by Eva Delaney
I jumped from the bed and yanked on my thong and pants before rushing to the closet. I grabbed the only thing I had that might fit him: an oversized robe I had stolen from a hotel room. Crouching before him, I offered him the garment.
He took it with shaky hands. His green eyes were wide and scared. “Thank…thank you.”
His panic made my heart go as soft and squishy as a handful of fresh lube. The poor man. I just wanted to wrap him up in hugs and make his pain go away. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
He nodded and slipped the robe on.
That was when my gaze trailed down to his pecs and spotted the orange light.
It swirled around the left side of his chest and extended outward to lock onto mine. I stared at the tendril of light that dove into my heart and realized there were three of them. I followed one of them to the man who was bent over with his tongue sticking out as he tried to lick rum off the floor.
“Ah fuck,” I said.
He craned his neck to meet my eyes. His were black as his hair, which trailed to the floor like a pond at midnight.
“Ye have me arse up and ye ain’t giving me the rope’s end?” he said.
I sighed. I had seen this orange light on Sapphire and her men as well a dozen other groups around town. It was a mate spell, and it must have been in the book.
“Fucking Julian.” It could only be him. He was responsible for the first mate spell, too.
“I ain’t know who Julian is,” the bent-over man said. “But I be ready for a stern fucking, wench.”
I leaned toward him so our noses were nearly touching. I glared into his eyes. They glinted with merriment in spite of his vulnerable position. Despite my rage, I wanted to lean closer and press my lips to his.
Fucking Violet. She must have known when she gave me the book. That was why both Violets had a pack of men.
“Do you know what happened to the last man who called me a wench?” I growled. “I turned him into an ant, put him in a matchbox, and floated him in the toilet. He tried and failed to claw his way up the smooth porcelain…until I pissed on him and he drowned.”
It was a lie because no one had ever called me a wench before. Of course, I had never reincarnated ghosts into dildos before, either.
He raised his dark eyebrows. “Ye’re a saucy one, like the wen…men. Wenmen who sailed with us. They often dressed as lads, but I never miss a wenmen’s curves no matter what she be wearing.”
“Since you keep calling me a wench, you’ll be staying ass end up with no rum and no pounding.”
“I said wenmen.”
“Same thing!”
“Ohhh, so I be a right naughty man. Ye giving me a flogging?”
“Urgh,” I stood and turned my back to him.
The red-haired man had climbed to his feet. He clutched the robe around him and trembled. By his pale skin and the blood-red tears building in the corner of his eyes, he was a vampire.
“This was all a misunderstanding. I’m sorry.”
“I’m alive.” His wide, earnest eyes locked on mine.
I stared back and felt like I could fall into those eyes like a meteorite falling into a forest. “You have beautiful eyes.”
He trembled. “Yours look like the first time I saw the night as a vampire. Like home and belonging and excitement.”
My heart fluttered even though I knew this was a spell—and one that probably wouldn’t last. The soulbindings would wear off after a day, and the men would return to ghosts. The mate spell would likely die with it.
The vampire stretched out a hand. “I’m Oscar.”
I shook his hand, pressing it hard. He was cool, and his touch sent a tremor along my skin. “April June.”
“Hast thou forsaken me, my Lady of Spring and Midsummer nights?” a man cried.
I turned to the naked man tied to my bed as he wiggled and strained against his bonds. His now limp cock had stopped vibrating. That fucking orange light extended from my chest to his, too.
Shit.
“Come on, doll, free me from these bracelets,” he said.
“Did you just switch from talking like a Shakespearean actor to a rum runner?”
“Who’s running rum?” the bent-over man said. “Run it into me mouth.”
“I switched from the poetic language of my era to the on fleek colloquialism of yours, yes,” the bed-man said.
“Aye,” I said. “Thou hast a fine grasp of the cunning tongues of today’s youngin crotch fruit.”
“Thank you.”
