Siren's Song

by Trish Albright

  Joshua broke the neck of one man and knocked another out with a single punch.

  Marcus saw the man reach for a knife in his waist and stepped on his throat, warning, “It makes no difference to me if you die tonight.”

  It was over in seconds, and triumphant, they searched for Alex.

  Joshua called Alex’s name repeatedly as he intently ripped apart crates with his bare hands. Alex didn’t answer. With every crate cover he tore open, dread ripped his heart. He shredded the last cover to reveal a strange girl bound and gagged. His roar thundered through the warehouse as he threw the remains of the crate into a wall.

  The girl who had been fighting earlier jumped backward, getting Joshua’s attention. She seemed to be the only coherent woman here. Joshua pounced on her. “Alex. Alex Stafford. Where is she?”

  Matthew moved in front of the girl, his medical instincts coming out. “The girl’s in shock. Frightening her isn’t going to help.”

  “It’s okay.” She peeked out from Matthew’s side, slowly getting the courage to stand next to the man who just tried to protect her. “Did Emma find you?” They nodded. “After Emma escaped, a man came for us. He knew Alex.” She started trembling violently now and tears filled her eyes. “You have to help her!”

  Matthew checked her pulse. “What’s your name?”

  “Cherise White. We’ve been held for two weeks now. Please help the others. I’m okay.”

  Matthew doubted that very much. He put his jacket around her to stop the shivering then flipped over a crate so she could sit.

  Samuel joined them. “Alex Stafford is my sister. Please. Tell us everything you can.”

  Cherise began her tale and Pierce took notes as fast as he could. She recounted the night, her voice dropping to a husky whisper as she finished revealing to the brothers, “He said he didn’t kill her mother, but he was there. And then he took her necklace.”

  “The astrolabe?” Joshua asked.

  “I think. Like a medallion?”

  Joshua nodded.

  “This mystery grows stranger by the minute,” Pierce proclaimed. The rest ignored him, no longer able to be surprised by strangeness.

  Samuel spoke softly, his voice harsh with worry. “Did he give a name?”

  Cherise White nodded, confirming the fear that all had quietly hoped against. “He said his name was Paxton, Reginald Paxton.”

  Samuel hissed, falling to a knee as if his entire life force had been drawn out. Matthew spun in fury. He needed action, so he recovered the knives from his victims, before instructing the officials on how to care for the girls. He focused on what he could do for them, since at the moment there was nothing he could do for Alex. His hands were unsteady when he put his things back in his medical bag. All he could see was the image of his sister last week. So close to finding happiness. Floating into the parlor full of life and love. Laughing, innocent, hopeful. He felt fear for what was left of her innocence, and prayed that she would be spared the worst of Paxton’s torture. He didn’t need to look long at Joshua’s face to see the man was equally tormented.

  Joshua sought out their live captive and grabbed him by the throat, tempted to squeeze. “His ship is down at the dock,” the man whispered hoarsely. “He’s supposed to pay for the cargo—” Joshua lifted the man off his feet at that description, nearly stopping the flow of blood to the man’s brain. Samuel stood by and nodded approvingly at Joshua’s work. “The women—” the man corrected. His feet touched the floor again. “He’s supposed to meet the contact for the final payment”—there was a warning squeeze—“before they board.”

  “Where?”

  “I can take you,” the man whispered.

  Stephen ushered Emma to the warehouse when women started to come out. Emma ran to Cherise and hugged her. Both were teary. He looked around for Alex. Joshua stalked out alone, wordless, and jumped on his horse. Stephen didn’t miss anything. He expected jubilation. If nothing else, a look of satisfaction. His brothers had the look of death. Cold fear ripped his stomach.

  Emma saw it too. She rushed to Marcus for an explanation, still looking for Alex as if there were some mistake. They expected Alex to saunter out, laughing cockily at their success, asking what took so long. Stephen’s throat tightened as he saw Marcus hold Emma back while Samuel approached him. He didn’t miss the sympathetic look Marcus sent him and his hands clenched preparing himself, every muscle in his body tense.

