Page 6 of Immortal Pirates

Arial frowned—that was a problem she hadn’t anticipated—and swept from the chamber to harass her men into working faster. The sooner they were out to sea, the sooner she could find theDevil’s Target…and the sooner she could be rid of St. Albans.

Arial managedto avoid both her chamber and St. Albans for several hours as theBlack Lasscut speedily through the choppy, dark blue waves of the Caribbean. But as the sun began to sink lower, she knew it was only a matter of time before he made his appearance on the shadowed deck and disrupted her thoughts—and pulse—again.

It should have occurred to her what accommodations would have to be made for a Dracule sailing with her when the Earl of Corvindale wrote, requesting her help. (The fact that Corvindale had actuallyaskedinstead of demanded was in itself remarkable.) And Arial hadn’t thought too much about it, being pleased to have a way to assist Corvindale and his cabal ofvampires as he worked to destroy—or at least hamper—Cezar Moldavi.

Moldavi was one of the most hated and feared of the Dracule, as well as those who sailed, traded, and even pirated on the seas. Though Arial hadn’t been to the Far East for over a year, she well knew the trouble and violence Moldavi wrought with all of his spice ships.

But it was when his men had taken over theBonny Lass, the ship her mother had left her, and set fire to it—burning not only the vessel, but all of her crew, with the exception of Bladsoe—that Arial vowed vengeance against the man.

The letter that came from Corvindale by way of a speedy hawk from London had been one step in that direction. And though Arial would never admit it to St. Albans, she would have carried him on his mission without any sort of payment. She hated Moldavi not only for murdering her crew, but also for destroying her mother’s legacy. The legendary Ann Bonny had been the most feared female pirate in all the Caribbean—but she never killed without justification. Arial had sailed and pirated with theBonny Lass,in her memory and in her honor.

And also because she liked the wealth and jewels it brought her.

If it got a little lonely at times, being the only female on board a ship of men who had no interest in her—and, in fact, feared her…well, she could handle that.

The more pressing question was whether she could handle Raine St. Albans.

Although he was very quiet, she heard the faint scuff of a footstep even over the roar of the waves and wind.

Arial turned to see his tall figure, thankfully devoid of the covering cloak and that silly hat he’d been wearing earlier. Now he stood in the pink- and orange-cast twilight (the Caribbean really did do the best sunsets in all the world), his hair rufflingin the breeze, his eyes dark and silent as they regarded her. With not a hint of vampiric glow in them.

“How punctual you are, Lord Norringford,” she said dryly. “The sun has no sooner set than here you are, prowling about my deck. Looking for something to eat, I assume.”

As soon as she said those words, she regretted them, for there rose in his eyes that same hunger she’d seen in her chamber. It was the same hunger that caused the blood in her own veins to surge and pound, to strain to be released. A hunger for sustenance…yet also a primal, sensual one.

It was a hunger she fully understood—though in a different way.

And it was a hunger she wondered whether he could—or would—bother to control.

“Are you offering?” he replied in a most mild tone. As if he didn’t care how she responded.

But his eyes…they said something altogether different. They challenged. They coaxed. They seduced.

For a moment, Arial almost did. She already knew she wanted to get him into bed—it had been clear to her even before he kissed her that there was sizzling attraction between them.

And, dammit, there was her heart again—pounding as if she’d been running or flying or diving again—and due only to the way the man looked at her.

And the memory of the way he’d kissed her.

But he was of the Draculia—dangerous, untenable sort of men, driven by power and pleasure. Their very (immortal) lives relied on taking the lifeblood from others. The only Dracule she knew of who was famously in control of his urges was Corvindale, who was a dark, brooding, angry man due to a century of self-deprivation.

“I have work to do,” she said instead. “If you want to findDevil’s Target.”

“That’s a pity,” St. Albans replied in that smooth, aristocratic voice with a primness that both annoyed and attracted her. Then his tone changed, and he appeared to straighten—as if prepared to change the topic to something more important. “You didn’t eat dinner tonight. All of your crew ate, but you didn’t take even a piece of bread.”

Arial’s heart skipped a beat. So he’d noticed that, had he? “Surely you don’t think I’ve lost my appetite due to your presence,” she replied—again without thinking. What the bloody hell was wrong with her? She had no reason to put ideas into his head.

“Ah,” he replied. His teeth—no fangs—flashed white in the lowering light in a bold smile. “So that explains it.”

Perhaps she’d wait until they reached Port-au-Prince, and she’d find a warm male body there to tickle her fancy. Federico was always a good option and she mostly trusted him.

But this one…he was too dangerous. Too dangerous because he matched her, word for word, thought for thought.

“I’ve work to do,” she told him again. “If you want me to find the ship.” She’d been just about to take off when he appeared, and now…well, she wasn’t prepared to let him in on that secret. “The longer we delay?—”

“Yes, yes.” His expression turned curious, and though the last bit of light lingering from the setting sun cast long shadows, she could still make out all the details of his face—even to the thoughts in his eyes.

Night hawks could do that.