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PIRATE'S SECRET
By
Laine Morgan
© copyright by Laine Morgan, Oct 2007
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, Oct 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Shannon MacCready was going to vomit. She just knew it. The ship lurched again as its hull mounted a gigantic, swollen wave. She counted to ten and the ship dropped and rocked to the side. She counted again, anything to get her mind off the blaring nausea. She buried her face in her hands. Why had she done this? For Patrick Flannigan? The pirate?
She remembered the first day she had seen him, haggling with a goldsmith in Dublin. Patrick wasn't the typical red-haired Irishman she was used to. He was no green-eyed farm boy who tended the sheep and milked the cows. No, he was a huge man, made entirely of sinew and muscle, with black wavy hair that curled over and around his blazing blue eyes like a lover's caress. A broad back, trim waist, slim hips. Powerful thighs embraced by tight leather. He reminded her of a painting she'd once seen of Ares, the Greek god of war.
As he reached an agreement with the goldsmith and placed the gold hoop through a pierced ear, she decided she wanted him. At any cost.
So she had followed him, made him notice her with her low cut, bodice-baring dresses that cinched her waist tighter than any corset.
One night, not long ago, she'd spotted him in the local pub, The Regal Lion, and dared to sit with him at the small wooden table. She called a tavern maid and ordered a pint of dark ale. Patrick's eyebrows had shot up, and he cocked a half-smile.
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. The look in his piercing, deep blue gaze was dangerous. "Do ye know who I am, lass?"
She caught a glimpse of white teeth. Not many pirates were cultured enough to care for their teeth. Her heart fluttered, yet she met his eyes with boldness. "Aye. You are Patrick Flannigan, the pirate."
He had leaned back, his chair creaking, a half-smile spreading across his face. "Aye. I am. I'm a dangerous man, lass. You don't want to get involved with one such as I." His voice was deep, rich, full of rasping texture. Like he had spent a lifetime barking orders over the resounding crash of the sea.
She smiled, knowing that her smile was one of her best features. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze fastening on her lips.
"And I'm not exactly a pitiful, mewling kitten, Mr. Flannigan."
The eyebrow shot up even higher. She took a long draught of her ale and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "I'm just a farm girl, Mr. Flannigan. I need some adventure to liven my nights."
And adventure was just what she'd gotten.
She had no qualms about sneaking off her father's farm every night to meet Patrick on his ship, a grand vessel that proudly displayed the wealth he'd achieved from plundering ships at sea. They had explored every nook and cranny of the ship during their sexual romps, and after a month, she knew the ship as well as he did.
Now, as the ship pitched and rocked, the wood creaking as though it would shatter like the most fragile of glass, she wished she didn't know the ship at all. Maybe not knowing every hiding place would have prevented her from daring to stow away.
The ship tipped to one side as a rattling roar of thunder filled the small cabin. She wiped the sweat off her brow and curled into a fetal position on the small pallet of musty straw. She'd shared this very same pallet with Patrick one dark night. She remembered sucking the gold hoop that threaded through his earlobe, remembered tasting salt in the hollow of his neck. The damp hay tickled her nose and she coughed. Acidic bile rose in her throat. She forced it down. She would not disgrace herself, even though there was no one to see.
She had been such a fool. When Patrick had told her it was time for him to go back to sea, she had begged him to stay, grabbing at his wrists as though that could stop him from leaving. He had pried her hands off, none too gently.
"I have to go," he'd said, his voice hinting at a snarl. "It was a pleasurable time I've had with ye, Shannon, but I have to go."
She'd grabbed at his billowing white sleeve. Fat raindrops started to fall and she felt one wet her eyelash. She blinked, trying not to look at the big schooner moored behind him. Tried not to look at the crew who bustled and hurried to get the ship ready to sail under the light of the harvest moon.
"What are you saying, Patrick? That it was just sex? You've no feelings for me then?"
Shannon moaned on the pallet as she remembered the steely look he'd given her. His eyes had matched the boiling gray clouds that had started to churn overhead.
