Kerry Allen's Love Emporium

For the hundredth time that day, Reese’s gaze strayed to the pirate’s ship, silent and persistent as a stalking wolf awaiting the most opportune moment to strike.

The beast would discover soon enough that this time, his prey bit back.

Yuri approached. “It’s near night. Shall we drop our sails?”

A blazing sliver of sun lingered on the horizon. It burned itself out as she watched, but a wide swath of the western sky remained aglow with gold and rose before blending into the violet edge of night. “Near being the key word, Mister Ivanovich. If pressed, I might insist the definition of night involves full dark. Squeeze as much distance as possible from the day that remains.”

He directed his menacing visage toward the other ship. “We can fight them.”

“Emboldened by your success last evening, are you?”

Narrowed eyes indicated the dig pricked his pride, but she saw no reason they shouldn’t enjoy their failure together. Her entire crew had survived the encounter, but many were wounded and disproportionately weakened by what should have been minor injuries.

There were two delusional reports of being bitten on the neck. Examination showed only the same shallow knife slashes sported by most of the men, the grisly calling card of their attackers. The two who reported being bitten had been quarantined, in case some incubating tropical fever was behind their mad claims.

Their incapacitation left her shorthanded, particularly since the five pirates left in her care had collapsed at dawn and would not be roused by noise nor blows nor buckets of water dousing their heads.

Useless, rum-pickled hooligans.

It stung to no end that the wastrels were nonetheless equal in fighting skill to her group of mercenaries. Engaging them again without first gaining a tactical advantage would be futile. “Tonight, observe. Gather what information you can about them and their ship. If we learn anything useful, we will formulate an organized plan of attack that might actually stand a chance of success.”

“And if not?”

Her teeth grated together in a vain attempt to make that outcome easier to swallow. “Then we shall endure their company for the duration of the bargain I struck.”

Yuri favored her with his dark, inscrutable gaze. “You’ll have to endure more than the rest of us.”

“I’ll not be subjected to violence. I have his word to that effect.”

And to compensate for her lack of faith in any noise that passed from the pirate’s lips, she had her guns, blades, fists, and teeth. “I’ll speak with my hostages before I see Marrs.”

“If he refuses?”

She had conceded as much of the battle to him as she intended to. “Remind him he wants me in an agreeable mood.”

It was too late for that, actually. She’d caught a few hours of sleep during the day, damned if she’d face him at night with her wits and reflexes slowed by fatigue. The disruption of her routine—and the forced necessity of it—made her mood more churlish than was typical for her.

As such, her greeting to the two men obstructing the path to her cabin—one of the pirates dangling between them, hoisted in their grip so his bare toes only grazed the foor—was clipped. “What is it?”

“We found this one snooping around the hold.”

The accused offered her a cheery, simple-minded grin. “I’m innocent, cap’n. Sleepwalkin’, I was. Woke up with these blokes yankin’ me about and causin’ a ruckus.”

If she were going to plant a spy, she’d choose one like him, for what callous brute would harshly reprimand one so mentally disadvantaged, who clearly knew not what he did?

If Marrs expected her to be soft-hearted or gullible because of her gender, he would be sorely disappointed. “Were you in another line of work, I might give you the benefit of the doubt. As it is, a known thief sniffing around my cargo makes me a bit anxious.”

“What should we do with him?”

“Search him—thoroughly—but don’t bruise him unless you find something that justifies discipline. He is, after all, our guest until such time as Mister MacDougall and the others return from their enlistment across the way.”

“What about the other four?”

She never had been a gracious hostess. “They should be quite refreshed after sleeping the day away. Roust them and put them to work.”

The nosy pirate was borne away, and Reese adjourned to her cabin to prepare for battle. She wore a sword at her side and laid a pair of pistols on the desk to make her feelings clear. She tucked a derringer in her boot and strapped to her forearms knives mounted in spring-loaded rigs in the event Marrs proved insensitive to those feelings.

She withdrew from a drawer a bottle of rum. One swig from the bottle when sleep eluded her served as an effective sedative. If she poured a sufficient quantity down his gullet, perhaps he’d convenience her by passing out and snoozing the night away.

The ship slowed. A flurry of activity sounded above, but of the restrained sort, lacking screams and gunshots and the clang of blade on blade. Minutes later, knuckles rapped against her door.

She laid a hand on each pistol, fingers twitching over the triggers. “Enter.”

The door opened to admit Conrad MacDougall. “Och, is that any way to welcome a man?”

“It’s fitting for most.” Since he had yet to give her cause to shoot him, she shifted her hands to the desktop. “Where are the others?”

“Filling their bellies.” He entered alone and closed the door behind him. “There’s something verra strange about that ship, lass.”

With a bit of luck, it would be the sort of strangeness that resulted in pirates being nibbled by fishes at the bottom of the sea. “Such as?”

