

Lilith T. Bell

Copyright © 2018 Lilith T. Bell

All Rights Reserved

Book Design by Selkie Publishing

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

This book is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.

Infiltrating a pirate ship disguised as a boy is easily the most dangerous thing Brigid O'Cullane has ever done. But she has no choice if she ever wants to regain the treasure map that belonged to her dead father. Her father's closest friend Liam Lynch holds the map now and he may well have had a role to play in her father's death. When the dangerously sensual Liam catches her, he hints at secrets her father never shared—a double life of danger and wonder, magic and horror. Now she has no choice but to work alongside a pirate she cannot trust.

Yet as their journey continues across the sun-drenched Caribbean sea, their mutual desire is impossible to fight and a bond Brigid fears begins to grow. Faced with a startling paranormal discovery and dangers on the seas she could have never imagined, it's soon unclear whether Liam is with her for his own gain...or to protect her.

***

### Other Books by Lilith T. Bell

The Captive to a Pirate Series

Trapped Like a Rat [Free]

Rats and Sinking Ships

To Catch a Rat

The Claimed by an Alpha Series

Cat and Mouse

Like a Cat in Heat

Once Bitten, Twice Claimed

Lost in Heat

Fighting Like Cats and Dogs

### Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Further Reading

About the Author

Prologue

August 3rd, 1688

Port Royal, Jamaica

Liam Lynch arrived in Port Royal with blood on his hands and a sack of his meager belongings over one shoulder. Under the scent of the sea there was the symphony of aromas associated with human habituation. Sweat and piss and perfume and smoke and baking bread and the acrid scent of sex that clung to the dock whores who had been hard at work since the morning tide had carried in its first crop of sailors.

A woman lounging near a stall selling fish leaned forward slightly when she noticed his eye, pushing her arms together to accomplish with her cleavage what her loose corset had failed to manage. "Looking for something?"

She wasn't pretty, but that was hardly any fault of hers. One of her front teeth was missing and she had a few pock marks on her face. Though she didn't look too plump, she had a bit of a double chin anyway. He couldn't be sure if she was selling herself or the fish. Perhaps both, depending on the price.

He tipped his hat and continued on his way. "Nothing you can offer, I'm afraid."

The press of people got tighter the further he went and he automatically covered the purse on his belt with his free hand, guarding against pickpockets. Sure enough, a cluster of beggar children were squatting in the filth between buildings, eyes watching him with that same curious hunger as the gulls waiting to snatch a man's last crust of bread. The birds likely ate better than the children, though.

"Could you spare some coin?" one of the children called out, rising to his bare feet.

It was wise to avert the eyes and avoid the trouble that could manifest from even acknowledging the children. He knew that, because he'd been the one people averted their eyes from often enough. Perhaps it made him a soft touch now, unable to turn away when he should. The boy looked to have blood native to the Caribbean, which was all too achingly rare these days. His eyes searched the child's face for some resemblance to anyone he'd ever known, but his memory was fuzzy after all these years and children had always tended to all look alike to him anyway.

He tossed a piece of eight to the lad, the silver glinting as it somersaulted through the air. The boy's hand shot up, catching it as deftly as any bird swooping in for its next meal. Liam nodded approvingly. "How old are you, lad?"

A shifty look stole over the boy's face, shoulders hunching forward. "I'm ten."

"Another year or two and I think you can get work on one of those ships." Liam pointed back toward the Black Pride, the ship he'd just left. "Do you have any family watching out for you?"

The boy shook his head in a quick jerk. "My mum died from a fever two months ago," he said into his chest.

It might well have been a lie. From his personal experience, children on the streets often came up with lies to make themselves sound more appealing to the pity of those who had anything to give. Yet whether it was the truth or not hardly mattered in the end, since the boy was clearly close to starving. If he had parents, they weren't able to care for him properly, either because they lacked the means or the desire.

"When you're old enough, keep an eye open for me and I'll help you find some honest work." Liam cast a disgusted look toward the docks, then shook his head and continued on. Honest work was a joke, but he hadn't been close to starving in over a decade.

In any port throughout the Caribbean there was one thing that always held true. Sailors meant money and money meant alcohol. Whether it was smuggled or brewed in someone's cellar, it could always be found. He followed the road to the tavern he wanted for the night and stepped inside. Now stale tobacco smoke, rum, and a hint of sour-sweet vomit assaulted his nose. At least he was plenty used to it by now and no more recoiled than he would from the ugly sights he saw every day.

Casiguaya recognized him immediately and slid through the room on steps as soft as the scurry of a mouse. Though she was shorter than him by a head and slender as a blade of grass, she was the closest thing to home he still had in the world. As far as he knew, the two of them were the last remaining survivors of the massacre that had taken their parents. Both of them had a European father and a mother from the Ciboney people, both a mix of old and new world magic. Casi was dark and lovely, using her God-given assets to make a living off the sailors who came through Port Royal. Any number of the men whose coin she took would have happily wed her and provided her with a home, but when he'd pointed that out to her she had laughed and asked him why she would want to give up all her freedom for a false sense of security.

"What are you looking for tonight?" she asked, before her nose wrinkled and her eyes went to his hands. "Whose blood is that?"

He held up one fist, his knuckles scuffed but the skin unbroken. "New ship, new crew. Had to prove myself against someone who didn't think I deserved my position."

She took hold of his arm, steering him to a table. "A new ship? What happened to the one you'd been on all these years?"

Liam dropped into a chair and shook his head. "I need some drink in me before I tell that story."

Five minutes later he had a cup of rum, clean hands, and had told the bare facts of the story to Casi. Though he'd always been one to relish a good, juicy tale, this wasn't one of them. Not when his heart was so closely wrapped up in it, at any rate. He pulled out a letter that had been folded over and over again until it felt soft as felt, still unread by the person it was intended for, and slid it across the table toward Casi. "Do you think that sounds all right? For his wife, I mean."

She pursed her lips while she read, brows knit together like two lines of black velvet. "I don't think there's any nice way to give this information, but giving it in person might be a bit kinder."

Liam snatched the paper back. "Letters exist so you don't have to say things to people's faces, don't they?"

Casi was quiet for a moment while he drank his rum. It burned pleasantly down his throat, making his eyes sting. When the cup was drained, he blinked a few times against a wave of dizziness and reached for the bottle. Delicate fingers laid over his to stop him. "Liam," Casi said reproachfully, "you loved Ol' Donny like family. Doesn't family deserve the respect of, well, family?"

His fingers closed around the neck of the bottle and he jerked it toward him with a snarl. "They're no blood of mine."

Casi sighed, but pressed no further. "Did he have any personal affects that should be passed on?"

He turned his head to watch the entrance of a one-legged man on crutches, avoiding Casi's eyes. "No."

"Do you know where his family lives? I can make sure they get the letter."

Part of him itched to see the O'Cullane property, a place as remote to him as Rome or Hong Kong, but a larger part of him felt sick and angry at the thought. Grief refused to settle on a single feeling, torn between a miserable longing to see his old friend one more time and a seething hatred for the man for betraying him by being mortal. Haltingly, Liam told Casi the general area were Donovan O'Cullane had lived. True to her word, she found someone who was heading out of the city in that direction and promised to get it there by the end of the day, along with Donovan's final pay. It saved him the misery of facing a family he couldn't help resenting. And getting someone else to deliver the letter meant that he didn't have to waste any time staying sober.

Casi nudged the bottle away from him and set some bread and cheese before him instead, clearly not embracing his plan to get as drunk as possible. "How long are you in port?"

He shrugged. "A few days. New captain has some business to take care of and our crew is still short a few men."

She cut off a piece of cheese and held it out to him, waving it back and forth so the scent wafted to him. "Why don't you eat a little and tell me some new stories from your privateering?"

He glared, pulling his hat off to drop it on the table, then accepted the morsel. "It's pirating now."

"Same difference." She smoothly rose from her chair, letting a hand run up his arm as she circled the table to stand behind him. "Come on, talk to me. How are you? I'm worried about you."

The cheese was good and strong, blocking out less savory odors in the tavern while he ate it. "I'm all right, Casi. Truly. As well that I can be, at least."

Though her hands were small, they were plenty strong and he winced when she began rubbing his shoulders, thin fingers digging into knots he hadn't realized he carried. "When was the last time you had a woman?"

Huffing, he closed his eyes. Normally his sensual appetites drove him, but he'd been at sea with limited chances to indulge in good food or feminine company. When they had stopped in port, so many other concerns had kept him busy, like the small contingent on the new ship who resented him for rising in the ranks so fast. Or procuring alcohol and crawling back into his bunk as quickly as possible. A thousand things had seemed of far greater importance than anything carnal.

"Honestly can't remember," he muttered. "It was before Ol' Donny died."

"Why don't you let me find you a girl for the night? It'll take your mind off of all of this for a little while."

"You know how I feel about that."

Casi stopped rubbing his shoulders, giving him a light smack in the upper arm. "You've got no problem paying for your food or bed, but think giving a lass a little coin for her time and trouble is beneath you? I know how you feel, but quite frankly I'm offended."

He couldn't help but laugh and the sound loosened something in his chest, releasing tension he'd been holding for too long. Turning in his chair, he caught her hand and grinned up at Casi. "I'm here for days to help the new captain pick up fresh crew. Maybe I'll find a woman who suits me while I'm here, all right?"

"If you insist." Casi slipped her arms around his shoulders to hug him and he leaned back into the touch. To any of the humans watching, it likely just looked like a wanton woman being free with her affections, but they simply didn't understand. Touch was deeply important to the ratkin and he found it as healing as the spirits in his bottle. He might as well have been receiving a hug from his mother for all the innocence of the embrace. "And what sort of woman would suit you, since you refuse to go for the kind available for a price?"

"Hm," he murmured, closing his eyes as he settled his head back against Casi. "Someone who desires me, obviously. Maybe a redhead, a feisty one who gives as good as she gets."

Casi snorted. "And not a whore? Good luck on that."

***

"What do you mean this is all you have?" Brigid O'Cullane demanded, waving the letter in the man's face. Her mother had fallen into tears as soon as word had arrived and retreated into the house, but Brigid was grasping for anything to cling to rather than accept this horror. "Did everything he owned on the ship get washed overboard as well? Everything but the money in his pockets?"

The young man at the door backed up, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide. He hardly looked any older than her, except for the thick mat of freckles across his face, likely earned from being out in the brutal Caribbean sun. Her own skin was alabaster in contrast, the benefit of her father's support so she'd never had to work out of doors like so many young women in the colonies.

"I wasn't his shipmate, miss. Someone just gave me the letter to deliver it."

"Who?" She looked down at the letter again, noting how battered and abused it looked. How many ports had the letter had to travel through before arriving? "Was it this Liam Lynch?"

"Some doxy in a tavern, miss. I think the man with her wrote the letter, but he was deep in his cups, miss."

"He was here? And he didn't bring it himself?" A wave of dizziness hit her then, the rage she'd been using to bury everything else she might feel faltering. She sagged back against the door frame and let the letter flutter from her hand. It couldn't all end this way, nothing but a letter and what things he'd left behind before his last voyage to remember her father by.

Chapter One

THE BLACK PRIDE

August 24th, 1688

Isla Tortuga, Hispaniola

Tortuga was rich from the bounty of pirates and privateers. Brigid looked toward land as they unloaded their booty. Her father would never share many details on his life as a privateer, but she had deified him far above the pirates she now found herself surrounded by. The Hispaniolan port was renowned as a haven for the worst of pirates and she was grateful that she was keeping watch on the ship for a variety of reasons.

"Sad you'll be missing out, Brian?"

Having used the fake name for weeks, she was finally starting to respond to it automatically, which was good. She'd worried everyone had thought she was slow when she first joined the crew, as she so often didn't notice when her alias was called out.

The voice using her alias would have caught her attention regardless, though. His voice was deep, with a muddled accent that was difficult to pin down. His accent was influenced by all parts of the British Isles and a number of ports in the New World as well. Her father had sounded a bit like that, though heavier on Dublin. Her father had said it was a good sailor's voice, as it showed a man called the entire world his home.

It was difficult for Brigid to admit there was anything good about Liam Lynch at all.

She turned toward the man who'd been speaking to her, passing off the crate she had in her hands. Of all aspects of his life at sea, her father had spoken the most about Liam. He'd taken the lad as something of an apprentice back when Liam was orphaned at twelve and the two had sailed together frequently since.

"A bit, I suppose," she lied. "I'm happy to watch the ship with Ancient Amos, though. I like the chance to prove myself."

One detail about Liam that Brigid's father had failed to ever describe was his face, which the young woman found disconcertingly beautiful. Despite his very Irish sounding Christian name, his skin was a golden bronze that would be difficult to come by on the cloudy isle. His face was unlined beyond a few faint worry lines crossing his forehead, illustrating his youth and health. His lips were full and well shaped, with the upper lip slightly fuller than the bottom. His nose was straight, lacking any hook to its bridge or the tell-tale asymmetry of having been broken in the past. The only real flaw in his face were two thin scars that ran down his left cheek, looking something like old claw marks. His cheekbones were high and sharp, drawing her attention to pale blue eyes that contrasted dramatically with the black lashes that fringed them.

The piercing gaze of those eyes seemed to look right down to the core of her and she quickly looked away again, feeling her cheeks warm up. Under the bindings she used to keep her breasts flat, she could feel her nipples hardening as shivers rushed through her body. Desire didn't seem to care that she hated the man.

"Eh, you've proven yourself well enough already, lad. We'd best watch out or you'll be stealing my job next." From the corner of her eye, she could see Liam smile and give her a wink.

"Oh, that's not what I'll be stealing," Brigid said, passing on the next crate down the line.

Liam laughed and once he'd handed off the crate, he gave her a friendly slap on the back. With the wet dock beneath her feet and the unexpected touch, it was enough to make her stumble. One of her boots slipped on the slick wood, throwing her body forward, head first off the dock and toward the sea below.

Powerful arms wrapped around her instantly. One of Liam's hands was braced at her chest, the other catching her at the upper thigh. His touch made her heart pound far harder than the prospect of going headfirst into the churning waves. At her thigh his fingers slid upward as he pulled her back toward him, brushing against her clothed sex. Just that incidental touch was like being struck by lightning, making muscles clench and flutter. She was jerked back against his chest and held there for a moment to get steady on her feet. She could feel the fingers at her chest slide against the bindings there, clearly having noticed them. His middle finger slid over her nipple and she pulled away from him frantically, scrambling backward from the edge of the dock.

Their eyes met. One of his brows was raised and he was giving her a shrewd look. He'd felt the bindings and had certainly been close enough to guess at a lack of manhood between her legs. Was he paying enough attention to have realized and seen through her disguise?

"That's the last of the cargo. I'd best get back there before Ancient Amos drinks himself into a stupor," she said in a rush.

Liam said nothing. Brigid hurried up the gangplank, trying to ignore both the rush of abject fear and confused arousal. Putting off her plan any longer would be too much of a risk. She had to find out what had happened to the map and flee the ship before the night was out.

Once she was on deck, she leaned backward against the railing for a moment and took a few deep breaths. She counted off the seconds in her head before she dared to look over her shoulder to see that Liam had left. Her eyes moved toward the port city and she allowed herself to shudder. If all went according to plan, she'd be sleeping in Tortuga that night, before finding a ship willing to take a passenger and making her way toward New Providence. Everything she'd heard about Tortuga had chilled her blood, though the majority of what she was told had been from gleefully bragging pirates—her crew-mates. Or at least that was who they would be until the end of the night.

Reaching up, she took off her hat for a moment, then slid the eye-patch she'd hidden under her bandana down and over her eye. Her father had always shown an unbelievable gift for seeing in the dark. Several years before he died, he'd shown her the trick to block out light to one eye so that it would be attuned to darkness. Later, she'd flip it back up again below deck and be able to see. She still didn't have her father's gift for seeing in the dark, but it was better than being blinded by the blazing setting sun over Hispaniola.

"Amos, I have something better for you than the watered down grog we've been drinking," she called out to the older man.

Despite the name of Ancient Amos, he was only in his late thirties. Prematurely grayed hair and a grizzled look from a lifetime of heavy drinking had granted him the name. He walked over toward Brigid, head cocked with interest. "What's that, lad?"

