Immortals After Dark 09 - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

more I like you, the less I want to tell you my secrets? And how do you really know that you
want
to hear them, MacRieve?”
    He drew his head back, wolflike, as though he’d been presented a trap he couldn’t determine the mechanics of. “I doona understand you. That’s no reason to hide things from me. Own your actions.”
    She flung herself away from him. “Gods, I hate it when you say that!”
Easy to say for someone who’s never made a tragic choice in his long life!
    “One of these days, woman! You asked me if I’d ever thought about giving up on you. I had no’ before, but now…”
    “Now?”
    “You have to meet me halfway, or I will stop chasing you. And when I do, you’ll regret the loss.”
    I know this!
    “Will you tell me?”
    She thought he was in deadly earnest.
He’s giving me a choice… and I don’t want to lose him.
    Damn it, when had he gone from enemy, to necessary evil, to someone she didn’t think she could live without? “MacRieve, I—” She swallowed, imagining how she’d tell him
. I have a husband. I married the devil. I’m his wife. Lucia av Cruach.
Shame made it nearly impossible to breathe, much less talk. She’d begun to care what he thought of her, and his knowing the truth wouldn’t make a difference anyway! Her fate was woven—
    “We’ve got company!”
Schecter cried from above.
“Another ship.”
    At once, the engines slowed to idling. They could hear running on the deck above them.
    “Oh, bluidy hell,” MacRieve muttered.
    “Why’s everybody running? Couldn’t it just be another research vessel?”
    “This far out? No’ a chance.” He yanked on a T-shirt. “Pirates, mercenaries, or worse.”
    “Worse?”
    Seizing her hand, he dragged her out of the cabin into the rain. Over his shoulder he said, “This is no’ over, Lousha!”
    When they reached the observation deck, four of the men were already there, scanning the river. Schecter stood under an umbrella, binoculars crammedagainst his glasses. Travis peered out with his weary gaze more alert and a shotgun in his hands. Rossiter was at the rail, unshaven, his light brown hair disheveled.
    Charlie’s hazel eyes were fierce as he stood by his captain, and a machete hung from a strap around the young man’s wrist.
    Yet there was nothing to see, nothing but a curtain of rain and the jungle closing in all around them.
    MacRieve turned to Schecter. “What the hell, man?”
    “Give it a second. There’s a ship coming around the bend about a mile to the north. They’ve been trailing us.”
    Everyone fell silent as they waited. Then Charlie quietly said, “It’s Captain Malaquí’s ship.”
    Indeed, sailing up through the rain was… the
Barão da Borracha
. The ship that potentially carried a vampire and supposedly sailed the other way.
    The one Nïx warned me about
.
    When Malaquí decreased his speed just after that bend, Lucia said, “Why are they slowing?”
    “Did they make a find?” Rossiter asked in an overly innocent tone.
    MacRieve turned to Travis. “Does Malaquí ever go this route?”
    The Texan looked like he had murder on his mind. Those two definitely had a history. “No, we never go the same way.”
    Like the
Contessa
, the
Barão
was a restored rubber boom ship. That was where the similarities ended. Malaquí’s ship was spotless, meticulously trimmed. Ashining smokestack jutted proudly, fresh with black paint. Even the lines were coiled at even lengths on the deck.
    But no passengers were stirring in the dwindling rain. Only the captain could be seen, hanging out from the wheelhouse.
    My first look at Malaquí.
He was above average height with slick black hair and a glaring red tattoo covering his forearm. The right side of his face had been maimed—four deep scars sliced across his cheek, as if he’d been attacked by an animal.
    He gave her chills. Here was a man who took passengers out, yet again and again they didn’t return. What was he doing with—or to—them?
    For all they knew, he could be feeding tourists to an insatiable jungle demon.
    When Travis and Charlie hastened to the wheel-house to get the
Contessa
going once more, MacRieve muttered to Lucia, “Malaquí’s pure evil. Whatever we’ve suspected of him—he’s more than capable of it.”
    “How do you know?”
    “My Instinct’s telling me.”
    The beast inside MacRieve was recognizing a prospective foe. In a low tone, she asked him, “Do you scent a vampire?” For some reason, she couldn’t