  “Where’s Alex?” It was a command. It came out with anger. Matthew clutched his shoulder as if wanting to comfort him. Stephen shrugged him off, dismissing any coddling from his family.

  Samuel didn’t waste any time. “She’s not here. Paxton has her.”

  Stephen froze. Then shook his head, unwilling to accept it.

  Matthew nodded grim faced, confirming it, all the while wishing he could protect his young brother.

  If possible, his muscles became even more rigid in his struggle for control. Alex at Paxton’s mercy. It was unbearable. He pushed it away, a wall cutting his mind off from the pain. Finally, he nodded acceptance to his brothers. “I’m going to kill him.”

  It was a calm statement of the inevitable. Emotion in check. As if nothing would deter him from his goal. Samuel saw this, and regret filled his soul. In that instant he saw the man his brother would become and the boy he would never be again. Samuel nodded to his family and they joined the others.

  “Let’s go then.”

  The women were being ushered out when Samuel spotted the one who had helped them hurry over.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I hope you find your sister soon. I will pray for you all.”

  The brothers nodded acceptance.

  She looked at the duke, as if just figuring out who he was. “Your Grace?”

  Joshua turned to the girl. She looked too frightened to even speak to him.

  “Miss Stafford,” she gulped. “Before they took her. She turned to me and said, ‘Tell Joshua, here’s his chance. I’ll be waiting.’ ” She added, “I’m not sure what she meant, but she smiled when she said it.”

  Joshua swallowed hard. Alex’s words echoed in his mind. You want to save me. And you can’t. He pulled the reins on Cyclone. He would prove Alex wrong if it was the last thing he did.

  Their prisoner took them to the meeting place, but Paxton never showed. He must have been warned. But they did catch his partner.

  “The Stafford girl was my target all along. The blonde was merely a bonus.” Liz Beauveau, also known as Miss Rule, cackled at them.

  Samuel pulled out his knife and began to polish it nonchalantly. He only kept one knife, but knew how to use it effectively. He was going to kill the woman.

  “I might be able to help you,” she said, “in exchange for my freedom and travel expenses.”

  “Madame.” Pierce was amazed by her nerve. “Contrary to what you may think, you are not in a position to negotiate. Witnesses have named you as the head of a white slavery ring that spans the shores of England, France, and Spain. The punishment for your crimes will be nothing less than severe, I assure you.”

  He was awed when the woman shrugged.

  “I think your friends here might think my information has value.” She smiled maliciously at the Duke of Worthington and Samuel Stafford. “And every minute that you keep me here is another minute Reginald gets farther away.” Her next words were saccharine. “He always had a thing for redheads.”

  Joshua leapt at the bitch the same time Samuel did. Joshua beat him to her throat, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her into a wall hard enough to stun her. She laughed wildly like a madwoman.

  “Pierce, take your men and leave.” Samuel bit out the words. “Stephen, please exit as well. Take the duke. No need for good British citizens to get their hands bloodied.”

  To the woman’s surprise, the constable nodded mildly. Panic showed on her face for the first time. Seeing it, Joshua consented to leave. He would listen from outside. If Samuel killed her he would have
to make do with the information they already had from the other two captives.

  Samuel informed her harshly, “I don’t give a damn about the laws of this country, woman, so don’t think I will hesitate before killing you. You are either going to commit suicide in the next minute without the opportunity to atone for your life of sin, and thus spend eternity in hell, or you will live and I will hand you over to Pierce. There are no choices, exchanges, or escape plans. If you do not tell me everything you know, and every place that Paxton might conceivably take my sister, you will die. And,” he added, “it will not be without a good amount of pain involved.”

  “I don’t—” she protested.

  “Wrong.” He pressed his elbow against her throat, forcing her chin up, and brandished the knife in front of her. “Are you a vain woman, I wonder?” He let the blade slice slowly under her eye and waited for the blood to drip.

  Liz Beauveau hissed, furious, “You bastard.”

  Samuel’s knife tip touched the white of her left eye—and pressed.

