Page 11 of Immortal Pirates

He tore and kicked, pummeled, and then went for the other vampire’s throat—plunging his fangs deeply, and goring him with his sharp teeth. Hot, thick blood rushed over his lips and tongue and drove him to further violence. He tore, punched, kicked, and drank. The blood from Moldavi’s make—his minion—was tainted with that of the evil vampire lord, but it fueled Raine and fed the inherent violent tendencies of his kind.

At last his bloodlust eased, and he stepped back, chest heaving, and swiped a hand over his mouth. What was left of the vampire was hardly more than ribbons of flesh and muscle, and the gleaming hint of white bones beneath the mess.

Raine heard a noise behind him and turned to see Arial standing there. Her eyes were wide and shocked, her face pale in the lantern light.

Behind her loomed Bladsoe, casting a broad, wicked shadow, along with several other crew members.

They were all staring at him, but the horror and disgust in Arial’s eyes was all that he saw.

“Put him in the brig,” she said, her expression cold and hard.

“Arial,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I need to speak?—”

“It’scaptain,” she snarled. “And you need do nothing.Put him in the brig,” she snapped at her crew. “Now.”

Raine couldn’t blame them for hesitating, considering the mincemeat he’d made of the vampire on the ground. And the fact that he himself was bloodied from head to toe.

He considered making a break for it—he could easily fight his way through the five or six crew members; especially in this small space. But if he did that, he was announcing both guilt and regret—neither of which he possessed for defending himself.

And he’d have to give up his mission.

And he’d have to leave Arial Bonny.

Instead, he allowed himself to be manhandled into the iron cage.

6

Arial was numb.

She couldn’t believe he’d done what he’d done.

Though she herself had torn into flesh with talon and beak, it hadn’t been like that. It was a natural activity for the wild, it was required for the sort of creature she was.

But apparently, pointless, horrific violence was part of St. Albans’ life as well. She’d almost believed otherwise.

The smell of blood lingered from the death of one of her crew members. How dare he do such a thing? Howdarehe assault her sailor? How dare he lose control like that? How could he do that to a man?

Howcouldhe?

Thank God she hadn’t let him feed on her. Arial felt ill. Lightheaded and nauseated. And very, very weary. Andsad. She’d had such a connection to him, and now…

She knew better.

Arial paced her quarters, having dismissed a concerned Bladsoe shortly after returning from the brig. Somehow he sensed there was something more to this than the captain disciplining a man.

The sun would rise soon, and she had a decision to make: did she continue on the mission Corvindale had asked her to take on—without St. Albans’ help—or did she call it all off and return to Barbados?

And either way, what did she do with St. Albans?

She was, she admitted to herself, shocked that he’d allowed himself to be jailed at all. The fact that he’d surrendered so readily seemed odd. The way he looked at her—without a hint of the ferocity that surely had fired him to destroy a man as he’d done—dug deeply into her gut.

It almost made her wonder if —if there was something she was missing.

She almost started for the door. Maybe she should speak with him. Let him explain.

But she never allowed any sort of violence on her vessel. Any crew member who caused any problem was locked in the brig—just as St. Albans had been. It was a necessary, unbending rule for a vessel at sea.

I should sleep instead,she told herself.