She offered over the small bottle of rum she'd stolen at their last port and she saw his bloodshot eyes brighten up with pleasure. Ancient Amos took the bottle happily and used his knife to pry out the cork. "Here, lad. Have the first drink."

"Ah, you're a good man." Brigid grinned as she took the bottle, then tipped it back at her lips. Her tongue blocked the flow of the rum as she mimed taking a few swallows, then handed it back.

The opium that she'd added to the rum made her tongue tingle and as soon as Ancient Amos wasn't looking, she turned her face toward the railing and spat over it. Finding something she was sure would knock out whoever she had watch with had been difficult, but she was sure the opium would pay off. She would never indulge in the drug, but her father had told her about its effects on men. He'd told her many useful things.

Judge a ship by its rats. It was a strange bit of advice that Brigid's father had given her, but she had taken it to heart even so. The most valuable part of it was that she knew he had given the same wisdom to Liam.

Not wasting a moment in mourning, as soon as word came of her father's death without even a coin tossed their direction, she had gone to the docks and watched. Every ship had rats, but the one with fat, sleek rats that showed neither fear nor aggression was the ship Liam would be on. That very day she chopped off her hair and put on her father's clothes and presented herself to the captain as a youth in search of work.

She kept glancing toward the shore as Ancient Amos drank and she pretended to. The combination of opium and alcohol had the man blind to any nervousness she was displaying. Soon enough, he'd settled down to sit on the starboard side of the desk and seemed to have forgotten about sharing the rum at all. Eventually, the sound of snoring drew her attention back to him. He was sprawled out on the deck with his head propped up against the side of the ship, the bottle hugged to his chest like a lover.

Another cautious glance toward shore and then she grabbed a lantern to head below.

Her boots were nearly silent as she made her way back to the navigator's cabin. Pirate ships were gutted of most cabins in order to lighten their weight. It increased speed and meant they could carry more cannons. Not all of the quarters were gutted, though. There was space for the captain, for the first mate, and for the navigator. Liam.

The door was locked, but that had never stopped her. Brigid dropped to her knees and flipped up the eye-patch. She set her lantern beside her before pulling out her lock-picking kit from a pocket in her breeches, a cherished gift from her father. Every second that passed made her more agitated and concerned about being caught, but she sighed in relief when the last tumbler slid into place. A quiet creak made her wince when she pushed the door open, then she slipped inside.

The room was small, just wide enough for a single cot and a compact desk to sit side by side. The desk had a chair before it and the bed had a chest at its foot. Beyond that, the room was empty. As spartan as it was, the cabin was absolute luxury compared to what the rest of the crew had. She went to the desk first and began to sift through the maps and papers and books. Some were stacked up neatly or rolled together on the desktop, while the rest had been tucked into the two small drawers the desk sported. Nothing with her father's handwriting caught her eye, but she did find what looked like an old personal logbook and flipped it open to leaf through to the date when her father died, hoping there might be some hint as to what happened.

Liam's handwriting was surprisingly neat and fine. The lettering was small in order to fit a great deal of information on every line, but it never looked cramped. He had the perfect navigator's hand. There was no entry for the day the letter said her father had died, but two days later it began again. The precision of his lettering was off, that tightly controlled hand now shaky.

Storm heavily damaged ship port-side. Two leagues north of Eleuthera. Donovan swept overboard. Body found crushed against coral. His effects are chest and Bible. Will send word to his family. May God keep him close to His heart.

Several different feelings warred within Brigid as she gazed on that simply written eulogy. Though she had never met Liam before joining the crew of the Black Pride, weeks in his company and years of hearing her father speak of him had formed an impression of a man who didn't show his intimate emotions lightly. Seven short sentences by a trembling hand told a world of grief. She wanted to have empathy for him, for the loss they both shared, and yet the notation that her father's chest and Bible had survived the storm without being returned to her family enraged her. It was what she had assumed and why she had come after Liam in the first place, but being proven right didn't soothe her anger.

She set the journal back into the drawer she had taken it from, then slid the drawer closed before turning her attention to the chest. With the desk proven fruitless, it was the next logical place to look for her father's things. She settled her lantern next to the chest and knelt to check the lock.

The cabin door flew open, slamming against the wall behind it. Brigid's head jerked up and her hand automatically went to grab the butt of the flintlock pistol at her belt.

Liam stood in the doorway, his hands braced on other side as he used his body to block the only exit from the small cabin. He wasn't the largest man on the ship, but a body hardened by constant labor would make him a formidable foe. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, his beard kept shaved down to stubble. His clothes were simple, relatively utilitarian compared to the flamboyancy of many other successful pirates. The only bit of jewelry he wore was an intricate gold ring on a chain around his neck.

Under the best of circumstances, meeting his eyes would leave her flustered and uncomfortable. It was far from the best of circumstances as his glacial blue eyes burned into hers with fury.

"What do you think you're doing here, boyo?" he demanded.

Chapter Two

The island of Tortuga had few single women beyond whores. For most buccaneers, that was women enough and a good way to waste what gold they had collected. A few had planned ahead and kept a wife in almost every port, so they always had a clean bed and woman to lay down with when they arrived. Liam desired neither a prostitute nor a neglected wife. Women who wanted a lover simply for pleasure rather than an ulterior motive were the only ones he had an interest in, which often meant places of revelry to other men were ones of celibacy to him.

When the pretty little thing who had been sitting in his lap at the inn had made it clear she had more interest in his coins than his kisses, he'd had his fill of Tortuga. He had it in mind to send the lad Brian off to enjoy himself, since the boy was guarding the ship and no doubt pining for a bit of fun.

Finding Ancient Amos passed out on deck and no sign of Brian had raised an instant alarm, particularly after the strange way the lad had been acting earlier in the afternoon. It was less instinct and more selfishness that had driven him to check his own quarters before looking anywhere else below deck.

Stealing was considered a serious offense on a ship and the lad was new, meaning there would be less mercy for him. Liam watched Brian rise to his feet, looking pale and frightened. The boy looked no older than twelve and his voice had yet to change, but he was quite tall for a lad, only an inch or two shorter than Liam himself. Brian kept himself covered in great baggy clothes and wasn't particularly thin, but Liam was sure he had far more muscle than the boy. There was no doubt that he could beat sense into the lad. A friendly beating would be kinder than the whipping he could expect from official disciplinary action. Liam would make sure the boy survived, for one.

"Well?" Liam asked, when the youth failed to answer his question. "Am I going to have to box it out of you?"

The boy raised his chin defiantly, though he looked no less terrified. "You have something of mine and I came to get it."

Liam narrowed his eyes at the accusation. "Unlike you, I don't steal from shipmates."

The lad snorted and shook his head. "Only the dead ones."

There was only so far Liam's patience went and Brian had used every last bit of it. The older man shook his head as he stepped further into the cabin. "That's it, lad. I'm taking you to the brig and informing the captain of this."

Brian took a step back to avoid him, the terror in his eyes now turning to panic. "Donovan O'Cullane was my father and you took his bloody map!"

The bizarre statement made Liam freeze in his tracks. How would anyone else know about the map? Obviously, the lad was lying about being Donovan's, unless the man had left some bastards around the Caribbean that he hadn't told anyone about. It was possible, but Liam couldn't imagine that the man who had lectured him on why they could never abandon a child would have fathered a secret son. The cultural imperative was too deeply ingrained in their kind. It happened, yes, but it was a shameful thing to do.

The lad took advantage of his shock to attempt darting past him. As the boy ducked beneath one of Liam's arms, the navigator spun and grabbed for him, catching a handful at the back of the boy's shirt. There was something else beneath it as well that felt almost like bandages. He'd felt that earlier and wondered if the boy had some injury he'd been hiding. No matter; for the moment all Liam cared about was keeping a good grip on the lad to drag him back in. He pulled the boy toward him as Brian struggled. There was the sound of cloth ripping and Liam felt whatever the lad wore under his shirt give way. The well worn shirt tore downward from the laced v-neck collar as well as the boy continued to fight. In his thrashings, Liam saw something that made no sense whatsoever.

Once he managed to catch an arm, he slammed his captive's back against the wall, then looked down to verify what he had seen. Breasts. Full, ripe, painfully tempting breasts. They had been bound by the cloth that he grabbed through the shirt and were now unrestrained. Exposed as well, with the shirt torn open. He drew his eyes up slowly to the girl's face. Of course. How stupid had he been to think for a moment that Brian was a boy?

He brought his free hand up to catch the eye-patch, the bandana and the hat over it that "Brian" had used in covering up her head. A red-haired lad trying to protect his fair skin from the sun had made sense, but that wasn't it at all. Corkscrew copper curls fell almost to the young woman's shoulders, framing a pale, frightened face. She was quite tall for a woman, but O'Cullane had been tall as well. She was strong, too, with the fight she'd put up.

"Aye, I didn't think Ol' Donny had any surviving sons," Liam said.

He brought a hand up to touch the girl's cheek as he considered the resemblance, then felt the cold metal of a pistol's barrel against the underside of his chin.

"Give me the map and let me go." The girl's voice was deadly serious enough to put the fear of God in a man. The fright he'd seen in her eyes was gone now, replaced with the steely determination he'd seen in Donny's face a thousand times.

Whatever his feelings were on Donny and what was possibly his daughter, there was no way in hell Liam would accept such a threat. He swept the pistol from the girl's hand, then caught her wrist to pin it to the wall above her head. At the same time, he felt her wrenching her other arm free, her hand grasping at the dagger he kept in his belt. Again, he caught that wrist to pin it, then grit his teeth with a growl as she started kicking him in the shins with her boots.

"Jesus Christ, woman!"

Spinning her around, he pushed her face into the wall and took the bandage she'd used for binding her breasts, then quickly tied her wrists together as she swore and fought and scratched at him. She still had her feet and teeth and head and whatever else she might decide to use as a weapon, but at least he had control of her hands. Even tied, he still didn't trust her, so patted over her hips to find all of her knives and toss them aside. Feeling the curve of her hips and the firm roundness of her ass, he had to marvel at how well she'd hidden her body beneath baggy male clothing.

Once he was fairly sure she was unarmed, he leaned in against her, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent at the back of her neck. She'd found some way to bathe herself on the ship, but there was a faint hint of the right scent there. She could be O'Cullane's daughter. He shoved her back around to face him again, but this time pressed his body in close against hers so that she had no room to kick him. Her squirming and the jiggling of her bared breasts were having an unwanted effect on his body and when she abruptly went still and her pale cheeks turned bright red he could tell she'd noticed his arousal. Distractingly, he felt her hips shift forward to press against him in a purposeful movement.

Liam took a deep breath and then let it out to center himself, as he had more important things to worry about than a redhead wriggling on his cock.

"Start talking, luv. Tell me why I should believe you're Ol' Donny's and what you know about this map you claim I have."

She fumed with her face downcast for a moment, then lifted her chin defiantly, glaring at him through narrowed eyes as dark and blue as the depths of the sea. Again, he was dismayed that he'd been so stupid as to not see through her disguise. Most people saw what they expected to see, but he should have been better than that. He had more than human eyes to rely on.

"My name's Brigid O'Cullane. You sent a letter to my mother telling her that my father died on the twenty-seventh of June and you lacked the decency to come and tell us in person. He was the first mate on the Nightbird's Journey, a privateer for Britain and working against the Spanish. He took you under his wing when you were twelve and he'd be ashamed of you now, working as a pirate."

"You've been pirating as well."

"I'm just here because of you," she countered. "The map would have been among his personal belongings. It showed an island which looks a bit like a turtle with one flipper missing. It is mine and I want it."

Liam was quiet for a moment, resting one arm against the wall and leaning into it as he looked Brigid over, contemplating what she had said. The resemblance to Donny was clear enough—though the older man had lacked that fine pair of breasts, Liam noted to himself wryly—and she knew things no one else should have been able to tell him. The trouble was that he had no interest in giving up the map. He'd been working for weeks on figuring out which island was shown on it, since the crafty old bastard hadn't given coordinates. Donny's widow and daughter would have a house full of things to remember him by and all the wealth he'd been sending home for decades. Liam had memories and a map. Was it really too much for him to keep?

"So, say I have this map," he began, lightly tracing one finger down the center of her chest. He saw her shudder as she leaned into the touch, which made him grin. Well then. He had been wondering why a lad would always blush and avoid his eyes when they were alone. Knowing the lass beneath the disguise was attracted to him changed everything. "What would I have to gain by giving it to you?"

Chapter Three

Brigid narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the shivers he was currently eliciting. A difficult task when she could feel his hips settled against hers, the hard heat of his cock prodding her. All she wanted to do was press to him and feel him places no one had ever touched her. "You'd know you'd done right by someone you claimed as a mate. It's the decent thing to do."

"Mm, funny thing that." Liam's callused hand slid over her exposed belly and she made a soft, involuntary sound as she automatically leaned into the touch, feeling her nipples harden in the cool air of his cabin. Deep inside, her body clenched and a wave of heat collected between her thighs. "It assumes I'm a decent man to begin with."

She squirmed between him and the wall, frustrated with her hands being bound. After she threatened to shoot him in the head, she could understand why he'd keep her wrists tied behind her back, but it was difficult to trust him at all when he had made a threat of his own regarding the brig and still refused to hand over the map. And then there was the matter of him not simply sending it home to her mother in the first place. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. "I refuse to bargain with you any further tied up like this with my shirt open."

"Oh? Is it open?" He feigned surprise, drawing back to stare openly at her breasts. "Well. Can't have that. Wouldn't be decent, would it? That's as bad as trying to kill a man after breaking into his cabin."

She opened her mouth to argue further, but to her surprise she felt his hands going to the rag around her wrists. A few deft tugs and the knot was free. Then he smiled and, with an exaggerated chivalric flourish, folded the tattered edges of her shirt inward to cover her breasts.

"Of course that means if you try to shoot me again, I won't be so nice the second time," he warned. Even with her untied, he didn't pull away entirely, still keeping her trapped against the wall with his body, his eyes moving over her as though she were still fully exposed.

His nearness made everything else grow distant, muffled under a layer of heat and tingling skin. She shifted her weight between him and the wall, her body sliding against the front of his. The hiss of his indrawn breath and the way his pupils dilated let her know that at least she wasn't the only one distracted. Could she use that? She was no wanton woman, but she'd heard stories often enough of men getting their heads turned by the promise of a woman's bed and making terrible decisions as a result.

"Don't threaten me and I have no reason to shoot you." Her voice was softer now, less accusing. "Please, give me the map."

Even through her shirt, she could feel the warmth of his hand settling back on her belly. "And once, again, why should I?"

Her hand covered the back of his, then guided it upwards, over one of her barely clothed breasts. The touch had her biting the tip of her tongue to keep from whimpering, but judging by the hitch in his breath she'd caught his attention. "The map's useless to you," she said. "He never marked where the island actually is."

"Are you a navigator, lass?" he murmured beside her ear, his warm breath making her shudder.

"No."

"Then how would you ever find the island either?"

His thumb began dragging back and forth over her nipple through the cloth, making her whimper. Her knees went weak, but he must have felt it as well. His body pressed to hers harder to keep her in place against the wall and she moaned at the feel of his cock working against her through her breeches. Her arms looped around his neck, holding him close as well as herself up.

"I went there with him. I've seen it."

"And I know where he's sailed. I'd find it eventually."

His thumb was now working in agonizingly slow circles. As her eyes fluttered shut, she wondered if using her body to distract him might have been a mistake. He was far too in control and flustering her too well for it to work in her favor. Every little shift of her legs made her aware of the slick dampness collecting between them and the way his achingly hard cock was pressed to her.

"You don't know about the traps. Or how to get there safely," Brigid said.

"Traps, hm?" His lips slid over hers, a soft teasing brush that made her breath freeze in her throat. "Map doesn't mention any traps."

"Of course not. He didn't want anyone but me to find what was there."

She expected him to find some new way to counter her. Instead, he kissed her again, his lips caressing hers in slow, languorous strokes. Brigid was still for a moment, unsure of how to respond. When she felt him catch her bottom lip to suckle at it, she moaned involuntarily and leaned forward to press her lips to his. His tongue slipped past her lips to explore her mouth, sending shudders down her spine and making fresh heat throb in her sex. As his lips and tongue and teeth coaxed responses from her, both of his hands pushed back her shirt once more and cupped her breasts, his thumbs teasing at her nipples.

