Wicked as She Wants

“Ah, but you are a different sort of lady, and it is the night, and we are alone. And I think you won’t want to scream now.”

One black-gloved finger moved toward my face, and I pursed my lips to keep from biting it. I was a roiling storm of emotions. My natural instincts to maim and kill and drink raged against my self-control with every thump of my hungry heart against the tight leather corset. And my ingrained behavior, the princess in me, was insulted that this man would dare to touch me and make pretty, lying words at me as if he was offering candy to an innocent Pinky child.

I began to understand the bone-deep fear of prey. This man wasn’t a soft duke or an aging baron. He didn’t belong on the Maybuck, which meant that no one knew he was there. Would it be anything close to a fair fight? He was bristling with weapons, and I was sorely hampered by leather and canvas and lace. Even if I managed to kill him, I would expose myself as a Bludwoman and follow him over the side to the sea far below.

So that left me in the position of any other young girl: I was in his power. I had to find a way to escape him before he hurt me or drove me to a killing fury. Or both.

He took a step toward me, a knowing smile on his lips. I took a step back, hands still up.

“Please,” I said again. “My uncle will be back soon. He’s the Maestro. He’ll be most upset if my person is assaulted in any way.”

“He’s not your uncle, little flower. And whoever he is, if he brought you on the Maybuck, he didn’t have much concern for your honor.” Quick as a whip, he swung around, one hand on either side of my face, trapping me against the wall. So I played prey. I cowered.

“Besides, I’ll return you in good shape,” he whispered in my ear, the scent of blood and wine heavy on his breath. “I’ll get you warmed up for your future husband. Do the hard work. You’ll thank me for it. For warming you up.”

I gulped and turned away as he nuzzled my neck where I’d unlaced the thick collar of my shirt. One of his hands fumbled with the cloth of my skirt, as the boy’s had the night before. No wonder women wore so many layers of clothes. My hands slapped his away, but his fingers only dug harder into my flesh.

My breathing sped up, my chest straining against the corset. The more I fought him, and the more he fought the cloth hiding my scent, the more I realized that I was truly in danger. Even without unleashing his sharp teeth, he was besting me. His beast was stronger than my beast, and I began to push him away in earnest.

“I like it if you fight me a little, vixen,” he murmured, his voice husky.

Left with little choice, I sighed and jerked away from his hand. And then I head-butted him.

I heard the crack and saw stars, but it bought me only a moment of mercy.

“You nasty little bitch.” He touched the split skin on his forehead and snarled, snagging both of my gloved wrists and pinning them painfully against the wall over my head. He tucked his blud-covered forehead into my shoulder, beyond the reach of another head-butt. Shoving his hips hard against me, he said, “You owe me your maiden’s blood now, little flower, and I’ll have it.”

His tongue darted out to slide up my face, until he pulled back in surprise.

“You! On this ship! How can—”

Before he could finish, he went completely stiff and shuddered, then vomited blood and wine all over my skirts. He dropped my wrists and fell to his knees, and I screeched and danced away from him, trying to fling the wine-soaked filth from the only dress I owned.

There was a loud thud as boot met face, and my attacker fell to the boards. When I looked up again, Casper stood like a vengeful god over the man’s inert body, his face white with rage and his eyes promising murder. His hands were taut white fists at his sides, and he was panting in a way that made all his veins throb with a song as lovely as his music. Keen stood just behind him, her crafty glare and alert stance at odds with the frilly, diaphanous gown.

“Did he hurt you?” Casper’s voice was soft, flat, deadly.

Rubbing my forehead, I gave a weak chuckle and said, “No, but I split his forehead open.”

He gave a humorless snort and kicked the body over with a high black boot. When he saw the man’s unusual dress, he inhaled through his teeth.

“Know what that is?” he asked.

“A Bludman. Not someone who belongs here.”

“That’s a pirate. An assassin or a scout, maybe. But you’re right, he doesn’t belong here. And we’ve got to get rid of him—fast.”

Casper looked up and down the hall before picking the pirate up under his armpits and dragging him quickly away. Keen grabbed the man’s soft black boots, and they were soon tossing him overboard from the empty deck. I grinned as I watched the body fall into the midnight clouds and noted that I didn’t feel airsick at all.

