The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “This valley is indiscoverable except by air,” Bluebeard muttered. “Rocs do not attack ships. This is—”

  “A surprise.”

  Tyr’s voice cut through the room, commanded attention even with the monstrous bird screaming at the night sky less than two ship lengths away. Ingrid whirled around, shock and hope burning to life inside her. The one-handed pirate stood in the doorway, dressed in the same clothes she’d last seen him, though now they were stained with blood. He held a sword bared in his one hand, and the steely look in his grey eyes promised that he meant to use it.

  It wasn’t until his eyes fell to her body, to the unfastened dress she clutched to herself, then to Bluebeard that Ingrid realized what a picture they must make.

  “Tyr—”

  He didn’t wait for her to finish. Candlelight glinted off his blade as he dove forward, followed by the answering hiss of metal against leather as Bluebeard drew his weapon. They met in the center of the room, the ring of steel against steel clattering in her ears.

  “Stop it,” Ingrid shouted. He’s alive. Her heart leapt into her throat, her voice coarse with rising panic. He was alive, but if he kept this up, he wouldn’t stay that way. Bluebeard wasn’t human, Tyr had no more of a chance now than he had last time.

  Neither man paid her any attention. Silver slashed through the air as the swords met, and booted feet shuffled across the wood as each man held his balance, ready for any opportunity to lunge.

  “It would be very embarrassing for you to lose again in front of your lady friend, mon ami.”

  Bluebeard’s voice showed some strain, but Ingrid couldn’t be certain if it was from the fight, or from whatever had been happening between them earlier. If she had to guess, based on Bluebeard’s superior speed and the ache she could practically see inside him if she closed her eyes, she guessed it was the latter.

  “It’s not my lady friend you should be concerned with.” Tyr grinned, a ferocious expression that was more a baring of teeth than a smile. “That bird out there is going to keep screeching, making all manner of otherworldly racket. Given where we are, who do you think they’re going to summon to investigate such a fearsome sound?”

  His barb, whatever it meant, hit its mark. Bluebeard faltered, just enough for Tyr to press the advantage. His blade came down on the other man’s wrist, biting into skin. Blood welled in bright ruby droplets and Bluebeard hissed and dropped his weapon.

  “I’m afraid my feathered ride has frightened off the few guards you left on the ship,” Tyr drawled. “I’ve released my men and they stand waiting for me on my ship, ready to be off. Just say the word and we’ll take our leave.”

  “You will not leave this ship. And neither will she.”

  Bluebeard’s voice had changed. The deep bass was gone, and there was a high, inhuman echo in his words now. His eyes had gone black, like polished obsidian, and his skin’s texture changed to a grey and white tone that made him look like a risen corpse. Ingrid stared, dread welling up in her stomach as she realized that disarming him had only made him more dangerous. Now he would not be fighting as a human. Her lips parted as she realized what was happening to Bluebeard’s skin.

  “Feathers,” she whispered.

  “I know you aren’t human,” Tyr continued, his voice far too calm for what the situation warranted. “And I’m aware of how easy it would be for you to stop me, kill me even. But you should know, you have a choice to make.”

  “And what is that?”

  Bluebeard tilted his head as he asked the question, and it wasn’t a human gesture. His head went too far, too quickly. Like a bird.

  “You can let us go and we’ll take our ship and our roc, and leave quietly never to bother you again.”

  Eyelids flicked down over glossy, alien eyes. “Or?”

  “Or, you can kill me and try to get away with Ingrid. But if you choose the latter, you’d better be prepared to sail this ship yourself since your men have fled.” He tilted his head, mocking Bluebeard’s position. “And of course, there’s always a chance that when you leave here, you’ll run into her.” He tapped his chin with the stub of his left arm. “I wonder what Dominique will think when she catches you alone on the ship with another magic-user?”

  Fury. So hot it raised the hair on her neck and arms. It billowed off of Bluebeard in waves until Ingrid could scarcely draw a breath, filled the cabin until she swore it would catch fire. Outside the roc screamed again.

