by ML Guida
He rolled his tongue over his teeth and scraped over something keen at the back of his jaw. “Doc, are my eyes red?”
“No. Why?”
“I felt something sharp.”
“Open your mouth. I don’t see anythun.”
William huffed, annoyed. His imagination was toying with him. He’d been believing the worst, and he sailed free from it.
Doc put his hand on the window. “Soon, I’ll have to leave you. I need to feed.”
William’s gut tightened. He hung his head. “I know.”
When Kane and his crew left to feed on their victims, William would stay aboard ship and get drunk. For the past year, he’d played the coward. Sometimes he’d awaken from a drunken slumber in a cold sweat, fear pumping through his veins, convinced they were attacking him, their teeth tearing into his flesh and draining his blood. The crew had never fed on him, but who wouldn’t have nightmares living on a vampire ship for weeks?
He could have left, abandoned his brother. But Kane was all he had left, his only family. Without Kane and the crew of the Soaring Phoenix, as a mortal, he had no chance of killing Palmer and avenging his mother’s murder.
His dry throat constricted. He needed a drink. A bottle of rum always blocked out the curse. He rubbed his neck, not wanting to think of Ireland, his mother, Palmer or vampires. “I’m going back to the Phoenix.”
Suddenly, a red-hot pain struck his gut and he gasped. He doubled over, wrapped his arms around his gut, and tried to breathe.
“Are you well?” Doc’s voice was filled with concern.
William panted and tried to speak, but as if invisible large hands choked his throat, words failed to form. He managed to blurt out, “No.”
He sat on the double bed. Sweat beaded his skin, his clothes plastering against him like molten tar. “I’m so hot.” He inhaled deep breaths in effort to remain calm. “Doc, can you open the window?”
Doc clasped his shoulder. “William, you’re growin’ pale.”
William motioned with his hand. “Please open the damn window.” He couldn’t hide the rising panic in his voice.
Doc unlatched the French window and pushed open the sides. “Feel better?”
“No…I can’t…breathe.”
Doc put his hand to William’s forehead. “You’re hotter dan a burnin’ coal in hell.”
Sweat seeped into William’s eyes. “I’ve got to take…my shirt…off.” William shed his shirt and tossed it on the floor, and then wrenched off his boots.
He rubbed his shaking hands on his thighs. “I don’t know what’s happening. I feel like my pants are melting into my skin.” He leaned over and put his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his palms.
“William?”
“I’m dying, Doc. I’ve never felt this hot.” He unbuckled his belt and stripped out of his pants. “What’s happening to me?”
“Maybe da curse is different with you.”
“Not what I wanted to hear. Grand, just grand.”
Doc grabbed a pitcher off the dresser and poured water into a cup. “Here, drink, lad.”
William could hardly take a sip, his hands trembled so badly. The tepid water trickled down his throat, but his stomach revolted as if he had swallowed sea water. He spit it out onto the floor and dropped the cup. Spasms gripped his gut. He bent over and moaned, but his moan changed into a screech.
“’Tis da curse, lad. I’m sorry.”
William shook his head. His long hair fell and stuck to his wet face.
Breathe.
He toppled off the bed onto his hands and knees. He arched his back and yelled. The pain was excruciating, unbearable. Muscles twisted, bones cracked, and moved beneath his skin as if they were stretching, increasing in size, growing. His skin constricted tighter and tighter.
Doc’s eyes widened. “My God…Your back…” Fear filled his quaking voice.
William’s shoulders bulged. He threw his head back in agony. Something twisted around in the middle of his back as if a sword pierced bone, tissue, and organs. What had Lark done to him?
“Something…is…inside me, Doc.” His voice was strained. Another burst of pain silenced him then slowly subsided. He hissed. “Stop it. Before—”
Another wave of torture ripped through him and stomped out his thought.
Doc sagged against the wall. “I don’t know what to do, lad.”
William’s arms gave way, and he fell onto his stomach. The cold wooden floor failed to cool his sweltering body. A memory of swimming with Kane in a freezing lake on his father’s land in Ireland one summer’s day popped into his mind. He wished he could throw himself into the icy water now.
