A Pirate's Curse (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) Page 2

  Her father pushed her to the side and aimed his pistol at him. She raised the pin, her hand trembling.

  “Run,” a male voice ordered.

  Behind them, Spencer aimed the long gun and fired. The cannonball soared through the air and collided into the dark hair pirate, knocking him into the water.

  Spencer’s terrified yell grabbed Hannah’s attention. She turned. Two pirates had dragged him to the ground. One bit into his neck, while the other fed on his arm.

  “Help me,” Spencer moaned, his eyes pleading.

  Hannah inhaled deeply, air filling her lungs. She swallowed hard. The power swelled inside her as she stared at the long gun. She lifted one hand and aimed it at the gun while the other clutched the pin. The same flutter pounded in her chest, her fingers tingled. A white light swirled around the long gun, inching it around and aiming at the pirate sucking on Spencer’s arm.

  Her father grabbed her arm. “Hold your breath.”

  “What? No, please…”

  Her father dragged her to the railing and tossed her over. Arms and legs kicking, she plunged into the churning black water. Salt burned her eyes. Cold gripped her and her clothes pulled her down. She gulped more and more and more seawater.

  She kicked her legs hard and skimmed her arms back and forth over the churning surface, trying to keep her head above the water. She grabbed a piece of wreckage and clung to its splintered surface.

  Bits of burning wood fell into the water. The fiery ship cast an eerie glow onto the water. Hannah and her father swam into the shadow of the hull. Death shrieks from the crew tore at her heart and she bit back a sob.

  What had Father done? She could have saved Spencer. Spencer had risked his life to save them. He was her friend and didn’t deserve to die.

  Her fingers clutched the wood. She wanted to help and her father stopped her. Why? Didn’t he care about his crew?

  Her father swam toward her, gripping a piece of drifting wood. Glaring at him, she spat out seawater. “Why didn’t you let me save him?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Because you’d have failed.”

  She turned away and swallowed hard, tears filling in her eyes. The familiar hollow pain in her chest sucked away her breath. Her father’s lack of faith in her cut her deep. He bragged about her two older sisters, Theresa and Jessica, about their marriages, their God fearing life, but when it came to her, he never uttered one word of praise. “But…,” she stammered.

  “Are you daft girl? The pirates were searching for us. They knew our name.”

  Her teeth chattered. “How did they know our names?”

  “I have no idea,” he grumbled.

  Bubbles formed near the bowline, and Hannah held her breath. A dark head peered out of the water. But how could it be? Spencer had shot him and he’d fallen overboard. The bastard should be dead.

  The man tossed his head back, his wet hair slapping behind him. As he flew into the air, he transformed into a large bat. The size of a muskrat, he had webbed wings, smooth pointed ears and a flattened and pushed up snout. He spun around and around, screeching. He flew high into the air and circled the glowing moon.

  Hannah covered her mouth and bit her palm, and lost her grip on the drifting wood and slipped into the cold ocean. Sucking in water, her lungs burned. She kicked her feet and burst out of the water. Spitting out the sea, she reached for the driftwood and scanned the sky.

  The flying bat pirate descended onto the ship. Terrified screams echoed as the marauders tossed dead crew men over the side. Bodies fell, slapping water and pushing Hannah around. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Her lips trembled. She should have held onto the mast and repaired it, giving them a chance to maneuver the ship, instead of giving into her fear.

  More bats circled the ship. Flames rose high, illuminating the ocean. Any minute the bastards would spot her and her father.

  A cannonball hit the second mast and it broke into two. A piece of the mast rushed toward her father.

  “Father,” she yelled.

  He glanced up and tried to swim, but the mast hit him with a solid thump. A splatter of blood smearing on his right temple, he slumped over the piece of wood.

  Something bumped into her leg under the water. She hung onto her piece of floating wood, afraid to move as a gray fin glided across the water and edged close to a dead crewman. Sharks. Either way, she had condemned herself and her father to a gruesome death.

  With a stained dark shirt and blood on his chin, a pirate grabbed a mooring line, stood on the railing of the frigate and pointed. “Capt’n, ’tis the Soaring Phoenix.”

  Another ship sailed toward them. Was it pirates or a rescue?

  Chapter Two

  Captain Kane O’Brien peered through his spyglass aboard the deck of the Soaring Phoenix. “Bloody hell.”

