by M. L. Guida
He burst through the surface and inhaled, only to have waves smash into his face. His trousers ballooned around him and weighed him down. He bobbed up and down like an empty wine barrel.
Lightning flashed in the dark sky. The Soaring Phoenix rode up and down on the swells, moving further away.
Men ran along the deck. Amadi waved his arms. “Ye damn fools, help me!”
But cracking thunder blocked out his cries. He yelled again and again. But ’twas useless.
The men grabbed lines to hold on to the flapping sails. No one looked his way.
The Phoenix swayed and sailed further and further away. And his hope died.
He swam toward the ship, but it was as if Poseidon clutched his legs, determined to pull him into the dark sea. He was a good swimmer, the best on the ship, but each time he took a stroke, a punishing wave smashed into him, tossing him in the opposite direction.
Drawing on his last remaining strength, he smacked his arms against the waves and kicked hard, but his efforts were met with water washing over the top of his back, pushing him under. He gulped for air, only to inhale the salty sea.
An enormous swell hurled him backward. He somersaulted underwater, helpless to stop. He bashed into something hard. Pain exploded across the back of his head.
Blackness swept over him, and he remembered no more.
***
Amadi woke to the sun shining on his body. Waves foamed and swirled around him. He coughed up water and rolled to the side. Where the hell was he?
Throbbing pain sliced from his head to his back. He pushed up, but his shaking arms collapsed.
He spat out bits of sand and shell and wiped his eyes. “Bloody hell.” He slumped onto his back and rested his arm on his forehead. Why wasn’t he dead? He should have drowned. Was it due to being immortal and a vampire, or something else? Could Mariah or Hannah have had something to do with it? Mariah was a witch and could have cast a spell to save him. Or Hannah could have used her telekinetic powers to keep him from drowning.
Not likely. Hannah was the capt’n’s woman, and Mariah was William’s. Neither the Capt’n nor William would let those ladies out on the deck during a deadly squall.
He could now say something good about his vampire powers. At least, he hadn’t drowned. That was something, right?
Waves whirled around his legs. He rested his forearms on the wet sand and rose. Splitting pain shot to the back of his head. He winced.
Swallowing deep breaths, he focused on the now calm, blue ocean. The sea always eased his pain. Where was the Phoenix? He hoped safely tucked in the cove. Capt’n didn’t like to lose his men and would order a search. But where would he look?
After such a terrible storm, the Phoenix would need repairs. If she was docked on Saint Kitts, he’d find her—in their secret cove. Two huge cliffs bordered the cove. Only one ship could enter. If any other tried, she’d be blown to bits.
But he had another problem. He’d been a slave on Saint Kitts.
Amadi crawled into a sitting position, crossing his legs. This wasn’t good. He needed cover—to hide out until he could get his bearings.
He crawled to his feet. Blinding pain slammed into his head. His stomach swirled. He couldn’t fight the nausea and spit up Cook’s dinner of salted fish and sea water onto the white sand.
He turned his head at the foul smell and swayed on shaky legs. Refusing to fall onto the ground, he gritted his teeth and widened his stance. A cool breeze brushed over him. He staggered. He was a big man, but in his weakened state, a small gust could knock him on his arse. Lush jungle with palm trees, jungle flowers, and ferns beckoned. Cover. He needed to rest and hide, but it was so far away. Less than a hundred feet, but it might as well be a hundred miles.
Trying to push back the thumping pain in the back of his head, he forced himself to move. His boots sank into the sand, his feet squishing in the soggy leather. Move. Just Move.
Something splashed behind him. A chorus of phhishhht and stomps launched fear in his swirling gut. He glanced over his shoulder. His heart stopped. Cold, hard, terror turned his pirate bravery into mush.
Men on horseback. A large bulky man pointed. “There. We found one! Get the large buck.”
Christ, slave traders.