Something tore through the flesh of his back. He cried out in anguish, but his screams sounded more like a raven’s screech.
Black wings flapped back and forth, and chilly air swirled over his body. He had wings! What kind of vampire was he?
He shuddered. Tears pushed on the back of his eyelids.
Footsteps thudded down the hall. Someone pounded on the door. “Doc!”
William winced at Kane’s commanding voice.
The door slammed open. Kane and Hannah burst into the room.
William turned his head, glad his hair prevented him from seeing his beautiful Hannah. Though she’d given her heart to Kane, William didn’t want her to see him like this, to see the disgust and horror in those pretty brown eyes. But he couldn’t help sneaking a peek, only to see her edging closer to Kane, and a familiar loss seized him. She had chosen a vampire over him.
His face grim, Kane gripped his sword. “Bloody hell.”
Bones crunched, and William’s nose contorted, growing longer and longer. He swept his tongue along a mouth of razor-sharp teeth.
Hannah grabbed Kane’s arm. “Kane, what’s—”
Kane yanked his arm free and stepped in front of her. “Hannah, get back.”
She slipped around him, her face white. “Kane, he’s turning into a…a…a dragon.” Her voice was so tiny William had to strain to hear her.
A sudden coldness gripped his insides. Maybe he heard her wrong. No, it couldn’t be.
William gritted his teeth, trying to regain control of his shaking body. But was powerless to stop shifting.
His fingers elongated and curled under, turning into talons. His legs lengthened, and his chest broadened. Before his very eyes, his skin transformed into black and green scales.
Freedom.
A strange voice rang in his head, announcing the word like a trumpet. It wasn’t his own. Now, he was hearing bloody voices. Whose was it? Zuto’s? Lark’s?
William’s gut grumbled. His mouth watered. He was hungry. Not just mildly hungry. It was a hunger that made him weak as if he had been lost at sea and starving for weeks.
Kane lowered his sword and took a step. “William, I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Can you hear me?”
Hannah pulled on Kane’s arm, her lower lip trembling. “Kane, stay back. He’ll kill you.”
Doc pulled his blade slowly out of the sheath.
Every muscle in William’s body tightened. His breathing was rushed. The hunger grew stronger.
“He’s my brother.” Kane pulled free of Hannah’s grip.
William crashed through the window and glass spattered around him. The slivers of glass plummeted toward the busy street below, pelting carriages, horses, men, and women. Terrified people ran for cover, shielding their eyes with their palms.
Wings flattened against his back, he plunged head-first toward the ground. He gnashed his teeth and stretched out his arms over his head, ready to feel pain. Air whirled around him, and his fingertips brushed dirt. Dust clouded his vision, and grime coated his lips. He coughed and gagged.
Wings flapped, and he was soaring into the air. God almighty!
“The devil’s heading for the sky!” cried a man.
Below, people pointed. “’Tis a demon.”
“No, ’tis a dragon. Run for your lives!”
Panic and fear heralded from their voices. An urge to devour fresh, raw meat consumed William.
Slay.
The frightened darted across the dusty street into buildings, but some brave fools aimed and fired their weapons. Bullets whipped past him. He roared, and to his surprise, fire burst from his mouth. He swooped down, and men scattered. A white horse tethered to a post whinnied as its eyes rolled backward. It bucked and pulled on the reins.
Ravage.
William released a high pitch cry, and people covered their ears. He landed upon the bucking horse, digging his talons into its flesh. Blood squirted onto his body, soaking him. He bit into the horse’s neck and tore out a mound of flesh. Warm juices squished in his mouth and trickled down his throat. The tender meat was more succulent and moist than any roasted beef or Irish mutton he’d ever eaten. Raw muscle melted in his mouth and soothed his aching belly.
Gunfire cracked, and fiery pain hit his shoulder. He jerked his head around. Men approached. Some peered from behind wagons. Others pressed against buildings. All had muskets trained on him.
William wanted to tell them to run to hide. The hunger—God it was unbearable. Rather than uttering the words, he screeched, and fire streamed from his mouth.