One of his thighs insinuated itself between her legs, pressing up against her and rocking there. Every movement made her shudder in response as rough fabric slid against her aroused flesh. Liam drew back from the kiss, scraping her bottom lip between his teeth and suckling before placing a gentle kiss on it. "You tell me where the island is and about all these traps, I'll get us there safely. We can split whatever he left on the island eighty twenty, in my favor."

Brigid made a sound of disgust as she leaned as far back into the wall as she could to look him in the eye. "It's my map. You wouldn't do anything useful for me."

"Luv, you don't even know where the map is. Without me, you have nothing."

"And you'd be all right with that? Depriving your dead shipmate's widow and daughter of what he left for them?"

"I'm a pirate. Did you expect honor?" he asked, smirking. "In Donny's memory, I suppose I could go down to sixty forty."

Before she could argue further, he was ducking down her body. His tongue dragged down her throat, making her skin burn where he touched her and then feel chilled once he had passed by. A wet trail moved down over her pulse, then followed her collarbone before moving down her chest. He drew a circle with his tongue around one breast before coming up from below. His tongue teased at the underside of her nipple before he drew it into his mouth and suckled. In spite of herself, she moaned and buried her fingers in his hair, her eyes closing once again. The gentle tug and pull of his sucking made her body tighten and she was certain she had to be soaking through her breeches with arousal. The press of his thigh against her was welcome and she rolled her hips against him, working herself against his thigh.

"I'll give you five percent," she said, her voice tight around the words.

He chuckled against her breast, his breath chilling the damp skin. "Fifty."

"Ten."

"Forty or you'll just have to go wander that island alone without a map."

She grit her teeth, mentally debating how likely it was she could steal the map from him once he let his guard down. There seemed to be no way to get it honestly without giving away a massive amount of her inheritance. "Fine," she said, with all the spite she could muster.

Liam kissed his way up from her breast, his stubble scraping at the tender skin of her throat when he nuzzled there. She shuddered at the touch and tipped her head back slightly to expose more of her throat to him, which he took as an invitation to bite down on the side of her neck, bringing his body close against hers. His hands were working her belt open, his teeth torturing her flesh and all she could do was whimper, thoughts of her father's gold falling away. When his teeth left her throat, she made a soft sound, the pain seeming somehow sharper in the absence of his bite.

"We have a deal, Brigid. 'Tis a pleasure doing business with you," he said before his lips crushed against hers. The kiss was demanding this time as he plundered her mouth, claiming her. All she could do was give herself up to it, responding to savage hunger as his tongue stroked over hers and explored her mouth.

Her belt finally came undone in his hands and she felt his fingers slip inside of her breeches. She had sewn a few pairs of simple linen hose to wear under the breeches, for added protection from prying eyes when her clothing became wet and clung to her skin. His fingers slid over them, perhaps confused by her alterations to her undergarments, but once he found the knot keeping them in place he deftly opened them with one hand. The first touch of his fingers against her soft mound of red curls made her gasp and stiffen, her heart pounding so hard she was sure the vibration had to be visible through her skin. He either didn't notice her response or didn't worry about it; his hand only moved lower.

His middle finger slid along her slick lips, teasing at them as it glided back and forth. Her fingers curled into fists in his hair and she shuddered and struggled between him and the wall, moaning. He ducked down abruptly, abandoning her lips, and brought his kiss to the breast he'd neglected before. Just as he began suckling there, she felt his finger press between the folds of her sex, the tip of his finger circling her clit. Her hips jerked forward at the sensation and she whimpered, squirming in frustration. Pinned as she was only heightened every little touch from him, because she was unable to concentrate on anything else.

That single finger flicked and teased against her with expert precision, circling around the sensitive nub before brushing directly against the tip. His tongue at her breast mimicked the movements of his finger, though there was the addition of his teeth lightly nipping and the pull of his suckling. After a moment, she felt him slide two fingers against her arousal, lightly rubbing on either side and gently applying pressure between them before sliding against her directly again.

Brigid whimpered, her hips thrusting forward against his hand in search of some last bit of contact she craved but couldn't describe. "Fuck," she breathed.

His mouth abandoned her nipple for a moment, to allow him to speak. "In good time, luv."

Those two fingers between her thighs slid forward, his thumb now taking their place working against her clit. His teeth caught her nipple to tug as he sucked, his fingers pushing inside of her at the same time. She cried out at the unexpected yet welcome feeling, then bit down on her bottom lip to try to silence herself. If he had come back to the ship, others might have as well.

Liam's fingers thrust into her steadily, his thumb working back and forth against her clit. He kissed and nuzzled his way across her chest to catch her other nipple between his lips, scraping it between his teeth. A sudden shudder wracked Brigid's body and she arched between him and the wall, hissing through her teeth. Her hips rocked reflexively, the muscles of her stomach fluttering with the tremors of her orgasm. His fingers continued working inside of her, his thumb drawing delicious circles.

As some of the tension began to ease, she felt him leave her breast, kissing his way back up her body. His lips slid over hers before he nuzzled at her cheek, brushing it with more kisses. "You're very sensitive."

She made a soft sound in response, unsure of what to say or if she could even form words at the moment.

His hands moved to hold her by the hips, turning her body against the wall. She moved pliantly with his urging and felt him pushing her clothing down off of her hips, then mold his body against her back. There was the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by the feeling of hot, hard flesh against her naked ass, making her body tighten in fresh hunger.

One of his hands brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck, and he stroked his lips over the freshly bared skin. "Do you want me, lass?"

"Yes," she said, the words barely a whisper.

His hands guided her thighs farther apart, as far as they could go with her breeches around her ankles, and then she felt the thick head of his cock pressed to her virgin entrance. Her body tensed in worry, fearful of pain, but he only rocked there, easing himself past her lips. Every tiny movement he made pressed him that much deeper into her and then he drew back again. Just a fraction of an inch at a time he'd slide into her, then pull back. One of his hands skimmed over her stomach before moving down between her thighs, using his middle finger to stroke her clit again. His other hand cradled one of her breasts, massaging it as he kissed along the side of her neck.

He rolled his hips forward again, pushing deeper into her and she hissed as she felt her barrier give. Instantly, Liam stilled and she felt him draw his face back from her throat. A touch breathless, she turned to look back toward him over her shoulder. His brows were knotted together, a faint frown on his lips, but as soon as their eyes met he leaned in to kiss her. She moaned softly into the kiss, pressing back against him as he worked deeper into her again. There was an unexpected intimacy in their height being so close, their bodies lining up perfectly.

Bit by bit, he pressed into her until their bodies were flush, his hips cradling the curve of her ass. He rocked their bodies together, making her whimper against his lips, before he drew back and thrust into her. The kiss broke, Brigid gasping for breath and she heard him groan before he buried his face in the side of her neck. Each thrust used almost his entire length, pressing into her until her body was forced forward against the wall. Her fingers clawed at the wall, leaving lines from her nails on the wood as she sought something to grip.

As he continued working in and out of her body, his thrusts began to come faster, the finger he was caressing her clit with keeping up the pace. The angle he was at from behind her made his cock drag along her inner walls, sending tremors through her body with each stroke. Coupled with the movements of his finger, she thought she might go mad or scream. She had to bite down on her bottom lip again to stay quiet, worrying about biting it bloody. Her hips rolled back to meet his thrusts, though as he went faster it became impossible to match his rhythm. At her breast, his fingers were pinching and teasing her nipple between them, still massaging the soft mound in his palm.

"That feels so good," she said, the words strangled on a moan.

He made a quiet sound, acknowledging that, and kissed his way back up her neck. "Aye, luv. Stop holding back and let yourself enjoy it. No one will hear us down here."

Brigid wasn't sure if she actually believed that, but speaking had already broken the dam. On his next thrust, she cried out. Each time he worked into her, she couldn't stop herself from gasping or moaning and murmuring soft obscenities, all of which seemed to only spur him on. His kisses at her throat grew more ardent, his own breath ragged and the occasional stroke punctuated with a quiet, masculine groan.

When she felt his teeth dig into the back of her neck in another bite, all of the tension in her body snapped and her voice bordered on a breathless scream. She arched her back as she writhed between him and the wall, rocking forward into the finger that stroked her and then back onto his cock, shudders of pleasure wracking her frame. In the throes of her release, she could feel him bite down just a little harder, his groan muffled at the back of her neck, and he buried himself completely in her heat. The feeling of his hot seed flooding her sent new shivers through her and she trailed off into a quiet whimper, reaching back with one hand to hold him to her neck by his hair.

He kept rocking into her even as they both came down from their orgasms. She leaned into the wall heavily, trying to catch her breath. His teeth released the back of her neck and brushed soft kisses there. The feel of him pulling out of her made her hiss softly, though more gentle kisses made up for it.

Turning around somewhat shakily, she continued to rest against the wall. Liam had reclined back on the bed and looked out of breath as well as he pulled his breeches back into place and belted them.

"So when do you want to leave to go find this island?" he asked.

She was silent for a moment, stunned that he was back on that topic so quickly, not even waiting for them to get their clothes together. Blushing in shame at her own stupidity, she leaned down to pull her breeches back up, then held the torn shirt closed with one hand. He'd tied her up and threatened her with the brig. He refused to give her the map her dead father had intended for her. They weren't lovers. At best, she was a captive he was using to find his way to the treasure. She doubted he'd let her keep her share, so why should she expect any tenderness now?

"Tonight." Her voice lacked inflection, cautious about showing emotion after what they'd shared. "I want to get there as quickly as possible."

"Then I'll pack a bag. I'll meet you on deck in a few minutes?"

Brigid gave a small nod, then fled. Confusing ideas crowded her head, torn between kissing him and stabbing him as soon as she knew he had the map on him.

Chapter Four

Liam waited until he was sure Brigid was gone to get her things. She had the presence of mind to snatch up her lantern as she went, but the absence of light didn't bother him at all. He simply shifted his eyes to enhance his night vision—the pale blue darkening to solid black orbs—then turned back to the furthermost corner of the bed and grasped the bedpost there. As he twisted it around, a hidden cavity he'd carved into it was revealed and he pulled out a rolled up piece of leather. The first time he had seen it, he assumed it to be a useless scrap, maybe meant for patching things. That had likely been just what Donovan had wanted others to think, though.

Once the leather was shaken out flat on the bed, he traced the markings on it with his finger. Instead of ink or paint or anything like that, his late friend had burned the lines into it. The island was clear enough, but there were strange markings he couldn't decipher, as well as some writing in a language he was fairly certain was Irish. Unfortunately, it wasn't a language he had ever spoken fluently and had never learned to read it at all. It just looked garbled and impossible to pronounce to his eyes.

"Your girl's going to get herself killed. You should be glad I wouldn't give her the map," he said as his finger followed the curve of the shoreline. Even if he couldn't decipher what the map said, he had spent over a decade working alongside Donovan O'Cullane. His hand was so clear in its design that Liam almost felt as though he was speaking to his old friend again.

"Well, all right. You wouldn't be at all glad about what I just did."

He glanced toward his door with a frown, trying to ignore the pang of guilt tormenting him. That he had hurt her seemed clear, but he wasn't sure of how to deal with it. Warmth and gentleness had never factored in his life at all. He shook his head, then got up to start packing his bag. He would need his navigation tools, of course, and he didn't keep much else beyond clothes and some books.

"You can't blame me, though, Donny. How was I to know?"

He grabbed the map to fold it up again, stuffing it inside a hidden inner pocket in the bag. "I can't imagine one of our kind living that long and staying a virgin." She possessed the violent tendencies of a kin female, though. There was no doubt about that. It had been far too long since he'd had the pleasure of a half-naked woman trying to kill him and then screaming in ecstasy for him.

As he was tossing things into the bag, he picked up a pair of manacles, then shrugged and packed those as well. The girl had a temper on her, after all. It was going to take some effort to tame her.

***

He felt no guilt over abandoning the ship. Loyalty was one of the most important traits among sailors and it was the only way pirates could ever hope to work together, yet he had never felt much of a need to practice the virtue himself. Of all the people he'd known, Donovan O'Cullane had been one of only two people he really felt much loyalty for since his parents had died. That loyalty didn't extend to the man's widow and daughter, but now guilt had him accompanying Donovan's only child.

The sound of footsteps behind him brought his attention away from the night sky he had just been contemplating. Ancient Amos the lookout was still passed out on the deck of the ship and Brigid O'Cullane had come up from below. The torn boy's clothing he had seen her in last were gone, replaced by a dress that must have been taken as bounty from a ship. He guessed it had been hard to lace up her corset herself, but he appreciated the effort all the same. Those lush curves that had been so well hidden before were now on full display. He looked her over hungrily as he mentally stripped the dress off of her and thought of all the things he could do to that beautiful body once he really had time to devote to it.

It wasn't guilt alone that had driven him to capture Brigid and refuse to let her go treasure hunting alone.

"I don't care if you wench, but while we're traveling together you're to treat me as your wife and protect me from other men," she said, her voice tight around the words. All of the passion he'd seen in her earlier was bottled up tightly now. He guessed it was because he had hurt her and she wasn't one who showed her vulnerability easily.

"Wife?" he asked, a hand automatically moving to touch the gold ring he wore on a chain around his neck. Liam had no objections to keeping up a charade while they went treasure hunting, but he felt a twinge of caution at what she might demand to keep up the act.

"Aye, your wife. Do your ears not work now?" Brigid held up her hand to show him the simple ring she had slid onto her ring finger. Another stolen object from a ship they had attacked, he guessed.

"Just making sure, luv. I'd hate to assume things about your plans."

In the dark, Brigid's blue eyes looked nearly as black as his did when he shifted. Despite the darkness, he could see some emotion swimming behind their surface. Pain, possibly. Or distrust. She turned away before he could be sure and gave her red curls a toss. They were still a bit short for a woman, but he imagined they were absolutely wonderful to nestle into.

"We're going to spend the night at the Bed of Roses Inn and then take a ship to New Providence in the morning. I'll give you the coin to pay for our night, but don't you even think of taking my purse," Brigid said.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He stooped to pick up her bag, then slung it over his shoulder along with his own bag of belongings.

There was little talk between them as they walked through Tortuga. Dressed as a decent woman and walking closely with him kept Brigid from being accosted as most women would be at night in a pirate infested port. Every time he glanced at her she avoided his look, much to his frustration. Had he left her to her own devices, Liam was sure she would have been raped and murdered. Disguising herself as a pretty young lad would do no good when there were men just as happy to victimize boys as young women.

Once he had paid for their room for the night and requested water be brought up for a bath, he discreetly slipped her change back into her hand. Taking her purse was the furthest thing from his mind, but he was somewhat curious about how long she would insist on paying for everything in their journey. It certainly wouldn't bother him to not have to spend anything, but it was hardly what he'd expect of a woman. Especially not one who now acted as though she hated him.

The room wasn't very large, but clean and comfortable and far larger than what he'd had on the ship. The bed was more than twice as wide as the bed he had been using and he looked forward to sleeping on a mattress that didn't sway with the sea. Liam dropped their bags and shut the door once the girls from the inn's kitchen were done filling up the bath in the corner of the room. Soaking in a hot bath would be even more enjoyable than the bed, he thought.

"I'm taking the bath first," Brigid said.

Before he could protest, she crossed the room and grabbed a folding dressing screen to move it between him and the bath, then disappeared behind it. He stared after her for a moment, then sighed heavily before settling on the edge of the bed. Her actions had made it clear enough that she had no interest in sharing the bath. He focused on taking off his boots for the moment, then flopped back onto the bed and groaned in pleasure. It wasn't the finest bed he had ever laid on, but it was still quite nice. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the soft surface and idly fantasize about just how much treasure Donovan had squirreled away.

The quiet sound of sobs made him open his eyes. Liam pushed himself up into a sitting position again and cocked his ear toward the screen and the bath beyond it. She was doing her best to stifle the sound and maybe human ears would have missed it, but for him there was no mistaking the fact that Brigid was crying.

He stood up and crossed the room toward the bath, then hesitated. Emotions were difficult for him, confusing and uncomfortable both. There were some things that were best kept private besides, and had she wanted him to know she was crying she wouldn't have hidden herself and done everything she could to stay quiet. It sounded like she could barely breathe for how hard she was fighting to silence herself, which made him wince and turn his head away. There was an unfamiliar pain in his chest that went down to one palm, where it felt as though he'd been stabbed. It had been a long time since he'd been tormented with empathy and he didn't care for it at all.

