by ML Guida
The door opened, and dark-skinned men carried a brass tub that sloshed with water. Women carried platters of fresh fruit and roasted meat on their heads. The men put the tub down next to Lark, and the women put the trays of food on a nearby table. The mistress sauntered back into the hut and gestured with her hand. “His smell offends me. Wash him and let me know when he’s presentable.”
For the next hour, the women scrubbed his scalp, washed the filth from his body, and fed him. Clothes were brought, and he donned a clean shirt and pressed trousers.
A lanky man ducked through the doorway and came into the hut. “I am Atoll. The mistress sends for you. She and the master await your presence.”
“Master?”
Atoll bowed. “Yes.”
Lark winced at the brightness of the sun. ’Twas as if he had not been outside for weeks. Had he? Damn it, he could not remember. He rubbed his throbbing chest. The women had dressed his wound and put salve on it, but it failed to dull the pain.
Atoll led Lark through a dense jungle. Birds sang all around them, and flies buzzed through the humid air. He slapped his neck at the biting insects. His feet sank into wet leaves and mud, and he knocked branches and vines out of the way to keep up with Atoll’s long strides. Moisture and heat assailed him, and his clothes stuck to his skin. He wanted to call out to Atoll but refused to show any weakness.
Through the foliage, Lark spotted a schooner with red sails anchored off shore. It looked familiar. Where had he seen it? He tried to remember, but suddenly a sharp pain throbbed between his temples. He stumbled over a gnarled tree root and grabbed a vine to keep from falling.
Atoll stopped. “Is something wrong?”
Lark panted. “I…will be…well in a…minute. Need...to…catch…my breath.”
He leaned against a palm tree and watched as the sun dipped into the ocean. White clouds turned pink and orange. ’Twas beautiful. Soft. Breathtaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wanted to sear this scene into his mind, afraid it would be the last he’d see for awhile.
Why did he think this? His throat constricted. The loss of never seeing the sun again spilled into his gut, and he couldn’t figure out why he thought he’d be denied this simple pleasure. He tried to think of the sunset from last night, but nothing formed in his hazy mind. Merde! When was the last time he’d seen a sunset?
The mistress came into his view and beckoned to him as she spoke to a dark-haired man who wore only a loin cloth.
“Come,” Atoll urged. “The mistress will be angry if you do not hurry. You can rest later.”
Atoll quickened the pace, and Lark trailed behind as they walked onto the beach. The dark-haired man curled his lip and flashed his gaze over Lark. The man was three times taller than Lark. Lark felt like a small boy standing in his shadow. But ’twas not the man’s height or wide girth that struck fear in Lark. ’Twas the power oozing from him. Not like a witch or a warlock’s magic. But darkness. Demonic.
The mistress waved her hand. “Leave us, Atoll.”
“Yes, mistress.” Atoll bowed and quickly exited back into the jungle.
She caressed Lark’s cheek. “My, handsome, how you’ve changed.”
Lark shivered at her touch. It was cold and reeked of death. What the hell was she?
The tall man folded his arms across his chest and glowered at the mistress. Jealous perhaps?
“I knew you would give into temptation, weak human,” the man said.
The mistress slapped the man on his burly arm. “Hush, Zuto. Our Master is pleased.”
Zuto shook his head. “For now, Natasa. For now. But if you fail—”
“I won’t fail.” She scowled, flames dancing in her pupils. Her voice rattled not with anger, but with fear.
In the bay, three men in a long boat paddled toward the beach. The first man to disembark was impressive in size, having long red hair and a straggly beard.
“I want you to go with those men.”
“Why? Who are they?” Weariness crept into Lark’s voice.
Natasa flashed him a reassuring smile. “Allies. This is Captain Quinton Palmer.”
Palmer nodded and grunted. By his icy sneer, Lark gathered the man didn’t like him.
Natasa stared turned hard. “We have a common goal. Bring me Captain Justin Knight and Hannah O’Brien and Mariah Fey. Sink the Soaring Phoenix.”
“And they are?”