Wagons burst into flames. Men ran behind buildings screaming.
“William, no!” Kane yelled from the window above. “Get out of there before they kill you.”
Beneath him, the horse lay dead. Exposed bone, mangled flesh, and blood coated the ground. He was knee-deep in gore.
Muskets fired again. A stinging pain stabbed his back, silencing his breath. Agony blinded him, and he wailed, a wounded wolf howl. An arrow punctured his upper back, just above his wing.
Fear and hate reflected in the men’s eyes, and they inched toward him. William shuddered and jumped into the twilight sky. Air soared around him, and he was surprised at how easy it was to move his new muscles, as if he’d flown for years. His wings were graceful and his body balanced. But after the encounter with the townspeople, weariness seeped inside him, and each time he flapped his wings, the arrow crept deeper into his tight muscles. Pain throbbed in his shoulder, and he flew erratically. He wanted to rest, but not by the town. He couldn’t face the townspeople, the crew, his brother…—Hannah.
He needed some place high, a place hard to find, a place to hide his shame. The mountains. He’d lose himself inside a cave. His stomach was full and heavy. How could he have killed that poor terrified beast? He, who had condemned Kane, was now a true monster. A killer. A dragon.
Below, Tortuga’s buildings diminished as he rose high into the sky. He sped over dark meadows, lush trees, waterfalls, and rocky cliffs. The wind rushed over him. The dreaded rising moon laughed at him. Long, dark shadows appeared behind trees and boulders.
William aimed for a black hole in one of the highest peaks. He hoped the cave nestled between jagged rocks was empty. He landed on a narrow ledge and stalked inside. He could barely keep his eyes open and wanted to crawl away from the world, away from the angry townspeople, away from the crew, away from Kane and Hannah. Most of all, he wanted to hide from himself. What if this was permanent? What if he was no longer a man but a beast?
Damn Zuto. He’d find him and tear his flesh from his bones.
Curling his bulky body against the cold, jagged wall, William rested his head on his forelegs and groaned. The arrow embedded deeper into his flesh. He twisted his head and gnashed at the arrow, but he couldn’t reach it. Every time he took a breath, anguish spread down his back, and the shaft seemed to move deeper into flesh. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe the arrow would kill him. Maybe this would put him out of his misery.
He lumbered deeper into the blackness. Tears wet his cheeks. He was worse than a vampire. He was a dragon.
Chapter 2
Mariah Fey hid behind the cluster of pine trees and chewed her lip. Just as Grand-mère had predicted, a blue and green dragon had landed in front of the cave. Its huge wings collapsed onto its back, the beast wobbled into the cave and disappeared. Grand-mère had said that only by working with the dragon would she able to free her brother.
Below her, at the bottom of the mountain, the glittering streets of Tortuga were so far away.
She was alone.
Alone with a dragon.
“Mon Dieu,” she whispered and made the sign of the cross. Fear squeezed her heart. She fought the urge to flee down the trail to the safety of her home.
Grand-mère had been right when she’d said a dragon would be coming to Tortuga, and she was destined to meet him. Grand-mère had said the beast was a shape shifter and would change back into a man at dawn. But what if she was wrong? Mariah clutched her satchel close to her chest to keep her thundering heart from leaping out of her rib cage. Grand-mère had insisted Mariah take a thread, a blade, scissors, and some of Lark’s clothes, but Grand-père insisted she bring her Queen Anne pistol. On instinct, she patted the gun tucked inside her belt.
Each time Grand-mère had a premonition, she grew weaker. She had gasped for breath, and her skin had turned gray. Her sharp violet eyes had stared at Mariah earnestly, insisting she obey. Grand-mère was ill, had been for a very long time, and lately, her visions were not always accurate. Still, Mariah humored her and agreed to hike the trail to the cave at night to see if a wounded dragon would appear.
Mariah remembered her mother’s strength and lifted her chin like a proud Fey woman. She crept through the trees toward the cave. The wind blew, and she couldn’t help but inhale the sweet fragrance. Usually the pine essence eased her trepidations and filled her with peace. Not now. The trees bent to the wind, and this time, their fragrance failed to chase away her rising terror.