There had to be something he could do to set things aright between them. Traveling together if there was that sort of tension wouldn't do, he rationalized.

Chapter Five

Brigid rubbed wet hands over her face, hoping the scrubbing and hot water would make all of her skin look equally pink, instead of just around her eyes from crying. Her mother had always told her that there was no shame in giving in to one's emotions. The only thing to be cautious about was to whom they were shown. She had little reason to trust Liam after he kept her father's things from her family and then threatened her with the brig. Letting him know how upset she was would only give him further leverage.

She had taken what opportunities she could on board the ship to keep herself clean and certainly hadn't been filthy when Liam had found her, but being taken against the wall and then having him start in on business talk before they had caught their breath had left her feeling dirtier than a pigsty. The retirement her father had hidden on the island would have helped before, but now she knew she would absolutely need it to survive. She had given away her chastity to a pirate. A proper marriage to a decent man would never be a possibility, not if she was honest and she'd have to be.

After she rinsed herself off one last time, she stepped out of the water and picked up a towel to dry herself. She had brought a long nightshirt from her bag, which she pulled on, glad it covered almost to her ankles. Brigid paused a moment behind the screen to take a deep breath. Now that he'd had her once, would Liam expect her to warm his bed throughout their entire journey? She supposed it couldn't possibly do any more damage to her honor and she would be lying if she claimed not to want him. Still, she felt concern at giving him too much control over her.

When she finally stepped around the screen, she saw that he was lying on his back on the bed, still fully clothed save his boots. He picked his head up to look at her and she saw his brows furrow slightly at the nightshirt. Had he expected her to be naked? The thought made her face flush with anger and she walked stiffly across the room.

"The water's still warm," she said.

"All right then." He stood up off the bed and stretched, groaning a bit as he arched his back, then took hold of his shirt to tug it over his head. "I'd been thinking. I...I think I'd be willing to take my share down to twenty-five percent. Since you paid for the inn and know the way to the island, after all."

She glanced over at him somewhat suspiciously, just in time to see him unbuckling his belt. Her eyes widened at the sight and she looked away again. Nudity hadn't been entirely uncommon on the ship, but it was quite a bit different to see a man naked when she was alone at an inn with him and they had already been intimate.

His offer was difficult to believe after how he had acted before. "You'll really let me keep the rest?"

"Aye. Ol' Donny clearly meant for you to keep most of it."

Her eyes flicked back toward him. He had stripped entirely and was standing there, nude and perfect. His rich black hair was kept short and neat, matching the thin trail of curls that began at his navel and wound down to a thicker patch. She hadn't seen his cock clearly before and had to wrench her eyes away from it. He looked large to her inexperienced eye, though it hadn't been as painful as she had expected when he had taken her. Perhaps because of the gentleness of his touch. She had assumed the bronze of his skin was from being in the sun, but it extended over his entire body, only being a little darker on his arms and face where they were always exposed to the sun. He was just naturally dark, then. The way his tan skin and dark lashes contrasted with those pale blue eyes made him far more striking than any man had a right to be.

"He meant for me to keep all of it," she said.

"Maybe." He shrugged, not looking particularly concerned over that, then stepped behind the screen to take his bath.

Brigid hugged her knees to her chest, wondering if she could find the map while he was in the bath. Surely he had it in his bag or his clothes, after all. Then again, he had been alone and unwatched while she was in the bath herself. He might have hidden it. The thought of having to deal with the agony of his company until they found her father's treasure and then not even being entirely sure she'd be able to keep it was terrifying. His offer to only take twenty-five percent was no more believable or trustworthy than Liam himself was. He had gone from privateer to pirate without batting an eye. He had stolen his dead mate's belongings. Putting any faith in him was an exercise in stupidity.

She had crawled under the covers on the bed and scooted as close to the edge as she could when he finished with his bath. Brigid glanced over at him to see that he was still nude. He walked over by the bed and looked mildly confused.

"Are you going to sleep like that?" he asked.

She pulled the covers up higher to her chin. "Like what?"

"All...straight up and down and dressed. Makes it a bit hard to get the bed comfortable, don't you think?"

She stared at him in confusion for a moment, then vaguely remembered how her father would sleep. He would pull all of the blankets and pillows to the center of the bed to create a sort of nest, then burrow down inside of it. Her mother never slept that way when he was gone, so she was sure it was entirely his own affectation. It had always looked comfortable to Brigid, but her mother didn't consider it proper and only tolerated it out of love. Perhaps it was something he had picked up from her father when Donovan had mentored Liam.

Or he was just trying to get her naked, she thought.

Reluctantly, Brigid slipped out from under the covers to stand beside the bed. "How do you want to sleep, then?"

He gave her an odd look, raising one brow, then grabbed onto the blankets and sheets to tug them down toward the center of the bed. So he did want to muss the bed the same way her father did, she mused. Having seen her father make his strange little nest to sleep enough times, she took hold of the pillows to help Liam. It looked more fit for a beast to sleep in than a person, but Liam seemed satisfied and crawled into the completely unmade bed.

She waited a moment, to see if he would complain about her being dressed again, but he said nothing. Brigid pulled back the rumpled covers to insinuate herself beneath them, then curled up with her back to him to try to sleep.

Rest wouldn't come easily. Her body remained stiff, still anticipating him touching her or making demands. After a few minutes had passed, she could hear his breath had taken on the steadiness of sleep and she sagged against the bed. Disappointment at him not touching her was completely illogical, but she felt it all the same. She inched backward on the bed until her body brushed his. Though he still seemed to be asleep, one of his arms automatically draped around her, then pulled her close to his chest and he curved his body around hers, nuzzling into the back of her neck.

Though she couldn't explain the reasoning behind it, that touch finally let her release the tension she had been holding and she soon fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter Six

The ship they found to take them to New Providence was almost entirely crewed by men fresh from England. That didn't sit well with Liam, knowing how dangerous the waters were around New Providence even to those who had spent their lives sailing the Caribbean. One of the primary ways the inhabitants made their living was as wreckers, collecting goods from ships that sank after striking rock and coral. The storm that had cost Donovan his life had been near there. Even with all the skill of that crew and Liam's navigation, they hadn't been able to keep from damaging the ship and losing the first mate. If he couldn't trust himself to keep people he cared about safe, trusting strange Englishmen to keep him and Brigid safe seemed absurd.

"She's awful red, isn't she?"

Liam had been leaning against the rail on the ship, but his head turned toward the voice of the crewmen. They were talking among themselves, far louder than they should have been. Their eyes were on Brigid, who had come up from their cabin for some fresh air. He could tell by the stiffness in her body that she had heard them and she turned away, raising her chin defiantly. She didn't retreat back below as he might have expected. She simply refused to look at the men and acknowledge them.

"Wonder if she's as red below deck as she is topside," one of the crewmen joked. He was answered with bawdy laughter and their discussion grew more graphic as they talked about what they'd enjoy doing to the pale redhead.

"Quit your clatterwacking," Liam said sharply. "Hold your tongues while my wife is on board."

There were a few mumbled apologies and then the men went back to their work. If they said anything more about Brigid, he couldn't hear them. More importantly, she couldn't either.

"Thank you," Brigid said quietly when she came to stand beside him.

"You'd think the idiots had never seen a beautiful woman before."

A touch of pink showed up in those pale cheeks and a small smile tugged at one corner of Brigid's mouth. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He gave her a shrewd look, wondering where she came up with these questions. It was like her odd questions about making a proper nest in the bed at the inn. Couldn't she tell he found her absolutely breathtaking? "Of course."

She was quiet for a moment, but leaned in closer to him, letting one shoulder brush against his chest. He smiled at the light contact and moved an arm around her to pull her closer to him. The fighting and trying to kill him when he'd caught her in his cabin had certainly been invigorating, but the contrast with a more gentle moment was appealing as well.

"Thank you," she said again.

He leaned in to bring his lips next to her ear, so he could murmur to her. "No sense in calling you my wife if I don't defend your honor, is there?"

She gave her head a small shake. "I don't think there's much to defend."

He scoffed at that, but didn't quite know what to say in response, so just pulled her closer. He felt as she relaxed against him, molding herself to his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. They stood companionably like that for several moments before she began pulling away.

"I don't like the way the men look at me, so I was going to see if the cook might have dinner done early and I could take it in our cabin. Do you want to join me?" she asked.

"Aye, that sounds good. Do you need me to go with you to the galley?"

She smiled, but shook her head again. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

He wasn't as sure of that with how coarse the crew was, but he didn't argue with her. As she walked back below deck, he had to watch her in silent admiration. Delicate women who couldn't care for themselves didn't last long in the harsh world Liam inhabited, but there was something more to Brigid. While many of the women he'd known took care of themselves through their feminine wiles and finding men to protect them in exchange for sex, Brigid showed no interest in manipulating him. She was grateful that he'd spoken up for her, but hadn't acted as though she expected it. He still worried about her, but that fierce temper he'd seen before was only the beginning of the strength she hid.

The deck held little appeal once she was out of sight, so Liam went below to their cabin. Because they were traveling as passengers instead of crew, the cabin was far nicer than he could have expected on a ship like this. It would be cramped to share with another person for the entire journey, though. He sat at the small table in their cabin as he considered that and how better to heal the rift between them. His offer of taking less money had been the first thing that had come to mind, but now he saw how futile of an effort that was. She hadn't acted as though it was generous or that she was happy to know she'd have more of her father's gold.

While he was still considering his options, the door was pushed open. Brigid nudged her way through using one hip to keep the door open as she stepped through with a platter holding bowls and flagons. Liam came to his feet to take the tray from her and set it on the table. She flashed him a grateful smile before she turned back to the door to secure it.

"I'd been hoping their rations might be better than what we've had, but I'm afraid not. The beer is probably all right, but it's hardtack, salt beef and...sour crowd?"

"Sauerkraut," he corrected absently. It wasn't the worst he had ever eaten on board a ship, but it wasn't particularly satisfying either.

"Sauerkraut," she repeated.

Once she settled herself into a chair, she picked up the hardtack and tapped it against the side of her bowl. The dense, dry bread was useful for long sea voyages, but nearly impossible to eat on its own. Both of them dropped their hardtack into the broth that held their salt beef and fermented cabbage, staring down at the meal in dejection. The sauerkraut would stave off scurvy, which was always important on long sea voyages, but in a land of tropical fruits with islands clustered closely together some of the methods used in Europe hadn't caught on. The Black Pride had included limes in their rations, so he wasn't surprised that Brigid was unfamiliar with sauerkraut.

"Wait, I have something that might improve this meal," Liam said. He got up to check his bag, then pulled out a small, wax covered cheese wheel and a knife. He glanced up to see Brigid's eyes alight with pleasure and he had to grin.

"Oh, cheese. That does help." She sighed happily.

"If we're careful, it might last us until we get to New Providence. It'll keep us from going mad on this food, at least," he said as he peeled off the wax, then sliced the cheese into small wedges. He divided them up evenly between the both of them.

She took one of the pieces and gave him another smile before she nibbled at it, then swigged from her beer. "I'll be happy to get home again and have fresh food from the farm."

"You have a farm?" he asked, trying not to let too much surprise enter his voice. Donovan had always kept his cards close to his chest about his home life, keeping his life at sea and his family as separate as possible. It made him wonder how much about his old friend he had never known. Picturing Donovan as a farmer seemed incredibly strange.

Brigid nodded as she ate. She chewed and swallowed the bite of beef she had just taken, then answered him. "Just a little one, south of Port Royal. We have a few goats and chickens and grow enough crops to feed ourselves and sell a bit on the side."

"Huh." He stabbed a piece of the salt beef on his knife to eat it, considering that. "I always pictured Donovan as having some huge house on a hill. He was a smart man. Didn't spend his coin foolishly like most."

"A farm is a smarter thing to own," Brigid said with a shrug. "I think a lot of what he collected over the years was saved for when he retired from privateering. That's what the map is for."

There was no barb in her voice, but Liam felt unexpectedly guilty at that even so. Still, if Donovan had wanted his daughter to find his stash alone, he would have kept a copy of the map with her instead of with himself when he knew he ran the risk of dying at sea. Donovan had sense. He'd known his headstrong daughter would go and get herself killed if she'd had the map. It was a good justification to keep it, Liam decided. He wasn't being selfish. He was carrying out his old mentor's wishes.

"Is that what you want to do? Buy up land for farming?" Liam asked.

Brigid wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Not really. I like it well enough, but now all of the farming is being taken over by slave owners and it's becoming impossible to make a living at it without doing that. I refuse to be a part of it. I might expand the farm when I can afford to, but we'll see. It might make the most sense to buy up as much land as I can and then sell it off as it gets harder to find."

Liam raised his beer at that, grinning. "Now you sound like Donovan. That's the kind of thinking that made him so good at what he did."

"Was he good at it?" Brigid asked, leaning forward slightly. She braced her elbows on the edge of the table and propped her chin in her hands, looking to him curiously. "I always figured he was, but I think every little girl imagines her father as the greatest man alive."

Liam paused to take a bite. It was odd to discuss Donovan with someone who had known him all of her life when he had known him for nearly half of his own, but neither of them had ever known him in the same way. "Aye, he was good. He taught me everything I know. Like if you're going to fight, never be the captain. A merchant captain is fine enough, but a pirate or navy captain is just asking to end up dead in these waters. First mate is safer, but quartermaster—in charge of navigation and leading boarding parties, like me—is the safest and with the greatest power should mutiny happen. It's easy enough to cut your losses and leave if things turn sour, but a captain can't do that."

"Do you cut your losses and leave often?"

That made Liam hesitate. It seemed an innocent enough question, but he sensed there was some greater meaning behind it. "Only when I think it's necessary."

"Was it necessary after my father died?"

Now he understood. He sighed and reached across the table to touch one of her hands, but she jerked back out of his reach, making him frown. "For me? Aye, it was. I'd known Ol' Donny for eleven years. He was almost like a second father to me. That ship carried too many damn memories and too much guilt. I'd done my best, but it wasn't good enough. He went overboard and that wasn't something I could ever forget. But I could leave the ship and try not to be reminded quite so much."

"Oh," she said softly. No more questions came after that. He wasn't entirely comfortable with her silence, though he usually didn't mind a lack of talking. If anything, he often longed for it when surrounded by overly chatty people. He wanted to know what she was thinking. Nothing could bring Donovan back, but having his daughter understand and forgive Liam could silence some of the demons in his own head.

Brigid finished eating first and rose from the table to sit down on the bed. She pulled out a brush from her bag and began carefully working it through her curls. Liam leaned back in his chair with his beer, sipping it as he watched her. Finally, he knew what he could do to help things between them. He knocked back the last dregs of his drink, then got up from his chair to sit behind her.

"Let me?" he asked, covering her hand with his own.

She released the brush to him, then settled her hands in her lap. "I don't really need help. There isn't much left of it now."

"Maybe you need things you haven't recognized yet," he countered softly.

He worked the brush through those enticing curls slowly, watching as they bounced and exploded into fluff after the brush passed through. She was right that there wasn't much to brush with how short she had cut it, but it was still lovely. He leaned slightly to see her face in profile. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Tension that she'd been carrying since he'd found her in his cabin was finally melting away.

He set the brush side, then slid his fingers through her hair, combing it out and admiring it, before he gave into temptation and nuzzled into it, inhaling her scent deeply. He felt her shiver and gasp softly, making him smile. One arm slipped around her to cradle her back against his chest.

He used his free hand to brush her hair away from the back of her neck. He kissed there softly, feeling the tremors rushing through her body at the soft contact. Another gentle kiss and then he scraped at the delicate skin with his teeth. He was rewarded with a quiet moan from her.

Chapter Seven

"Why didn't you touch me last night?" Her voice was quiet, with a touch of what he thought might be distrust in it. Grooming and touch was important to their kind and could smooth over many problems, but maybe he'd waited too long to try to do things right.

"I heard you crying. I worried you didn't want me touching you."

