Cwen shook her head. “I demand the right as an unclaimed alpha to choose my own mate. I want him.”
“I don’t think so,” Luísa said as she stepped between Cwen and Xander.
“Luísa, stay out of this,” Xander warned sharply.
“Are you telling me you want her, Xander?”
“Luísa, please. You don’t understand.”
Cwen grabbed Luísa by the arm and grinned. “Not your call, Xander. This is between the scion and me.” She spoke to Xander, but her eyes never strayed from Luísa. “What say you, woman? Do you challenge me for his seed?”
“No!” Daltry pushed forward, but two other werewolves held him back.
Malachai, his longtime friend, grabbed him by the arm. “Be quiet, Daltry. A challenge has been made.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”
Malachai leveled his eyes at him in warning. “Pack law, Xander. You know what that means.” He pulled him behind the swarm of onlookers, rabble vying for a better view.
Jovis cornered Cwen. “Are you sure, Cwen? Is there a challenge here?”
Cwen placed her hands on her hips and laughed. “If this whore wants him, she’ll have to fight me for him.” Her gaze raked across Luísa. “But you can see she’s a coward. She relies on others to protect her.”
Luísa still had the poker in her hands. She lifted it up as if to strike, then flung it to the floor. “I accept your challenge, she-wolf, not for the man, but to see you grovel at my feet.”
Cwen threw her head back in laughter. “When I win, you’ll beg for my mercy.”
Jovis grabbed her by the wrist and lifted her arm straight up. “A challenge has been made and answered. Since the battle is with a skin, Cwen must fight Luísa in skin alone.”
Cwen’s laughter gurgled into a strangled bark when she heard Jovis’s decree. “That’s unfair! I can’t control my wolf side from coming out.”
“Then you’ll be given wolfsbane so that you remain in one form.”
“Wolfsbane weakens my bloodlust.”
“Then perhaps you’re not worthy of the challenge.” Jovis waved her away. “Prepare yourselves. You fight tomorrow, when the sun is directly above in the sky.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Each woman was allowed a second, someone to help dress and advise her. Cwen chose a friend called Etta.
Luísa studied the remains of her crew. She wished Paqua was still with them. She could’ve used some of his shaman magic, but she settled on his likeliest successor. Black Barbosa, the Coral’s quartermaster.
Tomas Barbosa reigned as the best fighting man on the ship, with so many kills he no longer kept count. He was fast and powerful—more importantly, he knew how to fight dirty. The crew called him “The Moor” behind his back, but only Luísa called him by his given name, Tomas.
Luísa rapped her knuckles against his chest. “Stop grousing, Tomas. I need your skill and your advice.”
“You want my advice? Then I say we run, as fast and as hard as we can back to the Coral. That she-wolf will tear you into ribbons.”
“We can’t leave. Papa is still being held at Sanctuary. Besides, Jovis is letting us use cutlasses. I’ll pit my skill against any man—or wolf—in a sword duel.”
“Aye, I’ll give you that, Mistress. But these werewolves have keener reflexes. She can swipe at you before you have a chance to react.”
Tomas wrapped her right arm in a long strip of leather. Hidden under each fold was a gold doubloon lining the length of her forearm.
“What’s that for? Am I to pay the ferryman when I meet him at the River Styx?”
“Protection, Luísa. ’Tis not much but it might keep blade from meeting bone. Remember to keep your guard up, and look for her to switch hands. I’ve noticed she uses either hand equally well.”
Luísa slapped the thick leather padding on her right forearm and grinned. “Then it’s well and good that I was raised by pirates.”
“It’d be better if you threw the fight and let her win. Jovis says there’s no killing in this fight. Let her strike you once and fall. Then we can be done with this folly.”
“I’ll not give in to the likes of that she-wolf.”
“Paid you no attention to what happened in that hut? Daltry wanted her. And he would’ve taken her if there hadn’t been so many witnesses. Give it up, Captain. You don’t belong with his kind.”