  “He’s taking her to Al-Aziz. He follows the prophecy.”

  Samuel went cold and pulled back incrementally. “What do you mean?”

  Her mouth twisted scornfully. “The prophecy? Your sister? If Reginald can prove the link, he thinks Al-Aziz will pay a fortune to have her in his control. The followers of the prophecy have gained power over the years in Morocco. He can use her to squash their hopes of regaining the realm. You know? Maybe hack her to pieces in the town square, or something equally civilized,” she taunted.

  “Are you sure?” Samuel pressed her neck to the wall.

  She glared back. “I’m sure Reggie will find the highest bidder. He’s good like that.”

  Samuel put the knife back to her throat and drew a shallow trail of blood. “You better be right. Or I’ll be back for you.”

  Joshua listened quietly as Samuel conveyed the information they received from Liz Beauveau—every word of it, despite the increasing horror on the faces around him. Samuel finished by assuring Emma that the evil woman would never see the outside of prison again.

  The sun rose outside, while Joshua stared thoughtfully. “Abda Al-Aziz.”

  “What, Josh?” Stephen said.

  “Sultan Abda Al-Aziz.” He repeated Liz Beauveau’s words back to Samuel. “When Alex was auctioned, that was the sultan who bought her.”

  Emma gasped. Joshua realized she didn’t know all the details. Perhaps her brothers didn’t either. “I bid on her, hoping to save her the easy way. The Sultan Abda Al-Aziz won. He paid the equivalent of one thousand pounds for one night. Pocket change for him. He virtually rules Morocco.”

  “Dear God!” Emma leaned into Marcus, feeling ill.

  “If it’s true, and he believes in this prophecy, he’ll pay even more to get his hands on her,” Joshua said. “I have an old friend in Salé who might be of help. The sultan’s nephew.”

  There was a long silence. Joshua looked around to see who was in. One by one they nodded. Samuel was the last. Joshua waited. He would leave with or without the Staffords, but their resources would help. What he needed most was their trust. Samuel looked at him hard, a leader clearly unwilling to leave a decision regarding his sister’s life in the hands of someone who was still a stranger.

  Joshua could offer no other argument as to why they should trust him—except, “I love her.”

  Samuel nodded. The decision was made. “To Salé.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex struggled to be free of her guard’s lusty grip, as he dragged her on deck. The sunlight on the ocean was blinding after three days of being caged and shackled in the prisoner’s hold, but the fresh sea air was like food, filling her body with life again. There’d been hours where she thought they had forgotten her—something that was both welcoming and frightening.

  Three days fighting hunger, nightmares, and fear. During the day she indulged herself with plotting her revenge, but at night, her dreams were a constant torment. Again and again, she was engulfed in darkness, a cold, oppressive weight suffocating her, her cries gone unheard as the dark ocean sucked her ever downward.

  Today Paxton had decided to summon her on deck. She gathered he was bored.

  Her eyes slowly adjusted while observing there was no sign of land. Her heart beat quicker when she spotted a ship on the horizon.

  “Sorry, my dear.” Paxton lifted his head from a book he was reading. “Not one of yours.”

  Alex ignored him and assumed a blank expression. Paxton was eating on deck, clearly entertained by the book on his lap. She forced herself to look straight ahead and not eye the crispy apples sitting in a bowl.

  Paxton smiled pleasantly at the Stafford woman, while the rest of his men leered. Her bare feet peeked from her tattered skirt, and enough skin showed to make a man want to see more. “I’m torn, Miss Stafford, between keeping you for myself and satisfying the needs of my fine crew.” The crew cheered at the suggestion. If he was hoping for a reaction of fear he was disappointed. Instead she looked up as if mildly surprised.

  “You know as well as I, Captain, that I have little value if that happens. The price for a white virgin in Morocco is worth a small fortune.”

  Paxton sighed, waving to the disappointed faces. “You do know how to steal the fun, Miss Stafford. But … you know what is even better than a virgin?”

  She lifted a brow as if waiting to be amused.

  “One of Lilith’s guardians.”