Her head turned toward him and their eyes met before she leaned back and brushed a kiss against his lips. Liam closed his eyes and held himself in check, letting her control the kiss for the moment. Her lips slid over his tentatively; her inexperience was obvious and he mentally kicked himself for not recognizing that their first time together until it was too late.

"I wanted you," she said when she drew back from the kiss. "It's all just been...confusing."

"I suppose so. I didn't do things right with you before and you deserve better." He ducked to kiss at her neck again, then nuzzled around to the side.

With a shuddering sigh, she relaxed back against him, resting her head over his shoulder, her head tipped back to expose more of her throat to him. "Do you really think I'm beautiful or did you just say that earlier because it's what men say to get under women's skirts?" she whispered.

He drew back to look down at her incredulously. "Why would I want under your skirt if I didn't find you beautiful?"

"I've heard the way sailors talk about wenches when they've had their fun. They're not very kind."

His hand came up to gently turn her face toward him before he slid his lips against hers. "Did you ever hear me talk like that?"

"No." The word was soft, making her lips brush against his.

"The ones who brag and insult women are fools and the world would be a better place if all women knew it and let those men die alone and unwanted."

He felt Brigid pull away and opened his eyes. She was giving him an incredulous look with a faint smile. "Women know all sorts of things, but they also don't always have a choice when it comes to trying to survive."

Liam shrugged, not quite knowing what to say regarding that. He knew women were forced to take husbands or sell themselves or become mistresses in order to survive, but it was difficult for him to wrap his mind around that lack of power. Some men saw women as barely human, just objects for their pleasure and birthing children, but he liked to think of himself as more enlightened. True, he had no thoughts of marriage or taking a partner in life and went from woman to woman as the sea carried him to new ports. Yet he cared about their desire for him, didn't he?

"Are you choosing my bed?" he asked, before leaning in to brush soft kisses along her throat.

He felt her sigh and melt against him once more. "Yes."

That was answer enough for him. Liam moved to capture her mouth with his once again and slid his hands between them to find the laces keeping her bodice closed. His lips stroked over hers slowly, his hunger for her smoldering beneath the surface. Holding himself in check to take her slowly and introduce her to everything he'd rushed through before would be difficult, but worth it. He owed it to her. When he felt her lips part to his, his tongue darted between them to stroke just inside her lips, then seek out her tongue with his. Her quiet moans were swallowed up into the kiss as she gave herself over to it, but there was no submission in her this time. Their tongues met and wrestled for control, making him groan in pleased surprise at her boldness.

Once he finished unlacing the bodice, she shrugged it off along with the stomacher—a decorative panel that sat beneath the lacings of the bodice. It left her upper body still covered in her corset and chemise. His hands moved down to release her overskirt and the petticoats beneath, before taking hold of them and pulling them down her legs. She broke off the kiss and scooted back on the bed away from him as she kicked her legs free. His eyes rose to take in her flushed face, her lips parted slightly and looking swollen from the kiss. Nudity had never been a particular concern among his kind, but seeing her there half-dressed was more arousing than the most wanton display possible. His hands slid down her calves to pull off her shoes, then inched their way up beneath her chemise to find the laces holding up her stockings.

"You have excellent taste in the wardrobes you steal," he said wryly before his lips found hers again. She laughed into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him in closer.

It took more effort to get her corset loose and once her full curves were finally released from their bondage he groaned appreciatively, his hands automatically moving to cup her breasts through her chemise. He kneaded them slowly, then moved down over her soft stomach and generous hips. His teeth scraped at her bottom lip, his hands tugging her hips up against him, and he rolled his body to hers, letting her feel the aching need for her he suffered. His hands slid lower to get under the chemise again, then pushed it upward. She tipped her head back to break the kiss with a gasp and helped him slide the chemise over her head.

The necessity to touch her was overwhelming, but there was a more pressing need first. He pulled back from her to rise to his feet and stand beside the bed, so he could finally drink in the sight of her fully nude. Her pale, soft body was arranged on the bed as if she were posing for some painting of an ancient goddess; her midnight blue eyes watched him through a fringe of red lashes.

"'Tis a crime to keep that splendor covered, luv," he told her before he pulled off his boots, then followed them with his shirt.

She laughed quietly and he could see her cheeks turn bright red as he began unbuckling his belt. With that pale skin, there wasn't a thing she could hide. The blush even extended down her chest to those ripe breasts, tempting him beyond all reason.

"I suppose I'm a criminal with everyone but you, then," she said.

"I can live with that."

He stripped off his breeches and drawers beneath, then stepped closer to the bed again. Before he could move back onto it, one of her hands slid against his stomach. He stilled himself, surprised by the touch. Liam watched as Brigid shifted onto her knees, then leaned forward to kiss at his throat. Her lips were soft there and he felt the flicker of her tongue tracing against his stubbled skin.

Her kisses moved lower over his chest, nuzzling against the hard muscle there and he groaned quietly under her attention. One hand moved to bury his fingers in her hair, stroking through her curls as she moved down his body. His eyes slipped closed when he felt her nuzzling over his stomach, but flew open in shock as she moved further down his body.

The hot brush of her breath against his cock made him exhale shakily and the sight of her pink tongue darting against his head was just as much of a pleasure as the sensation. Her eyes rolled up to look toward his face, locking with his eyes as she kissed against his shaft. Her tongue slowly dragged along his length, following up to his head again. He was possessed with the need to push her back on the bed and bury himself inside of her, to take her roughly with all the hunger she stirred in him.

It wouldn't be right, though. He had to do things right with her, no matter how agonizingly tempting she was. Liam gave her hair a gentle tug as he pulled his hips back from her kisses.

"I'll let you explore to your heart's content some other time, but this is my turn," he said before moving back onto the bed.

She looked as though she might protest, so he kissed her to silence the words. Her arms slid around him once more, hugging him tightly to her body, and he sighed at the feel of her soft curves crushed to him. His hands stroked over her skin to explore and trace every sweet bit of roundness as he slid fully on top of her. One knee pressed itself between her thighs to nudge them apart, before he shifted to kneel between them.

The kiss ended as he moved down her throat, lightly nibbling and teasing her skin with his tongue. His mouth moved lower and his hands slid up her body to cradle her breasts, holding them like a sacred offering for his lips to worship them with gentle kisses. He moved up to one peak to wrap his lips around the pale pink pebble there, then suckled, stroking it with his tongue. The cry from her and the way her body jerked up off the bed in an ecstatic arch urged him on. He kept sucking, grasping with his lips to pull gently and tantalize the sensitive skin with his teeth. After a moment, he moved to repeat the torment on her other breast.

One of her legs slid around his waist to pull him closer, her hips rolling up against him, rocking against his body in silent begging for more. Again, the temptation she offered was nearly enough to make him forget and take her, but he fought it back.

His lips left her breasts, making her mewl in protest. Kisses moved down over her gently curved stomach, nuzzling into the soft flesh there before he moved yet lower. His cheek brushed against the red curls at the juncture her thighs and his hands slid between her legs, pushing them further apart to give him a clear view of her glory.

Rough fingers traced against the velvet of her lips before he parted her outer petals, then leaned in to draw his tongue between them. He slipped the tip of his tongue inside her tight entrance, then dragged it upward lightly between her inner lips and over the small bump of her desire.

He could hear her gasping and whimpering. "Oh God, Liam."

Hearing his name that way made him grin and he drew his tongue through her delicate folds again. Every moan and little roll of her hips encouraged him, as did the salty taste of her arousal. He continued licking and teasing her a moment longer, then focused his attentions on her clit. His tongue circled around the small nub and flicked against it, making her jerk slightly in shock. He groaned at her response and wrapped one arm around one of her thighs to hug her closer. The fingers of his free hand slid against her slick petals for a moment, before two of them pressed into her. He was slow and gentle, ready to stop if she tensed or acted as though she was still sore from the first time he'd taken her.

Once his fingers had worked their way fully into her, he curled them slightly to rub against the inner walls of her passage as he thrust his fingers in and out of her tight body. He felt one of her hands grip his hair at that and she cried out, her body now rocking with the rhythm of the thrusts.

Had he ever been with a woman who enjoyed herself with such abandon? A woman who made it such a joy to pleasure her? He couldn't think of any. None had ever haunted his thoughts like Brigid did.

Liam pressed his lips to her, wrapping them around the sensitive nub hidden within her folds to suckle at it just as he'd done to her nipples. The startled yelp from her made him stop and look up toward her face, unsure of whether or not it had been too much for her.

"No, no, please don't stop," she begged breathlessly.

That was answer enough. He buried his face against her again, moaning as he sucked at her clit, flicking against it with his tongue and teasing the small nub. His fingers worked against her inner walls more quickly, pressing inward and upward as she kept rocking to him, crying out and gasping. Her grip on his hair pulled a bit, holding him close to her, letting him know without question exactly how much she wanted him to keep going.

He could feel her body growing tighter around his fingers and the tiny tremors as she came closer and closer to release. The desperate movements of her hips became more erratic and he tightened his arm around her thigh to hold her to him. Her cries were rising to a crescendo until they reached a fever pitch. He felt the tension snap in her body, her passage clenching and undulating around his fingers and the muscles in her thighs fluttering like butterflies. He slowed his fingers slightly, focusing more on massaging her inner walls through her climax. When the tension began to ease, he slid his hand free from her and kissed against her hidden lips one last time.

"Cor, I've never felt anything like this before you," he said as he kissed his way back up her body.

"It's not always like that?" she asked, trailing off into a quiet moan when his lips found hers. He let the kiss linger a moment, his hands sliding back up her body to touch every inch he could again, trying to memorize just how perfect she felt.

"No," he finally murmured against her lips.

One of her legs slid around his hips again to pull him closer and he grinned, understanding that she wanted just what he did. He guided his shaft to her tight entrance, hissing quietly at the hot feel of her against his head, then pressed forward slightly. She made a quiet sound that he wasn't sure if it was pain or pleasure, so he stilled himself, waiting. When she rocked up to him again he continued to press forward. He kept working into her bit by bit, drawing back after every new inch of progress he'd made. Finally, his hips met hers and he rolled them there to savor the tight feel of their bodies fully joined.

"Does that feel all right, luv?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. Her arms tightened around him to hug him closer, her face turning to kiss at the side of his neck. "Please keep going."

He pulled back slowly, then thrust into her with a groan. He could feel her rising up off the bed to press to him, her moans muffled against the side of his neck. They found a steady rhythm together as they came together again and again. One of his hands moved under her ass to hold her up to him, squeezing the muscle under his fingers. He felt an answering squeeze of her arms and leg around him.

Soon his control began to slip and each thrust was faster than the one before it. Even then, she kept apace with him, rolling her body up to meet him, offering herself and accepting him at the same time. He clutched her tighter to him, his breath a bit unsteady, and kissed at the side of her head. He buried his face in those soft red curls, groaning her name.

The first time they had been together, she hadn't told him to pull out and spill his seed elsewhere. He knew that it might have simply been because of her inexperience rather than a lack of concern on her part, but that wasn't the thought he preferred. He simply wanted to lose himself inside of her and if she didn't tell him differently, the risk was easy to ignore.

The sharp prick of her nails digging into his back spurred him on faster, until the bed creaked with their movements and the quiet sound of flesh striking flesh filled the cabin. He felt the tightening in her body as that earlier tension returned and her cries were only silenced when she bit down on the side of his neck. His hand slid down to where their bodies were joined to work fingers on either side of her clit, urging her closer to her release. When she cried out and her body arched up off the bed again, he was there with her instantly. His lips found hers again to catch her in a fiery kiss, their moans mingling as they both lost themselves to ecstasy.

Though he was far from chaste, no other experience had felt so complete or right as flooding her tight body and feeling her cling to him. He kept rocking into her even after the moment had passed, before finally collapsing against her, panting at her ear, too sensitive to go on. She squeezed him close again, then let her arms relax around him.

"That was amazing, Liam," she said softly as she nuzzled him.

He made a quiet sound of agreement, then moved so his weight wasn't crushing her and hugged her close to his body. The tight quarters of their shared cabin wouldn't be such a concern if they had this throughout their journey, he thought.

Chapter Eight

Brigid stretched luxuriously in the bed, wincing at all of the little aches she felt in unfamiliar places. She had no complaints about any of them, though, and could only smile at how she had gained them. She and Liam had spent most of the night making love and then most of the following day as well, only leaving a few times for food or to get a touch of fresh air. Even the stares from the seamen hadn't bothered her as much, in part because most of them were focused in envy on Liam now.

"Mm, don't move. You're keeping my side warm," Liam admonished sleepily before he pulled her closer to him.

"It's warm enough." She gave him a teasing look, then leaned in to brush a kiss against his lips before settling down beside him once again.

"No, gets cold right away the second you move."

She laughed at that and moved to press herself tightly to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Better?"

"Much." Liam nuzzled at her, then opened his eyes to meet hers. "So are things right with us now?"

Her brow furrowed at that question. "What do you mean?"

"You seemed hurt before and distrustful. I wanted to make things right between us."

His reasoning made her scoff and give him a light shove against the chest. "So you thought taking me to your bed would fix everything?"

He caught one of her wrists in a grip like steel and cocked his head slightly. "Did it?"

She was silent for a moment, just staring at him and trying to fathom how his mind worked. "You threatened to beat me and throw me in the brig. It would have been the death of me, or worse. You never took that back. Even after we were...together you never said, no, you weren't going to throw me in the brig. I've had no reason to trust you."

The pain that flooded his eyes at hearing that shocked her, as she wouldn't have guessed that anything she could say could actually hurt him. Particularly not when she was simply pointing out what he'd done.

"I wouldn't do that to a woman, Brigid," he said quietly. "Nor to any kin of Donovan's. That crew didn't know your father. Had anyone else but me found you, a beating would have been a mercy compared to what they would have done."

She was silent for a moment, then swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I know."

His hand released her wrist and moved up, using the back of it to stroke against her cheek. "As the quartermaster, it was my responsibility to see to it that men breaking the articles of the ship were punished. I don't like that duty, but it's necessary. A lad lying and thieving would need discipline. I didn't believe you were Donovan's at first and I sure as hell didn't know you were a woman."

She nodded, unsure of what to say in response.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked. "Did you say you wanted me out of fear?"

"No!" she said quickly. "No, not at all. I just...haven't been sure if I could trust you."

He leaned in to kiss her gently, then pulled her close against his chest once more. "I'll prove myself to you if I have to, then."

She relaxed against him and closed her eyes. One of her hands slid along his back, tracing the bones of his spine and brushing against the scratches she'd left during their lovemaking. The look on his face had been proof enough that he wouldn't have brought harm to her once he knew the truth. She could trust him as far as that went. Maybe she could even trust him to keep the deal regarding her father's treasure.

Other things frightened her, though. The way that she was beginning to feel for him could be disastrous, particularly since they were only working together to find the island and what her father hid there. The way he spoke of women made it clear that he wasn't a loyal man when it came to lovers. Once their business was done together they'd part ways and that would be that. She'd simply have to steel herself against it and ignore the stupid infatuation that had taken hold of her.

"There's nothing you have to prove, Liam," she said.

***

It was late afternoon when Brigid finally dragged herself out of bed again to get dressed. They had left once to have the large midday meal in the galley, but some fresh air appealed. As she fixed her hair, she kept glancing over her shoulder in mild amusement at the way Liam was watching her from the bed. His own clothing was far less complicated than hers, so he was already dressed and waiting for her.

"I brought a deck of cards if you get tired of me," he said.

She laughed at that, then set her brush down and stood up from the table. "Playing cards might be nice. It'll take a while to get to New Providence."

The conversation was cut short by the sound of a cannon firing. Brigid exchanged an alarmed look with Liam, then moved to the door. Several crewmen were rushing up onto deck ahead of her and she followed them.

"What's going on?" she asked.

One of the men glanced at her, then turned to jerk his chin toward a ship moving into firing range. She looked to it and instantly saw the black flag it had raised. Pirates. The black flag was used to announce that they wouldn't kill anyone if the ship surrendered. The flags were changed frequently for communication between ships and most pirates would carry false colors until they were ready to fire their warning shots. Black offered mercy, assuming there was no resistance. It could quickly be switched to a red flag if they fought back, however.

Red meant that even if they surrendered after the struggle began, they would be killed.

"You can't surrender," Liam was saying behind her. She turned to see him arguing with the captain.

