A Pirate's Curse (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) (5 page)

He grabbed her hand and squeezed, not painful, but comforting.
For some reason his touch gave her strength. She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“But that
wasn’t the worst part. They lunged at the crew and…and…and drank their blood.” She tilted her chin. “I’m not lying.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he said.
“Tell me more.”

“You believe me?”

“Aye, I do.”

His eyes reflected
sincerity. His thumb caressed her shaking hand and she breathed deeply. Her fear lessened, but a sneaking desire swept through her. He was so close she wanted to touch his sleek chest, but she resisted and kept perfectly still.

“How did you escape?” he asked.

“We jumped off the ship,” she said.

“Your father abandoned his crew.”

Disgust dripping from each word, h
is hardened voice startled her. His mouth was set in a straight line.

“My father wanted to save me.”
But even as she said it, she doubted her father. Had he sacrificed his crew? Was he saving her or was he saving himself?

“I want to hear more,” Kane encouraged, his voice softened.

“We watched them kill the crew and toss the
bodies overboard.” She half sobbed. “They were my friends.” She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. “You won’t believe this next part.”

“I’m waiting,” Kane said.

She pulled her hand away. Her hand was cold where warmth had been there. She clasped her hands together. “They changed into bats. I swear. Disgusting, flapping, bats. As big as a tawny owl. Two of them fought over us.”

He stiffened.
“Aye, I see.”

His hand brushed over the whip and she sucked in her breath.

“I won’
t hurt you, lass. That I promise ye. But you’re in danger.”

“What?
From?”

“Palmer and Zuto.
Your father’s hiding a secret from you.”

“A secret?
How do you know?”

“Palmer knows who you are.
He won’t stop hunting for you. Your story confirms my suspicion. You see lass your father abandoned three men infected with small pox on an island. One of them was Derrick Palmer, Quinton Palmer’s brother. Small pox spread through the local Natives killing most of the tribe, including a Shaman’s seven year old daughter. He prayed to his God of the Underworld, Maketabori, for revenge and Maketabori sent a demon. The demon Zuto cursed a fresh water lake and whoever drinks from it turns into a blood sucking demon during every full moon.”

“What are you talking about?” Hannah countered.
“I thought there is only one God.”

“As did I
, but apparently I was wrong.”

“So what does this have to do with me?”

“The
shaman wants you and your father dead. Palmer plans to hand you over to the demon Zuto.”

Her mouth ran dry.
“He plans to kill me?”

“Aye.”

Hannah frowned. She was trapped aboard a pirate ship and hunted by a maniacal demon bent on killing her.

Palm trees swayed in the wind and the waves rushed up on the sandy beach, leaving seashells and seaweed.
Crabs crawled sideways and stared, never blinking. The fragrant smell of jungle flowers  filled the air. The beauty of the beach contrasted with the bowels of Coaybay. Zuto definitely preferred this to Coaybay, but he didn’t relish remaining here forever. His Lord and Master, Maketabori, God of the Underworld, refused to grant his freedom or even allow him to leave the island unless he handed over Captain Justin Knight and his daughter. Maketabori’s word was as fluid as the rolling waves, susceptible to change at his will. The girl was innocent and not responsible for her father’s crimes, but what choice did Zuto have? He’d do anything to be free, to live among humans and to discover love, including handing over an innocent girl.

He
shielded his eyes with his palm. Sweat trickling down his face, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the blue horizon. He tapped his foot on the hot sand. Where was the damn
Fiery Damsel
?  Two days ago, he’d woken uneasy to a foreboding dream. His dreams were never wrong. Knight and his daughter had returned to the Caribbean and Palmer was supposed to sink Knight’s ship and bring them back to him so he could hand them over to Maketabori.

But something went wrong. Freedom had slipped through Zuto’s fingers. Palmer and his men needed a lesson in failing.
Where the hell was Palmer? Disgusting, incompetent man.

A ruby red flag with a black sk
ull and cross bones emerged in the distance. He gritted his teeth. Finally.

