Fate's Match

by Elysabeth Grace

  Laughter drew her attention to another part of the deck. Three enslaved men stood several feet from the manacled sailors. The enslaved had been given the task of disposing of the Spanish dead. She eyed the men’s faces, their toothy grins creasing the dark skin each time a dead Spaniard hit the water and sank to the ocean’s depths.

  Empathy welled up inside her at the pain the enslaved men struggled to conceal behind cruel laughter. Their reaction wasn’t a surprise given the barbarity of the Spanish slavers toward their captives. In fact, Spanish cruelty on the voyage had eroded any possible compassion the enslaved men might have held for the dead.

  The galleon’s sailors had respected neither age nor sex in their brutal treatment of those they captured. At the thought of all she had witnessed, Amina shivered. Only Marut’s control of de Zarate had saved her from the abuse suffered by the captured women and girls. The dead Spaniards deserved the ignominy of a faithless burial.

  An anguished cry drew her gaze in the direction of the mizzenmast. Squinting, she spied Francisco de Zarate, the man who foolishly claimed her as a slave and his mistress, unaware he did a demon’s bidding. Laughter bubbled in her throat at the sight of the corpulent man on his knees, his wrists chained behind his back. His plight was no better than the captured Africans.

  A grin on her face, she devised ways to repay de Zarate’s cruelty without taking his life. The most fitting punishment, enslavement, was also the most abhorrent to her.

  Your heart is far too kind, hawk. I would simply cut his throat.

  Amina jerked when a sensual caress traveled down her spine. The feeling called to her with the urgency of a siren’s whisper and she tilted her head to examine the sensation. It was pleasurable and intoxicating. Instinct told her the man who interrogated de Zarate was also the one behind the touch. Her life mate.

  A faint motion drew her eyes to the man seated opposite de Zarate. The Englishman’s body lounged across the viceroy’s ornate chair. A dragon at rest and fully aware of all around him.

  Interesting. Dragon is one of the names I’ve been called. Shall I become your dragon, Amina?

  She closed her eyes and replied, I’d rather carve the dragon’s heart out than claim it—and stay out of my head.

  Laughter swept through her, a promissory note of pure pleasure. I believe you’ve already claimed my heart, hawk.

  Amina huffed and returned her gaze to de Zarate. On his knees, dark rivulets of sweat streaking his linen-shirted back, the Spaniard was abject in his defeat. His shorn head glistened in the midday sun, his wig a lifeless mass on the ship’s deck. Though she couldn’t hear de Zarate’s words, his pleas apparently carried little weight with the Englishman, who turned away to bark an order to one of his men.

  If only she could see the face that caused de Zarate’s arrogance to crumble.

  In a moment, sweet Moor.

  “I am no Moor, Englishman. I am Tamahaq,” she muttered. “Do not call me Moor again.”

  She imagined three daggers flying toward his chest, only to see them held at bay by a fiery blaze.

  Nice illusion, hawk. Sardonic laughter tickled her mind as the daggers became feathers before dissolving into shards of nothingness.

  I shall enjoy taming you.

  Amina sighed. The man was making her head ache. Her hand rose and abruptly fell, the iron manacles a physical sign of his power over her. “Patience,” she mumbled to herself. “You won’t have to endure these chains much longer.”

  Her English captor stood and turned in her direction. The patch of skin exposed by his opened shirt was sun-kissed, although he wasn’t as brown as she or her twin. Her nose scrunched up in distaste as she recalled the sickly whiteness she loathed in de Zarate. She wanted the Englishman to strip off the wide-brimmed hat so she could see the face partially hidden.

  She couldn’t deny a secret desire to see the eyes that made de Zarate quake in terror. The English captain had rendered the Spanish coward a pile of dung with such ease. Amina also wanted to look into the Englishman’s eyes to see if he was a pawn of the demon king. If the Englishman had pledged his loyalty to Mephistopheles, he was a dead man.

  After a minute or two of intense scrutiny, she blew out a frustrated breath and stared at the English captain’s shoulder-length hair, which was bound by a ribbon. The thick locks were the dark brown of a sweet date and a burst of nostalgia for the dusky sands of her native land swept through her. A knot formed in her throat and she swallowed hard. Memories she could ill-afford tried to creep into her awareness. She wouldn’t let them and buried her emotions deep.