Amadi drew on his vampire strength and ran for freedom, but his wobbly legs failed to obey. He stumbled onto the sand. Not caring about his pounding head or swirling stomach, he sprinted toward the jungle. He refused to be a slave again, to feel the harsh lash against his back, to be robbed of his dignity. Death was a better alternative.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
The galloping horses gained on him—determined to trample on his freedom. Hot breath hit the back of his neck. Sand and water sprayed on the back of his legs. The men whooped and howled.
“Get ’im, Sammy!”
Amadi’s blood pumped between his ears, roaring faster than the waves whirling around his boots. Birds cawed from the shadowy jungle as if shouting “Escape. Escape. Escape.”
If he made it into the jungle, he might have a chance to outmaneuver them. Just one more step…
Something draped over his neck. A noose! Amadi grabbed the end to brush it off. But his efforts failed. It ripped through his fingers like a whip.
He flew through the air and landed smack on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay stunned.
The rope pulled on his neck, and he slid across the sand that scraped his body. Gasping, he yanked out his sword. He rolled onto his stomach and sliced the rope. Five men on horseback surrounded him. He scrambled to his feet and scowled.
Don’t show fear.
Hate burned his gut. He would not be a slave. Vampire or human, if he had to, he’d kill them all.
“What the hell?” A skinny man sat on his horse. His eyes wide, he examined the cut rope. “The buck’s got a sword.”
“He darn got a whip on his hip.”
A man spat onto the sand. “Don’t you know darkies ain’t supposed to have weapons, boy?”
Amadi narrowed his eyes at the spit-chewing swine. He’d not been called “boy” since he was a slave on the Sorcière de Mer.
He undid his whip and prayed he possessed the strength to wield it.
The skinny man wiped the sweat from his brow. “I think this here darkie don’t know who he’s dealing with…”
“Aye, Dubois won’t like this.”
Dubois? Hell, the bastard overseer was still alive. When Hannah had been kidnapped and taken to the Sorcière de Mer, Amadi should have killed Dubois when he had the chance, but there wasn’t time. Capt’n had been hurt too badly. Bloody mistake.
Another sour-looking man clicked his heels against his horse and edged him forward. Amadi flicked the whip. Snap. Crackle.
The whip hit the horse on its snout. It whinnied and reared, barely missing Amadi with its hooves. Close, too close. He stepped aside, but he wasn’t fast enough. A hoof slammed into his shoulder. He staggered backward. Pain blinded him, but he managed to hold on to the whip.
Sweat slipped into his eyes. Between his throbbing head and shoulder, he should pass out. Most men would. But he wasn’t most men. He held the whip in his hand, ready to slash beast or man.
He wished with all his might that the crew would burst out of the jungle, or that William would fly down from the sky and exhale fire onto the tormentors. But he was alone. Alone with his worst nightmare.
“Look at him, you fools.” A tall blond man glared at the others. He pulled on his lace cuffs. “He’s obviously not a runaway slave. Must have been washed off a ship.”
The man’s clothes were a cut above the others—silk and lace. With his arrogant disdain, he reminded Amadi of his former master, Jacque D’Aubigne. At least that blackguard was dead.
The others looked between the man and Amadi as if studying Amadi for the first time.
The arrogant man leaned on his horse and stared at Amadi. “But I’ll warrant he’ll bring a fine price for his strength alone.”
His steely green eyes stripped Amadi of his humanity. “Never,” Amadi said. Damn, his voice came out a bare whisper.
“I don’t think so,” the man said. “You can barely stand. Soon, you’ll be at my slave auction and sold to the highest bidder.”
He was baiting him. But Amadi was a seasoned warrior and waited. He gripped his sword and whip, prepared to fight to the death.
“Seize him,” the man said.
The other men hesitated and gripped their horses’ reins. Fear and doubt flickered in their eyes.
Amadi flashed them a smile. He was an expert swordsman, and even the Capt’n admired his skill with his whip. A trophy he’d taken from his days of horror.
If he rushed one of the men, he might find enough strength to knock him off a horse and ride into the jungle. ’Twas a longshot. But ’twas the only chance he had.
He stepped toward the nearest tormentor, a short, fat, man. Hard labor was obviously foreign to the slop.