Natasa shrugged. “Enemies. Captain Knight left three men infected with small pox on an island. Maketabori’s worshipers resided on this island and were nearly wiped out from the disease. He wants Knight and his daughter dead.”
“And Mariah Fey?”
Darkness dusted over Natasa’s face. “She’s a meddlesome witch. She has defied me for the last time.”
Lark winced. Each word was loaded with anger and hate. If this Mariah would have been here, Natasa would slit her throat.
Natasa took a deep breath, and the fury lines etched in her face lessened. “I want those three brought to me. Alive.”
Zuto sighed, as if bored with this conversation. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
Lark met his hard gaze. “Who?”
Zuto folded his arms. “The dragon. You’ll have to kill him before you can seize the others and sink the Phoenix.”
“A dragon?” Was the man daft?
“Lark, you can defeat him.” Natasa’s confident voice chased the chill on his back.
Zuto scoffed.
Lark clenched his fists and wanted to punch the man in the jaw. Zuto gave him a cold stare. Power slammed into Lark, and he staggered backward.
Zuto glared. “I’m a demon. I do not like challenges.”
Lark’s eyes widened. “Demon?”
Zuto rolled his eyes and thrust thumb. “Fool, so, is she.”
Sparks of recognition rushed through Lark. Oui! Merde! That was why her hand was so icy.
Zuto blurted, “She stole—”
Natasa flew her hands up in the air. “Silence! Yes, we’re demons, and you are a warlock.”
Lark swallowed the dread nestled in his throat. “I don’t possess any magic.”
Natasa gritted her teeth. “Idiot.”
Zuto laughed. “Appears he’s doesn’t know what he is. Nor how to wield it. Maketabori will be so pleased.”
Natasa sliced her hand through the air. “Enough. I’ll not listen to you. You mock our Lord.”
“No.” Zuto shrugged. “I only point out the numerous flaws to your foolish plans.”
Natasa slid her hand around Lark’s neck and leaned close. Her hand was cold and slimy as if it had been dipped in swamp water. He wanted to shove her away, but he kept his arms to side.
She tapped her throat. “The yari around your neck binds your powers.”
Lark fingered his neck. “You mean this choker?”
“Bohiti,” she said.
The choker clicked and fell away from Lark’s throat.
Shivers rushed over Lark. Power fluttered in his chest, shooting throughout his body. He tilted his head and arched his back, loosening his muscles, rejoicing in his returning strength. He wanted to destroy, kill, maim. ’Twas all that mattered.
Palmer caught it. “What are you doing? He’s—”
Natasa ran her hand down Lark’s arm. “No longer a danger to us. You’re a warlock and a potent one. You have people who want to steal your gift.’
“They will be dead,” he vowed.
Palmer eyed Lark warily and gripped the yari tight. “I’ll keep this. For now. If you’ll excuse me…” He walked over to his men and talked in hushed whispers.
Zuto looked at Natasa and lifted his eyebrow. “So sure, are you?”
“You doubt me?” Her voice echoed with surprise, as if she couldn’t believe Zuto questioned her abilities.
“Yes, I do,” he said. His voice filled with disdain.
“I’ll prove you wrong, demon.”
Like Zuto, Lark suspected her challenging words hid uncertainty.<
br />
Zuto laughed, and his red eyes darkened. “You do that, fool.”
Natasa clasped Lark’s arm. “Do not pay attention to him.”
Zuto shrugged and strolled toward the jungle, still chuckling.
Lark glared and wanted to toss a rope around the demon’s neck and hang him from the nearest tree. “He does not think I have the power to defeat my enemies.” His voice was strong, but disquiet reigned inside. Could he defeat a dragon?
“If you prove him wrong,” Natasa said. “my master, Maketabori, will reward you.”
“Who is this Maketabori?”
“The God of the Underworld.”
“What will be my reward?”
“Anything you want.”
He smiled. Power. He wanted more. He brushed her fingers off his arm. “I will come back and seek my reward.”
Lark clasped the railing of the Fiery Damsel and stared out to sea. In the distance, the white sails of a frigate cruised across the horizon. “Is that the Phoenix?”
“Aye.” Palmer lowered his spyglass. “Our bloody enemies are straight ahead. We go into battle.”