I sighed and flicked a finger. The ropes untied themselves from his wrists and he sat up, pulling my blanket over his junk. “You’re a real-life witch,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I have crossed paths with one of your wonderfully wicked kind before. She squatted in a ditch and stirred a potion of eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog.”
I rolled my eyes. “She wasn’t much of a witch if she needed that.”
“Wait…” Oscar said. “Wait…did you quote Macbeth?”
“Possibly,” bed-man said. “Who can remember everything they wrote hundreds of years ago?”
My mouth fell open. I looked at Oscar, and his mouth hung open.
I turned to the naked man on my bed. “You’re saying you’re William Shakespeare?”
Chapter 5
The naked man on my bed bowed, though he was sitting. “Yes, I am the William Shakespeare.”
I studied his face. He had the long thin features and beard of the Bard’s portraits. But he was much younger, in much better shape, and had all his head hair. “You don’t look like your portraits.”
“Ah yes, those were uglified to deter the fangirls and fanboys. Doth thou knoweth my meaning?”
I exchanged another glance with Oscar. This couldn’t be real. This dude’s brain was fried…and now he was my damn mate. A pox on Julian and his spells.
“If it’s not too forward for me to say, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in four hundred years. I think thy eternal summer shall not fade,” Shakespeare said.
He might be lying about who he was, but he sure knew how to flirt. I bit my lip at him.
“You are one bootylicious tomato,” he added.
Oscar snorted.
I planted a hand on my hip. “Is tomato a compliment or an insult?” I said.
“A compliment, naturally.”
“There’s nothing naturally complimentary about tomatoes.”
“They’re poisonous, parts of them,” Oscar added.
“It’s naturally a compliment because no man would insult such a stunning woman whose voice is like the melody of the stars,” Shakespeare said.
“Stars don’t sing.”
“They do in your voice,” Shakespeare said grandly.
Fuck, I wanted to hate him for his cheesy lines, but my heart betrayed me. It went soft as a kitten.
“Why ain’t no one fucking me? This is a scurvy bilge hole of a brothel,” the bent-over man said. “And I had frequented some shit places in me day—”
“Not now, rummy,” I said. Crossing my arms, I turned back to the naked man on my bed who used to be a dildo and was maybe William Shakespeare.
“He’s thirsty as fuck,” Shakespeare said.
“Thou don’t soundst like the bard half the time,” I said.
“I’ve been roaming London for hundreds of years, learning all the changes in language. Modern slang is amazeballs.”
Oscar coughed, and I suspected it was to cover either a laugh or a desire to curse. I eyed Shakespeare, searching for tells that would reveal if he was lying.
“This is not the ideal way to meet.” He reached for my hand, pressing it between his. “Truly, I understand little of these strange times, but then the course of true love never did run smooth, my mouse—”
“Don’t call me a mouse,” I said to maybe Shakespeare. “You know what happened to the last man who called me mouse?”
“Did ye flog him? Pound him? Feed him
rum?” the bent-over dude said.
I ignored him. “I turned him into a slice of cheese and left him on top of a fence until a mother raccoon waddled along and fed him to her kits. Choose your next words carefully, Shakes.”
“Riveting,” Shakespeare said. “Truly, it’s the bees’ knees to know a real witch. I need parchment and a quill! I must record all this for my sitcom.” He jumped from the bed, taking the blanket with him, wrapped around his waist. He circled my room, searching for a giant feather, I guessed.
“Why is this place full of glass cocks?” Shakes said, frowning at me.
“Security,” I said.
“It’s a brothel,” the bent-over man said.
“Not now, sky-ass.”
“The penises are spelled!” Shakes said with awe in his voice. “Fascinating. Mesmerizing. Thou art a tomato—”
“Nope.”
“Sugarpants—”
“Try again.”
“A dame of most excellent intellect. I want to lick your brain.”
“Not happening, zombie Shakespeare,” I said.
