I obey, using the sailor’s tattered shirt for the job. Then I race to another soldier who’s struggling to his feet, preparing to fight the pirates to the death. His mouth is bleeding, so I duck in, gripping his sword-arm so he can’t impale me, and I lick the blood from his chin. “Surrender,” I whisper.
“I surrender,” he shouts immediately.
“Lie down on the deck, face-down,” I order, and he drops instantly.
I manage to tie his hands despite my shaking fingers. My power terrifies me. The obedience is so immediate, so complete, so unquestioning. Not a hint of resistance. Some people might find that exhilarating—I hate it. Except, in this case, it’s doing some good.
Slowly Locke and I work our way along the deck. He wounds the men, and then I sneak a taste of their blood, just enough to get them to yield. Everyone else is too busy to notice what I’m doing. Unfortunately the men I’m saving will probably remember how I sampled their blood—they’ll remember being forced to surrender—gods, I’m going to regret this later.
My power wasn’t much use when theWending Willowwas attacked. But there are lives I can save with it now, and damn me, I’m going to try, no matter what it costs. It’s my defiance against Captain Neelan, against piracy in general—against Locke himself. Every person I force to yield is another life he doesn’t have to end, blood that doesn’t have to stain his soul.
I’m not sure how long the battle continues, only that my lips and teeth and tongue are saturated with the blood of multiple men. The coppery, salty bite of the blood coats my throat, and my stomach churns. Still I keep going. I dodge in front of Locke’s blade and confront the man he’s about to kill, swiping blood from the man’s head wound and licking my fingers. “Surrender,” I whisper.
Locke’s at my back, and his large hand closes around the nape of my neck. “Are you trying to get killed? Clear out of the way, Nick.”
“I surrender,” shouts the sailor.
Locke looks from him to me. “How are you doing that?” he grits out. “How are you making them yield?”
“I’m very persuasive,” I mutter.
Locke shoves the man aside and knots his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back. “Your mouth is bleeding. Did someone hit you?”
“Um—yes. I’m all right though.”
He glares at my bloody lips. This Locke is a different person from the gruff pirate aboard theArdent, or the charming one who lost himself inside me. This Locke practically smokes with thunderous lethal energy. He looks as if he wants to kiss me, bite me, and choke me—maybe all three at once—and damn it, that look kindles a hot flare of desire in my belly.
“What’s this now?” Captain Neelan stalks up to us. He’s carrying the head of a man in one hand, held at arm’s length so the blood doesn’t get on his peacock coat. The head’s eyes are open, stunned and glassy, as if the brain took a few seconds to die after it was separated from the body. “Is Nick misbehaving, Locke?”
“No, Captain, sir,” Locke says, letting go of my hair and stepping back. “He’s a right hellion with a blade. I’m just warning him to be more careful.”
To corroborate Locke’s report of me, I smile at Captain Neelan with my bloodstained teeth. He laughs heartily. “Excellent, Nick. Maybe I misjudged you. Care to pitch the captain’s head?” He holds it out toward me.
Bile rises in my throat, but I can’t say no to this. So I nod, with a stiff smile, and I grip the gray hair of theLadyMarcella’s dead captain. With all my might I hurl it across the railing, far out to sea. It’s a better throw than I would have thought myself capable of. Without realizing it, I’ve been growing physically stronger while aboard theArdent. Stronger, and tougher.
Captain Neelan nods his approval. “Good throw, Nick. Well, men—looks like the ship is ours!” He raises his arms, and the pirates cheer their victory.
“Nick, Cauley, Locke, Gorm—you four take the first looks below,” orders the Captain. “Round up any little mice that might be hiding in holes, and check the cargo.”
Cauley heads for the steps leading below. He looks haggard and weary, his shirt hanging open to show a carpet of bloodstained gray chest hair. Blood streaks his hands and wrists as well. There’s an ache in his eyes when he glances at me. He killed, and it marked him.
Grimly I follow him, with Locke at my heels. We move from cabin to cabin, surveying each space quickly.
“All empty, it seems,” says Cauley, pushing open the door to the last cabin.
A shot cracks.
Cauley’s body jerks. His chest puffs smoke and a mist of blood.
And then he’s falling, eyes catching mine and then sliding away, unfocused.
He crashes onto his back, the bullet wound blossoming blood over his heart.
33
“No,” I shriek, and I lunge for Cauley’s body, but Locke hauls me back and shoves me behind him. He tugs my pistol from my belt and cocks it, then stands pressed against the wall by the open cabin door.
“Whoever you are in there,” Locke calls out, “it’s over. We’ve taken your ship. Your best chance now is to surrender. Surrender, and your lives will be spared. It’s the law of the Pirate King.”