"Aye," he'd said, his voice like gravel, his eyes looking past her. "Just sex." He shook his arm free of her desperate grasp.
He turned away and walked up the gangplank without looking back, calling out deep-pitched commands to his mates as soon as he hit the deck.
She continued to stare after him, hating him and loving him at the same time. How dare he? The heat rose in her cheeks, contrasting with the cold rain that slid down her face in thick trickles. What about the silken red rose he'd given her just last night? What about the sweet words of adoration he'd whispered to her as she climaxed under the moon's peaceful caress?
So she had sneaked on board, clinging to the shadows as she avoided the bustling activity. Down to the very bottom of the ship, where she now lay curled upon the floor, ready to throw up her noon meal.
* * * *
Patrick Flannigan roared out orders to his men. Walls of water crashed over the sides. Lightning bit the sky with jagged teeth. The sea grew violent quicker than he could call out commands. A white squall poured upon him as wrath from the heavens. He scowled at the sky. He would not admit defeat. Not yet.
Despite the storm, despite the imminent danger, he couldn't take his mind off the pretty Irish lass he'd been so desperate to sail away from. Shannon.
He'd known he shouldn't get involved with a mortal girl. He'd known. But she was too enticing, with her long cinnamon tresses that begged to be touched and smelled, her soft skin like the Eastern silks he sometimes wore. Her emerald eyes blazed with the passion of Ireland, vibrant and alive. And her tongue, her tongue could do wonders.
Alive. Maybe that was part of her allure. It had been ages since he'd taken a mortal woman to his bed, and it had been glorious, every climax an explosion of earth-shattering pleasure that ripped through him in violent ecstasy. He couldn't get enough of her.
And more than even the sex, he'd grown to adore her, as a soul. He loved her tinkling merry laughter that sometimes ended in a gentle snort. He loved her chiming brogue, her spirit of adventure, her devotion to her country and kin. He hated to admit it, but he had fallen in love with a mortal girl.
But it was wrong. So very wrong. The warm, earthy blood pulsed through her veins, whispering to him with each orgasmic peak, begging him to take her jugular and have her for an eternity. The last time he'd shared his bed with her, he had come close to losing all control. He'd come close to obeying the whispers of her blood.
So he'd had to go. How could he tell her he felt more for her than for any other? She wouldn't understand. She would grow suspicious of his daylight absences. She would eventually discover what he was. And that could never happen.
He wanted his memory to be of her eternal smile, her adventurous grin. Not a mask of horror and revulsion. He'd hated the look on her face as he tore his arm away. Like he'd slapped her. This wasn't the memory he wanted to cultivate in his mind, but it had to be done. He could no longer control himself with her, and he would rather die than see her become the deplorable thing he was.
The ship pitched as the vehement clouds spewed out forks of lightning. Thrown out of his reverie, he contemplated the precarious situation of the ship. He wasn't sure how long they could last in such a squall. The sail was stretched tight with the gusting wind. The wind was too strong, another heavy gust would snap the mast like a twig between his fingers.
The sail needed to come down. Now.
He raked his hand through his drenched hair, shoving it out of his eyes. He crossed the main deck, his leather boots slapping through thin puddles of water. The acrid smell of ozone permeated the air.
"Hurry up with the sail, mates! It's got to come down, right now!"
The savage wind snatched his voice and carried it away. Still, the men struggled with the sail. They were hardy men, experienced seafarers. They knew what needed to be done.
"Patrick!"
He froze. That voice.
Despite the groaning of the mast, the heaving of the ship, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead, he turned slowly to face her. Shannon. His heart tore inside him. The brief feeling of heartache and longing was quickly replaced with anger. Pure rage.
What did she think she was doing? She would be killed. The ship was doomed. He knew that, although he hated to admit it. He wouldn't be able to save her. The sea would consume her, dragging her to its ruthless sandy bottom.