The
Fiery Damsel
set anchor offshore and lowered a longboat. Three men climbed inside, Captain Quinton Palmer and his two henchmen. The sun glistening off his head, one of the henchmen clasped the oars and rowed. The other squatted at the stern, his hand on the butt of his pistol. A giant of a man, his knees bumped his chest in the tiny boat.

Zuto snorted.
The fool. Like a ball of lead could kill him.

He
paced back and forth on the beach. His stomach twisted, and he wrinkled his nose at the stench of the pirates’ decaying black souls of the guilty, those who should have to pay for their sins. After being trapped in Coaybay for eons, he preferred the white souls of the innocent and wanted to protect them or would, once he slipped through Maketabori's clutches.

Come on. Come on.

When the bald henchmen reached the shore, he and the other man got out and hauled the boat onto the beach. Palmer jumped out. He towered over his two men who had to jog to keep up with him. Palmer stopped at a nearby palm tree and knelt next to a crude bamboo cross marking a shallow grave. He took his hat off and hung his head. His men flanked him and followed his example. Palmer cleared away fallen leaves and twigs.

He
rose from his graveyard vigil. With long strides, he marched toward Zuto, stopping a few feet away. For a human, he was taller than most, but at least six inches shorter than Zuto. “What’s wrong?”

Zuto glared.
“You’re trying my patience, Palmer. Every damn time you stop at that damn grave. He’s not coming back.”

Palmer gritted his teeth.
“He’s my brother. And I’ll…”

“Silence,” Zuto snapped and flicked his hand, commanding the wind.

The wind blew open Palmer’s jacket
. He had stuffed a Spanish knife and three daggers in his deep jacket pockets while on each hip, he had a pistol stuck underneath his belt. Zuto snorted. Like any of those weapons could harm him.

Palmer's
left eye leaked, spilling a milky substance down his cheek. When Zuto looked into the spongy eye, he glimpsed Palmer’s twisted soul, brimming with hatred, anger, cruelty, death.  Zuto’s muscles twisted and tensed. Palmer’s past deeds of murdering innocents turned Zuto’s stomach. How could Palmer live with himself?

Zuto
nodded toward the
Fiery Damsel
. “Still insist on torturing Macmillan?”

“Aye,” Palmer gritted his teeth.
“He’ll pay for stabbing my eye.”

“And then?”

“
I’ll release him when he swears allegiance to me.”

Bastard.
Keeping his face stoic, Zuto asked, “If he doesn’t agree?”

Palmer shrugged,
“Then his time aboard my ship will be most unpleasant.”

“Knight?”

“No sign of him.” Palmer shook his head. “Must have drowned.” His face darkened and he whispered, “The bastard died an easy death.”

Zuto stared into Palmer’s angry eyes and read his mind. His gut twisted at the odor of burnt flesh and stagnant human blood. Screams of dying men rang in his ears. Wailing white souls dug deep into his heart, demanding revenge.

He formed his fists into tight balls and punched Palmer in the mouth
. Palmer staggered into the tall henchman. Blood flew into the air. The man grabbed Palmer and steadied him. Zuto wanted to thrash Palmer for torturing all these men, but kept his fists close to his side. “
Guata
!” Zuto slipped into the language of Coaybay and at Palmer’s quizzical face, he changed back to English. “Liar! Too busy caught up in the bloodlust again.”

“No.”
Palmer spit out blood and wiped his palm across his lip. “We looked but didn’t find them, my Lord.”

His voice shook.
Good, he should be afraid. Very afraid. Zuto didn’t tolerate failure, not when his freedom was at stake. Maketabori wasn’t the only one who could inflict pain. “Now listen, you fools.”

He flicked his wrists and all three men fell to their hands and knees like the dogs they were. Collars appeared around their necks. “You
've failed me and will now know what happens when I’m disobeyed.”

“But…” Palmer struggled.