  The feathers that had glossed over Bluebeard’s skin receded, the grey and white tones of his flesh warming to a more natural human shade. The blue-bearded captain’s words grated from his throat, strained by the obvious effort he put into holding his human form.

  “Get out. Get out and pray we never meet again.”

  Tyr put his left arm behind Ingrid’s back, half-shoving her out of the cabin as he skirted the other pirate. At a little nudge from him, she snagged the firebird, cage and all. Neither of them dared to look back as they fled.

  Chapter Nine

  Tyr stood on the deck of his ship, watching the night sky. The roc had disappeared from view long ago, returned to its undead master, but still he stared. Not quite ready to return to his cabin. To the woman who waited there.

  An image hovered in his mind like a persistent ghost. Bluebeard standing behind Ingrid, staring at her like she was the last glass of freshwater in the world, and him a wretched castaway. His apple-scented earth witch with her eyes wide, her dress…

  The wood of the banister creaked in his white-knuckled grip and he sucked in a slow breath through his nose before prying his fingers off one by one. It had been his intention to calm himself before seeing Ingrid again, but he’d been outside for hours and still the images in his mind were as fresh as ever, his anger as potent. He whirled and stomped back to his cabin, ripped the door open and slammed it behind him.

  Ingrid startled and sat up in the bed. Her green eyes were wide, alert. She hadn’t been sleeping. The dinner he’d had prepared for her sat half-eaten on the table, the hard bread probably rock solid and fit only for sea birds now, the apple slices turning brown. It was a testament to his state of mind that he didn’t feel even a flicker of temptation to pluck the apple slices from the plate, keep them from going to waste. Not even the apple tree growing out of its chest could calm him.

  “Are you all right?” He’d meant it to be a gentle inquiry, but there was a roughness in his voice that betrayed his inner conflict. A stab of vulnerability hit him, and it only fed his anger.

  Ingrid blinked and gathered the sheets in her hands, twisting them in her lap. “Yes.”

  Her voice, quite contrary to his, was soft. With her hands lowered, he could see that she’d taken the time to dress and was now wearing only a thin cotton chemise that would offer no protection against the cold sea air. Her skin pebbled under his gaze and he realized he was staring. He stiffened his spine and shook himself. Before he could speak again, she beat him to it.

  “What about you? Are you all right?”

  The words gathering on his tongue froze, fell away. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear her inquiry was genuine. He stared at her, searching her face for some sign of sarcasm or manipulation.

  “I’m fine. I—”

  “What happened?”

  Again, she sounded sincere. Even…concerned. Almost afraid. He took a step back, needing more distance between them as if that would somehow protect him from any mind tricks she attempted.

  “I had a little chat with the prince of Dacia. We settled on a mutually beneficial arrangement and he lent me the roc.”

  Ingrid waited, obviously expecting him to expound on the details. He didn’t offer anymore, just waited for her to accept his story so he could proceed to the questions he had for her.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Tyr’s eyebrows rose. “The vampire? No. No, he did not hurt me. In fact, he was kind enough to loan me the talents of his healer.”

  “He didn’t bite you?” />
  “No, he didn’t.” There was no mistaking her concern now. If she was pretending, she was far better than he would have believed. Tyr groped for the chair at the small table that still had the remnants of her dinner and eased himself into it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me.”

  He expected an insult, a snide comment. But Ingrid looked down at the sheets instead.

  “You are an incredibly selfish man,” she said quietly. She raised her head, met his eyes. “But you aren’t a bad man. You didn’t deserve to be left to die.”

  Tyr groped for an apple slice, chewed it thoughtfully as he studied Ingrid. She let him stare, her hands still in her lap. Her face was open. Honest.

  “It seems to me I saw my death in your eyes just this morning. At the risk of sounding ungrateful for your…qualified compliment, might I ask what brought about this change in perspective?”

  A muscle tightened in her jaw. “I deserve to punish you for what you’ve done to me. But that isn’t the same thing as being left to die because you offered some random insult to a pirate.”