“They may have been dead in the water when first we saw them, but they dinna have to be. They’ve run the rigging and such down below. They can sail the ship without e’er setting foot on deck.”

A way to exploit that to her advantage was not immediately apparent. “The black-hearted, manipulative whoreson is extraordinarily committed to the ghost ship image.”

“Aye. So much so, they’ve no food on board. No’ even a galley.”

Very strange, indeed. Perhaps they stole food from the ships they attacked. Perhaps they were cannibals, in which case her crew’s claims of biting warranted further exploration. Farfetched as it sounded, no atrocity was beneath such men.

The information was as unhelpful as it was disturbing. What was she to do, toss one of her men overboard in hopes the enemy would dive in after the meal en masse and themselves be devoured by a swarm of sharks? She needed better information to come up with a viable plan.

Failing that, she’d settle for more time.

The door swung open. Marrs stood framed in the opening, head ducked to accommodate his height. He regarded her with eyes dark as a moonless night, danger lurking in their shadowy depths.

Despite her silent admonitions to resist, her gaze drifted down to assess the snugness of his pants. Memory refreshed, she returned her attention to his face.

A trace of a smile played across the smug bastard’s lips, as if he’d scored another point and secured his victory.

Her guts knotted, reminiscent of the discomfort that followed consuming tainted shellfish. It ought to be a crime for a man of such repugnant character to possess such a beautiful form. If she believed in devils, she’d think him the work of one… or a devil himself. “You don’t knock?”

He shrugged off his lack of manners. “Requesting permission to enter suggests an option of refusal not in the spirit of our agreement.” He cast a significant look toward her weapons.

Her hands drifted back to the pistols, the temptation to snatch them up and put them to use making her fingers itch. “I may have to tolerate your presence, but I made no promise to make you feel welcome.”

He gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement. “Until the third night.”

Or until she discovered the means to best him at this game. “That’s a long way away, and if you intend to starve my men, I’ll consider our agreement void.”

His grimace displayed unexpected chagrin. “My humblest apologies for poor planning on my part. Arrangements are being made to rectify that oversight.”

“By arrangements, of course, you mean plundering my food supply.”

He sighed. “Either you want them fed, Miss Hershey, or you do not. It’s most unreasonable of you to criticize the means by which I endeavor to meet your demands.”

He had some nerve, suggesting he was putting himself out to accommodate her, while she was the unreasonable one. Nonetheless, unless she intended to insist her men go without food, she had little choice but to surrender food to him.

The loss refreshed her determination to surrender nothing more. “You may attend to your hunger, Mister MacDougall. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

The first mate paused at the door, abreast of Marrs, to look back at her. “Ye’ll be all right, lass?”

She did not mistake the question for genuine concern. He’d been hired to do a job, and she was part of it. He need not worry about losing the balance of his pay on her account, though. “I’m amply capable of defending myself.”

Marrs bent in a mockery of a gentleman’s bow. “And I shall afford Miss Hershey every bit of the courtesy deserved by the lady she is not.”

Conrad stepped through the doorway. He glanced back with brows drawn downward, no more certain than Reese of the merit of that assurance. The door snapped shut, silencing any protest he might have made.

Marrs stared at the door, as if waiting for it to reopen and present him with an inconvenient confrontation. Several seconds passed, and it became clear no such challenge was forthcoming. His stare slashed across the room to fasten upon Reese with determined intensity that strangled her breath away.

“All this talk of hunger has stirred mine,” he said in a low, velvety tone designed for threats or seduction—or both. “You may wish you’d kept a chaperone.”

* * *

Malcolm hadn’t regarded a woman with such fascination since he was a callow youth of fourteen. Left to his own devices in an unsavory area of London, his first order of business had been dispensing with his ignorance of women. They’d seemed magical creatures, enchanting and fey, glowing with the promise of treasure just waiting to be unveiled.

Half an hour of education dulled the thrill of discovery. Women were soft, pretty, enjoyable, but far from magical. The fairer sex shared all the shortcomings of their male counterparts. They could be cruel and selfish. They lied. They used.

Reese Hershey was lovely, but there was little softness to her. There was a glow about her, but it didn’t come from within. Rather, she drew the light to her, claiming it as her own, and bared her claws in a warning to all: I will slaughter anyone who tries to take what’s mine.

The greedy, bloodthirsty wench was the perfect companion for him.

Companionship was not on her agenda, however. She was ready to do battle. Whereas last evening she’d been hot with it, burning with outrage at the violation of her territory, tonight she ran cold, calculated, alert for traps he might try to lay in her path—a worthy adversary.

Her indomitable spirit made her irresistible. She’d have been more successful in driving him away if she made an effort to appear cowed. He knew she had no qualms about lying. He also knew her pride would not allow her to grovel, even in deceit.

