Pleasure of a Dark Prince (Immortals After Dark #9)(55)
Author: Kresley Cole

When they reached the observation deck, four of the men were already there, scanning the river. Schecter stood under an umbrella, binoculars crammed against his glasses. Travis peered out with his weary gaze more alert and a shotgun in his hands. Rossiter was at the rail, unshaven, his light brown hair disheveled.

Charlie’s hazel eyes were fierce as he stood by his captain, and a machete hung from a strap around the young man’s wrist.

Yet there was nothing to see, nothing but a curtain of rain and the jungle closing in all around them.

MacRieve turned to Schecter. "What the hell, man?"

"Give it a second. There’s a ship coming around the bend about a mile to the north. They’ve been trailing us."

Everyone fell silent as they waited. Then Charlie quietly said, "It’s Captain Malaquí’s ship."

Indeed, sailing up through the rain was… the Barão da Borracha. The ship that potentially carried a vampire and supposedly sailed the other way.

The one Nïx warned me about.

When Malaquí decreased his speed just after that bend, Lucia said, "Why are they slowing?"

"Did they make a find?" Rossiter asked in an overly innocent tone.

MacRieve turned to Travis. "Does Malaquí ever go this route?"

The Texan looked like he had murder on his mind. Those two definitely had a history. "No, we never go the same way."

Like the Contessa, the Barão was a restored rubber boom ship. That was where the similarities ended. Malaquí’s ship was spotless, meticulously trimmed. A shining smokestack jutted proudly, fresh with black paint. Even the lines were coiled at even lengths on the deck.

But no passengers were stirring in the dwindling rain. Only the captain could be seen, hanging out from the wheelhouse.

My first look at Malaquí. He was above average height with slick black hair and a glaring red tattoo covering his forearm. The right side of his face had been maimed – four deep scars sliced across his cheek, as if he’d been attacked by an animal.

He gave her chills. Here was a man who took passengers out, yet again and again they didn’t return. What was he doing with – or to – them?

For all they knew, he could be feeding tourists to an insatiable jungle demon.

When Travis and Charlie hastened to the wheel-house to get the Contessa going once more, MacRieve muttered to Lucia, "Malaquí’s pure evil. Whatever we’ve suspected of him – he’s more than capable of it."

"How do you know?"

"My Instinct’s telling me."

The beast inside MacRieve was recognizing a prospective foe. In a low tone, she asked him, "Do you scent a vampire?" For some reason, she couldn’t get past the idea that Lothaire was on that ship.

"They’re downwind," MacRieve answered. "But aye, I think so. Whatever Nïx sent you to retrieve, someone aboard the Barão either wants it or wants to stop you from getting it."

"This makes sense, then. Nïx told me to beware of two cryptic things – a guardian and a rubber baron. Confirmation on the second. And before you ask, I have no idea what a guardian is."

"The soothsayer warned you of the Barão? Then I’m going to take heed."

"Uh, how?"

"If they follow us for the rest of the day, then I’ll disable their ship at the earliest opportunity."

"Disable?"

"Aye. When they anchor for the night, I’ll scuttle her." At her questioning look, he said, "I’ll swim over, dive underneath, and yank off the propeller. Simple enough."

"Get in the water – at night?"

 34

Just before moonrise, Lucia and MacRieve stood on the platform in the drizzle. She plucked on her bowstring as he readied for his mission – by stripping off his shirt.

At sunset, the Barão had dropped anchor just upriver from the Contessa, within the very same bend – which, as far as MacRieve was concerned, was a declaration of war.

Nothing she could say would dissuade him from his plan.

She was beset with nerves, and for more than one reason. Tonight the moon was full, and though Lucia trusted the witches’ power in the cuff, spells that went against the course of nature had a way of going awry. Like if Fate wanted her way, she’d figure out how to get it.

Plus, Lucia was uneasy about MacRieve being in the water at night. "Just take the skiff, werewolf."

He shook his head. "I have to get in anyway. And I doona want to be seen. If I stir the vampire I scented, he could attack you while I’m over there."

"It’s too dangerous," she insisted.

"Well, I’m no’ too keen on leaving you here with Damiãno, either."

Today MacRieve had told her that Damiãno was a jaguar shifter, one of a powerful species known for their strength, agility – and dirty fighting.

"If that gato comes near you, I want you to drill him between the eyes."

She had her new quiver at her thigh and her bow ready to shoot, but close quarters – like those on a ship – were an archer’s most disadvantageous combat zone. "I’ll do what I can."

He gazed at her anxious expression. "You’re truly going to be worried about me?"

"Just because I don’t want to tell all you my secrets doesn’t mean I don’t like you."

"Aye, we’ll be talking about your secrets later."

After the Barão’s sighting, they’d seemed to enjoy an unspoken truce for the last few hours. "You can’t just let me have them?" And keep your wolf’s nose out of my business?

"My Lykae curiosity demands answers. And now I’ve remembered how I can coax you to tell me anything." He reached out and cupped her breast.

"Wolf!" She slapped his hand away. "You’re just trying to distract me from my worry."

"Aye, and I merely wanted to touch your bonny br**sts."

"Can you be serious? I don’t have a good feeling about this."

"Lousha, you’ve seen me almost completely turned – do you no’ think the things in the water should fear me?"

Good point. "Wait… almost completely turned?"

He chucked her under the chin. "Relax, this is a cakewalk. What’s the worst that can happen?"

As if on cue, the skies opened up, pouring rain.

"Just be careful," she whispered as he slipped into the black water, beginning his silent swim to the Barão.

As she impatiently waited, she tried to analyze this worry. Nearly two weeks ago, she would’ve been overjoyed that he was leaving her behind. Now? She feared she was falling for him, her rough-and-tumble Scot. Which could only be a disaster.