He couldn’t have wounded her pride more if he had slapped her. Tomas was right. Xander hesitated when Cwen approached him. He would’ve mated with her if Luísa hadn’t been there. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Pride was the only thing keeping her in this fight. Her dignity was at stake. She’d best that she-wolf and deal with Xander later.
“If you won’t support me, I’ll get someone else, Tomas. My second ought to at least be loyal enough to stand by me.”
Tomas looked at her as if she had run a knife through his gullet. “I swore a blood oath to your father that I’d protect you with my life. Say what you will of me, Mistress, but don’t ever question my loyalty.”
He turned his face away, but not before Luísa caught the darkness in his eyes. She put a hand on his thick, scarred arm. “Tomas. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re braver than any man I know. I just want you believe me brave too.”
Tomas’s mouth stretched to one side. “Captain, you got ice in your veins and the bollocks of a crocodile.” He nodded toward her combatant. “That Cwen might be a werewolf, but there’s a hurricane in you. But be thee careful. That she-wolf has it out for you, and I believe she’ll try to kill you if she can.”
“Jovis won’t allow it. He needs me.”
“Aye, they do. But she doesn’t. A woman scorned knows only vengeance. You watch her for any tricks.”
Both women were led out into a blazing afternoon sun. Cwen’s eyes looked glassy, perhaps a side effect of the wolfsbane, but she bounced on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.
They dressed alike, in an island toga that wrapped around each woman’s waist and a swath of cloth that bound their breasts and pressed them close to the body. Barefoot, they approached one another with caution.
Jovis stood in the center of where their fight would be held.
Luísa couldn’t see Daltry and wondered where he was. Didn’t he want to see who would win him? Her gaze wandered while Jovis laid down the rules.
“This fight is for the right to take Xander as mate, which means there will be no killing. Is that understood?”
Luísa nodded.
“Cwen?”
The she-wolf stared at Luísa hungrily, but didn’t answer.
“Cwen!”
“Aye, Jovis. I won’t kill the whore. But when she loses, she’ll be licking the juices between my legs. I swear it.” She raised her left hand in an oath to the hoots of all the women.
Luísa couldn’t help but show her disgust. Pride threw her into this challenge, but it was spite that drove her.
They faced one another, each with one short sword and a shield no larger than a dinner platter wrapped around the opposite forearm.
Even though she wasn’t in wolf form, Cwen prowled like an animal. Her strides were long and fluid, the predator in motion. She focused on her prey, seemingly oblivious to everything else around her.
Luísa took the opposite approach. A pirate survived by being aware of his surroundings. The trill of a jungle bird and the rustle of monkeys clamoring for a better view were far behind her. Closer still loomed the combined anticipation of her crew and the werewolf village.
Whimpering children fell silent, clutching their mothers’ sides. Cwen’s women, those who supported her, clustered in a tight circle from where the she-wolf entered the ring. The male werewolves gathered silently, their eyes glassy with interest and perhaps arousal.
Only Xander was missing. Luísa had taken a quick glance around her before Jovis stepped out to announce the bout, but Xander, the object of this confrontation, was nowhere
to be found.
Behind her stood her crew. She smelled them more than heard them, ripe with sweat and dried blood from yesterday’s battle. A muttering sound, dull and incoherent, drifted from their direction. They weren’t happy she had taken this challenge.
Was it fair to fight this bitch so soon after their encounter with Izabel? Perhaps that was exactly Jovis’s intent.
The ground felt soft and springy from an earlier shower and Luísa’s bare feet bounced easily on the muddy terrain. Clear boundary posts marked the four corners, the top of each lintel carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. She wagered this pit was used regularly for battle.
Cwen circled her cautiously, but Luísa stayed put, her sword and shield down. It wasn’t time to strike. Not yet.
Tomas whispered gruffly to her. “Get your guard up, Luísa. Don’t stand there like a limp puppet.”
More mumbles from the crew. One even reckoned their mistress had gone mad, asking aloud why she wasn’t defending herself.
Not yet, she thought. Not yet. Cwen had to get closer, much closer. The she-wolf was a big woman, nearly a full head taller, with the stabbing reach of any man. If her reflexes were as fast as Tomas guessed, then Luísa needed to get her as close as possible before making a strike.