“No need to attack.”
“What are you babbling about witch?”
“I am not a witch. I am a warlock. And do not take that tone with me.”
He pushed Lark’s shoulder. “And what, exactly, do you propose to do?”
Lark bristled at his sarcastic tone and knocked his hand away. “Do not touch me. Watch and see, pirate.”
He stretched out his arms and gazed up to the sky. “I call upon the Goddess of the Sun, Sekhmet. You have the power of life and death. I ask for your destructive side. Your thirst for the blood of men. I’ll satisfy your lust. Hear me, Goddess.”
Clouds covered the sky, and a lioness’s head replaced the sun. A roar, louder than thunder, jarred the Fiery Damsel. Power gripped Lark, surging through his body. His blood pumped faster, sweeping tingles across his skin. The Goddess had granted his request.
“Bring a squall large enough to destroy the Phoenix.”
The wind howled, and the blue sky darkened. Lightning flashed and thundered grumbled. Waves rose high and hurled toward the frigate. Angry clouds, shrieking wind, and lightning followed. “She will not survive.” Lark gazed up at the blue sky. “The Goddess wants blood.”
Palmer glanced up at the skies and turned his head side-to-side as if Lark possessed paltry abilities. “You’re supposed to bring Knight, his brat, and your sis—”
“My what?”
“Nothing. They are to be alive. Without those three, we might as well never return to the island.”
Lark smirked. “Afraid?”
“You’d be too, if you had any bloody sense in you.”
Fear flowed from Palmer, and Lark laughed.
Palmer shoved Lark, and Lark staggered into the main mast, smacking his shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me, witch. You were once my slave and will be again.”
Agony stabbed Lark’s shoulder, but he refused to grimace. He regained his balance and cast his gaze over the bullying brute. “You will not touch me.” He conjured his power and flicked his wrist. Ants crawled out of the wooden planks and up Palmer’s legs into his trousers.
“Where the devil did these blasted things come from?” Palmer slapped his legs and danced around the deck. “Get these things off me.” Panic rang in his high-pitched voice.
Ants crawled out of his shirt and covered his face. Palmer clawed at his cheeks and fell onto his knees, swaying back and forth. “Please make them stop.”
Lark smiled. “That is a taste of what I can do. Don’t make me mad.” He snapped his fingers, and the ants vanished.
Palmer stumbled to his feet. Hate burned in his eyes. Lark lifted his eyebrow. Palmer would have terrified a lesser man, but Lark was not a lesser man. Power surged through him, and he was greedy for more. Natasa had said the crew of the Soaring Phoenix wanted to rob him of his new abilities. How dare they? They would pay. Oui, they would pay.
He frowned. French? Was he fluent in French? Oui. Did his family live in France? One of the colonies? He tried to remember, and the same throbbing pain smashed between his temples, robbing him of breath. He struggled to inhale and exhale. He clenched his fists, refusing to give in and cry out.
“What’s wrong, witch?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” Lark ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, trying to block out the blinding headache. Concentrate.
Ahead, the Soaring Phoenix swayed dangerously side-to-side as waves smashed against her hull. Water rushed up over her deck, and her crew grabbed anything they could to keep from washing overboard.
Lark nodded his chin. “Palmer, set a course for her.”
“I give the orders around here,” Palmer growled.
“Do you want the quarry to drown? You will have to explain to your god, Maketabori.”
“Bastard,” Palmer grumbled.
Lark wanted more than storms to hit the enemy’s ship. He closed his eyes and laughed, cursing it with terror, a terror that would freeze even the bravest man’s soul. He pointed at the frigate and sent his chilling laughter toward his enemies.
He concentrated and slowly moved his hand down his face. “Let them see the hate in my eyes. Give me your spyglass.”
Palmer spit on the deck, barely missing Lark’s boots, and handed over the spyglass.
Lark jerked it out of Palmer’s hand. “Do you need another lesson?”
Palmer’s smirk died on his lips, and his face paled.
Lark enjoyed the terror in Palmer’s eyes and the mayhem and chaos breaking out upon the Soaring Phoenix. His headache diminished. He smiled, sure of victory.