“Silence.” Zuto ordered. He twisted his hand and the collars squeezed the men’s necks, cutting off their guttural voices and turning their faces’ red and making their eyes bulge, tears rushing down their cheeks.

He
smiled at the terror and pain in the men’s eyes. Spittle drizzled down their mouths. He snapped his fingers and the collars vanished, leaving a bloody red welt around their necks. A reminder of their failure. “Now, listen and listen well.”

Ignoring the men gasping for breath and coughing,
Zuto meandered around their trembling bodies. “Knight and his daughter jumped into the ocean right under your noses.” He kicked sand into Palmer’s face and the man winced. Palmer was too arrogant for his own good. He needed to know who wielded the power. “Your nemesis, Kane O’Brien has them.”

Palmer spat out sand. “O’Brien?”   

“I want the girl and her father. If you want to keep your immortality, you’ll find them and bring them to me.” He knelt down and seized Palmer’s hair and yanked. “Do you think you can manage this? Fail again and I won’t be so lenient.”

The
captain pushed his chair out and stood. His hand lifted Hannah’s chin, his fingers caressing the side of her cheek. She shivered, but couldn’t move. How could a man be so angry and dangerous one minute and the next considerate?

“If you’ll excuse me, lass.”

He slowly removed his hand and gazed down at her. Desire reflected in his eyes, but with something more, something resembling sadness. He spun on his heels and marched out the door without saying another word.

Hannah
sagged with regret as he walked out of the galley. No man had ever stirred such foreign and intoxicating feelings for her and she wanted to explore these new feelings. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She just met the man.

Father.
She had to know if he fared well. Rubbing her arms, she walked across the floor and past the pantry. Cook glanced at her. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Lass.”

She returned his smile, not sure what else to do.
He returned to chopping a pineapple and whistled. Maybe Kane hadn’t been lying when he said she had the full run of the ship.

She scurried further into the hull of the ship and
into the crew’s quarters where she had left her father. The sea of hammocks swung with each lift of the ship and three men surrounding the far hammock shifted automatically, adjusting their weight. With his red bandana, black hair, and broad back, one of them had to be Doc. Kane kept his promise. She chewed her lip. The man was a contradiction. One minute—a brute. The next—an honorable man.

A low moan emitted from the hammock. “Father!”

Doc turned around.
“Lass, come here.”

All the men stared and she stood where she was, but Doc motioned.
“Hannah? Is it?”

Hannah took a hesitant step, but at her father’s next groan, she moved.
Ignoring the other men, she stared down at her father. She wrapped her arms tight around her waist, decidedly, if not alarmingly, needing the captain. His strength gave her courage. She cleared her throat. “Are you a doctor?”

He shrugged.
“I have learned a thun or two in my time. I take care of da crew. Your father’s gone and got a nasty bump on da head. He’s lost a lot of blood and gone muddled. I’m sorry to say lass da next few hours will be uncertain.”

Hannah reached out her shaking hand and clasped her father’s.
She rubbed her thumb over his clammy hand. “Father, I’m here,” she whispered. “Squeeze if you can hear me.”

But his hand remained
slack.

“I’ve stitched up his head and he needs to stay warm.
He needs to drink and rest.”

She tightened her grip on her father’s hand, willing him to
clutch hers, to call out anything. But his hand was limp. “What can I do?”

“Stay by his side, lass.
Keep him warm. Try to get him to drink. I’ll bring you my special brew to help revive him.”

She put her hand on Doc’s thick forearm.
“Thank you.”

He blinked and his face reddened.
“I’ll be back.”

One of the men snorted and Doc glared.
“You two out.” He thrust his thumb at the door. The two men grumbled but followed Doc out the door.

Hannah dipped
a rag in the bowl of water on a nearby table and squeezed it damp. She brushed her father’s sweating face. “Father please, wake up. Can you hear me?”

She wished her powers could
make her father well, but she was ineffective in healing. Tears threatened to slide down her face. Her father needed her. This was no time for self-pity.

