Page 91 of Captive of the Pirate King
I grip his arm tighter. “No.”
“I won’t demand that you use your ability,” he says. “I know you hate it. But in certain situations, when lives are at stake, would you consider it?”
I slide my arm out of his and stop, halfway down the staircase. He descends two more steps before he pauses, looking up at me.
“Is this why you want me?” I whisper. “You’re suspicious of mages, but you collect them anyway, don’t you? You bring them here to work in Ravensbeck. That’s what you’re doing with me.”
“How can you say that? I didn’t even know about your power at first.”
“But you know about it now. How can I be sure this isn’t all just a clever scheme to get a bedmate and a blood mage all wrapped into one convenient package? How do I know you’re not going to use me for my power?”
“How do I know you won’t use your power on me?” he counters, his frown darkening. “I’m taking a lot on faith too, Veronica. And if you don’t believe that I want you for more than your power, I’ll tattoo a vow for you right here, tonight. I’ll lock your magic so you can’t use it for my benefit, ever. Then maybe you’ll believe that it’s your spirit I want, your inner self.”
I hesitate, half-convinced, unsure.
“To hell with it,” Locke growls—and suddenly he’s mounting those two steps between us. His teeth are clenched, eyes snapping with purpose, and before I can react he scoops me up bodily and throws me over his shoulder, skirts and all.
“Locke!” I writhe in his grip, but he only clutches me tighter.
He charges through the house with me, sweeping past the knots of curious guests who cluster behind us, following him out to the garden.
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My face must be redder than blood. It’s certainly hot as a furnace, and I’m lashing Locke with the foulest words I know as he totes me into the back garden. I catch a brief, bobbing glimpse of candles, shimmering green trees, wooden tables spread with hearty fare, surprised faces and wide eyes—I hear the hum of curious voices rising over the chink of cups and tableware. The music stops with a screech as the Pirate King carries me up the steps of the platform where the musicians have been playing.
Locke plunks me on my feet again. He keeps hold of my arm, just above the elbow.
“Fuck you,” I hiss at him, just as the excited chatter drops to an expectant silence. My words pierce that silence like the first star of a firework before it explodes, and I freeze, my fists curling. In Ivris, such words from a lady’s mouth would make her unwelcome in social parlors for years to come.
A heartbeat of tense quiet.
And then Locke laughs aloud, a ringing burst of joy, and all the pirates of Ravensbeck echo the sound.
“Veronica, everyone!” he says, with a sweeping gesture to me.
The crowd erupts with whistles and shouts of approval, until Locke motions for quiet.
“My friends, I wanted to make an elegant entrance tonight, to introduce someone very special, but—well—who was I fooling? We’re none of us very elegant here.”
More raucous laughter and affirmation. As my gaze sweeps the multi-colored throng of faces, my heartbeat slows and the heat in my face begins to recede. They’re not ridiculing me. These peoplelikethat I mouthed off to the Pirate King. And they like that he let me do it, without ordering my tongue cut out or dictating some other dreadful penalty for my insolence.
“You’ve likely heard rumors about the woman at my side,” Locke continues. “And about my voyage aboard theArdent.I’m here to tell you the truth of the matter. But first—everyone grab another round! Fill your cups! This is not a tale to be told without plenty of rum in the belly!”
The crowd roars again. There’s a shuffling of feet and a gurgling of liquid, amid more enthusiastic comments and splatters of rum on stone. Amid the din I mutter aside to Locke, “Warn me before you start pawing at my breasts in front of your people. I don’t feel like playing the whore tonight.”
“And you won’t have to,” he says, staring straight ahead without looking at me. “I’m telling them everything.”
“Everything?” I jerk away from his grip on my arm. “We went through this ruse so you wouldn’t have to do that.”
Locke turns to me and sweeps a broad hand over my bare shoulder and up my neck, running a thumb along my jaw. He speaks quietly, for me alone. “I was vulnerable at sea, on theArdent. Especially that first night when you were discovered and I revealed myself. I was—afraid. Without my men around me, it was Neelan’s authority against mine, and I took the coward’s way out instead of owning my true motives. I was afraid of losing my credibility, my men’s loyalty, my reputation. But since that night, I’ve realized there’s only one thing I cannot bear to lose.”
Thora appears at Locke’s elbow with a cup, from which she sips before handing it to him—a mark of how much they trust each other. Locke accepts the cup with a nod and lifts it high.
“What say you, you thieving wretches?” he bellows. “Are you ready for a tale of love and secrets on the high seas?”
The ensuing shouts from the crowd fade as he begins the story. He tells it with a pirate captain’s flourish, with bits exaggerated and dramatized for effect—and it works, because each person in the crowd is tethered to every sentence. He explains his motives for joining theArdent’screw, assures his people they were safe in the hands of his Ravens, and then shifts into an account of his first meeting with me.
Watching him work the crowd is mesmerizing. I knew he had skill with people, but I would never have guessed that the gruff sailor Locke could spin such a masterful tale, injected with bawdy humor and pulse-pounding suspense in all the right places. He tugs the heartstrings of Ravensbeck as masterfully as he pulls the ropes of a ship’s rigging—a firm hand in this spot, a little less force here, until he has them exactly where he wants them.
