Death Doesn't Bargain by Sherrilyn Kenyon
At this point, Kalder was willing to believe just about anything.
Even in Santa and flying reindeer.
Valynda laughed at Muerig’s brother’s befuddled expression. “’Tis a long story, good Muerig. And we don’t ask those questions on this ship. Just accept that things are unusual here and you’ll get along quite well.” Chucking him playfully on the arm, she skipped out of the room so that she could join Belle and Janice for their regular game of chance that usually involved fire, a lot of cursing, and enough bloodshed that it made the captain rather grateful the Deadmen couldn’t perish from actual blood loss.
And this was from the women of their crew.
The men who made up their family were far more tame by comparison.
Dumbfounded, Muerig gaped at Kalder, who shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t stress yourself over the matter, little brother. It’s all good.”
“I’m so confused by all this. Just when I think no one onboard can be any stranger, they surprise me with another tale of oddity.”
“Says the boy who breathes water and farts bubbles. And just wait until you meet Sallie. He keeps his soul in a rum bottle.”
Muerig gaped. “You’re serious?”
“Quite.” He flashed his brother a roguish grin. “And whatever you do, don’t be opening that bottle. You’ll unleash said soul, which is the last thing you want. That will wreak unholy mayhem on us all, as it tends to go a bit berserk.” Kalder winked at him. “You’ll find our Deadmen unlike any other crew you’ve ever met. A motley band, for sure, but it works for us. Most days.”
“Am thinking you’re all insane.”
“There’s no denying that.” Kalder watched Muerig stretch out on the bunk and sigh as if he were in heaven. “Are you all right?”
“Just grateful to be away from those she-bitches. And, in particular, their claws.”
He certainly understood that. “You know I didn’t want to leave you there. I did me best to stay.”
“I know.”
Kalder swallowed hard as a most bitter wave of guilt tore through him. “You hate me for it, don’t you?”
Muerig scowled. “Pardon?”
“You’ve every right to. I got you killed. And tortured. It’s all me fault what happened to you. Then and now.” He had to steel himself not to flinch as an involuntary image of his brother’s body went through his mind, the way it had looked when he’d found him on that ledge. He still couldn’t imagine the pain they’d put Muerig through because of him. “How did you end up in their hands, anyway?”
“In all truth, I know not. I was in paradise and the next thing I knew, they had me pinned and rooted there. It was horrible.”
“Well, you’re safe now.” Kalder wasn’t sure whose benefit he said that for—his or Muerig’s. “I won’t let them take you again. I swear it.”
“Good thing, that. I for one would definitely appreciate it, brother.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, Kalder hesitated as a million different emotions went through him. While he’d never really gotten along with his older siblings, Muerig had been different. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on the newborn infant, he’d been protective of the boy. For no other reason than Muerig had been the first person to ever really smile at him. To look at him as something more than an inconvenient nuisance.
And he’d been the only one Kalder had never lost patience with. Not even when he’d broken Kalder’s toys or tattled on him to their parents. Not that Muerig had done it often. Only when their father had cornered him, and Kalder couldn’t really blame him for that. Daven Dupree had been a Myrcian renowned for his fierce temper and immense size.
Even seasoned warriors had wet themselves in their father’s terrifying presence. Only Kalder had ever stood toe to toe with him, and that had amused his father to no end.
“At least I have one courageous son cut from me fin and bones.” He’d often raked a sneer over Kalder’s older brothers that would cause hell to rain down on him later for such praise, after his father left them alone. But while they were together, his father’s golden eyes would shine bright with pride for him. A rarity he cherished, in spite of the consequences. “You’re the one I know will lead our people to glory, and not cower before our enemies. I can depend on you, Kal. You won’t flinch or falter. May the gods help us with those milksop brothers of yours at your back.”
“Daven!” his mother would chide every time he’d start in on them. “No need to berate your boys so. They’re fine warriors—one and all—and will do you proud. You’ll see.”
But his father had been right. His brothers would scurry from their father’s approach, while Kalder would meet him without flinching. Even when he beat him, he’d beg him for more and to hit harder. It’d ever been his contrary nature.
Show no pain. Let no one see me break.
Just like his father.
They said that Daven had died laughing in the face of his enemies as they gutted him on the field of battle. That was how Kalder wanted to go.
Forever strong.
Trying not to think about that, Kalder rubbed his hand over his forehead and focused on his brother. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Then, I’ll get you something.” He left him on the bunk, and headed for the galley at the other end of the ship.
Kalder hadn’t gone far before he ran into Cameron beneath the cramped decks as she made her way toward the women’s quarters.
Awkward silence hung between them while he searched desperately for something to say. This should be easy, given all the conversations he’d had with her in his mind during the weeks they’d been apart. All he’d done was dream of her while he’d been in hell.
Dreams of her, alone, had kept him sane. Had given him comfort in the utter madness of their bitterest torment. She was the only succor he’d known during their cruelest punishments. And the sole thing about this world that he’d missed. He’d called himself all kinds of a fool for that weakness. Yet he couldn’t help it.
Cameron had become his one and only talisman for sanity.