  His eyes. The Englishman’s hair might be a sign of their color. She gazed at it for a brief second, then decided his eyes and hair matched. No, given the man’s arrogance, Dragon’s eyes would be different. In all the pictures she had seen, dragon eyes were neither soft nor ordinary. If the ancient tales were to be believed, dragon eyes were the color of precious stones and just as hard.

  Her mouth pursed in brief indecision before she concluded his eyes were a tawny gold, like the worn leather gloves he wore.

  My eyes are green.

  Amina hissed her displeasure. Do not enter my thoughts again if you want to live beyond this day.

  She chewed her bottom lip for a second. Why was he able to enter her mind at will? When she chose to protect her thoughts not even Siya got past her barriers. Yet Dragon slipped in and out of her thoughts as if she had left a door ajar. He must be laughing at her inability to keep him out. He probably saw her as an easy conquest. Invade, subdue, and depart.

  “Remove her shackles.” The voice hung over her, its tone dripping with mirth.

  A startled Amina looked up. “Your eyes … they are the color of emeralds,” she stammered.

  Dragon stood before her, his mouth curved into a seductive grin inviting her to share in a deeply personal connection. She ignored the alarms ringing at the edges of her befuddled mind and returned his smile.

  Amina had no idea how long she might have sat there, her mind held captive by his gaze, when she was abruptly jerked to her feet. The chains made it difficult to stand upright and she stumbled. When she was in control of her body, she turned to face her captor.

  Mason. The man who tried to rape her boldly surveyed her bruised face and wrists before his thin lips settled into a cruel sneer.

  “Do not gloat, pig,” Amina warned. “Come near me again, your journey home will be a painful one, if not your last.”

  He scowled and shoved a key into the lock. He viciously twisted the piece of metal. His eyes brightened as he took great joy in seeing her reactive wince.

  The heavy weights fell from her wrists and she snatched the key from him. It took her a few moments to unlock the ankle chains. She lifted her gaze to the sailor and grinned as fright crept across his irises.

  Leeches.

  Planting the image firmly, she eyed him as he slowly backed away, the fingers of one hand protectively heading to his groin. Amina laughed as she raised her hand and tossed the key over the ship’s railing.

  Now to deal with the dog’s master.

  Rage flared inside her and, forgetting the demon collar around her neck, she swiftly attacked Drake’s mind. Power slammed her against, a pulsating green wall that tossed her awareness aside like a useless sword.

  You can’t win, hawk.

  Infuriated by her failure, Amina ignored the warning and renewed her attack. Her frustration grew as nothing she did affected him. His skill and power made him a formidable foe. Her usual battle sense spiraled out of control and she persisted despite her pain.

  4

  Cease, Amina. You only harm yourself.

  She snarled and was about to strike again when Raphael entered her mind. The archangel positioned his might between her and Drake.

  He is right, warrior. You must stop. You cannot destroy him, but you will damage your gift. Stop.

  I don’t care as long as he suffers for all that he’s done to me.

  “Enough. He shares
your pain. This one time you will obey without challenge,” Raphael ordered.

  Amina flinched at the archangel’s sharp reprimand. It took a few seconds for her to realize she heard Raphael’s command not with her mind but with her ears. Her gaze nervously swept the deck to see if any of the men had witnessed her shame, especially the Englishman’s sailors.

  “Only you and Michael can hear my voice. Draw in your power, Tamahaq. Now.”

  Raphael’s tone was gentle but firm. Amina bowed her head and ended her attack on Drake. Her chest rose and fell, the damp sea air an unexpected comfort as it entered her lungs. So my life mate’s name is Michael.

  Forgive my lack of courtesy, Amina. I am Michael Drake.

  As soon as he said the words, Drake withdrew from her awareness. It was the second time she felt a sense of loss at his absence. The emotion was puzzling. She hadn’t experienced the feeling before, not even with her twin. Amina closed her eyes and considered the problem.