“I mean, your talent is attractive, total boner-time.”
The sad thing was, him calling me boner-time actually made me sploosh just a little. “You should stick to writing,” I said. “There’s paper on the desk in the other room.”
“Ohhh,” Shakespeare said like a kid being given a toy. He raced into the living room.
“April June,” the bent-over man said gently behind me.
He was the first one to use my name, and it got my attention. I turned to him, and he peered up at me. My gaze slid past his eyes to his ass stuck in the air.
Hmmm…it was a nice bubble butt after all. Maybe I should pound it.
“April, will ye free me from these bonds?” His voice was calm this time, and he used my name again.
I flicked a finger, and the handcuffs fell away.
He stood up, lean and well-muscled. His biceps rippled as he grabbed his shaved balls in one hand and felt them over, then adjusted them. “This be different. How about yours, Red?”
Oscar ducked his head and said nothing.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Captain Samuel Thomas Bartholomew, at ye service,” he bowed. “Ye must have heard of me exploits.”
I shook my head. Oscar shook his head.
Samuel looked between us.
“Gadsbudlikins,” he said. “Have ye heard of The Happy Horror? The epic naval battle of Bastard’s Bay?”
I shook my head.
“The wreck of the Queen Anne 3? I plundered a Spanish galleon in the center of a naval fleet!”
“Never heard of you,” I said.
“I don’t know much about pirates,” Oscar said apologetically.
“Shit!” Samuel said. “All that and we ain’t got notoriety!”
“You must have sucked at your job,” I said.
“Don’t anger him,” Oscar whispered. “He’s probably killed people.”
I shuddered at the fear in his voice—because I had killed people, and if Oscar knew, he would fear me too. This mate spell was bullshit. It gave me a man who’ll fear me, a mad pirate, and a mad liar who thought he was Shakespeare.
All I wanted was a night of hard cocks and clever tongues.
My cellphone, resting on the nightstand, rang. No song or sound effect, an actual ring like a proper phone. Its screen lit up, showing Violet’s name.
Good, I had to give her a piece of my mind for that spelled book.
I picked up the cell, and a strong hand gripped my wrist, yanking the phone from me.
“What the fuck—”
“Ye own one of these world stealin’ curses,” Samuel said. He pulled his arm back and threw my phone at the wall. It smashed and clattered to the floor in pieces.
I whirled on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with ye? Those boxes capture people and enslave them to act out plays!”
“You moron!”
“Ye wicked wench!”
I shoved him against the wall.
“I’ve seen what those little slave boxes do. The visitors to cliffs have em, full of captive people and the ensnared spirits of the sea and the shores!”
“That cost a thousand dollars,” I growled in Samuel’s face. He smelled of salt and rum and sweat. It made my slit throb despite my anger.
“A thousand pieces? What are ye, the queen?”
“Yes! The queen of New England.”
The pirate blinked. “Really? Shit.” His eyes shifted around as though looking for an exit or my royal guards.
“There’s no queen of New England,” Shakes called. He leaned on my desk, scribbling on a pad of yellow paper.
“Shut up, Shakes,” I said.
Samuel’s dark eyes fixed on me. They glinted with something not quite mischief, something darker. “Ye saucy wen…trouble…lady…lass. Troublass. Ye must be a pirate to be so clever.”
I pressed my hand harder against his bare chest to pin him to the wall. “Use my name.”
He leaned forward, just enough for our lips to brush, to feel his breath caressing my mouth. His eyes bored into mine with that glint of dirty thoughts and bad ideas.
It made my knees tremble and heat pool between my legs. I always had a soft spot for bad ideas.
He glared at me. I glared back—and then kissed him.
Chapter 6
Samuel’s and my lips clashed, and our tongues fought. I knotted a hand in his hair, and he dug his nails into my hips. He tasted of rum.
“What…why…but…Why?!” Oscar said behind me.
