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Pleasure of a Dark Prince

Pleasure of a Dark Prince (Immortals After Dark #9)(27)
Author: Kresley Cole

"Apparently, he’s no longer your personal domestic problem. It’s foretold that he’ll start a plague of human sacrifices."

Cruach’s other name was To Him We Sacrifice. He had the power to infect beings, engendering a mad need to kill whomever the victim loved most. "A plague?"

"Before, he could only afflict one with his madness by direct contact and only once he escaped his lair. But soon his influence could potentially be spread like a disease, passed from one person to another."

"How? Black magic, the help of another god – "

"The countdown has begun. Ticktock, ticktock."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Go to the docks. I’ve got you booked on a ship called the Contessa. For weeks, you’ll travel into the jungle, to the deepest, darkest part of the Amazon where no other boats dare to go. Find the Rio Labyrinto – a mystically hidden tributary. Have you heard of it?"

Lucia had exhaled a stunned breath. "Yeah. No one comes back when they go looking for it. Not even immortals."

"Are ya feelin’ lucky, punk?"

 7

"What’s there to help me fight Cruach? A weapon? An ally? Don’t suppose I’ll find a dieumort there."

"Now what’s a dieumort?"

"Never mind! Nïx, what’s down there?"

"Call me when you arrive on time – otherwise all this could be moot – then I’ll reveal the rest to you. Unless, of course, I forget." Which was entirely likely.

Lucia had known Nïx wouldn’t divulge more logistics. She divvied information like a miser parting with gold coins. Lucia had learned, like all other Valkyrie, to go on a little faith – and forbearance – with Nïx. "At least tell me what the stakes are," Lucia had demanded impatiently. "What happens if I fail?"

"The end of life as we know it."

"Nothing else you’d like to impart?"

"Everything you’ll need will be aboard the Contessa". A blare of static-like noise crackled. "Oh, and beware of the barão da borracha and the guardião."

Lucia knew some Portuguese. "Beware of the rubber baron and the guardian?"

More static sounds. "Can’t hear… call back… good luck…"

"Nïx, I know you’re faking the static." She could picture her sister blowing into her fist directly at the receiver. The static abruptly stopped. "Why?"

"It seemed less rude than the alternative."

"What’s that?"

Click.

Lucia slowed, her eyes widening when she spied a wave of riverboats leaving. Was she too late?

She asked fishermen returning from the day’s runs to direct her to the Contessa. They all laughed in answer. Once she finally happened upon it, beached on a section of trash-ridden shore, she realized why.

The Contessa – such a bold and noble name – was a relic. With its three stories and latticed railings, it looked like an old river cruiser from the rubber-boom days. But it was in no way preserved – rotting holes dappled the wood just above the waterline, and the windshield in the pilothouse was fractured from one edge to the other. Any visible metal was corroded, oozing rust down the faded hull like runnels of blood.

The roof on the third-story observation deck was… thatched.

She scrunched her face. Departure at three sharp? Nothing concerning this vessel could be classified as sharp. Nïx, you little rotter. Why would her sister have booked her on this ship?

No, Lucia didn’t have to accept this – she could get another ride. She stepped back to survey the only other boats still beached. Any that remained looked to have been abandoned in haste. The closest one still had tablecloths and utensils on its soaked outdoor tables.

Aboard the Contessa, voices sounded dimly from indoors, and one – maybe two – males stomped around on deck.

At least it had people on it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. She checked the braids she’d plaited to cover her ears, then called, "Is anyone up there? I need to board this" – tub, wreck, joke of a – "boat."

A crusty boot slammed on the gunwale, and a big, bleary-eyed man leaned over it to peer down. "Ship, lady. This here’s a ship," he said defensively, as if she’d told him, "Your penis: I find it minuscule." The man’s accent was American Southern, his voice raspy.

With blood-shot gray eyes, he gave her a once-over, then drawled, "Dr. MacRieve, I presume?"

Dr. MacRieve? Nïx had just gotten elevated from ass-kicking to certain death.

When dealing with humans, Lucia had always used Archer as her last name. Since she would never own up to her real one.

"From LSU?" he asked, snagging a hip flask from his jeans pocket for a generous gulp.

Wondering what else Nïx would have told this man, she answered, "Yes, that’s me. And you’re the… captain?"

"That I am. Captain Wyatt Travis." He wore a white button-down, mostly unbuttoned, and when the wind blew off the river, the material billowed, displaying a surprisingly rock-solid torso.

Lucia supposed he wasn’t unfortunate looking, with his carelessly ruffled blond hair and stubble, but he was noticeably inebriated – even if she couldn’t have smelled liquor wafting from his pores. She conjectured what Travis would blow on a BAC meter, wagering a healthy two-point-oh.

Why would Nïx book her on a rotted tub with a drunken captain? She could just see Nïx clapping merrily and crying "For fun!" "And my assistant booked a room, right?"

"We’ve held a cabin for you. Last one left."

"Air conditioner?"

"One. And it ain’t in your room, darling." His accent wasn’t just Southern. She realized the captain was a Texan.

"Wait, the last cabin?" She scanned the decks. The ship looked to have at least half a dozen of them, spaced equally on the first two floors.

He shoved down a rickety gangplank. "You don’t have to sound so shocked that we’re booked up." Ruffled feathers. The only thing worse than a perpetual drunk was a sensitive one. "There’re three docs like you aboard and my cook and deckhand as well."

Including the captain that would make six humans. This wouldn’t do. Unlike some Valkyrie, Lucia shunned mortals whenever possible. To reveal secrets of the Lore to one of them would draw punishment from the gods, and Lucia was already in a tenuous position with one. Or two. "How much for the entire boat?"

"You ain’t the brightest bulb in the marquee, are you? I already got these passengers aboard – they’re unpacking their scientifical crap in the lab as we speak. We’ve just been waiting on you."

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