She turned him
, staring at the back of his head, inspecting Doc’s handy work. The three inch wound had been cleaned and neatly stitched, such a tiny wound, but enough to bring her father to his knees.

She grabbed another blanket on a swinging hammock and wrapped it around her father.
“I know ’tis cold.”

Doc returned, holding a tray in his hands.
He shook his head. “There’s a storm brewing outside.”

He put the tray on the table
and the scent of broth, garlic, and chicken filled the damp quarters. “We need to get da fluids down him, lass.”

“He keeps shaking.” Hannah rubbed her arms.
“’Tis so cold.”

“
Aye, ’Tis a ship lass. And Poseidon is angry today.”

Hannah
picked up the pitcher and cup off the tray and filled it with water. The ship rocked and water sloshed out of the cup onto the floor. Hannah grabbed the hammock to keep from teetering. She held the cup to her father’s lips. “Drink Father,” she urged, but his head lolled to the side, and the water dribbled down his slack lips.

She wrapped her arms around his large shoulders and lifted him off the hammock.
She pushed the cup in between his cracked lips and lifted the cup. Water streamed down between his lips, but she managed to get most of it down his throat. Her father coughed, but kept the water down.

Doc laid the tray down next to the wooden bowl.
Water and soup sloshed inside their bowls. “Chicken soup, laced with garlic, sure way to help bring him about. He needs food.”

“You
’re very kind, Doc.” 

“Captain, wants to see
me, lass,” Doc said. “I see he’s in good hands with ye. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Hannah nodded
as Doc left, but kept her eyes on her father. She remembered not so long ago when she had been ill with pneumonia and her father cared for her. He had never left her side and fed her chicken soup. He said it had been her mother’s recipe and swore it fought back any cold. Tears welled in her eyes. Her father rarely showed he cared and although she had been deathly sick, she treasured the memory. “I won’t leave you father, I promise.”

For the next few hours, Hannah waited on her father.
She bathed his sweat, forced him to drink and kept him warm. Exhausted she napped in a hammock next to her father, but his groans awakened her. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes. Kane’s shirt stuck to her skin and her stomach growled, but she couldn’t eat now. Not with her father’s life in the balance.

Hannah
dabbed his forehead. Had she imagined it or had her father’s grayish skin regain color? His eyes fluttered. Hannah’s arm stilled.

“Father?”

Her father blinked. His eyes glossy, he stared. “Hannah?” He frowned. “What happened? Where are we?”

“Oh, father.
” She draped her arms around his neck. “You’re alive.”

He hugged her.
“I’m fine, daughter. Now tell me, where are we?”

Hannah released him and quickly
recounted the past events.

Her father put his hand on his forehead.
“Damn. A pirate ship?”

Hannah nodded.

He frowned and gritted his teeth. “Where are we headed?”

“I don’
t know, father.”

He grimaced.

“Are you in pain?”

“
’Tis, this infernal headache,” he said. “Go get your mother.”

She blinked.
“What?”

She felt his forehead.
Hot. “Father?”

His glossy eyes focused on her and he
grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I want your mother. Where is she?”

“I’
ll get Doc.”

Her father gripped her wrist.
“Be careful lass. Your mother will know what to do.” He closed his eyes and his breathing grew shallow.

Hannah
swallowed back her panic. A fever meant an infection. Untreated infections killed people.

She
rushed out of the crew’s quarters and ran up the steps leading to the deck. Her heart beat hard and her stomach hurt. “Doc, where are you? Doc?”

With each step she took,
cold air wrapped around her. Water trickled down the steps and outside thunder roared. Lightning flashed as she stepped out onto the deck. The sails fluttered and flapped in the howling wind. Lines banged against the mast as crewmen tried to tie them down. The ship shifted, and Hannah slipped. Screaming, she fell onto her knees, pain jolting through her. 

Rain pelted
her face. Another flash of lightning lit up the churning black ocean. “Doc, where are you?”

She clamored to her feet, but t
he ship rocked and she lurched forward, skidding on the wet deck. Her body slammed into the portside railing. She grabbed the railing and hung on.