"We haven't a choice! Do you recognize that ship?"

"Oh, aye, I do." There was something dark in Liam's voice that made Brigid look more closely at him. He rubbed his thumb against the thin scars on his left cheek. "It's the Gato del Diablo. They might give quarter to you and your crew, but not to the two of us. Especially not her," he added, gesturing sharply to Brigid herself.

The captain faltered for a moment, then waved that off. "It's the danger of traveling with a woman."

"You fucking coward." Liam spat in the captain's face, then spun on his heel to charge back below deck. Brigid spared a look toward the white flag the merchant ship had raised, then followed after him.

"Liam, should I hide? Dress in your clothes and pretend I'm a lad again?" she asked as she came to their cabin.

Liam was throwing as much of their belongings as he could fit into his own bag. He paused in what he was doing to look over at her, then unhooked the chain around his neck and tucked it and the ring it held into his bag.

"Wouldn't help. They'd sniff us out no matter what we did. If we go overboard we might have a chance, though. Shift and I'll carry you while I swim a while and then we can switch off so neither of us gets too tired."

"Shift?" she repeated, confused. "I don't know what—"

"Oh, this is much better than rum and silk."

Brigid and Liam turned to face the doorway where a tall, slender man with long black hair streaked with gray stood. A scar crossed through one eyebrow and the cheek below. That eye was white, blinded. He had a flintlock pistol pointed at Brigid. His accent was Spanish, as if there had been any doubt about what ship he'd come from.

"Come along peacefully and I don't have to hurt your whore," the pirate said.

Brigid's spine stiffened and one of her hands moved automatically to her hip, but she was dressed as a woman now. Her own pistol and all of her knives were in her bag. The man stepped into the room to take hold of her arm and jerk her toward him.

"Don't touch her," Liam growled.

"You want her to live?" the pirate asked, pressing the barrel of his pistol to the side of Brigid's head. She stayed still, trying to think of some way to escape. If this one had already made it to their cabin, that meant the deck would be swarming with the pirate crew. She'd always fancied herself as good at thinking on her feet, but their options looked nonexistent.

"Get in front of us," the pirate ordered, backing out of the doorway and dragging Brigid along with him. His eyes fell on the bag that Liam had been packing. "Are those your things, puta?" he asked, looking down at Brigid.

"It's just my wardrobe. It's nothing important," she said, trying to keep her voice casual.

The pirate considered that, then made a small gesture toward Liam. "Take it. Less trouble for us then."

Liam picked up the bag, then continued ahead of her and her captor. On deck, the ship's crew had been lined up and were being tied together with rope. Brigid noted that she couldn't see the cook anywhere and wondered where he had hidden himself.

The pirate that had grabbed Brigid shoved her roughly toward an older man. All of the pirates looked to be aging, she noted. Grizzled faces full of scars, bald scalps and gray hair were common among them. The two men had a brief exchange in Spanish and then the older man laughed. He took hold of Brigid by both arms and pulled her roughly against his chest. She squirmed, trying to avoid touching him. She assumed it had to be the captain of the pirate ship. Her skin crawled as he buried his face in the side of her neck and inhaled deeply.

"Interesting. I didn't expect to find any vermin here," the pirate captain said, before he pushed her toward several other men. The pirates instantly began pawing at her, laughing as they tore at the fabric of her dress. She screamed in rage and started beating at them with her fists and feet.

A shot rang out and blood splattered across her face as one of the men dropped to the deck of the ship. The men holding her released her immediately and drew their swords. She looked up to see Liam had pulled his own pistol from the bag and held it in his hand. Unlike hers, his had three barrels that could be fired separately, to make up for the time it took to reload. She prayed he had the other two barrels loaded.

"Let her go," Liam ordered.

She felt the captain grip her arm before he pulled her in front of him. She held herself stiffly, sliding her arms behind her back. If Liam could keep him distracted, she hoped she might be able to take one of the pirate captain's weapons.

"You look familiar," the pirate captain said. "Who are you?"

"My name's Liam Lynch. You killed my parents eleven years ago."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the pirate cocking his head slightly, his lips pursed in thought as he considered Liam. "You were the half savage who hid under the rocks where we couldn't get you."

"After you tried scratching off my face, aye."

That made the captain throw his head back with laughter. "And all these years later you lose your mate to me, too. I love it."

Brigid finally closed her hand around the hilt of a knife at the captain's belt. She jerked it free, ducking down at the same time to give Liam a clear shot at the man. A shot rang out, but it hit one of the men next to the captain instead. She stabbed a pirate in front of her, twisting the blade and jerking it up before she pulled it free and spun to attack the captain. He shouted something to his men and they surged forward toward Liam. As they moved, she saw a dark ripple cross their faces like stones had been thrown into calm waters. As the ripples passed, their faces had twisted and changed. Fur sprouted where before had been skin. Their mouths were full of fangs; their eyes had gone yellow with slit pupils.

The cat monsters surged toward Liam. She thought she might be going mad, but she could still cling to one rational thought: she had to save Liam. Brigid threw herself on the back of one of the monsters as she attacked with the knife. Liam was struggling with two of the monsters, slowly being backed up toward the the side of the ship.

The last shot in the pistol was fired, killing one of the creatures, but at the same time Liam and the remaining cat monster went tumbling over the side of the ship.

"Liam!" she screamed. Once she could free herself from the monster she'd been fighting, she ran to the rail to look over. The monster that had gone overboard with Liam had reverted to a man once again and was floating face up, dead from having his throat slit. There was no sign of Liam, though.

"Cesar is dead," one of the pirates called back to the captain.

"And the rat?"

"I can't see him."

"Take the girl. Kill the crew."

When hands took hold of her again to drag her back toward the pirate ship, Brigid was too numb to put up a fight. He couldn't be dead, she told herself. He'd stabbed that man after they went overboard. Bodies floated. Only a living man could have hidden himself from view. She kept trying to convince herself, repeating the thoughts over and over again.

Yet whatever the pirates could do to her—whatever monstrous powers they possessed—paled in comparison to the fear that she was wrong and Liam was truly gone.

Further Reading

### Book Two in the Captive to a Pirate series...

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In a matter of days, Brigid O'Cullane has been taken captive by pirates twice. The first time by the dangerously handsome Liam Lynch, who hid a gentler side behind his harsh exterior. She'd give almost anything to be arguing about the treasure they're hunting with him again, or finding sweet ecstasy in his arms. This new batch of pirates aren't nearly so charming. No, these ones are shape-shifting feline monsters and seem more interested in hunting her than gold.

After a lifetime of betrayal and loss, Liam long ago decided he would make and keep no promises. Yet the unspoken vow to protect Brigid drives him now to rescue her. He finds her strange ignorance of her own paranormal heritage confusing, but a sense of honor he's only just now discovering brought her under his protection. And who better to take on cats from hell than a rat?

***

The plan had seemed straightforward enough, but Liam hadn't counted on Brigid's reaction. The shock and confusion on her face was plain to see even from where he was clinging to the side of the ship. Instead of diving overboard with him as he'd expected, she only watched and cried out to him. Considering that he'd seen her kill one of the pirates and he was fairly confident she had mortally wounded another, it had seemed safe to assume she wasn't panicking. He had thought she would have the presence of mind to grab the bag and dive with him.

But she hadn't and all he could do was watch helplessly as the crew of the Gato del Diablo dragged her away. He immediately began climbing up the side of the ship, tormented the entire way by the sounds of the merchant crew being slaughtered. Whether they were being killed because of Liam's resistance or because they had seen the half-form of the cat shifters, he couldn't say. What Donovan had taught him and what he'd seen with his own two eyes pointed to them killing simply for the joy of it. They may well have planned on murdering everyone they could find from the moment they had spotted the ship.

They wouldn't kill Brigid if they could help it, though. He was fairly certain of that, even if he didn't like why he was certain of it.

All he could do was climb.

Most ships did everything they could to keep rats off of them. It was never entirely successful, but it could make things more difficult. Donny had taught him how to identify ships that were rat friendly, either by happy accident or because ratkin had made them so. As a rule, he never stepped foot on a ship that wasn't already well-suited for rats or that he couldn't alter himself. Luckily for him, Brigid must have received the same lessons from Donny, as she'd chosen a good rat ship out of Tortuga.

Liam had lost his clothing when he shifted, as his present form was much smaller than he normally was. He made for a good sized rat buck at just over a pound, but he could still fit his entire animal form inside of one of his own boots. He'd planned on having to shift as soon as he'd seen the Gato, though. The clothes could easily be replaced. His mother's ring was in the bag where he'd put it and could be retrieved once he'd rescued Brigid.

And that meant climbing. The wood was rough enough that there was good purchase for his claws. Having spent nearly half his life at sea, the rocking of the waves did little to slow him down. A rope to scurry up would have been ideal, but the slower climb over the hull of the ship wasn't bad.

His whiskers twitched, ears perking as he came close to the deck. The scent of blood was thick in the air and he could still hear the pirates collecting their prizes. Though the ship had its own population of rats, they would know he wasn't one of them as soon as they laid eyes on him, so he would have to wait. The small ship rats were darker and had larger ears than Liam's animal form. The type of wild rat he resembled was larger and tended toward brown coats, though white wasn't uncommon. His own fur was largely white, with a brown hood over his head and down his spine. The brown fur was actually agouti, made up of banded colors on each hair. The brown rats hadn't yet made it to the New World and so any that the cat shifters saw would be assumed to be ratkin.

Once he finally heard the pirates leaving, he crawled over the side of the ship and perched on the rail. Cocking his head to the side, he looked over toward the Gato del Diablo. Though his eyes were incredibly sensitive when it came to seeing in dim lighting in his animal form, they were largely useless at a distance. Everything was blurry once it was out of his immediate reach and his color perception was different. The sun was setting, casting the sea in twilight. Luckily, it was the time when his eyes were at their most sensitive. Though he was blind to the color red in his rat form, his eyes could pick out ultraviolet light, which was at its most abundant at twilight and dawn. Brigid's red hair would just look like a dark blob to him and blend in with her surroundings.

He spotted her quickly despite that and his heart leaped with relief. Across the distance, there was a faint magenta glow that highlighted her face. Tears were running down it. There was always a faint pink tint to them in their animal forms, just as there was in true rats, but it grew more intense the more distraught or ill they were. Enough stress could even make it occur in their human forms. To human eyes, there would just be a hint of pink that would likely be lost in the flush on her cheeks. To Liam's eyes, her suffering shone from the other ship like a beacon. She was still alive, but terrified.

He climbed down from his perch to pick his way across the deck, skirting the dead bodies of the crew and the expanding pools of blood around them. The bag was gone, which he had expected. There was no room for guilt. He had seen and done too much in his twenty-three years to let himself be bogged down with that particular emotion. His focus could only remain on retrieving Brigid, his mother's ring and the map.

The door to the captain's cabin was still ajar from the ransacking by the pirates. He made his way inside, then shifted into his human form, rising up on his feet as he did. The captain had been roughly the same size as Liam and he didn't relish the idea of trying to rescue Brigid naked. Any currency, precious metals or valuable trinkets had been taken from the cabin, but he found a pair of boots that would fit and a change of clothes that more or less did. He dressed himself quickly, then started rifling through the dead man's belongings for weapons.

"I thought I recognized the type when you came on board, but I wasn't sure until I heard the pirates talking. Is your wife a rat as well?"

Liam turned sharply, raising the flintlock pistol he'd just found. The cook was standing in the doorway, looking somewhat disheveled but perfectly healthy. He raised his hands to show that he was harmless and Liam lowered the pistol again. The man was short with a round stomach and thinning hair that had gone prematurely gray, his skin dark and leathery from a lifetime at sea.

"How'd you escape their blades?" Liam asked before he turned back to continue his pillaging of the cabin.

"Hid behind the hardtack. I thought they wouldn't go looking there."

Liam nodded. "Aye. She's kin. How'd you know?" The older man's questions set him to wondering what Brigid's rat form looked like. That he hadn't seen her shift yet wasn't so strange, since it had only been a few days since he found out who she was. Still, he lamented that she hadn't shifted and escaped with him.

"My father was a Lascar. He told me stories."

Liam glanced at the cook again over his shoulder. The older man did have the look of the Indian Subcontinent to him, so that fit. The number of sailors hired from the Orient—dubbed Lascars—had grown over the last century and they often took European or British brides. The ratkin were far more numerous throughout Asia and eastern Europe than they were in the west. Their histories traced the origins of the ratkin back to China, having slowly spread since from intermarriage. If any ordinary people had heard legends about the ratkin, Liam supposed they'd be from a place where their population was greater.

"I only came back on the ship so I wouldn't have to face the Gato crew naked and unarmed," Liam said as he strapped on a cutlass. "If you want to help, you're welcome to. If you don't, I have no use for you."

Armed as well as he could manage, Liam turned from the cabin and headed for the deck. With the sun now set, he kept to the darkest shadows and crept over to check the longboat. Feline eyes could see well in the dark, but were almost as nearsighted as those of rats. In the shadows, their human eyes wouldn't see him at all. Regardless of how they watched, he could stay hidden. If there was one thing ratkin were good at, it was sneaking.

Following close behind him, he could hear the movements of the cook. "If you're going after the girl, I'll help," he said quietly, though Liam doubted his voice would carry far enough for the pirates to hear across the water. "She seemed sweet and it's supposed to be good luck to sail with cuhom."

From the context, Liam could guess that the word meant ratkin. It nearly made him laugh. He paused, then turned to gesture toward the dead bodies strewn across the deck. "Oh, aye. We're the best of luck."

Keep Reading...

### Book One in the Claimed by an Alpha series...

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As far as Luke Kapur knows, he might be the last weretiger left in the world. Orphaned at a young age, he's only had limited exposure to other shifters and has never met a female he wanted as a mate. That is until he met curvy Dawn Biancardi, a woman who unknowingly carries shifter blood in her veins. It just happens to be something a little more prey than predator.

***

Conferences aren't generally that fun for me. Unfortunately, engineering really is a boy's club even after all of these years. There are rules about harassment and inappropriate behavior, of course, but it still happens. Sexist jokes abound. There's always the undercurrent that women don't belong here. Not just at the conference in Las Vegas that weekend, but in the field at all.

That was why while most of my associates were all clustered together in the hotel bar, I was sitting alone down at the end. The other women I knew at the conference had already left the bar and I couldn't really blame them. It was after midnight, with more panels to attend tomorrow morning and then exhausting flights home, followed by work again on Monday. Those who used the conferences for fun instead of business were still out drinking and that crowd mostly consisted of men.

I was not there for fun.

There was a whiskey sitting in front of me, as well as my mobile phone. I was staring down at the text message. Then I took a swallow off of the whiskey before setting it down again.

I picked up my phone to answer. My thumbs typed the message out with quick, angry jabs, then I set the phone down again to take a longer drink off my whiskey, finishing it off.

"What did the phone do to you?" a rich voice like warm velvet up the spine asked. It was a familiar voice, too.

Describing our relationship as friendship wouldn't be entirely accurate. Friends implied we got together and hung out one-on-one, which was something we had never done on purpose. Our time alone together had always been incidental instead of a plan, at least as far as I knew. While we did work for the same company, we were assigned to different areas of interest. Our projects would occasionally cross over and so Luke and I knew each other—whenever we socialized with our co-workers we both included the other—but there had always been something there stopping us from more. Some unspoken tension that didn't seem appropriate before. Whether it was me concerned about my marriage or his decency, we knew better than to be alone without saying a word.

He was one of the most likable people at work and I had grown fond of him even if there had been that carefully constructed barrier between us. I had recognized his voice immediately, but looked up to confirm it was him all the same.

Luke Kapur had taken the stool next to mine at the bar. Black curls were left just long enough to be tousled attractively, matching the thick, dark fringe framing his eyes. Those eyes of his were some of the strangest I had ever seen. He was of East Indian descent and his coloring all matched that normally enough except for his eyes. In theory, they were brown. The brown was interrupted by narrow rings of orange around his pupils, however. The orange wasn't obvious at first, but once I had noticed it I hadn't been able to ever ignore it again.

I sipped off of my whiskey, then set it down again. "Do you really want to know?"