And still he stared, like a bespelled adolescent.

Her smile was as friendly as that of a crocodile. “How’s your foot?”

Viper. “You’ll be pleased to learn it’s not gangrenous and writhing with maggots.”

The major damage of the gunshot wound had resolved itself, leaving behind a splotch of new, pink skin and a deep, lingering itch as the finer healing progressed at a slower rate. Within the next day, there would be no visible damage.

The aftereffect that should most concern her was the drop in his pulse as his body compensated for the loss of blood, conserving his stores until he fed again. Every beat of his heart served as a reminder of his need—a need that appreciated the exquisite flavor of fiery blood as little as a drunkard savored an excellent vintage of wine. He wasn’t sure it would wait three days. 

He’d best hurry up and learn how to win her over, in that case. He began with the only subject he knew to be of interest to her. “What is this cargo you’d go to any lengths to protect?”

Her expression went blank, revealing nothing but her unwillingness to discuss the matter. He was surprised, therefore, when she volunteered, “Beans.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it was far from the truth. “You’re willing to suffer the unwanted attentions of a black-hearted, manipulative whoreson for… beans.”

She evinced not so much as a wince of embarrassment that her insult toward him had been overheard. “I have a deep sentimental attachment. My most cherished childhood memories involve beans.”

He opened his palm to expose the a dark lump Clancy had confiscated during his poorly executed investigation. It was a bit moist from being in the spy’s mouth, where he’d tucked it into a vacancy left by some rotted teeth to avoid detection while he was searched. Malcolm’s disgust was tempered by relief that some other orifice had not been chosen as a hiding place. “This isn’t like any bean I’ve ever seen.”

Red crept into her cheeks, and her ocean-colored eyes glittered with fury. “I’ll cut the thieving bastard’s hands off.”

She flew at the door with astonishing speed. He seized her hand as she reached for the latch but captured only her smallest finger, not enough to halt her momentum. Her hand bent backward, tightening thin cords that looped around her fingers and stretched across her palm toward her wrist. Six inches of sharpened steel shot from her sleeve.

He stared again, this time in awe of her savagery. She would make an excellent—

No. He would not entertain such a thought. That lesson had been too hard learned to ever be forgotten.

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “Very well. I’ll start with the thief’s leader.”

He caught her other wrist before the second retractable blade plunged between his ribs. “It’s not necessary for anyone to lose a limb or a lung. It’s one bean, shrew, and you’ll get it back when you finish overreacting and explain its significance.”

Her breasts rose and fell with each labored breath as she tested his grip, refusing to acknowledge his superior strength. “Once I explain why it’s worth stealing, you mean.”

“I’d swear on my honor I have no designs on your cargo, however valuable it may be to you, but even I would be unimpressed by an oath made on such a flimsy commodity as my honor. Please accept instead my assurance of a profound lack of interest, save for its meaning to you.”

Her jaw worked, as if she were chewing on her answer before spitting it in his face. “Release me, and I’ll tell you.”

Oddly enough, he didn’t trust her not to gut him the instant her hands were free. Besides, proximity had its charms, one being that the heat radiating from her body provided some relief from the chill that had overcome him secondary to blood loss. “I’ll release you after you’ve told me and have one less reason to be so bloody defensive.”

With a twitch of her fingers, the blades retracted into their hidden sheaths, a gesture of goodwill only a man with an extraordinarily poor memory would believe signified a truce. “They’re cacao beans.”

He knew cacao to be used in the making of chocolate. As a human, he’d found the substance unpalatably bitter for such an extravagance. As a vampire, he had no use for it.

He released her hands and stepped outside the range of her reach to allow himself time to react when she attacked. “Was that so difficult?”

She caught the bean he tossed to her and sealed it in her fist. “Excruciating.”

She wasn’t shy about glaring her hostilities, but now her eyes were guarded, as if she’d exposed a vulnerability and could only wait resignedly for him to exploit it. The absence of defiance was uncharacteristically meek. A moment earlier, he’d have suspected treachery. Now, he felt only a sinking guilt, as if he’d broken something precious and irreplaceable.

Instead of the sudden lack of interest he expected in the wake of her diminished spirit, he had the urge to repair the damage he’d wrought. Yes, he would rather she try to gouge out his eyes than watch him with that beaten air enshrouding her. Was it such a shameful secret to be transporting an ingredient used to concoct treats for the wealthy and indulgent? How could he possibly harm her with the knowledge?

His conviction he should drop the subject overshadowed his desire to know more. Probing that wound would neither restore her fiery spirit nor make progress toward wooing her. He would use her rare moment of weakness to address the latter—simply, plainly, not in any fashion that would cause her alarm. The tiniest seeds could grow much in three days, given the proper nurturing. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment earned only a listless shrug in response.