“Lassie,” Doc boomed from behind her.
He grabbed her arm and whirled her around. Water splashed up onto the deck, spraying them both. “What are you doing up here?”

“My father
…,” she cried. “He’s delirious.”

Doc’s eyebrows knotted and concern spread across his face.
“’Tis not good lass.”

Lightning crashed again.
Hannah cringed. She didn’t know if ’twas from the storm or Doc’s grave face. She bit back a sob. Her father lay dying. She clenched her hands into fists. Trembled all over. He was the only person she had left.

Her knees weakened and she thought she might
vomit. No. She must not give into despair. Her father would not die.

“Come,” he said.
“Let’s get out of this storm.”

He
jogged back to the stairs and disappeared inside. She ran after him, a wave slapped her. Her feet slipped and she fell onto her knees.

“Doc,” she cried, but thunder
and pelting rain masked her voice.

The ship lurched and
Hannah rolled across the deck, smashing into the mast. Pain jolted her hip. The ship rocked and she slid on her bottom towards the portside railing. A bucket rolled past her, bounced onto the railing, and fell into the ocean.

Her stomach tightened.
She screamed, but thunder masked her cries.

Her feet slammed into the railing, jolting her
. She rolled onto all fours and crawled towards the doorway, the ship tilting high on a wave. She slid into the bulwark. Her heart pounding, her fingernails dug into the wet wood and she pulled herself onto her feet. Rain stabbed Hannah’s face, blurring her vision. Her soaking clothes clung to her. She tossed her head and stared at the doorway leading to the dry deck below, but her hands refused to let go of the mast. She wanted to be with her father, to make sure he wasn’t sinking into delirium or going into convulsions.

“Flatten the sails and hoist the jib,”
the captain commanded.

She turned.
The captain’s strong voice slowed her pounding heart. He stood on the deck. A wave splashed onto him, staggering, he shook his head, but he flipped his head back and put his hands on his hips, his feet shoulder length apart. His fierce face reminded her of John—another man willing to face the elements.  

Men scrambled up rope ladders and grabbed bow lines to comply with his orders.
A large foresail reached half past the mast, overlapping the mainsail. As the wind blew, the rising triangular foresail rippled.

Taking over the helm, Kane steered the
Phoenix
, through the swirling sea and hammering rain. He braced himself against the deck, his hands gripping the wheel. Could he steer them through this?

The captain’
s fierce face fueled her determination. She released the mast. Using her arm as a shield to cover her face, she fought to get to the doorway against the sleeting rain. She was about to enter the doorway when a wave smashed onto her. Screaming, choking on seawater, she somersaulted down the stairs, rolling around like a runaway barrel, hitting every hard blasted step. Her head slammed onto the bottom of the stairs. Her vision blurred. She put her hand on her splitting head, wetness covered her hand.

She tried to stand, but her arms slipped.
Her right eye refused to open.

“Bloody hell,” harsh voice growled.
The captain? Was he here?

A firm hand clutched her shoulder and rolled her to the side.
“Mother of Mercy, lassie.”

Dark green eyes glowered at her.
She moved her head, pain shot through her head, blinding her and she groaned, closing her eyes. 

“Hannah,” a male voice cried.
“My daughter, my daughter. You hurt her, you bastard.”

The captain
growled, “What? You’re bl…”

The captain jerked and swore.
She opened her left eye and tried to focus. Was the captain rubbing his chin?

“Doc, take this fool to the brig.”

“But Capt'n…”

“Now,” th
e captain demanded. 

Pain blinded her.
“No, my father,” she whispered. “He’s delirious. He needs help.”

“Doc’s with him
,” the captain murmured. Strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the wet floor. She curled against his wet chest. His thumping heart matched hers. His masculine scent mixed with salt air. His body warmed her through his wet shirt and she wished she could lean against his naked skin and bathe in his heat. He carried her down the hall and kicked in a door. Where was he taking her?