I broke off the kiss to find Oscar watching us with wide, stricken eyes. I shrugged. He would have to deal with sharing. “I have many mates.”
Samuel yanked my hair to clash our mouths together. My bosom heaved against his like in that damn spelled book.
A knock sounded on the front door.
Not just any knock, a pounding like what I needed from a cock right now.
I pulled away from Samuel, but he gripped my hips and yanked me against him. “Ignore your whoremonger and stay with me.”
I shoved him against the wall. His cock bounced to attention. I snorted, then I did something I rarely did: I told the truth. “This isn’t a brothel.”
“Pfft, that be the only option. I woke up naked with a bottle of rum and no memory of traveling here. It be a brothel as sure as I be a pirate.”
“Maybe I stole your memory,” I said.
Samuel eyed me as though considering it.
“Please, open up!” rumbled a gruff voice from the door. I could use a deep man right about now. “Police.”
Shit. Was this even a cop? Or someone posing as one? Maybe Ram’s goons had found me.
Oscar squeaked. “Why are the police here?”
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, constables,” Samuel said. He spun to the window, reaching past my collection of security dildos to try to pry it open.
Good luck to him. That window didn’t open. More security.
I marched past Shakespeare scribbling at my desk and cracked open the front door. I craned my neck to look into the deep-set eyes of Liam the troll. I had met him a few times at Jewels Cafe. “Yes, Officer?”
“Is everything okay, ma’am? We had reports of screaming.” He leaned to the side, trying to see past me into the apartment.
“Yep, everything’s swell,” I said.
“Who was screaming?”
“A movie. Sorry if it was too loud. I’ll wear headphones next time.”
“What were you watching?” he asked, still sounding suspicious.
“A Swedish horror movie, you haven’t heard of it. Thanks for checking in, Officer, but I’d like to get some rest now.”
“What the hell?” Samuel shouted. “These windows be a trap!”
Fuck his shaved jaunty balls.
Liam peered over my head into my apartment. “I think I should come in and look around. Just to be s
ure you’re safe.”
Great, now everyone would think the men were responsible for my upcoming disappearing act. I didn’t want to be known as a kidnap victim, but instead as the cool, sexy woman who mysteriously ran away for mysterious and probably cool, sexy reasons.
Well, maybe I could give them a better rumor to talk about.
“Sorry, I was lying to you,” I said. “The screaming was me and my lovers. You know how it goes when things get hot.”
Liam crinkled his brow. “Violet says it sounded like panic or fear.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what I sound like when I come.”
Liam shifted uncomfortably. Perfect. “The men, too? Violet said at least four people were shouting. She was really worried.”
“This is awkward,” I said, “but we met through a dating group for people who make strange sounds when they orgasm. Our affliction is sounding terrified.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you sure that’s a thing?”
“Yes, because I have it.” I slid a hand behind my back and snapped my fingers to get the men’s attention. A little help here.
“Oh,” Oscar said as though he just realized something. “Oh! Okay. Umm…I’m coming, yes, coming. Aaaahhhhh.” His voice was flat and emotionless.
I smiled at Liam. “His affliction is sounding like a robot.”
“How many people are in there?”
“Many, like your Violet. How many boyfriends-in-law do you have?”
Liam shifted from foot to foot. “That’s not your concern, ma’am.”
“Zooterkins, fuck,” Samuel said.
“He’s masturbating,” I said to Liam. “It’s quite an orgy in here. I’ll tell them to keep it down.”
“Oh…all right…” Liam said. He peered over my head into the apartment again. “If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call.”
I saluted and shut the door. Was one peaceful night with hot dudes with vibrating cocks too much to ask?
And by peaceful, I meant a cock in my every hole. I wouldn’t be able to scream that loud with the Dick in my throat.
I turned to the men. Shakespeare leaned over the desk, scribbling. Samuel stood in the bedroom with a dildo in his hand. I would recognize it anywhere. The Oz.
The one that Oscar was bound to.