  The waxing moon and blazing firelight lit up the black ocean. The cursed Fiery Damsel loomed over a burning, half submerged flute ship, slowly circling its broken mast. Water spilled into cannonball-size holes. Fire licked the white sails, and wood crackled and snapped.

  He gritted his teeth. A red-headed giant towered over the terrified sailors. His beard hid his face and his eyes burned red. Quinton Palmer. The sailors had the same look of horror when he met Palmer. ’Twas during the Irish Confederate War. He’d have been sixteen years old, a whelp, when Quinton Palmer forced him to become a man.

  Kane’s hero had always been his father, Finn O’Brien, an honorable and courageous man. And Finn O’Brien relished freedom. When the British approached their home town of Wexford, burning their fields and homes, taking their livestock and raping their women, Finn rallied the men in the village to fight.

  Kane and his father had hid behind an overturned wagon. Shells exploded around them. Kane shrank. Smoke stung his eyes.

  He peered around a spinning wagon wheel. An Irish setter limped out onto the road. A beast of British soldier, Palmer, held a bayonet in his hand and a sick smile crossed his face. Ten years old, Michael O’Shay, ran over to the dog, screaming. He wrapped his arms around the dying dog’s neck.

  Palmer stabbed little Michael in the shoulder. Michael yelped, releasing the dog. Blood streamed down his chest. The dog snapped and growled. Palmer flicked the bayonet, slicing the dog’s throat and the animal collapsed onto the road, blood pooling around him.

  Palmer’s cruelty had sickened Kane and bile rose up his throat. He gripped his sword, but his legs refused to move. His heart pounded and sweat drenched his back.

  “Kane,” his father ordered. “I want you to remain here. Do you hear me, lad?” He gripped Kane’s shoulder and shook him. Kane nodded as shells exploded around them, ringing his ears.

  Kane had swallowed his fright. “Aye, Pa.”

  Raising a cutlass over his head, Finn O’Brien charged Palmer.

  Palmer took a step back, but whipped out his pistol and fired. His father staggered, but regained his step. Palmer was almost a head taller than his father, but Finn O’Brien never shied away from a fight.

  Palmer fired again, but this time, his father spun around and fell on his knees.

  Palmer raised his bayonet.

  Kane had forgotten his fear. He screamed a war cry, running with his sword high over his head. But his legs failed to move fast enough. The blasts of cannons blocked out his yells. Sweat dripped in his eyes and bile burned in his gut.

  Staring at Kane, Palmer stabbed his father in the heart. His father fell onto his back, his eyes staring into the sky.

  Palmer smiled, threw his bayonet onto Kane’s father’s lifeless body and jerked out his sword. He lunged, knocking Kane’s sword out of his hand and grabbing his hair. He threw Kane down next to his dead father and raised his sword. Kane sucked in his breath. He was dead.

  “Something to remember me by boy,” Palmer promised. He slashed Kane’s face. Pain slid over him. He’d never forgotten Palmer’s promise, or his cruelty, or his smile.

  Kane fingered his bumpy scar on his left cheek. Hate boiled inside
him as Palmer spoke to a man. The terrified lad shook his head. Angered, Palmer slammed the man into the nearest mast. The poor fellow slapped at Palmer’s hands, but Palmer crooked the man’s head to the side and sank his bloodstained teeth into his throat.

  Kane shoved the spy glass back into his breeches. “What the devil are you up to Palmer?”

  “Och, may the devil take Palmer, but I don’t have to tell you that Capt’n.” Kane’s best friend and boatswain, Sean Mallory, slapped the railing. He’d been with Kane through the Irish Confederate War. Despite his angelic face and long blond hair, his towering stature intimidated Sassenachs, like an avenging archangel.

  “He wants something.”

  “How do you know?”

  Kane gritted his teeth. “Because Palmer never asks his victims anything before he kills them. Prepare to board ‘er. Ready the guns.”

  “Aye, aye, Capt’n,” Sean called over his shoulders. “Ready the guns. Prepare to board ’er.”

  Footsteps pounded on the deck as Kane’s crew rushed to their stations. Kane gripped the bow railing. Acid pitted in his gut. “Revenge is mine, Palmer.”