Unlike him, there wasn't anything even remotely dark in my coloring. The rest of my family was relatively dark Italian American. They had hair that ranged from dark brown to black and olive toned skin. Some trick of recessive genes had spat me out with skin that burned after five minutes in the sun and auburn hair. I'd been convinced I was switched at birth until I was ten, when I saw old photographs of my great-grandmother who had looked quite a bit like me.

Luke shrugged, which was a strangely elegant gesture on him. Muscles bunched and moved fluidly, briefly drawing his shirt a bit tighter across his shoulders as they were drawn up. "Wouldn't ask if I didn't."

"It's my ex-husband. Just officially ex-husband." I brushed the fingers of one hand over where my ring should have been.

"Are congratulations in order?" he ventured.

"I guess so, yeah. It's a good thing."

Luke smiled. "Good. I couldn't pretend to be sad you finally got rid of him."

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### Book Two in the Claimed by an Alpha series...

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Going into heat twice a year is not feline shifter Fatima's idea of a good time. She isn't looking to have kittens and she sure as hell isn't looking for a mate. Hiding out in an isolated cabin during a snow storm seems like the safest way to wait it out. Unfortunately, an alpha werewolf named Dylan has already claimed the area as his territory. He's come to claim Fatima, too.

***

"Are you sure you want to stay out here? It's awful dangerous for a woman by herself, with this big storm coming and all."

I snatched the key out of the old man's hands and resisted the urge to yell at him. He was fussing and trying to be helpful, but between his good-intentioned sexism and the hormones screaming through my bloodstream, I was fairly certain he wouldn't survive if he stuck around any longer.

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you." I flashed him a tight smile and just about bodily shoved him out the cabin door before I shut and locked it.

Alone at last, I sank down to the floor and just laid on the wood there for a moment, my eyes closed, breathing a bit unsteady. I'd been traveling through Oregon when I'd felt the first stirrings of the season come upon me. Usually, it came closer to February. A Christmas heat was unexpected and annoying. If I got pregnant, I knew I'd have some relief during the pregnancy and while lactating, but all of the male werecats I'd known were assholes and I had no desire to raise their children. Being a solitary species, us cats didn't have the benefits of a pack structure influencing our breeding like with wolves. Once in winter and then a milder heat in summer had been hitting me year after year since I'd turned eighteen.

A cabin out on Mount Hood during a sudden snow storm was perfect. No one could get to me and I couldn't get to anyone else. I'd be in agony, but it was safer this way. Both for me and for any stupid human male that crossed my path. Feline shifter females were violent when aroused and it only became worse when we were in heat. To ensure I didn't go tearing anyone's throat out when fucking, I'd had to insist on all my past lovers tying me up.

They thought I was submissive. They really had no idea.

The sound of a wolf howling in the distance pulled me back to the world around me. They'd been reintroduced in Idaho from Canada a few years back and their population had been growing as they spread to neighboring states. Unlike the feline or rodent shifters who preferred to live close to humanity, the lycanthropes tended to stick close to their wild relatives. When real wolves were almost wiped out by humans, so were the wolf shifters. It was possible their population was growing alongside their animal counterparts, though.

Keep Reading...

### Book Three in the Claimed by an Alpha series...

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As a teenager, Sofia hardly knew what it meant when Hunter claimed her as his mate. Cruelly torn apart by false accusations, she's had to struggle with being an alpha werewolf's mate without her mate for years. But destiny can't be fought and Hunter has returned to make her truly his once and for all.

***

"He just took a couple bags of stuff and said to sell everything else to pay for what he owed in rent."

I stood there in the doorway to Hunter's bedroom, too stunned to even respond to his roommate. My best friend Dawn and I had driven for four hours up the coast to where Hunter was going to college in Arcata, but we hadn't arrived fast enough. He'd already made it to his apartment and then left again.

Dawn was a short, curvy recent graduate, a couple of years older than me. At times she was so dauntlessly optimistic and sweet-natured that it was difficult to remember she wasn't just a teenager. She reached up to lay a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Do you mind if we have a minute in here?" she asked Hunter's roommate. She gave him a warm smile.

He shrugged and walked off, apparently unconcerned with leaving us unsupervised amidst Hunter's belongings. Under Dawn's urging I took several steps further into the room, though I felt numb the entire time. She shut the door behind us, then steered me over to the bed to sit down.

Very little had been taken. He had a stereo and a laptop that he'd left behind, which boggled my mind. He didn't even take the bedding. Where was he going to go where he didn't need his own bedding? His parents had helped him out quite a bit with paying for college and all of that, but he hadn't been answering their calls either. He wasn't relying on them to pay for whatever he had run off to do.

I picked up the pillow that still held his scent and hugged it to my chest while Dawn poked around the room. She opened a drawer in the dresser to look inside, then gave the closet a peek as well.

It had been two years since my mother had disappeared. There hadn't been anything dramatic to precede her disappearance like with Hunter, but she had never returned. She had suffered from depression for years—at least as far back since when my toddler sister had drowned—and because she didn't take anything with her we had all made some obvious, uncomfortable guesses about what happened to her. It was hard not to think the same thoughts again.

"Do you think he's gone to kill himself?" I asked.

"I doubt it," said Dawn. "Nobody packs up all their socks and underwear to commit suicide, do they?"

It was a very logical answer, which made me smile a bit. That was just how Dawn had been from the moment I met her and I appreciated it. Her very rational way of thinking coupled with her boundless enthusiasm just made the world seem like a better place in general. Of course, with how very logical she was about everything I knew that I'd always have to keep part of my life secret from her, because I couldn't expect her to wrap her mind around it all. None of that had been much of an issue until now.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Hunter coming back to the pack's apartment building, our collective den. His clothing was torn from shifting in it and he was covered in blood. Some of it had been his own, but most of it hadn't. Blood had stained his teeth. Human blood. It was the first big conflict my father had to handle since my grandfather had died the year before and left the pack to him. Perhaps that was why my father was so harsh. Perhaps that was why he refused to explain anything to me.

Dawn came to sit next to me, wrapping an arm around me for a reassuring hug. I leaned into her, trying to absorb some strength through the contact.

"I don't think a big fight with your dad should be making him react so badly," she said. "He'll probably calm down and give you a call soon."

"You don't understand how big it was," I said softly.

I couldn't tell her that my father had beaten him and thrown him out of the pack for eating human flesh. She didn't even know what the pack was. It would just sound like psychotic cult ramblings. Instead, I'd just said that they had a big fight because of the tattoos.

My fingers brushed the bandage on my neck and when I concentrated on it I could feel the sting of the healing wound there. She wouldn't understand what the marks were, either, so they were just matching tattoos as far as she was concerned. She had rolled her eyes and considered it a bit silly, but had accepted the story I gave her all the same.

"Oh. Oh, Sofia..."

I glanced up at Dawn's anguished voice and followed her gaze over to the nightstand, where a framed picture of Hunter and me was still sitting. The picture had been taken the summer before when he had come home to visit after his first year of college, just before I left to start college myself. We had taken a trip to Pismo Beach along with my brother Aidan. Aidan wasn't in the picture because he had taken it, so it was just me and Hunter draped around one another and beaming into the camera. I had always admired how striking Hunter looked with his dark auburn hair and eyes a shade of brown that almost perfectly matched the color of dried blood. His skin was at its tannest in the picture, with a few faint freckles showing up here and there. He had a wiry, lanky build, as a lot of werewolves tended to have. Well-muscled, but without any extra bulk that could slow him down. His lips were a touch thin, but soft and expressive. His cheekbones were relatively high and sharp, which was a good word in general to describe his face. Sharp, as if it were chiseled from stone and razor-like edges had been left in place. Beautiful and dangerous.

My vision became blurry with tears and I had to look away. He hadn't even taken a picture of us with him. He'd just left it. He'd taken his socks and underwear and left our picture and had turned off his phone.

What did it all mean?

"I'm going to call Mama and let her know what's going on," I mumbled, pulling my own phone out.

On the second ring, my grandmother picked up. "Did you find him?"

"No, Mama. He's not here." My voice cracked on the last word and I had to pause a moment to pull myself together again. My grandmother said nothing. In the background I could hear my younger cousin Ana chattering away. "He took some of his things, but left stuff like his computer. His roommate doesn't know where he went."

"I'm so sorry, baby." I heard her sigh and then the background noise got a lot quieter. I assumed she had stepped into another room. "What about the marks? Can you use them to find him?"

I hesitated, glancing over at Dawn. She politely averted her eyes, but I knew she couldn't avert her ears.

"No. I can't...I can't feel anything at all. Everything just stopped during the fight."

"But you'd been feeling him before then? You were getting into each other's heads?"

"A little, I think. I was more aware of him than I am now, definitely."

"You've both got to be open to it for the marks to work, honey." Her tone was gentle, the one she used to give harsh truths with as little harm as possible. "It sounds like he's shut you out."

"I don't understand why. I just...I just don't understand any of this. Why did my dad say Hunter was just like his parents? Jay and Paul haven't..." I trailed off, guiltily glancing toward Dawn. "Have they?"

Mama went quiet for several heavy heartbeats before she spoke again. "He meant Hunter's birth parents."

I thought back to the first time I'd laid eyes on Hunter, when he was a frightened little pup of just six years old. A year older than me, lost and alone in the world. Other than his name and his age, he had never said anything about where he came from, claiming instead that he couldn't remember. I'd been told that Jay found him wandering in the woods all alone, half-starved and scared out of his mind. It sounded like a pretty good reason for a young werewolf to forget his birth pack.

"What do you know about his birth parents?" I pressed.

Mama sighed. "They were man-eaters and your father led a hunting party to stop them. It seemed a kindness that Hunter couldn't remember and we all agreed to just say he was a lost orphan, to spare him the pain and shame of that."

I sat there in silence as I reeled from the revelation. No wonder he had run. No wonder he had left instead of waiting for his parents—his real parents, the ones who raised him—to come home from their trip back to the Philippines. It explained some of the irrational dislike my father had displayed toward him in the past, too.

But why hadn't he given me a chance? I was as lied to as he had been.

"Well." My voice was flat and dead, without any further hope to it. "Dawn and I are going to drive back once we get a chance to rest. There's nothing more we can do."

"Sofia, please don't hold this against the rest of us. We were trying to protect him, to give him a place in the pack without judgment."

Fat lot of good that did, I thought bitterly.

Out loud, I said, "Even if I can't feel him now, will the marks let me know if something happens to him?"

"They will."

There was that at least. Dawn was right in that he wasn't dead, because he didn't feel dead. Cut off from me, yes, but not gone. Just silenced somehow in my head. The ritual to bind us through the mating marks had been my idea, because I wanted something so much more than just words and promises with Hunter. I had wanted what my grandparents had, where they could share feelings and even thoughts through their marks. It had strengthened them immensely, as they supported one another metaphysically as well as emotionally. At least until my grandfather had died the year before, likely hastened by his grief for my mother. I'd been warned that the marks wouldn't be at their full strength until the tattooing we had done to them was fully healed, but even after just a few weeks we'd been able to feel them. Until he cut me off.

"Without the two of you working together, you're both going to be weakened, though. It's like you've got a big wound in your aura where his should be joined to it," Mama warned. "This isn't like a breakup or even a divorce, baby. This is heavy magic and it can't be ignored."

I frowned, feeling a touch prickly at her warning. "There isn't much I can do about that if he's run away from me, is there?"

"No," she agreed, sounding mournful. "But you need to know it even so."

Once I had ended the call, Dawn finally stopped pretending the wall was so fascinating. She gave me a thoughtful look.

"What was that stuff about marks and feeling Hunter?" she asked.

I shook my head to dismiss her question. "Just some superstition of my grandma's. I think it comes from Jamaica."

It didn't, not exactly. I knew that. Originally, it came from feline shape-shifter tribes in Africa and had been brought over to the New World. The old traditions had been kept alive by some very lucky families, like on my maternal side. My mother had inherited a wolf form from her father and that's what I had inherited as well, but the magic of the cats was still there, carefully kept and tended by Mama.

And now that magic was causing me a great psychic wound.

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Book Four in the Claimed by an Alpha series...

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All her life, Tina Tybault has felt wrong. Troubling dreams, sleepwalking, and adopted parents who locked her up at night didn't help. Instead of the relaxing summer off from college she expected she instead found herself waking up naked in the woods one morning. A gorgeous stranger stood over her, claiming she was in heat and there to be his mate.

***

There was moss under my cheek. I opened my eyes and all I could see was a carpet of green extending outward. The air was cool, much cooler than my bedroom should have been in summer. Then again, my bedroom shouldn't have had moss and I didn't generally make it a habit to sleep on the ground. I pushed myself up on my hands, which was when I realized that I was naked and in the middle of the woods.

"Well shit," I muttered, rubbing one hand over my face.

Vague memories of the night before came drifting back to me, but they weren't very helpful. Under normal circumstances, I'd dismiss them as dreams. I'd had dreams like this many times before, after all. I'd be running around on all fours, somehow transformed to a wolf, and I'd hunt and eat my kills with impunity. When I was tired, I'd return to my den—my own bedroom—and then wake up in the morning exhausted, but none the worse for wear. A few times I'd had sleepwalking experiences and woken up outside instead of in my bedroom, but those had become less frequent as I'd grown. My parents putting bars on my windows and locking my bedroom at night probably helped curb it.

But now I was in college and living like an independent adult with other students off campus. And the result of that greater freedom was sleepwalking my way out into the woods, apparently. Which was especially strange since I didn't live particularly close to any woods.

"Are you all right?" a deep, masculine voice asked. There was a faint drawl to it, making me think of Texas or Oklahoma.

I sprang to my feet in a move so quick it would surprise me later when I could reflect on it. I spun to face the voice and saw a man crouched on an outcropping of stone, watching me with an apparently interested look on his face. He had thick black hair that was somewhat shaggy, deep brown eyes, and olive-toned skin. He wore a pair of well broken in jeans and a white t-shirt with a flannel thrown over it. Despite that nod to the coolness of the morning out here in the hills, he wore no shoes.

I crossed one arm across my breasts and tried to cover the rest of my nakedness with my other arm, which wasn't very effective. "Who are you? Did you...do anything to me?"

One expressive black eyebrow quirked upward. "You don't remember?"

He braced a hand against the rock he was perched on, then leapt down nimbly into the mossy hollow where I had been resting. He nodded over to a small pile of fur and bones and blood not far from where I had been sleeping. "You seemed a bit out of it when I saw you last night, so I didn't approach closely. You hunted, ate, and went to sleep. I've just been waiting for you to wake up."

I stared at the shredded remains of the rabbit, feeling my stomach lurch. How many times had I dreamed about hunting like that? Had I done this before while sleepwalking? The idea was terribly disturbing. How did I even know that it was only rabbits I had ever hurt?

When my eyes raised to the man again, I looked at him more closely. It was easier to see him now that he wasn't crouched up on the rock and it was difficult not to admire what I could see. He was tall, with broad shoulders well-proportioned to his height. His body narrowed down to slim hips and long, muscular legs that were lovingly hugged by his jeans. My eyes traveled up his body back to his face, where full lips were curved into a faintly puzzled smile as he looked me over. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his nose straight and well built. His eyes were almond-shaped and fringed by dark, silky lashes. There was a light dusting of dark stubble across his cheeks, attesting to his claim that he had been watching me all night. He looked like he was a little older than me, perhaps in his mid-twenties or later, but it was difficult to be sure. He was gorgeous, in any case, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt such knee-shaking lust from just one look at a man. It was likely that I'd never felt anything like this before at all.

There were dozens of questions I was desperate to ask, but the most practical came to my tongue first. "Could I borrow your shirt?"

He looked amused, then pulled off the flannel before tossing it to me. I caught it easily and pulled it on, immediately aware of the spicy male musk of his natural scent on it. I could have bathed in that scent, so rich and beguiling it was. The shirt hit me at around mid-thigh, but it covered my breasts, butt, and genitals, so I wasn't going to complain too much.

"I'm sorry. You must think I'm crazy," I said.

He cocked his head to the side to regard me curiously. "Must I?"

I stared at him for a moment, then gestured down to the remains of the rabbit. "I wasn't exactly acting normal last night, was I?"

"No, but I've never met a solitary female in heat before." He shrugged, the soft cotton of his t-shirt drawing tight against the tightly corded muscles of his chest. "I imagine being a little out of it is to be expected."

