Page 21 of Immortal Pirates

Although when that might happen, he thought, staggering a bit as the deck shifted alarmingly beneath him and a wave of ocean splatted onto his arm, he had no idea.

The only good thing about the fury of the storm was the dark clouds that obscured the sunlight and allowed him to remain outside without being fried to death. He knew little to nothing about sailing any size vessel (that was why one had servants, after all), let alone a ship—but he’d be more than willing to help if the captain needed him.

But the moment she caught sight of Raine—who was, unfortunately, standing there looking out of his element, Arial Bonny stabbed a finger toward the back of the ship where her quarters were located. “St. Albans! Get out of here! I don’t want to be tripping all over you while I?—”

She never finished the sentence—though the sentiment was clear—for a wild toss of waves sent the ship rolling sharply, and a crash of thunder drowned out her voice.

Raine hesitated, but common sense prevailed. He’d be more in the way than helpful, and he didn’t fancy the possibility of being tossed overboard by an annoyed pirate captain. Grinning to himself at the realization that she’ddoit, too, if he annoyed her enough, he started to the chamber to let the sailors do their sailing.

He had no concerns about her ability to sail the ship through this storm. He just hoped it didn’t take long.

Because he really wanted to get her alone.

It took much longerthan she liked before Arial tottered to her cabin where she knew St. Albans waited. Over two hours, in fact, before the sea had settled enough that she could leave Bladsoe at the wheel and know all would be well.

They’d sailed through the worst of the storm, and she could smell and otherwise sense—through her “wild” self—that Mother Nature’s fury had nearly passed over them, and would be on to stirring up the ocean around other ships to the northeast.

It wasn’t until she put her left hand on the door knob to open it that Arial allowed herself to recognize the pain that had latched itself onto her during the mishap of her transition…and hadn’t quite released her. When she opened the door to her quarters and stepped inside, the wave of agony caught her so by surprise that she actually had to stifle a gasp.

That was when she really had the chance to look at her right hand—the one that was…wrong. Still wrong.

Arial closed the door behind her and turned to look around the dimly-lit chamber for St. Albans. If she was surprised—or disappointed—that he didn’t immediately speak or move at her entrance, she didn’t allow herself to feel either of those emotions.

Raine St. Albans, Lord Norringford, was a temporary passenger on her ship and she could spare no feelings toward him. That, she’d determined during the last two hours of battling strong winds, flapping sails, whipping lines, and surging cascades of churning sea that pelted everyone on deck.

Then she saw him. Sitting in the darkest corner of the room, unmoving. His eyes—colored with a soft, red glow—were fixed on her.

“What is it, St. Albans?”she asked, immediately sensing some unpleasant undercurrent—and at the same time having neither the energy nor the time to spare for whatever seemed to have caused him to be uncharacteristically silent and…angry?

Yes, it wasangershe sensed, rolling off him. Anger, and perhaps even suspicion.

Hiding her right arm behind herself, keeping the throbbing pain at bay for the moment, she leveled him with her look as she came further into the chamber.

Blast it! She had no time to mollycoddle a Draculia vampire who was pouting becausehehadn’t been able to enthrall her, while Lorimar had definitely been able to turn on the mesmerization that was the greatest asset to an undead. If poor St. Albans was upset because hiseyeglowdidn’t work the way he wanted it to, he could just take himself off?—

“You knew,” he said quietly. His gaze settled on her, the light in his eyes easing slightly—but becoming no less cold and steady. How a light that burned could be defined as cold was one of the inexplicable aspects of the Dracule.

“What?” Arial snapped. All she wanted was to collapse in her chair and try to figure out how thebloody hellto fix herself. She didn’t have time to play word sallies with the man glowering at her from the corner.

He stood abruptly and his presence seemed to fill the chamber. His head nearly brushed the ceiling, and the lamp he’d lit cast his shadow—long and wide—over her. Instead of replying with words, he pointed to the small silver box that sat on her table.

Then Arial understood. “Snooping around, were you, St. Albans? Served you right for sticking your arrogant nose into places it doesn’t belong.”

“How did you know?”

Because she was out of patience and embattled by pain, Arial considered walking over to the damned box and opening its lid and shoving the contents beneath said arrogant nose.

Instead, with what she later would think of as a Herculean effort, she replied calmly and evenly. “How did I know your Asthenia is pine needles? How did I come tohavea lead-lined box of pine needles here on the ship with me, while at the same time hosting you on my vessel? Surely you’ve had plenty of time to settle on an answer over the last two hours while I—and the rest of my crew—did our damnedest to keep theLassafloat, St. Albans. Why don’t you just answer the question for me so I can get on with—with the other things I need to do.”

In her agitation, Arial forgot herself and gesticulated angrily with both of her arms. By the time she realized she’d done so, St. Albans had moved.

In the space of a breath, he went from across the chamber with fiery eyes to grasping her right arm with a very different expression on his face. She automatically tried to fist her fingers, but since three of them were still feathered and wouldn’t curl, she failed.

“Arial,” he said, staring at her appendage, then transferring his attention to her face. Shock and concern filled his eyes.

She snatched her arm away, furious that she’d exposed herproblemto him. “It’s?—”

“You’re hurt.” The tension that had left his face rushed back in; but rather than being in the form of anger and suspicion, it reappeared as horror and even disgust. Toward himself. “Arial, I’m sorry. I—what can I do?”