Luísa would only get one chance. She wanted it to count.
Cwen was nearly within range and Luísa tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. She raised her arm ever so slightly then froze, stunned when she caught a glimpse of Paqua’s ghost hovering just behind Cwen.
What in blazes?
Cwen couldn’t have known why her opponent stopped in mid stride, but she used it to her advantage. With one great leap she pounced on Luísa, her short sword stabbing savagely with the full force of her weight behind it.
Whore bitch! She had no intention of winning this battle by points. Cwen meant to kill her.
Luísa deflected the first blow with the small shield strapped to her forearm. It shattered from the thrust of the blade, forcing her to roll on the ground in an effort to evade the next attack.
She spat out the dirt she had swallowed from the tumble and wiped her mouth. Blood. The she-wolf had won first blood.
Despite the wolfsbane, Cwen showed signs of changing. Sweat rained down her face and her hair grew incrementally. She licked her lips when Luísa wiped the blood from her mouth, arousing the beast in her. Nails stretched into claws and her eyes burned like fire.
Bloody hell!
Luísa shot up, edging back slowly. From the corner of her eye she noticed Jovis advancing on them.
“Cwen!” he shouted as if she were deaf.
The she-wolf didn’t acknowledge him, focusing solely on Luísa.
“How much wolfsbane was she given?” Jovis demanded from one of the women in the sidelines.
“A full pipe, as you ordered,” she answered quickly.
Another woman ran to the edge of the pit and yelled at her friend. “Damn you, Cwen. Don’t do it! They’ll take him away from you if you change now.”
Cwen snapped her head and growled.
There was no denying that only the wolf ruled now. Slowly, her flesh yielded to fur.
Luísa gripped her sword with all her strength, bracing herself for the full brunt of the coming attack. With her teeth, she ripped off the lacing that kept what was left of the shattered shield.
“Come on, Cwen! What are you waiting for?” Luísa baited her with a wave.
“Cwen. You’ll obey me.” Jovis’s voice grumbled, but there was fear in it too. A pack member had openly defied his orders. He had lost control and his honor.
Cwen looked at him with a loathing that said it all. Jovis was a weak leader. She had proven that when she challenged Luísa for the right to mate with a rogue werewolf.
Jovis should have killed her then and there to protect his dominion; instead he allowed her to choose, and now everyone would see Xander as the rightful pack leader.
Her mouth turned into a muzzle, and her lips curled in a cruel sneer. Cwen tossed aside her sword and shield, then lunged for Luísa.
The she-wolf seemed to freeze in midair when a shot rang out.
Cwen dropped straight down, panting hard. Her hands clutched at her belly, trying to keep her life’s blood from escaping.
Everyone turned at once to the man holding the musket. Luc Saint-Sauveur.
Luísa stared into the cold eyes of the killer. A sick dread told her he’d been in control all along.
No one moved when the shot rang out, and it was well that they hadn’t. The village was surrounded by werehyenas. They’d been trapped into a coup.
Luísa scrambled to Cwen, who had now returned to human form. All the color had drained from her face, and her eyes pinched shut, as if the sun hurt them too much. The wound was grave, the blood a blackish red. Luísa pressed down on the wound, but Cwen pushed her away.
“’Tis over,” she wheezed in a blood-gurgling voice. “Now Jovis must fight Saint-Sauveur for leadership of the pack. A pity. I wanted it to be Xander.” Cwen coughed up blood, but still she smiled. “No matter. The pack will be strong again—at your expense.” The she-wolf sputtered a croaking laugh before gasping her last.
Luísa stood up and faced her new opponent, the man who attempted to make her his. Her crew gathered around her as the werehyenas closed in. All of her men had their swords and pistols out. Her mouth went dry before giving a final order.
“Lay down your arms.”
She looked to either side of her, but not one of them moved a muscle.
“Tomas!”
“No, Captain. If we surrender now, the bastard wins. We’d rather fight and die than see that happen,” Tomas replied tersely.