I stared at him for a moment, thinking over the bizarre wording he had just used. The only people I'd known to ever use "female" as a noun for identifying women in a sentence like that had been ragingly sexist. Coupling that with him saying I was in heat and the whole thing seemed unspeakably creepy. I hugged the shirt around myself, as if I could will it to cover more.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but could you let me borrow your phone or something? I'm in kind of desperate need for pants," I said.

"Who are you calling?" he asked as he took a few steps closer to me.

I automatically backed up. The hot stranger hadn't done a thing to make me feel threatened beyond saying some weird stuff, but I just instinctively knew I didn't want to get too close to him yet. There was some undercurrent going on through all of this that I couldn't yet make sense of.

"My roommates. One of them should be able to find me and bring me clothes." I glanced away from the stranger for a moment, noting just how deep the woods looked here. "Where are we exactly?"

"Redwood Regional Park."

That made me stare at him again, shocked by how much distance I had covered in my sleep. The little house we were renting wasn't that far from the university, but now I was at least ten miles from there. And naked.

"Did you drive me here? How did that happen?" I demanded.

His brows drew together and he looked as if he was trying to figure something out. Something absurd, by the expression on his face. After a moment he closed the distance between us in three quick strides and grabbed hold of my arms, making me yip in shock and fear. Rather than attack me, he buried his face in the side of my neck and inhaled deeply, then followed around to the other side and back into my hair.

There shouldn't have been anything erotic in something so strange as sniffing me, yet my body felt differently. A rush of arousal that made me light-headed struck me and I wavered a bit on my legs, feeling overwhelmed by his nearness. Even through the flannel I could feel the heat of his hands on my arms. The scent of him on the shirt had been appealing before, but it was nothing in comparison to his presence so close.

When he pulled back from taking my scent, I could see his pupils were dilated and his tan skin was slightly flushed. I wondered if glancing down would find his jeans drawn tight. He released me as if I had burned him and took a few steps backwards to put space between us once again.

"You're a wolf and you haven't a clue," he said at last. "I thought you were just solitary like me, but...you're not, are you?"

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Book Five in the Claimed by an Alpha series...

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A pregnant librarian isn't the sort of person who should have to worry about an alpha male werewolf, but luck isn't on Fatima Malik's side. After a week of ecstasy in a secluded cabin with Dylan Collinee, she ran, carrying his child. Now Dylan has hunted her down and isn't about to take no for an answer. Yet things are more complicated than a bit of panic over commitment. Fatima is a feline shifter herself and neither the wolves nor the cats are ready to accept such a forbidden mating.

***

Though there were several young people in the children's library, they were all dutifully quiet save one. Paper rustled as little fingers turned the pages in their books. A little boy over by the easy reader section was clunking the pieces of a chunky wooden puzzle into place. The pieces made muffled thuds and clicks as they were pushed into place, lightly scraping at the edges of the puzzle. Whooshes of arms swooping through the air came from a girl wordlessly flailing her way through a video game in the multimedia center. Lights and elderly monitors hummed as computer fans spun to keep themselves cool, so low and quiet human ears would have to concentrate to pick out the omnipresent background noise. To my left, tiny claws and a furry body were scrambling around.

Two hamsters were kept as library pets. They were named Zig and Zag and were in separate cages on either side of my desk. From the silence to my right, I assumed Zag—the female—was asleep. Zig could be heard climbing in the recycled newspaper bedding in the bottom of his cage.

I could smell both rodents, but didn't find them to be particularly tempting prey. Animals kept in cages weren't food. It was the chase that made prey worthwhile. My shifted form wasn't much bigger than any standard house cat, but I preferred challenging prey when I hunted. Rabbits were a good start.

The hamsters weren't the only thing I could smell. The wood pulp scent of several hundred books filled the air, a scent I had always associated with comfort. A hint of warm plastics and wires from the various electronics laid over the fragrance of paper. And then there was the sickly sweet bubble gum currently wafting up to me from the mouth of the sole child in the entire library who could not stay quiet.

"And then it _ate_ the rabbit," Abbie said, widening her eyes dramatically as she came to the climax of her story. Done with her tale, her mouth snapped shut to busily chomp on that gum. Her little jaws worked in almost the exact same way as one of the hamsters on a treat.

Black corkscrews pulled up in pigtails bobbed on either side of her head in time to her gum chewing. The hair ties holding her hair in place had little balls, which the elastic of the tie was then wrapped around. My mother had never had much interest in her children and my hair had been kept boyishly short all through my childhood so she wouldn't have to bother with it. I liked the way the hair ties looked, but had no idea what they were called. I wondered if I would style my daughter's hair like that. If I had a daughter.

Abbie's skin was a similar golden bronze to mine, though our ancestry came from different parts of the world. Her father's family was Filipino and Puerto Rican. He and I had chatted on occasion when he dropped her off or picked her up for story time. Her mother was one of those random white American mixes, with similar curls to Abbie's except in light brown. My mother had come to America from Egypt and I had no real idea who my father was beyond the fact that he was white. I honestly wasn't entirely sure if my mother knew either.

The onyx black mirrors of Abbie's eyes anxiously watched my own gray ones, awaiting some response. I took a deep breath, trying to remember the details of her outlandish story.

"That's very imaginative. I don't think I ever heard of a tiger monster hunting rabbits before. Did you read that in a book?"

She pursed her lips into a frown as she shook her head, dark curls bouncing against either cheek with the motion. "It wasn't in a book. I saw the tiger monster."

I frowned slightly as I took Abbie's book from her to check it out. She didn't have a history of lying at the library or having trouble separating fantasy from reality. I wondered if she was doing the same thing at home and made a mental note to make sure everything was all right when her father came back from the main library to get her.

"You told me you hate kids, Fatima. Why surround yourself with them?"

That familiar voice chilled my blood. I looked up from the book, though my eyes weren't necessary to confirm what I already knew. Dylan was standing behind the little girl. He had a mild smile on his face, one thumb casually hooked on his belt buckle. His jeans hugged muscular thighs, his soft gray t-shirt doing more to highlight the definition of his chest and upper arms than provide cover. He was missing the ten gallon hat and an oiled up chest, but otherwise he looked like he'd just stepped out of a sexy cowboy calendar.

The Oklahoma drawl to his voice added to the good ol' boy illusion, but I knew he was more than that. I'd kept a tight lid on myself, but he hadn't. He had told me about how he worked private security for the wealthy. He was faster and stronger and far more lethal than any mere bodyguard, but most of his work was focused on surveillance rather than diving in front of bullets, he'd said. He knew his way around all sorts of gadgets for turning a mansion into a fortress and what cameras might miss, his nose never did. It had been silly of me to think I could get away from him. If he wanted to find me, he would. He did.

His eyes were a soft green at the moment. Not the amber of his wolf form. That was good, but I'd heard enough stories of just how dangerous an angry alpha werewolf could be to distrust those eyes. Among the werewolves, it took attaining a special level of power—being alpha—to be able to partially shift. Cats didn't have that limitation, as each of us was our own alpha. Almost all of us could partially shift upon reaching adulthood. We weren't anywhere near as dangerous as the wolves, though. He could give control over to his wolf side at any moment and slaughter everyone in the library.

Natural wolves are just predators and don't deserve the hate they've had heaped upon them by humans. Werewolves, on the other hand, are nature's way of striking back at humanity.

"Here you go, Abbie," I told the little girl softly as I passed her the book. She walked away with a confused look on her face, checking over her shoulder as she passed Dylan. The lower ranked wolves could pass for human when they were calm, but alphas exuded an aura of power. They had to concentrate to keep it under control and Dylan wasn't doing a damn thing against it. Most likely that was for my benefit.

His golden brown hair was a little shaggier than it had been the last time I'd seen him in his human form. His face was still as beautiful as ever, though. Lips still perfectly, kissably full. Nose still finely chiseled. His square jaw added age and power to his face, tapering to a sculpted chin with a faint dimple in it. There was something perpetually boyish in his face, charming in that playful sort of way. Yet it wasn't all fun and games in that beautiful face. He stepped forward and braced his hands on the counter, then leaned in close to me. I felt the hair on the back of my neck automatically stand on end, but stayed right where I was, forcing myself to meet that heavy gaze.

"I never said I hate kids. I said I didn't want _kittens_. You must have misheard me." My voice was calm and even, despite the fact that every instinct I'd been born with was screaming at me to run or scratch his eyes out.

He raised his brows at me, then looked around the children's section of the library with theatrical surprise. "Clearly."

The last time I'd seen him, he'd been heading out into a snow storm to hunt for us. He'd wanted to provide for his family and some stupid canine loyalty had pushed him to decide that it included me. The hormones of my breeding season had been dying down at that point and no longer being caught up in my desire for him meant that I could stop and think. Thinking had led to running. That had been four months before and I'd assumed I'd never see him again. I'd certainly hoped I'd never see him again. Crossing paths with a werewolf after running away from him simply wasn't a smart thing to do.

There was no hatred in his face at the moment, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to be subject to his wrath. Dylan had been unquestionably dominant. Gentle, yes, but that was when I was doing what he wanted. Dominant wolves didn't much care for being defied.

"What do you want, Dylan?" I asked, keeping my voice hushed.

"You know what I want." His eyes flicked downwards and he leaned in a little more, trying to see down my body behind the counter.

For a moment, I considered trying to hide it from him. Not every breeding led to a pregnancy and, as far as I knew, there had never been a successful mating between a wolf and a cat. It would be completely believable for it to have just not taken. But with him here in person, trying to hide it would just prolong the inevitable. Even with most of my body behind the counter, he could still see the way my breasts had nearly doubled in size and were riding high on my chest with the promise of a mother's milk. With a sigh, I stepped back from the counter so he could see me clearly. One of my hands automatically moved down to smooth over my swelling belly in a protective gesture.

His eyes were glued to my stomach as if it held the secret to the universe. Hell, maybe it did. "Do you know which it is?"

He wasn't asking about the baby's sex. "No. I'm not even sure how to tell that at this point."

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Book One in the Captive to Egypt series...

Coming Soon

Exiled princess. Priestess. Midwife. Warrior. Eili of the Hittites has had to don many roles in her life, but now she faces her most daunting one: a hostage to the Pharaoh. To keep her village of refugees safe on the border of Egypt, she gives herself to Prince Itamun as a willing captive, all while keeping her true identity secret. But the dominating prince with his unearthly golden eyes is more of a temptation than she can stand.

Blessed by Anubis with the ability to become the jackal, Itamun has his own secrets to keep and desires that can never be fulfilled. Intrigued by Eili's defiance, Itamun vows to tame her for her own safety. Yet could she be the one to finally give him what he needs and change the course of history?

***

The desert breeze did little to cool Eiluhepa, belly flat against the roof of the hut. Drawing the bowstring too soon would fatigue her arms. Muscles would shake as their strength was taxed, so that her shot might fly wild or fall short. Knowing this, she held the bow and an arrow, but waited. Even knowing why she did it, waiting turned her stomach like rotten goat milk.

The Egyptian soldiers were approaching the village, looking somewhat disconcerted to find it apparently abandoned. Some of the damage from the raids was still visible and she wondered if they had known about them. There were only around fifty of the soldiers, which instantly put her on edge. Her village's scout had said the Egyptians' numbers were closer to a thousand. Either the man was an idiot, or this was only an advance guard. So long as the rest of the army wasn't going to circle around and catch all of the villagers who had fled, then utter disaster might still be averted. Her own death would be a small price to pay for their safety.

Eiluhepa had been a child when the Pharaoh had first attacked the Hittite nation of Hatti. The battles had continued intermittently with neither nation ever fully gaining the upper hand. It was to be expected in some ways, as they were two kingdoms that were far too close to one another. Yet Eiluhepa had learned that far worse than being on one side or the other was to be caught between the two.

There were three chariots among the Egyptians, with two men on each. The rest of the soldiers were on their feet. The majority of them wore nothing more than the simple shenti, the typical dress of Egyptians. The shenti consisted of a linen scarf wrapped around the waist and between the legs as a loincloth. Some of them wore something more, which looked similar to the kilt that Eiluhepa and Hittite men wore. The Egyptian version of the kilt was draped and folded decoratively, drawn up slightly in the front with no fear of accidentally exposing their manhood to danger because of the shenti beneath.

Despite being a woman, Eili had long ago decided she would dress as the men, for convenience and the freedom it afforded. When her husband had been alive, no man dared to look at her legs, for fear of what he might do to them. Now she had to put them in fear herself.

On one of the chariots there was a tall, powerfully built man with closely cropped dark brown curls like a sheep's wool and a strikingly sculpted face devoid of hair. All of the Egyptian men Eiluhepa had ever seen were clean shaven, so his smooth face wasn't unusual even if it would have marked him for a boy among her own people. The hair on the man's head was unusual, though. Most of the other Egyptians she had encountered shaved their heads. Only one other man was in the chariot, controlling the horses, for there was no room for more men. The Egyptian chariots looked laughably small and flimsy in comparison to what the Hittites used in battle. The tall man wore a kilt with a decoratively cut tunic over it, his sword a sturdy iron one instead of the more common bronze that most Egyptians carried. One of his hands rested idly on the hilt of that sword as he looked around with a casual arrogance. He looked to have recently left youth behind, maybe two or more years older than Eiluhepa, but his dress and his manner instantly marked him for what he was. Eiluhepa turned her bow toward the handsome commander. If they took out this small group of them, it would at least give the rest of the village more time to flee. The chances of defeating close to a thousand Egyptians were poor at best, but they could delay them.

"Spread out," the tall one said in the foreign tongue as he drew his own sword. "They're here somewhere."

Apparently having decided his chariot was of little use with no one to charge, the commander stepped out to search with his men. The soldiers broke up into small groups or men by themselves as they began pushing their way into huts. The commander went toward the nearest hut to rip down the flimsy hide covering the doorway. He was distracted, with his back turned toward Eiluhepa. It was perfect.

The silence was punctured by the hum of the arrow. The commander ducked into the doorway and spun in his crouch, the arrow burying itself in the dried mud of the hut. Weapons slid from their sheaths, soldiers quickly falling into a defensive position, but their commander was already raising his hand to gesture to them.

"Hold," he ordered his men, before raising his voice. When next he spoke, it was in Nesili, the Hittite language. It had an accent to it, but was unmistakable. "If you give up now, we won't have to attack. Give Pharaoh his tribute and we'll offer protection from anyone else who may come."

"Back to the underworld with you!" a voice called from the far end of the village. The bushes rustled, as did the trees. There could have been a dozen men hiding themselves there, though Eili knew there was not. It was a weak distraction, to draw the attention of the Egyptians so they did not notice the archers laying on rooftops just as Eiluheupa did. They all waited, arrows drawn and ready to set loose.

As the rest of the Egyptians turned their focus to the foliage, the commander's eyes swept across the village, then paused. Eiluhepa felt her heart skip a beat as the commander's startlingly pale yellow eyes locked with her own. She might have sworn she met the eyes of a jackal.

"Shoot them!" yelled the commander, pointing to the archers a second before he ducked through the doorway again, narrowly missing two more arrows.

Eiluhepa didn't bother with wasting another arrow, already sliding down the back of the hut. She prayed her companions would survive the Egyptian archers as she raced between buildings. There was a window sans shutter at the back of the hut the commander had ducked into. Eiluhepa knew, because it was her own home, achingly empty these days. She slid through quietly, then dropped to the ground in a crouch, an arrow drawn. It wasn't a large space inside and the Egyptian would have a difficult time hiding from her.

She began to move slowly forward, careful to keep her steps light. The commander was near the doorway, waiting until he could move without being pinned down by a stray arrow. Eiluhepa straightened for a better shot at the other man, determined to not miss.

Keep Reading...

### Other Books by Lilith T. Bell

The Captive to a Pirate Series

Trapped Like a Rat [Free]

Rats and Sinking Ships

To Catch a Rat

The Claimed by an Alpha Series

Cat and Mouse

Like a Cat in Heat

Once Bitten, Twice Claimed

Lost in Heat

Fighting Like Cats and Dogs

The Captive to Egypt Series

Taken

About the Author

Lilith T. Bell lives in the upper Midwest with her cat and garden. She daydreams of mermaids and pirates and is always thinking ahead to the next story.

If you have enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Reader feedback helps greatly in choosing what to write next.