  Silence flowed through her, a comfortable solace except for the muffled groan dancing at the edges of her consciousness. She opened her eyes and looked around. The sound came from a thin child huddled next to the ship’s mainmast.

  She immediately recognized him. Xavier.

  He lifted his head, confusion spreading across the cabin boy’s face before he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Amina choked back the rush of anger at the sight of him. Xavier had shown her nothing but kindness while she was held captive on the Spanish galleon. To see him chained, his body bruised and bleeding, was an injustice. She would return his kindness by restoring him to health.

  I will see to the cabin boy, Amina, since it was one of my men who abused him.

  Before she could argue, Drake’s voice rose about the din. “Mason, take the boy to the Phoenix and have the surgeon treat his wounds. If he survives, he can replace Tom as my cabin boy.”

  “Why yer saving this Spanish welp, Captain? You’d be a fool to trust this devil’s get in your cabin.”

  Amina’s hands fisted at Mason’s words and her gaze went to Drake. His expression was frosty as he cocked an eyebrow and stared at the sailor. Though Mason couldn’t see it, Drake’s power pulsed beneath his flesh. Didn’t the sailor know what he faced? Didn’t he have a concern for his life?

  Drake quieted his energy and she released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She tasted the sailor’s terror. Even if Mason didn’t fully grasp why, he walked in fear of his captain.

  As she watched the tension ease from Drake’s body, Amina didn’t hide her awe of his self-restraint. Had it been her, Mason’s body would be writhing in agony on the deck.

  “You seem to have a penchant for questioning my orders, Mason,” Drake stated softly. “This is the last time I will indulge you with a reply. Trust has nothing to do with my decision. The boy has a choice and if he is intelligent, he will choose wisely despite his youth. As is expected of any man on my ship.”

  Amina watched a subdued Mason pick up Xavier and start walking toward the thick wide plank joining the two ships. She frowned when the sailor shuddered before his arms went slack and Xavier tumbled to the deck. Mason turned to face her, his body twitching violently.

  “Demon.”

  The word was barely audible, her fear reducing her utterance to a hoarse whisper. Her hand dropped to her hip, her fingers instinctively reaching for her knife only to brush cloth. She tried to move but couldn’t, and with each step Mason took, the knot in her belly tightened.

  Panic gripped her. She reached for the gold ring around her neck and tugged. A searing pain shot up both arms and she screamed. When she finally was able to catch her breath, she mentally examined the collar. It was different. Tiny whorls of demonic power undulated across the metal’s surface. The shuffling of hard-soled boots on the deck’s wood surface broke her concentration and she stared at Mason.

  A sailor had positioned himself in Mason’s path and spoke to the man. Amina shuddered when Mason lifted the sailor like a limp rag doll and tossed him into the sea. The sailor’s screams echoed in the air long after his body sank into the ocean.

  “It is time to join my king, Tamahaq.”

  Her heart pounded wildly when she peered into Mason’s soulless eyes and saw the demonic gray orbs of Marut staring back at her. She pushed in vain against the will that trapped her on the deck.

  Amina’s mouth became dry and gritty. Swallowing hard, she stared into the demon’s eyes. “I have refused your master, Marut. I despise him and all your kind. Return to the demon king with this message. The Tamahaq has chosen her mate.”

  A malevolent grin twisted Mason’s lips. “You cannot change prophecy, Tamahaq. It is written. Come.”

  Marut’s eyes gleamed from inside the sailor’s eye sockets. Then Mason’s thick, calloused fingers reached for her. Amina twisted and turned to break the demon’s binding. Finally, she stopped fighting the spell.

  “I will die first.”

  With the words came a sense of calm. She knew what to do. She slowly gathered her power, watching it shimmer into the form of a Tamahaq’s dagger of the purest silver. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged as an inscription carved itself on the metal. Once death claimed her, the knife would find its way to her sister, the bearer of Amina’s love and sorrow.

  When the knife was whole, Amina directed the sharp point at her heart. Her gaze locked Marut’s. “I have sworn never to be Mephistopheles’ mate, demon.”