  Alex didn’t move. She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, or what he knew—until he lifted the book on his lap and revealed her journal.

  “I love this book. Entertaining, informative, full of insightful little bits of commentary on everything from sea life to seamen. Charming, my dear. Simply charming.”

  “Thank you,” she returned.

  “I couldn’t help but wonder as I read, Miss Stafford, if the old woman in Morocco was right all those years ago.” He read dramatically from her notes. “ ‘You are the last kelile of the prophecy. On you rests the end of times. Keep the treasure safe, that we may pass the hour of destruction, or be the source of that destruction, turning the monster of the sea upon the land.’ ” He snapped the journal shut. “Very strange. Very strange, indeed. Do you know where this treasure is, Miss Stafford?”

  “If I did, I would have taken it by now. The story is a myth, Paxton, only real in the minds of those who make it real.”

  “Really?” Paxton thought on that. “Stranger things have been known to happen, my dear. Stranger things indeed.”

  “Indeed,” she mocked. “The fact of your existence, for instance.”

  He laughed. “I see a few days in the cage have not trounced your spirit overmuch. But, as I was saying, the price for one of Lilith’s guardian’s is quite high.”

  “I’m not a guardian of some evil serpent lady.”

  He nodded. “Of course not, dear. But as you were saying, some things are real in the minds of those who make them real. And I am here to help that matter along just a bit.” He nodded to his men, who took hold of her again.

  Alex panicked. Then she struggled, not knowing what they intended—murder, rape, torture? It took four men to drag her to a barrel and bend her over it, arms twisted back and almost broken in the effort to tame her.

  “Calm down, Miss Stafford.” Paxton strolled over, bending into her ear while crunching on an apple. “This will hurt much less, if you don’t move.”

  “What are you going to do?” The terror of not knowing and being completely helpless brought furious tears to the surface. She couldn’t fight. Her hair was pulled over her head and her blouse pulled down. A finger brushed across the back of her neck, a slow, threatening caress.

  “Right here, I think,” Paxton said.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Alex heard the voice of a new person, but saw only his feet as his legs pressed against her head until her chin was crushed in place between him and the hard, wooden barrel. “Don’t move, miss, or
this might kill you.”

  At the first sensation of sharp heat piercing the skin on her neck, Alex’s body jolted. She twisted her head against the pain.

  “Now, now.” Paxton sat back on his haunches by her face and stroked her hair away from her cheek, sweat beading at her temples. “It’s not so bad, Miss Stafford. Don’t fight it. I’m giving you a tattoo. If you stay perfectly still it will come out quite beautiful, I promise.”

  “I don’t want a bloody tattoo, you sick, filthy, bottom-feeding bastard from hell.”

  He continued to stroke. “I know dear. You don’t always get what you want, do you?”

  He stood back up, and the men continued, several more holding her down, forcing her skull into a painful position squeezed motionless by a man with a viselike grip.

  “It will go faster if you don’t move, miss.”

  Her body shook under their combined hold, despite all their efforts. She could not control the natural flinching every time the sharp tool pricked and dug into her skin, a destiny being forced on her, not of her own choosing. The minutes stretched to what seemed like hours, and her quiet tears did not abate as she suffered the tattoo being embedded on her. It was not the physical pain that ultimately tortured her. It was the symbol they were leaving. A mark she already knew. A mark that would be a permanent statement for the rest of her days. A mark of evil.

  The mark of Lilith.

  Emma had packed a trunk of clothing for Alex. It had been easier than expected to escort the trunk and supplies to the ship. Sailors were small, and with the help of Alex’s gear, including a wool cap, she had walked aboard the Sea Fire in the bustle of loading activities, and straight to Alex’s cabin without anyone stopping her. She found the hidden compartment that Alex had told her about. The place where her friend kept a few emergency supplies that could only be accessed from the captain’s quarters and two other cabins. The rooms connected to one another and the lower deck via a slender false wall at the stern of the ship. It was smaller than she imagined. She climbed in anyway with supplies for a couple days. What she hadn’t counted on was the ongoing nausea once they set sail.