  A pirate. No Bluebeard, or worse, Julian. Just pirate.

  Some of the tension eased from Tyr’s shoulders and he fiddled with the piece of apple he hadn’t eaten yet. He turned her words over in his mind, considering. Finally he nodded. “You’re right of course. I wronged you, and you would be within your rights to seek revenge. In point of fact, I dare say you’re a better person that I. In your place, I don’t think I would have felt the slightest concern for my kidnapper’s wellbeing—regardless of who delivered the punishment.”

  He looked at her again, held her gaze. “I admire you, Ingrid. You have an even kinder heart than I first thought if there’s room enough in it for me.” He looked back at the plate again, finishing the bite of apple and reaching for another. “It’s a lucky man who gets to call you his wife.”

  “You sound like Baba.”

  Tyr arched an eyebrow at her, pausing with his apple slice halfway to his mouth. Ingrid had slumped back against the headboard, a scowl tugging at her mouth.

  “You are very resentful of the Great Earth Mother,” he observed. “Might I ask why you are so annoyed at the thought of taking a husband?”

  “I don’t have time for a husband.” Ingrid covered her face with her hands, scrubbed her cheeks before dropping her hands back into her lap. “I have so much work to do. The orchard needs tending, and then there’s the garden. Not to mention the villagers and the help they need. I’m the only witch in a fifty mile radius. They come to me for aches and pain, illness, and midwifing. Then there’s the begging for potions and brews for riches or love—and don’t even get me started on that sort of laziness.” She sighed. “I don’t have time to care for a husband on top of all that. I value my solitude, the rare moments I have to relax.”

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You speak as though a husband is no different from a child.”

  Ingrid quirked a pointed eyebrow at him. He laughed harder, dropping his apple slice and shaking his head. Ingrid’s lips twitched and then she was smiling too.

  “As a sex we might not be the most helpful bunch,” Tyr admitted, his smile still thick in his voice. “But we try. And if you find the right man, you may find that what he has to offer is worth the demands he makes on you.” He picked up the apple slice again. “I for one would look forward to working an orchard, and a garden.”

  His own words stirred memories. Thoughts he hadn’t entertained in a long time. He drifted away, back in time, blinking when he heard Ingrid saying his name. He shook himself and looked at her. “I’m sorry?”

  “You were thinking hard about something. Something nice.” She tilted her head, curiosity shining in her green eyes. “What were you thinking about?”

  “My parents.” He smiled. “My father was almost a pirate himself, you know. A wild youth the way my mother tells it.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I believe her. The man I knew was a hard worker, someone who cared for the land as if it were another of his children. He was a good father too, though I’m sorry to say I didn’t appreciate it at the time.” He poked at the bread, scratching it until crumbs drifted down to the plate. “I told my mother as much once, told her that I didn’t believe he was ever anything but what he was now. She told me…” He hesitated, but continued anyway. “She told me that some people are part of a whole. Until they find that other half, they aren’t truly happy, and sometimes their search for happiness leads them to make poor choices that only drive that happiness farther away.”

  Awkward silence fell over the room, as he’d suspected it would. Tyr stared hard at the apple slice, suddenly not hungry. He studied the peel, the browning flesh. He had no right to the image that leapt into his mind, a picture of himself in Ingrid’s orchard, laughing with her, working by her side. His mother was right. He wasn’t happy, and his pursuit of happiness had driven him to make a choice that would very likely keep him from the life—the person—who might have been the key to true contentment. To think Ingrid would want anything to do with him when he was finished with her was madness.

  If only logic were enough to combat the jealousy viciously asserting that she was his. His and only his.

  “What happened while you were on his ship?”

  If the abrupt change in topic bothered her, Ingrid didn’t show it. She squeezed the sheet she held in her hands, twisting the fabric. “I ate…” She closed her eyes, took a slow breath through her nose. “I ate a piece of the squid.” Her cheeks lost a little color as if just saying it made her ill all over again.