All he had to do was remember the way she looked at him—as she did right now—and they could do their worst to his body. None of it mattered. None of it compared to these feelings she stirred within him. For in her eyes, he was worthy.
Heroic.
Desired and special.
When she looked at him, she didn’t see a sorry piece of shit. And that was why he couldn’t embrace her. Why he dared not ever sully her with his touch. Because she was such a fine and decent noble lady and not meant for the grubby likes of him.
With a kind and gentle smile, she held her hand out toward him and opened it. “’Tis your brother’s necklace, Mr. Dupree. I’m thinking you’ll want to return it to him now that he’s back.”
Honestly, he’d rather she keep it. Had it been his, he would have insisted. She had so very little that belonged to her personally, and she deserved beautiful things. Things much more valuable than that bit of silver in her palm. ’Twas a pity her brother hadn’t provided better for her, as he should. Truth was, it angered him that Paden had forced her to dress as a lad, instead of bathing her in the finest silks and every dainty lace and toiletry that women preferred. Indeed, he’d seen the way her gaze would sometimes linger on Lady Marcelina’s gowns. Not with envy, but with aching hunger that said she’d like to have something so feminine to call her own.
Or how her hand would idly play with the fine velvet of Belle’s and Sancha’s gowns whenever they stood close to her. Though Cameron never said a word in complaint or jealousy, it was obvious that she liked such luxuries and would love to have them on her own body. And he would like very much to see her dressed in such finery. No doubt she’d outshine them all with her graceful beauty.
Yet that necklace had been sacred to Muerig, so he was honor-bound to see it back to his brother. “Thank you.”
Her cheeks turned a bright pink as she stepped nearer to him and set the piece in
Cameron gave him that sweet, precious smile that was uniquely hers. Damn, but she had a way of looking at him that was indefinable. Her hand lingered on his. “I missed you, Mr. Dupree. Glad I am to have you back, safe and sound, where you belong.”
“I’m sure he’s glad to be back.”
He glanced past her shoulder to see her brother eyeing them again with his condemning censure, and he wanted to punch the irritating bastard for it. As if Paden judged his sister and found her lacking in morals or character. And that made his anger rise. Not so much that Paden was suspicious of him—he had every right to be, as Kalder’s thoughts were truly salacious in nature where the lady was concerned. He wouldn’t deny how much she tempted him. But Paden should never doubt the virtue of a woman as refined and noble, as damnably decent, as Cameron.
So, in deference to her, he decided to set the bastard back a bit with his words, instead of his fists. “Not really. Rather, I like being beat upon. Makes me feel alive. Keeps the circulation going. You know?”
Cameron choked on a laugh at Paden’s shocked expression over Kalder’s unexpected retort. That was the one thing about the Myrcian. He seldom reacted the way anyone anticipated.
In any given situation.
And with that, he pushed his way past them. “If you’ll excuse me, I have me brother to see to.”
Cameron’s heart sank at the curtness of his tone and the underlying hurt it betrayed. And it angered her that her own brother had caused it.
“You shouldn’t antagonize him so, Paddy. Especially given what we owe him.”
“I don’t care for the way he looks at you.”
How odd, given that she craved it. Cherished it, even. Especially since Kalder was the only man who’d ever seemed to notice that she was a woman and not a mate or ugly hag. “And I’m a grown woman, not a child.”
“You’re still answerable to me.”
Those words set fire to her temper and caused her to laugh in his face that he’d dare to say such to her, as if he were her lord and master. “I answer to no man, Patrick Jack. You’d best be getting your head on straight there, boyo. Make no mistake about it. You went out to sea long ago, gallivanting about what with no cares of home, and left me behind to fend for meself. If you wanted to keep me under your boot heel, you shouldn’t have abandoned me in Williamsburg to me own means. So don’t think for one heartbeat that you’re going to come back now and put a saddle on me like some old nag you be owning and left stabled up with your neighbors waiting patiently for your return. Not going to happen, brother dearest.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying what I’m saying. And you’d best be turning your ears to hear every syllable of it.”
He stiffened as fury darkened his cheeks and turned his blue eyes icy. “And I’m the one what loves you, Cameron Amelia Maire Jack. Been looking after you the whole of our lives. There’s never been a day in your entire existence when me morning hasn’t started with your welfare coming up as the first thought on me mind and your safekeeping being the prayer I whisper before sleep wrestles me into oblivion. So don’t you be taking that shrewish tone now and giving me none of your impertinence in this matter. You think that fish-man loves you? Think again. I know his type. ’Deed I do. All he sees is a fertile, unplowed field he wants to sow and leave planted with his seed as soon as he can. And I’ll be the one what’s left to dry your tears while he’s off on his merry way with another, and you’re long forgotten to him.”