Chapter 22
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Mariah covered her ears from the sizzling lightning.
The sky blackened, and the sun disappeared. Swells of water crashed against the Phoenix’s hull, and she bucked back and forth. Water gushed across the wooden decks. The sails flapped and flattened. Men frantically pulled on the halyard and mooring lines.
Mariah gripped the railing of the Soaring Phoenix and hung on tight. The stench of sulfur permeated the air, and she choked on the fumes. ’Twas not from gunfire. Mon Dieu! Lark. The dream. He had turned. He was a warlock. She had to get to the capitaine to tell him of the dangers. Darting between pirates, she bumped into a burly man, slipped, and fell.
William grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
“Take me to the capitaine. I need to talk with him.”
Sean hurried up next to them, his blond hair plastered from the driving rain. “Never seen a storm form out of thin air.” He pointed to Kane at the helm. “Cap’n’s in a foul mood.”
William shook her arm. “’Tis black magic, it isn’t it?”
Mariah winced. “Oui, take me to le capitaine.”
He clutched her hand and used his shoulder to plow a path through the rushing crewmen. Sean followed close behind.
Thunder boomed, and Mariah clutched William’s hand tighter. The ship listed to the side, and she slid toward the railing. She cried out, and William hauled her in front of him, lifting her off her feet and carrying her the rest of the way to the foredeck. He set her on her feet, his arm pressing her against his broad chest.
Rain smashed against Kane, and he lowered his spyglass. “What do you think? ’Tis magic?”
“Oui.”
“Sean, take the helm and keep to the port side.”
“It will not be any use, Capitaine.”
He gritted his teeth, his scar on his cheek whitening. “Why?”
Mariah stared up at the sky. The odor of sulfur intensified, and she curled her lip. The sky grew darker and waves rose higher. The Phoenix thrashed up and down. Salt water sprayed onto her face, stinging her eyes and staining her lips. “Because I know whose magic it is.”
“’Tis Zuto or Natasa’s.” Kane’s condemning thick voice rang hurt her ears.
She stiffened. “No,
’tis not demonic.”
William tightened his arm. “Then whose is it?”
Thunder clashed again. The rain pounded harder. Lines snapped and flapped freely in the wind. She swallowed hard. “’Tis Lark’s.”
William turned her around and gripped her shoulders tight. “He’s a warlock?”
Concern flared in his eyes. “’Tis not his fault.”
“He has the power to kill you.”
“No, he does not,” she lied. “’Tis my destiny to save my brother.”
He whirled her around and wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to his hard chest. His heart beat fast against her back. “Kane, the lass will get herself killed. Lock her in the brig.”
Lightning crashed, and the foremast splintered, bits of wood fell onto the deck and into the sea. Fire sparked onto the billowing sail, and a stream of fiery red burned through the canvas. Hannah darted between running men. She faced her palms toward the sea, and a wave of water washed over the burning sail, dousing it.
Amadi pointed. “Cap’n, off da port side. ’Tis da Fiery Damsel.”
Kane pulled out his spyglass. “Aye, there she is. No storms are around her.”
“Oui, Lark has the power to call upon the elements. This is the beginning, Capitaine.” Mariah’s shoulders slumped. “Hannah can’t fight Lark herself. He’s a warlock and will soon destroy her.”
“Then—”
“Lark is aboard the Damsel. I can feel him. Vampires are useless against a warlock. Your ship will sink, and your crew will either drown or be captured. With my help, you will have a chance to save your crew and your ship, oui?”
William growled in her ear. “We’re mated, remember? You said our combined powers are what will work against black magic. So, your magic won’t work without me.”
Mated? God, he made it sound like they were animals, not lovers.
Kane held her gaze, the wind whipping his hair around him. The rain pummeled against them, turning into cold, icy sleet.
Shivering, Mariah tilted her chin and waited, afraid for his answer.
Hannah rushed over to Kane. Her face was ghastly pale, and blood dripped from her nose down her lip. “More fires on the deck,” she panted. “I can’t keep up.”