  Tyr dropped the apple, shot up from his seat before he knew he intended to move. His temper flared, almost burning the words away before he could speak them. “He tried to rape you?”

  Her eyes flew open. “No! No, I panicked, but he wasn’t…” She pulled one hand from the crumpled sheet to brush her hair out of her face, shoving the red waves back over her shoulder. “I pulled his hair and threatened to scare off his crew if he didn’t go back for you. He threw me into the cabin and I stumbled onto the bed.” She finally met his eyes. “He was coming toward me and I… I just panicked, that’s all. He never tried anything.”

  Tyr let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “He didn’t make advances on you then.” His legs threatened to give out. If she’d been attacked, he didn’t think he could have ever forgiven himself.

  “No, he didn’t. After I ate…” She swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. “I was sick a lot and then I slept. I hadn’t been awake long when you arrived. He brought me mint tea and offered me clean clothes.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes again. “He was a gentleman.”

  He wanted to believe her. Oh, gods, he wanted to believe her. But knowing Bluebeard hadn’t forced himself on her didn’t stop his stomach from knotting at the thought that maybe he’d been about to seduce her. And no matter what it said about Tyr, that was almost as unacceptable. “That doesn’t explain what I saw.”

  He expected her to get angry, defensive. To snap at him that nothing had happened, or that it was none of his business. Instead, she bit her lip and her eyebrows drew together in concentration.

  “There was something strange about him. When he looked at me I got this feeling, this urge to reach out. It was a sensation I’ve never felt before, as if he were…hollow.” She huffed out a frustrated breath, dropping her fingers to pluck at the sheets. “It doesn’t make sense, I know.”

  “It makes perfect sense, he’s an impundulu.”

  She frowned, fingers stilling on the sheets. “He’s a what?”

  “An impundulu. A large black and white bird fated to be the familiar of a witch, or some other magic user. They take on human form when they go in search of a mate, a magic user to bond with. From what I understand, they are a vessel for magic, granting whomever they bond with even more power.” He snared her gaze, his next words harsher than he intended. “But from what the Prince of Dacia told me, there’s a wom
an in Southern Sanguennay who already has a claim on him.”

  Ingrid blinked at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I would swear you were jealous.”

  His legs lifted him out of his seat. The apple fell from his fingers, and his eyes locked onto her as if she were a lighthouse, a beacon pulling him forward. She wasn’t angry. Or indignant. Her voice… Her voice had sounded curious, perhaps even a little intrigued. Perhaps happiness was not as out of his reach as he imagined…

  She didn’t object when he took her hand in his, pulled her up so she was kneeling on the bed. His heart was in his throat, his chest completely still as he slowly slid his left arm behind her back, pulled her closer. He saw the pulse in her neck, felt her rapid heartbeat, and then she raised her face to him.

  As soon as their lips touched, he was lost. She tasted of apple with a faint undertone of mint. He tried to keep the kiss gentle, just a caress, an attempt to feel out how she felt for him. Kisses were so very revealing. But he couldn’t help chasing that flavor, reveling in the warmth of her body in his arms, the slide of her tongue against his as he deepened the kiss. She felt so very willing.

  Passion swelled between them and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him more tightly against her. The thin cotton of her clothes did little to hide the warm curves of her body, and it took a monumental effort on his part not to grab a fistful of her nightgown and tear it from her body. He groaned and opened his hand against the curve of her bottom, urging her even closer. Their lips parted, just enough for her name to escape his lips, a breathless word that sounded more like a prayer than anything. Rational thought left him, melted away like the last frost under the spring sun.

  “Ingrid,” he whispered.

  Chapter Ten

  Her name from his mouth was like a long draught of strong spirits, soothing her senses, weaving into her muscles to steal her tension, softening her thoughts. Every letter sounded as though it had been torn from the depths of his being, hoarse and brutal as they crawled between his lips. He dragged his mouth in a hot, wet line down her jaw and she tipped her head, giving him better access. Her mind swam with delicious sensations that stubbornly washed away the train of thought she was desperately clinging to.