Those words stung deep. Yet not nearly for their indictment against Kalder’s character so much as for her brother’s low opinion of her intelligence. Or her feminine wiles. “Mayhap what you say is true, but few are the knaves what’ll let their own throats be cut open for a mere piece of trim. Virgin, fertile, or other. Believe me, brother, I’m not that big a fool and I’m under no delusion to think meself so precious as all that, to any man. Even you. Especially a maid a man has yet to taste, never mind plow. I know your breed better than that. Ain’t no woman held in such high regard but the most beautiful of our kind, and me looking glass don’t lie whenever I care to look at it. I know exactly who and what I am, and what me true value is. Not a great beauty by any measure or quaffing of beer. Seldom am I even passable. And God knows I don’t lactate ale, nor are the walls of me womb lined in gold. So have no fear that I be blinded by any sort of guile on his part or any other species of male. Me head has never been turned by any man’s honeyed words. But I do know what I owe that man and what he sacrificed for me when he had no reason to, and for that I am grateful, and will always be so.”
And with that said, she stepped around her brother and headed topside to put distance between them before she spoke words toward his character that couldn’t be undone. Or worse, slapped him for the pain he caused her at the reminder that she wasn’t a comely lass. She knew well enough that she didn’t inspire men to forget themselves around her.
Rather, she inspired them to run for the door or into the arms of a more fetching bosom.
It was why she was virgin still, even though she’d worked in a tavern with disreputable rakes and blackguards. Why she was able to pass herself off so easily as a man. She wasn’t the type of woman men wrote sonnets for or that inspired them to forget themselves, not even when they were neck-deep into their cups.
Sadly, she’d had far more women come after her, thinking her a man of prospect, than men trying to get into her knickers. Even some of the boys in her tavern had had a better record of men chasing after them than she had, and that was truly a blow to her ego.
Aye, Cameron Jack wasn’t a head-turner in any sense of the word.
Never had been. Never would be.
But Kalder …
He was exceptional. There wasn’t a woman on board this ship what wouldn’t agree.
And a few of the men, too, for that matter. He had a backside for days. If ever a muse were born to be male, it would bear his face.
Every part of him was the perfection of male beauty. Masculine and strong, he rippled with refined grace and confidence. With swagger.
And that lyrical accent of his …
She could listen to it all day long. He could read a ship’s manifest and make it sound like poetry. Never mind the way his voice carried whenever he hummed or sang in a low tone the ditties of the crew.
If only she were more comely.
Damn you, Paden! Damn your rotten hide straight to the Locker and then some!
“Are you all right, Miss Cameron?”
She paused at the other glorious accent that never failed to lift her spirits. Only this one was sweet and motherly.
Belle jumped down from the mast rigging to land beside her on the deck.
Cameron scowled at her nimble grace. “How is it you do that, woman, without breaking your neck or leg?”
Belle laughed. As a rigger, she was one of the best they had among the crew. “I think nothing of it. It’s like breathing. You should try it sometime.”
Cameron wrinkled her nose as she imagined herself tripping and falling to her death—and that while merely walking over the regular decks. “Nay. You’ve never seen me sorry attempts at sewing. I’d just tangle the sails and then the captain would have me…” Her words trailed off as she glanced up and a weird whispering sounded in her ears. Like rushing fire. Her hair fell loose from its queue and turned stark white at the same time as her wings unfurled from her back.
Writhing from the unexpected attack, she cried out in pain. Normally whenever the Seraphim blood took over, it didn’t hurt, but this was excruciating. Agonizing. It felt as if the flames of hell were engulfing her.
Worse, she could hear the screams of the damned begging for mercy. The voices of those torturing them with their sins, reminding them of the evils they’d done. Loudest of all
It was more than she could take. Pressing her balled fists to her eyes, she tried to blot the horrific images. She wanted to claw out her eyes to do away with what she saw. What she heard. To stab out her eardrums. Anything to make it stop.
Someone close by screamed and screamed.
Suddenly, someone held her in strong arms and rocked her like a babe with her head tucked beneath his chin while he stroked her hair. His heartbeat pounded against her cheek, soothing her and blotting out the voices as he hummed a soothing lullaby in a language she’d never heard before. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the comforting scent of sea brine and warm leather that was uniquely Kalder.
Cameron trembled at the thought of how they must appear. Her in her Seraph form, white wings draped limply over the wooden deck while she lay sprawled in Kalder’s lap.
It was scandalous.
But he said not a word as he held her while the others stood in a circle around them. Even the water witch, Strixa, was there in her human form.
“Are you better, poppet?” Kalder asked in the gentlest of tones.
“Who was screaming?”
“You were.”
Stunned, she lifted her head to look up at him for clarification. “W-w-what?”
“Aye.” He cupped her face in his warm hand and brushed his thumb over her chin. “You said they were tearing you apart.”
“I don’t understand. Are we under attack?”
Kalder shook his head, then looked over to Thorn, who’d also come out to stare at her. “Why is she in this form while her brother didn’t change at all?”
Thorn’s features paled. “I’m not sure you’re going to like the answer. Most of all I pray I’m wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Kalder had yet to loosen his grip on her.
“There’s only one reason I can think for any of this.” Thorn glanced over to the captain. “And you can correct me if you think I’m wrong. You know Vine better than I do. But it suddenly occurs to me why she’d free Kalder’s brother and send him here. If I had to lay odds, I’d say it was Muerig’s blood she fed to the Jacks, and a binding spell that holds them here. One that won’t let them both stay on this side of the veil.”