  The Soaring Phoenix sailed steadfast and true, the crew ready to board the Fiery Damsel. Kane pulled out his sword and pistol. “Fire!” Kane shouted as the Soaring Phoenix closed in on the Fiery Damsel. Cannons thundered and hit the hull of the Damsel’s starboard side. The circling bats sped towards the Phoenix, but then landed on the Damsel, changing back into men.

  “Ahoy, Capt’n, off the starboard bow. ’Tis a lad and a man!” Amadi shouted. Kane glanced up at the crow’s nest where Amadi pointed. Night or day, he swore Amadi possessed eagle eyes whether man or vampire. Amadi pointed at some broken wood, but Kane peered closer. Two figures clutched two pieces of drift wood. Palmer must be losing his touch.

  Palmer ran to the side of the sinking ship. He jumped into the air and dove toward the man and the lad. Without thinking, Kane called upon his vampire powers, leaped into the air and the condensing sensation of his body shrinking, his muscles contracting and his bones shortening, shot through him. Kane’s arms transformed into wings, his vision grew keener, and his body shifted into a large bat.

  Lucky he was able to transform. Sometimes the waxing moon allowed him to use his vampire powers. If it had been a crescent moon or a half moon, he’d never been able to call forth his powers and the victims would be good as dead. Although he was immortal, he didn’t have the ability to fight Palmer when Palmer was at full strength.

  “Capt’n,” Amadi yelled. “No.”

  More crewmen joined in the protest, but Kane ignored them. He wanted to foil Palmer’s bloodlust.

  He sped toward Palmer. The lad ducked under water, but the larger, swag-bellied man remained slumped over a piece of wood. Inches away from the man, Palmer skimmed the water and soared into the sky. As he whirled around, Kane collide with him, wrapping his wings around Palmer’s body, trapping Palmer’s wings. Kane bit the back of Palmer’s neck. Palmer screeched and arched his back, but Kane held on. The ocean, night sky and ships swirled around as they plunged into the warm water the way sea eagles clash over prey. Palmer arched again and broke free. He whirled around and bit Kane’s wing, tearing his flesh. Pain seized Kane and he sucked in sea water.

  Palmer soared out of the water. Ignoring the blinding pain, Kane darted into the air and pursued him. Cannons thundered. A cannonball whisked towards him. Kane darted to the left, narrowly missing the shell.

  “Captain,” Amadi shouted.

  “What the blazes are you doing?” Sean cried.

  Others joined Amadi and Sean into yelling at him to return to the Soaring Phoenix.

  Palmer glided towards the Fiery Damsel. Blood dripped onto the ocean. Damn! If Kane chased him onto his ship, Palmer’s men would not hesitate to sever his head and he’d join the floating corpses.

  A movement in the water caught his eyes. Damn sharks.

  The pain throbbed in his wing. He turned around and headed back to the Soaring Phoenix. Kane spread his wings wide, landed on the deck, and transformed back into a man. He half smiled at the holes marring the hull of the Fiery Damsel as she turned and headed back out to sea.

  Sean stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. “Capt’n, what the devil were you thinking?”

  Kane rubbed his throbbing shoulder. “Denying Palmer his pleasure.”

  “Orders Capt’n,” Sean cocked his eyebrow.

  “Lower the longboat,” he ordered. “Have Doc go. One of the survivors appears to be injured.”

  “Aye, aye, Capt’n,” Sean nodded.

  The Fiery Damsel steered away, leaving a bloody mess. Kane narrowed his eyes. One day, he’d have his revenge. Revenge would be to force Palmer to fight like a man, sever his head, and tear out his black heart.

  Amadi, and Doc, their ship’s surgeon, rowed towards the lad and man. A gray fin glided through the water. The lad’s eyes grew huge as the shark came, closer and closer and closer. The shark bit into a corpse, severing an arm. The black ocean turned red. Doc grabbed the lad and jerked him into the boat. Another predator skimmed the side, and the boat rocked. “Bloody hell,” Kane spat.

  “Help him.” The lad pointed at the man still clinging to a piece of the broken mast. “Please help my father.”

  The flute ship cracked and groaned as the bow broke off and sank into the ocean. Fiery sails and pieces of the ship fell into the sea. A wave rolled up, the man slammed into the longboat, hitting his head on the starboard side with a solid bang. His eyes fell closed, and he released the driftwood.