Luísa walked over to her quartermaster and put her hand on his cutlass. “I’d rather you live, my friend.” She turned to the rest of her crew, all of them ready to die for her. No captain ever had a more loyal crew. Yet she felt unworthy. “These are my orders. Lay down your arms.”
Amid the crushing silence, a sword was cast down, and then another and another until the ground lay littered with weapons.
The crew obeyed.
Saint-Sauveur waved a hand and the werehyenas backed off. He approached Luísa and bowed his head in greeting. “It took a while to get you back, ma petite, but here you are, right where I need you.”
“Izabel is gone, Capitán, and I have no power. Your quest was in vain.”
“You’re wrong, ma chere. You are Izabel’s scion. And now you will retrieve the moonstone from the Sorceress’s crypt.” He rubbed a finger across her cheek. “In return, your crew and your father will go free. A good trade. Oui?”
Jovis marched toward them, a look of disgust on his face. “Enough, Luc. I’m the pack leader here. Take your filthy beasts and get out of my territory.”
Saint-Sauveur moved in a blur, flashing into partial wolf state and pinning Jovis flat on his back.
Jovis changed too, but it wasn’t enough. Saint-Sauveur, younger, stronger, plunged thick fangs into Jovis’s throat. He held him there for a few long moments until the older werewolf relaxed his body and offered his neck in humiliating submission.
Saint-Sauveur jumped off him and slapped him across the face. “Go,” he ordered. “I claim this pack.” He looked up at the anxious faces of the other male werewolves. “Does anyone else challenge my right?”
Silence.
Saint-Sauveur returned to Luísa with a leering grin. “Then I claim you as my mate, ma chere. Together, we will give the were-tribes free will and dominion of our flesh and fur.”
He pulled her toward him. “Time to meet your destiny.”
Luísa met him with a knife in her hand. She stuck it at his throat, more for threat than deed. They’d never get off the island if she killed Saint-Sauveur now, but she had to prove she wasn’t afraid of him or his minions. The painted runes on the knife glowed hot. Was this the magic Paqua warned her about? “I’ll see my father first, Frenchman.”
Saint-S
auveur sneered at her. He snatched her at the wrist and squeezed, forcing her to drop the knife. Then he grabbed her arm and twisted it, pressing her body against his body, a thick erection between his loins. “If you ever draw a knife on me again, you’ll watch every single man in your crew drawn and quartered.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You have my word, ma chere.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Daltry watched from a treetop as Saint-Sauveur dragged Luísa away. Every fiber in his being wanted to protect her, but he would’ve only thrown his life away if he attacked now.
Jovis had been disgraced and cast out of the pack. He might make a possible ally though he didn’t think the old wolf would be of much use. Saint-Sauveur seized leadership according to the laws of the pack. And Jovis submitted rather than risk injury. By pack law, the French werewolf was leader. Bloody French. Wolf or skin, they were still a pain in the arse.
Luísa remained safe at least. Saint-Sauveur wouldn’t let her come to any harm. He needed her alive—at least for now.
Daltry climbed down when the last of the werehyenas scurried back into the jungle. He made his way to the village via a little used monkey trail. Tempers ran hot and there was no gain in inciting further retribution.
Stupid. Stupid. He grumbled to himself. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t intervened between the two women in the first place. Cwen wouldn’t have challenged Luísa and the mad redhead would still be alive now.
Several pack members prepared Cwen’s body for burial. But like everyone else who died here, her spirit remained trapped on the mortal plane.
Daltry felt a cold tickle against his left ear.
“Fine time for you to come back,” Cwen said with a scold.
“I had my reasons.”
“Bah! Reasons. Go back to the sea, Xander. The pack thinks you a coward for staying away.”
“And if you had stayed away, you wouldn’t be dead right now,” Daltry shot back.
Cwen’s ghostly form swirled around him, frosting his face with a chill wind.
“I had faith in you. I knew you could usurp Jovis and make the pack strong again. Now the pack must obey Saint-Sauveur. You continue to disappoint me, Xander.”
Mistress of the Stone Page 23