  Before the knife touched the surface of her skin, a blue wall erupted between her and the blade’s tip. Her eyes sought Drake’s face moments before an explosive noise brought her gaze back to Mason. Flames erupted to engulf the demon-possessed sailor, his cries pitiful noises as his flesh burned.

  Amina gagged at the acrid smell of scorched skin melting from bones as blue fire consumed Mason with the voracity of a swarm of hungry locusts. Ashes fell to the deck, small piles of what once had been human flesh.

  It was a senseless death. Another empty, heartless sacrifice to one angel’s overbearing pride. How many more humans would die because of Satan’s ambition?

  Air rippled around her and she gasped when another form, deadly and not human, shimmered into existence to stand in the midst of Mason’s ashes. Marut.

  She recognized his scent, her mind’s eye knew his life thread, and she felt the imprint of his evil through the gold collar she wore. Her mouth went slack. It was the first time she’d seen a demon in its natural shape. Usually, demons disguised themselves as humans.

  Marut was a creature of extraordinary beauty. No flaws marred his naked body. For the first in her life, Amina stood in awe of an angelic creation.

  “You cannot refuse your destiny, descendant of Lilith.”

  Before she could answer Marut’s facial expression shifted from arrogance to bewilderment. He glanced down at his feet and her gaze followed.

  Sparks of emerald fire flared into existence on his body, giving life to small blazes that razed Marut’s flesh in a mad dash to become a unified firestorm. Marut stared at her before shifting his gaze to Drake.

  “Amina is mine,” Drake said.

  Surprise gave way to agony and Marut’s face twisted in pain beneath the fire’s relentless consumption of his body.

  Compassion and rage warred inside Amina as she watched Marut die. He was an enemy. A ruthless supernatural who held no human life sacred in his pursuit of her. Even so, she pitied him. Marveled at the strength of his will to live. Knew his tenacity was born of loyalty. In that he was no different from her.

  Amina’s throat suddenly constricted and she found she couldn’t breathe. Her fingers desperately clawed at the metal around her neck. Her heart pounded, trying to aid her lungs. With each tug the metal tightened, cutting off her air.

  Her gaze locked with Marut’s. As death enveloped him, his hold on her life strengthened. His death signaled hers.

  Amina.

  Her vision clouded and she could only see the end of her life yet the sound
of her name thudded at her awareness. She blinked. Marut’s binding occluded all attempts to focus her thoughts.

  Amina.

  Again the voice called to her. This time her name slithered past the demon’s hold. She latched onto the word the way a hawk clings to a slender branch in the midst of a fierce desert storm. She held on, allowing the power flowing through the sound of her name to drag her back to herself.

  Breathe, hawk. You are free.

  She shook her head, terrified it was another moment of demon trickery.

  Breathe, Amina.

  Trembling, she slowly lifted her eyelids and sucked in air. A tentative smile claimed her lips. He stood before her, her Dragon. His expression was unreadable, although she thought she caught a flicker of relief in his green eyes.

  Air flowed into her lungs, easing the tightness in her throat. Her panic faded and Amina’s fingers brushed the gold collar. It was cool beneath her fingertips. The absence of pain nearly staggered her. She stared at Drake. “Am I truly free?”

  When he nodded she fought back tears and flung herself against his body, her arms circling his neck. “Thank you.”

  His arms enfolded her and his gaze locked with hers. “We are life mates. You are mine, hawk.”

  Something shifted inside her. An emotion she decided shouldn’t be examined too closely. She lingered in his embrace, savoring his strength and his care of her. Her eyes studied his face. This was the man she’d chosen in a moment of rashness. Now she needed to see him as he truly was. Needed to see the physical manifestation of the mind that so easily invaded hers.

  Her gaze wandered over Drake’s straight nose, squared jaws, and the slight fullness of his mouth before returning to his eyes. In them, she saw her face reflected — the black waves of her hair, her brown skin, and the Tamahaq amber-colored eyes. She also witnessed the instantaneous dilation of his irises.

  A curious clenching occurred near the opening of her sex. Heat coiled and expanded outward in waves, brushing her sex before flooding her veins. She didn’t have a word for it. Amina looked at Drake, confusion over the strange sensations taking hold of her body.