddled Mr. Bones who was trying his best to throw together a hearty enough stew for their dinner. It was rare the captain ever stepped foot in the galley, but James had to look for himself.
Sure enough, the barrels of salted beef and pork, even his special reserved stash, were completely empty. Not even any of the chewy fat that accumulated around the insides of the containers had been spared. Mr. Bones watched as James lowered his nose to the rim and sniffed.
“Captain?” the cook asked. “Did the men tell you about the supplies?”
James didn’t answer. He was too focused on sorting through the scents of Mr. Bones’ hands, the grease, salt, remnants of beef, and the general odors of the lower decks. It took him a moment, but he finally singled out one tiny trace that should have stood out in an instant.
Will.
James threw down the lid to the barrel and let out a furious growl, the kind he reserved for his adversaries. Mr. Bones shuffled backward as James stormed out of the galley and back on deck. Most of the crew had assembled, whispering about how the talk with the captain had failed somehow.
“Will Ainsworth!” he bellowed, even though he knew he didn’t have to shout. He could have whispered the werewolf’s name from the bilge deck and he would have been heard.
All the same, the pirate took his time stepping forward out of the crowd. James would pound that proud look off his face even if he had to partially shift in front of his crew to do it.
“You’ve been stealing food from the galley,” he accused. “Do you deny it?”
Now, the wrath of the crew was turned upon their newest member and not one face remained unmarred by a hateful glare.
Will shrugged his shoulders and slung his thumbs into his belt. “Why blame me when ye couldn’t ration out yer own supplies?”
James’ lips curled up into a sneer. “There was plenty for at least another week of sailing when Mr. Bones reported to me yesterday evening. A whole week’s worth of beef didn’t just disappear overnight.”
“Perhaps yer cook was lyin’.”
James felt every muscle in his body grow rigid. “You haven’t the right to call my cook a liar.”
The others of the crew sided with their captain, money or no money. They all trusted and esteemed Mr. Bones and if Will had the gall to slander the cook, James might not have to sully his hands after all.
Will glanced around to the men and their angry looks sprinkled water upon his blazing courage. “I’m surprised ye keep so little for yourself, James,” he said to the captain. “After all, ye need more meat than any of these men.”
He wouldn’t…
James brought his lips together over his teeth in an attempt to look less wild and unruly. If he stepped the wrong way, Will might just tell his men the truth. They all knew their captain was strange and could do things that no other man could. The golden eyes, the unfathomable strength and speed, it was all something he told them to never question. Patrick was the only one who knew the truth. If it was announced to the entire crew, how long would it take them to turn on him again? There wasn’t much they could do to him, but James didn’t want to lose half of his crew because they chose now of all times to be overly superstitious.
He was ready to throw in that Will’s scent was all over the empty barrels below, but that wouldn’t have been wise. Not when every eye seemed to be moored to him, waiting for his rebuttal.
“I don’t need any more than anyone else aboard this ship. It seems that you can’t say the same. I know you stole from the galley. Admit it and maybe I won’t send you back to the sea I pulled you out of.”
Will gave an arrogant laugh. “Ye have no proof.”
“He did steal,” came the grisly voice of the cook.
James turned and saw Mr. Bones standing not too far behind him, his bony back hunched over as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible in the presence of his captain.
“I saw him take from the barrels in the middle of the night when the rest of the men were asleep,” he said. “Guzzled it all right down. Never saw anything like it… Ain’t natural.”
Looking in his fretful eyes, James wondered if Mr. Bones was lying just to put Will in deep water or to defend his captain’s claims, no matter if they were true or not.
Whispers erupted from the men and the two werewolves could hear every word. The tide had turned in James’ favor and it looked like it would stay that way.
“You’re a damned liar!” Will shouted and took a few bounding steps forward, ready to charge straight for the cook.
James interceded and grabbed him by the throat to slam him against the deck. Some boards splintered under Will’s back and claws slashed at James’ arm. Bart hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the werewolf needed to learn control. He remembered what it had been like to fly into a rage at the drop of a hat, but that was nothing compared to the fury Will unleashed.
Will’s dark eyes burned gold as he fought against his captor, but James would not relent. He rammed his knee into Will’s stomach to pin him there. When a set of claws sliced into James’ face, he knew he had to let a little of his own beast into the fight.
He snarled and let go of Will long enough to beat at him with fists and nails. That had been his mistake. Will wrestled his way out from underneath James and the werewolves were soon at one another’s throats, growls shattering the silence that had fallen over the ship just moments before. Blood smeared in streaks as they scrambled and fought across the deck. Everything became a weapon, and no one dared to intervene.
James kicked Will in the chest and sent him stumbling back, affording him a few seconds of space. He dove for an unused line tied around one of the belaying pins sticking out of the railing near the ratlines. Will advanced upon him, but once James had the rope free, he stepped to the side and wrapped it around the thief’s neck.
The werewolf toppled over the railing with the help of a swift kick to his shins and all that was keeping Will aloft was the makeshift noose in James’ hands.
His feet banged against the hull and his fingers groped around the loop that held him. Will was strong enough to keep himself from choking, but James wasn’t going to waste time.
“You didn’t tell me what Bart was,” he said, just loud enough that Will would hear, but the crew that gathered behind him wouldn’t discern his words over the roar of the waves. “You were leading me in blind. You turned my crew against me and you stole from my cook. Did you really think you’d get away with it?”
James could feel the gashes in his face and neck slowly stitch back together, his skin healing without any scar to show for the fight he had won. Hopefully, the battle was too fast for anyone to see that he had been hurt at all.
“Let me up,” Will groaned as he continued to struggle.
James let more of the rope slide through his palms and gripped it tight just as Will’s feet were wetted by the spray of the sea below. He struggled harder, trying to prop himself against the ship to perhaps shimmy his way back up.
“I should gut you for what you’ve done, but
I think I’ll let the sharks do that for me.”
He let go of the rope and Will disappeared below the waves. The rest of the line slipped over the side with a rough hiss and all that James could hear were the garbled shouts from the mutinous werewolf. James braced himself against the railing and caught his breath, wishing the knot in his stomach would loosen now that one of his problems were taken care of.
He had no choice. Will was a threat to the morale of the crew and now, they were so low on supplies that they would have to make port before reaching Kingston. That would give more time for Bart to catch up, endangering them all. But what would happen when they reached port? They had little money, definitely not enough to replenish their holds. If they tried to take a vessel now, maybe they could acquire enough to get them to Kingston.
More than any of these thoughts, James tried to reason through what he had just done. He had sentenced one of his own kind to the deep. Even if a werewolf had the stamina to reach shore, sharks were a true reality. If Will could make it to a sandbar somewhere, perhaps James wouldn’t feel as guilty.
In the end, Will was nothing like James. He couldn’t serve on a ship. He wasn’t a leader. He looked out for himself and no other. He might have been a werewolf, but he wasn’t an alpha, and James couldn’t let him exist in his pack. The kindred spirit he had been hoping for was nothing but a parasite.
Patrick was the first to come up to him and place his hand upon the captain’s shoulder.
James was tempted to shrug him off. He wasn’t weak, and he didn’t need consoling. He was their captain and he wouldn’t behave as anything less. “Make for the nearest port. If we find a ship, no matter how small, we take it.”
“Aye, Captain.”
He stepped away and started barking the new orders to the crew. Their former mutinous attitude was gone. Perhaps it was the way James defended them or the fear he smelled wafting with the sea breeze, but they didn’t seem so eager to defy him anymore.
The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5) Page 12