“We tell no one.” Casper scanned the hollow sky as if expecting a skull-plastered ship to be waiting nearby. “If Miss May hears of pirates, they’ll search every crevice of the Maybuck. If they find what’s hidden in our room, we’ll be exposed and tossed out. We’ll just have to hope he was alone.” He rubbed his fist and cracked his knuckles. “God, that hurts. I must have punched him in a knife. Or a bone.”

“You punched him?”

“Right in the kidney.” His lopsided smile was full of pride and dimples. “I read somewhere that it can make you throw up, being punched in the kidney.”

“You didn’t read it. I told you,” Keen muttered. “Learned it on the street.”

“Effective, if messy.” I smiled at Casper, caught off guard by our strange situation. “Well done.”

He held out his arm, and I took it, careful not to get gore on his shirt as he guided me back to our room. I didn’t read the plaques on the doors this time—the barely lit passages didn’t feel as safe as they had before, and I wanted to be behind my own closed door. The fact of the matter was, I was shaken.

For the first time in my life. I didn’t feel like a princess or a beast or a Bludman. Just a creature grateful to be alive. My first real taste of physical fear wasn’t sitting well with me. I’d faced off with the largest, fiercest predators the tundra could produce. Ice bears, timber wolves, wolverines, and me armed with nothing but my own sharp teeth and nails and determination to master the enemy. I’d faced my mother in one of her world-famous dark moods. I’d floated into the clouds, shivering against wood boards and waiting for the moment the wind carried me overboard and into the sea.

But I’d never lacked confidence in my own abilities as a predator, not until a stronger Bludman’s hands had pinned my wrists, finally showing me where I fit in the world. Whatever Casper was, he had saved me when I couldn’t save myself. I wasn’t the ultimate killing machine my mother had always told me I was.

Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

13

Somehow we ended up back at our door, Casper’s arm around my shivering shoulders. He withdrew with a gentle pat, hovering near, probably afraid I was going to fall over without him there to hold me up. For once, I wasn’t angered by his attentiveness.

“I’ll be in my bunk.” Keen disappeared into the closet and slammed the door. Her next words were muffled by thick wood. “Enough bloody excitement for one night.”

I looked down at my only dress, the thick, tawny cloth splattered with wine stains and blood.

“How am I supposed to clean this up? I have no wardrobe, no maid. Do we even have running water on this flying hatbox?”

Casper looked me up and down and flushed, then turned to dig through my trunk. He handed me a wad of soft white cloth.

“It’s bedtime. Here’s your nightgown. Just go to sleep, and we’ll deal with it in the morning, when everyone is . . .”

“Less coital?” I offered.

“More clothed and sober.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll go outside to keep watch. The other passengers will just think I’m drunk. I’m possibly the only person besides you who isn’t. So that’s new.”

He went for the door, and I panicked. “Wait.”

“Yes?” His gaze was steady, roving over me as if hunting for sore places.

“Would you mind . . .” I took a deep breath, searching for the right words. I was accustomed to ordering people around, not asking favors.

Casper’s face softened. “Shall I stay in the room until you’re asleep?”

A small smile and a nod were all I could muster.

He pulled a book out of the trunk and began to read by the light of the wall sconce. After a contemplative look, I went into the bathroom to disrobe. It was the same size as the closet and very primitive, just a toilet, a spigot, and a mirror, but all I needed was the privacy. It felt wonderful to unbuckle the corset and peel the filthy layers from my skin. I’d never worn clothes so heavy and tight and binding. Or, for that matter, so smelly. I pulled on the light cotton nightgown Reve had packed for me and tiptoed to the bed, leaving my soiled clothes on the ground. Casper did me the courtesy of not looking up, and I turned on my side and pulled the velvet coverlet over my shoulder.

As I fell asleep, I couldn’t help thinking about Casper, listening to him breathe as his bare fingers whispered over the pages of his book. I’d watched him drinking. He’d had glass after glass of wine, and he’d surreptitiously mixed in his own special brew from the flask with every refill. He should have been drunk. But he wasn’t. Either that, or he was a good actor. And under the smell of red wine, filling the airless room, there was still something else, irritating me like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch.

“Good night, Ahna,” he whispered. As if I finally had permission, I slept.

I was trying to muddle through Casper’s book when the door opened the next morning. I hadn’t seen Casper or Keen since waking up, and I was bored already, sick of the small room and unaccustomed to being trapped. The book was dull, nothing but music theory and dizzying arrays of notes. Casper’s company would be a welcome diversion, if only for the bickering. Maybe that was why there was something teasing in my tone when I said, “And where have you been?”