The throbbing pain in the back of Amadi’s head and shoulder intensified. His vision blurred. He shook his head.
“Hurry, you idiots,” the blond man said. “He’s growing weaker. What are you waiting for?”
The skinny man puffed out his bony chest and took a step closer.
Amadi lashed his whip and slashed the man’s cheek, drawing blood.
The man screamed, holding his cheek, and fell to his knees.
“You’ll pay for that,” the leader said. The promise of agony flared in his eyes.
Amadi’s heart beat in terror. He remembered the punishments, the stench, the hopelessness.
Two of the men rushed him. But Amadi was ready. He flicked the whip, forcing the man to drop his sword, and with one powerful thrust, he knocked the other’s blade into the sword. He shoved the man away and reached for the horse.
But victory was robbed.
Another rope looped around his neck, yanking him off the rump of the horse. He sliced the rope, but a click of a pistol next to his ear froze his attempts.
“Make a move and you’re dead.”
Amadi hadn’t even heard the leader dismount. He had no doubt the man would kill him. Before he could decide whether death would be welcome, someone smacked him in the back of his head. Pain burst through him. He spun around and collapsed. Darkness blocked out the nightmare.
Chapter Three
Amadi woke with a start and shiver. Cold water dripped down him. “What da hell?”
His head throbbed dully. He lay on a dirt floor in a darkened room. Sunlight peered down through a small, round, barred window at the very top, barely enough for him to see. The stench of dried blood and human excretion churned his stomach. He moved, only to discover his hands were chained and manacles locked around his ankles. His weapons were gone. Christ, he knew where he was.
Someone kicked him in the foot.
“Get up,” a man said. “They’re ready for ye.”
He recognized the voice—the skinny man on horseback. Amadi could easily break the bastard in two, but he was powerless. Until the full moon. But that was at least two days away. Being a slave, anything could happen in two days.
He squinted; Amadi shook his head as he sat.
“I said to get up,” the man said.
“I’ll get up when I’m—”
The man slammed a fist into Amadi’s mouth. Pain exploded. Blood seeped down his throat.
The bastard grabbed Amadi’s braids and yanked. “I told ye to get up, darkie.”
Amadi had enough and slammed his shoulder into the man, catching him off guard. He released him and staggered back. When the man cocked a pistol and aimed it at him, Amadi’s plan of rushing him vanished. This wasn’t the time or place, but soon, very soon, he’d escape this hell and find the Soaring Phoenix.
The skinny sod motioned with his pistol. Amadi stood and towered over the man, and he couldn’t help but smile. The sniveler’s hand was shaking. He was afraid. Good.
“Move,” he ordered.
Amadi took a step and almost fell onto his face. Manacles prevented him from doing anything but shuffle. He walked down a dimly lit corridor with cramped cells on either side. Some were filled with women and children, their faces stricken. The children wrapped their arms around their mothers’ waists or legs, terrified they’d be separated. He wished to hell ’twasn’t true. But slave auctioneers didn’t view them as humans, but property. Property could be divided based on the needs of the highest bidder.
Other cells held men crammed together, barely enough room to move. Why did he have his own cell?
’Twas strangely quiet as he and his captor walked down the hall. Foreboding stuck in Amadi’s bones.
He stepped outside and winced. The bright sun beat down upon him, and he stopped. Stone steps led down to the auction block. Men and women stood in the audience, studying prospective slaves—men, women, and children who should be free.
A woman and child stood on the block. The little girl clung to her mother’s skirts. She was barely five years old.
The same yellow-haired man stood behind a podium. “Sold to Mr. Humphrey.”
The curvy woman glanced between the yellow-haired man and a fat, leering milksop. She clutched the little girl. “What about my baby?”
“I don’t want the brat,” Mr. Humphrey said. He undressed the frightened woman with his pug eyes. “Just her.”
Amadi had no doubt about his intentions.
“No!” The woman cried.
“Mummy,” the little girl whimpered. “Don’t leave me.”
“Take her,” the blond man said.