  Kane grimaced. With his huge plump lifeless body, the man outweighed his men by a hundred pounds. Doc seized the man’s coat and yanked. “Help me, Amadi.”

  Amadi grabbed underneath the man’s right arm and pulled while Doc clutched his other arm. Another shark had joined the first and with each pass, they inched closer to the lad’s father. The man slipped out of Amadi’s hand and splashed into to the ocean. Kane sucked in his breath.

  “No!” the lad screamed.

  “Amadi, Doc, look out!” Kane cried out.

  A fin headed straight for the half submerged fat man. Kane yanked out his pistol, fired and hit the fin. Blood seeped down the fin and the fin disappeared into the water.

  Amadi gripped the man’s shoulder and Doc seized the man’s thigh as the men stood and heaved the man onto the rocking boat.

  “Get out of there,” Kane waved his arm.

  Amadi and Doc rowed the boat back to the Soaring Phoenix.

  Doc seized the lad and pushed him at the ladder. The lad hesitated and glanced at his father.

  “Move,” Doc said. He pulled out his pistol and pointed. The lad’s eyes widened. He grabbed the rope ladder and climbed. Terror reflected in that cherub face.

  The lad’s shirt swallowed his slender frame and a rope, wrapped around his waist twice, held his two sizes too big breeches. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the railing. He stood on his tip toes, no doubt waiting eagerly for his father.

  Kane gazed at the lad. Something wasn’t right. He just couldn’t put a finger on it.

  Amadi appeared over the railing and glared at Doc. “Help me fool. He weighs more than a bloated whale.” Doc grabbed one of the man’s arms as Amadi, pale and sweat pouring down his temples, grunted and pushed the fat unconscious man onto the ship. “’Twas a heavy one, Capt’n.” He tossed the man onto the deck, bent over and put his hands on his knees.

  The man’s knee length blue woolen coat and dark breeches stuck to his stout body. Thick salt and pepper black hair clung to his head like an octopus perching on top of a white clam. A gold chain with a ruby pendent hung around his double chin. Kane rubbed his chin. The Captain? Or some wealthy merchant?

  Amadi exhaled and stood. He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Twas a grand job, Amadi.” Kane half smiled. Amadi was the strongest man aboard the ship and could lift three or four barrels full of rum over his head without breaking a sweat.
The rich Sassenach was lucky. Amadi carried him, or he’d be a feast for the hungry beasts.

  “Did you see any other survivors, Doc?” Kane asked.

  “No, Cap’n,” Doc shook his head, his face grim. “All dead.”

  Hannah winced at those words and released a half sob. Her fault. Her powers failed her. She should have stopped the mast from crashing into the ocean or shielded the ship from the ramming cannonballs or increased the ship's speed. Her grandmother would have, but she wasn’t Grandmother.

  The Captain called his attention to a blond man. The wind blew his thick sun streaked hair curling around his massive shoulders and opened his shirt, revealing a chiseled chest covered with curly golden hair. His trousers outlined his firm buttocks and sold thighs. He was too pretty, like an archangel. “Mallory, how long until we reach Tortuga?”

  Tortuga? A pirate’s heaven. They’d be sold into slavery or worse.

  “Don’t worry Capt’n.” The suave man smiled as he slapped his thigh with his left hand. “Blimey, may I sink and perish in blood if I canna get us in a fortnight.”

  From where he laid sprawled out on the deck, her father groaned. Hannah rushed over, sank down beside him and with a trembling hand, she patted his face. “Wake up, father.”

  His pale skin and white lips terrified her.

  Breathe.

  She put her hand on his chest and his chest rose up and down. She sighed with relief. Good, he was alive.

  Her hair fell across her face. She straightened, shoved the strands from her face, and leaned over again. But the unruly hair slapped right back down over her cheeks.

  Curious male faces stared at her. Pirates. Her freezing fingers gripped her father’s shirt and she shook him.

  Wake up.

  Footsteps echoed behind her. She froze. She glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze travelled up muscular legs, narrow hips, and broad shoulders. She had to tilt her head to see into his face. Her heart silenced. Dark green eyes held her gaze. The man’s long black hair hung past his broad shoulders. His white shirt opened to the navel and his black breeches clung to his muscular legs. He had a pistol stuck into his belt on one hip and a sword in his sheath on the other. ’twas Lucifer himself.