She stepped on a twig, and it cracked. She froze mid-step, too afraid to move, worried the giant serpent would hear. She didn’t know if she could utter a spell before she burst into flames. She’d stopped and listened for the scraping of claws on the ground or the flapping of wings. When she couldn’t hear anything but the thumping blood between her ears, she took another step and focused on the entrance of the dark cave, hoping feral eyes didn’t peer at her through the darkness.
She pressed her back against the wall and put her hand on her queasy stomach. Sweat dribbled down her back. She didn’t know if she could do this. There was a dragon in the cave. An enormous dragon. A fire-breathing dragon.
Grand-mère said Mariah rivaled her power, but one exhale, and she was a sizzled witch.
“Move,” she mouthed, “Just move.”
The words gave her courage. Whether it was false bravery or true foolishness, she forced her wobbly legs into motion.
She peered into the cave and detected a tinge of damp mustiness.
A low growl sent her darting back behind the cliff wall.
Her heart beating wildly, she clutched the mountain. Dirt and rock wedged under her nails. Panic crawled across her sticky skin. She turned her head away from the entrance and closed her eyes. Holding her breath, she waited and waited and waited. But no hot breath singed her. No animalistic growl turned her legs into seaweed. Slowly exhaling, she faced the cave, afraid of what she might see.
Only blackness greeted her.
She caressed the pearl-handled pistol. If she tried to use it and missed, she’d be dead for sure. Quickly, she untied her belt and secured it around her thigh, sticking the pistol inside. She hoped doing so wasn’t a deadly mistake.
A blustery wind swirled around her, lifting her gauzy dress from her clammy skin. A voice carried on the breeze. “Go into the cave.”
Grand-mère. Her faith in Mariah’s abilities never failed to astonish her. How could Mariah deny her?
Taking a deep breath, she edged back into the cave and stopped.
Two golden eyes gazed at her.
Fear paralyzed her heart, her lungs, and her legs.
“Je suis Mariah,” she said, finding her voice. “Enchantée.”
The last word was stronger, and she didn’t kno
w if the dragon caught her name or even cared.
The scaled beast hissed. Damp breath swept over her.
She licked her tight lips. “S’il vous plaît, I won’t hurt you.”
The dragon let out another hiss, but this time, it was louder, more menacing. The eyes moved closer.
She wanted to turn and run, but Grand-mère had warned her not to give into fear. Lark’s life depended on her working with the dragon.
Swallowing her terror, Mariah crept deeper into the cave. How this serpent would save her brother escaped her. But she trusted Grand-mère and refused to let Lark die.
She closed her eyes and drew on her power. Her skin tingled, and her heartbeat slowed to a steady clap. “I call forth light.”
The giant reptile gasped.
Mariah opened her eyes. The darkness had fled. The winged lizard had backed into the wall and watched her warily.
“Oui, I’m a witch. I’m not going to hurt you.”
A trail of dark blood on the dirt floor led to the scaled devil. She frowned. “You’re hurt.”
The green and blue skinned serpent growled.
She took a step closer, and the beast swiped his talon.
“Please let me help you.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out her thread. “See, I can stitch you.”
Forcing herself to walk, she edged closer to the overgrown lizard, and it snarled. It was foolish. What was Grand-mère thinking? She was going to have one dead granddaughter.
The brute was bigger than the largest bull she’d ever seen. It was almost as big as a carriage. The dragon curled its lip, revealing sharp, pink-stained teeth. Mariah’s stomach swirled uneasily. The yellow-eyed beast had eaten something. Man or beast?
“I want to help you.”
An arrow had pierced the dragon’s right wing. A stream of blood trickled down its side and pooled onto the ground.
Why could the wound not be on the left side? She had to walk around the creature, and it could lunge and take a bite out of her, or worse, set her on fire. What if it was hissing not because ’twas hurt but because it was still hungry?
She shifted toward the winged monster’s right side, keeping at least an arm’s length from its powerful jaws. The giant lizard snorted, and its hot breath rushed over her. If the beast wanted, it could burn her alive.