The woman hugged her little girl, who clung to her like a second skin, but their efforts were futile. One burly man ripped the little girl, kicking and clawing, away from her mother. She screamed in terror as two other brutes dragged her mother away.
“You bastards!” Amadi snarled and jerked his chains.
“I told ye—”
Amadi whirled around and knocked the sluggard down the steps. He pulled on his vampire strength and was able to stretch the links in his ankle manacles to give him more movement. Without hesitation, he lumbered down the steps. The crowd backed up as if a monster had broken loose.
“You fat pompous ass,” he shouted at Humphrey. “Let da two of them be together.”
Humphrey’s eyes widened, and he shrunk away into the crowd.
“Get him, you fools,” the blond man cried.
Men scrambled at Amadi, but he was able to slam his shoulders into them. One of them crashed into the building while the other fell onto his back. If he was free, he’d have killed them, but he had to rely on his upper body to thwart their attempts. He shuffled toward the men holding the woman’s arms, and they used her as a shield. Fools!
The woman’s lower lip trembled, and tears streaked down her dirt stained face. All hope had died in her eyes.
“I promise I’ll get your little girl.”
The blond man pulled out a pistol, cocked it, and aimed it at the little girl, whose big brown eyes grew as large as Spanish medallions. Her face paled.
“No, please, masta!” the mother screamed. She collapsed onto her knees and stretched out her arms. “Don’t hurt my Chloe.”
“Take one more step—” he glared at Amadi “—and I’ll blow her brains all over this auction. Decide.”
Chloe whimpered, “Mummy.”
She broke into soft sobs that tore at Amadi’s heart. Hate swelled inside him. At the full moon, the man was dead, dead, dead.
More men propelled into Amadi, pinning him against the cold wall, and this time, he didn’t fight. He focused on the pistol. Where was the capt’n? If he’d been here, Blondie’s brains would have been splattered all over the block. But he wasn’t here.
Amadi allowed the bastards to put a manacle around his neck. It had a loop in the back, and a man threaded a chain through it. The bastard then led him like a dog.
“Now that’s better.” The blond man shoved his pistol back in
to his belt. He gestured toward the woman. “Lead the bitch away. She has caused enough trouble today.”
Trouble? A woman who loved her child was trouble. Despite the Capt’n’s orders, Amadi would love to drain the man dry, to watch terror flicker in his eyes right before he died, an empty husk.
The woman struggled, but a man slugged her, knocking her out.
The little girl screamed.
“If you don’t stop screaming—”
“You’re a gutless codfish,” Amadi said. “Terrorizin’ a poor little poppet.”
The men gestured toward the crowd. “You’ve worn out your usefulness, boy. I doubt any of these good people would want to buy you.”
“Good. I’m not for sale.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” A sugary female voice said.
The voice reminded Amadi of Natasa, a demon from Coaybay. He jerked his head to make sure the demon hadn’t found her way back from where the time spider had taken her. But instead of flaming red hair, a woman holding a white parasol sauntered toward them. But she wasn’t the one who caught his eye—a petite redhead did.
She was dressed in little better than rags. Her dress was too big for her slender frame, but he could detect the curves underneath. She had curly auburn hair and lost brown eyes. A beacon of beauty in this hellhole.
“Mademoiselle D’Aubigne—” the blond man said.
Amadi tore his gaze away. He stiffened. D’Aubigne? Mother of Mercy!
“Hush, Owen,” she said. “I like my bucks big.” She cast her blue, sapphires eyes over Amadi as if he were a prized piece of steak. He scowled. With her curly black hair, there was no mistake—she had to be related to Jacques, his former master. Sister? Cousin?
“He’s too much for you to handle,” Owen insisted.
“Silence!” She pointed her parasol. “I see no one else here brave enough to bid on him, oui?”
“He needs to be put down like a rabid dog,” Owen insisted.
“I’ll hear no more of your protests. How much?”
Amadi held his head high refusing to cower. “I said I’m—”
Owen yanked on his chain, and Amadi fell to his knees. “Yes, you are.”