“Do you doubt my sincerity, or would you prefer more eloquent prose? Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

Her drawn-out exhalation spoke of a world-weariness beyond her years. “I’ve seen my reflection, I’m aware of how I compare to other women, and I know it’s the nature of flirtation to exaggerate my assets to soften my resistance. Given that my eventual capitulation is a condition of our arrangement, the flattery is unnecessary.”

His heart kicked in his chest. She’s beaten. Feed.

He ignored its gluttonous demand. He would not give up on her so easily, not when she’d taken him back to a time of innocent wonder, when he could look upon anything and think, Magic.

He narrowed the distance between them, less leery of her weapons and quietly appalled by his own stupidity. “Many women enjoy flirtation for its own sake.”

“Many women want to be convinced they’re a man’s one true love, the only woman he desires, and if she accepts him as her lover, they’ll live happily ever after.” She shook her head as if quietly appalled by the stupidity of her gender. “You’ve been at sea God knows how long. I’m the only available female, so I doubt you’d be deterred even if I were four times the woman I am and covered with pox. I’ve already agreed to lie under you regardless of how despicable I think you, so let’s neither of us delude ourselves with a farce of courtship.”

She managed to be both bluntly pragmatic and mutually insulting. Perversely, he found her candor refreshing.

Her heat curled around him, tugging him closer. “You prefer a forthright approach.”

“In all things.”

He stepped forth rightly, toe to toe, body to body, and—when she tipped her head back to look in his eyes—face to face. “You are correct. I would want you even if your looks were unfortunate, but not because you’re the sole option for a desperate man.”

She arched a brow, a mocking gesture that fortified his hope all was not lost. “I can see how you might become besotted with my sunny disposition.”

His lips twitched at the irony. It was a struggle not to bare his fangs so she could share in the joke. “I’ve always preferred shadow to sun—mysterious, private, filled with secrets to uncover.”

“Dangerous.” She raised her hands, showing the strings with which she called forth her weapons but leaving the blades tucked away.

He felt another demanding kick, this time not in his chest. He briefly wondered when the threat of violence had become an aphrodisiac. “Danger is exciting to the daring.”

“And to fools.”

He realized he’d had this conversation before, or one like it. He repeated his brother’s defense, a weight settling upon his heart. “Fools who succeed at their exploits are often called heroes.”

“Pirates and rapists seldom are.”

Neither were vampires, but even with his multitude of his faults, he fell short of the villainy she’d like to attribute to him. “You’ll willingly give yourself to me.”

“Submitting to coercion does not equate to willingness.”

He tapped her nose with his finger, shocking her eyes wide open. “Which is why we proceed with the farce of courtship, my dark beauty, to distract from our ugly circumstances and salvage what could, under different circumstances, be an enjoyable interlude for us both.”

Distancing himself from her required effort, as if he’d become mired in the trap that drew the light to her. So strong was the sensation of attachment, he swept his hand over his chest to check for pieces left behind in the separation, vaguely disappointed that he remained intact. There were worse fates than belonging, even in part, to one whose philosophy was I will slaughter anyone who tries to take what’s mine.

She remained rooted near the door, her obvious desire to escape his presence thwarted by the lack of anywhere to go. “My enjoyment isn’t your priority.”

“My effort to facilitate it suggests otherwise.” He circled the desk. With one hand, he poured a generous serving of rum into the cup she’d laid out. With the other, he pulled out a chair for her. “Allow yourself to be charmed.”

She looked at the door, the window through which only tar-black night was visible, the proffered chair. Finally, she took a few halting steps toward him.

He held his breath until she settled in the chair, afraid she’d startle like a doe if he made any sound, any movement. She tilted her face up and surveyed him with a sharp, distrustful gaze. “I’ll allow you to try. Don’t expect to succeed.”

The warning was not as off-putting as she probably imagined when delivered from such a powerless, exposed position. He almost wished she’d grab for the pistols, but she seemed unaware they were within easy reach.

His heart kicked again.

Anger sparked alongside it, anger at his own nature, which knew only hunger. The remnants of humanity prevented him from becoming a blood-siphoning monster, gave him the option of behaving in a civilized manner. He’d never been a gentleman, but neither had he been a beast. He’d once known how to be kind to others, not to manipulate them for personal gain but because it was the right thing to do.

That portion of his heart was carved away long before the vampire took up residence there. He’d thought it dead and gone, but it pulsed now, a weak reminder he could choose to feel something other than hunger.

It was only pretend—a farce, she’d called it—but after a few hundred years without the real thing, three nights of feigned tenderness, compassion, and warmth were a passable substitute.

His knuckles brushed her silken cheek, trailing down to the pulse throbbing in her throat. “It won’t be the first time my daring has made me a fool.”

Part 4: A Man After My Own Jugular

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