A dark thought invaded his mind. Should he take her now, force her to live through eternity with him? No, he would rather burn. If he turned her into an immortal, she would despise him for it, eventually.
Hell, he might not even be able to save himself. He didn't know what became of his kind under the sea. He could swim well, but what would happen when he sank and ran out of air? He already knew the sea weakened him when he took to the air above it. He couldn't cross large bodies of water. It was one of the reasons he had become a pirate. To display his defiance for the sea that so sapped his strength, and to show it that one way or another, he would cross it.
"What are you doing here?" he screamed above the murderous roars of thunder. Lightning illuminated her face. She was scared. For some reason, it softened his fury. His fiery princess, full of spice and sauce, was frightened. An urge to protect her doused his anger.
"I couldn't leave you, Patrick." Her words were veiled by the persistent thunderclaps, but he still heard her. He could hear the mice skittering in terror below deck. He could even hear their frantic heartbeats. The heartbeats of all living things nearby thundered in his head. Only one was missing. His own.
The sound of the thunder grew louder with each murderous boom. The ship pitched and rocked. Urgent shouts punctuated the night, adding to the noise. Yet, he was frozen in time, staring at his lass, his Shannon, knowing she was doomed to the roiling, violent sea.
"Shannon, why have ye done this? Do ye know what ye've done?"
Shannon struggled to hear his words, barely noticing the thickening of his brogue that signaled a rise in his passion.
The ship heaved and a crack as loud as Ares' whip rent the night.
Shannon clasped her dress at the chest, her heart pounding, her knuckles white. She stared in horror at the broken mast as she struggled to maintain her balance. Jagged shards of wood speared the sky where there was once a thick, sturdy mast. The wind slammed against her face, forcing her to squint through thick wet, errant strands of hair. Rain pelted her, angry and violent, as though she were cursed.
She took a step forward and gathered her sodden hair, pulling it away from her face. A gasp slipped from her lips. This was dire, more dire than she had imagined. Her Patrick could not save them, not with the mast in splinters. Patrick also looked crestfallen. His look of utter hopelessness scared her even more than the broken mast.
"Patrick." Passion flared to life in his deep indigo eyes. Passion and something else. With horror, she realized the something else was pity. She sank to her knees. The ship pitched sideways and she fell to her side.
Patrick squatted, his black leather pants taut against his thighs. He pulled his hand through his dark curls and glared up at the sky. He squeezed his eyes shut against the relentless onslaught of pelting rain. "We've got to get off the ship!"
Strangely, her fear left her. Resigned to her fate, she let Patrick gather her into his arms. Her stomach lurched as he leaped over the side, her head buried against his rock hard chest.
They broke to the surface, gasping in shock as the frigid sea enveloped them. Huge rollers carried them high and Shannon caught a glimpse of the hulking ship as it descended a mighty wave and shattered in a symphony of explosive staccato cracks.
The panicked screams of men echoed all around her. She was glad she couldn't see their faces.
"We've got to swim." Patrick grabbed her by the wrist and kicked away from the wreckage.
A massive wall of water slammed into them and ripped Patrick's hand from her wrist. The tempestuous wave hurled them under water and for a moment, all Shannon could see were bubbles, all she could hear was the deafening roar of the sea in her ears. Before she thought to fight back to the surface, she saw Patrick, seemingly unconscious and in the arms of the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. A faint glow enveloped the woman, as though the dark sea could not touch her. Warmth emanated from her and Shannon stopped shivering. Long, straight hair fanned around her heart-shaped face. Her bare ivory shoulders shone in the ebony, storm-tossed water.
She turned and looked at Shannon, her eyes narrowing into a menacing glare. Then she smiled, child-like, innocent, and like a bullet, sped away. Shannon nearly inhaled when the tip of a forked tail of iridescent scales tickled her face like the finest of feathers.
A mermaid from legend. And she had Patrick. Her lungs burning, she lunged for the surface and fought to follow in the direction the mermaid had taken her love.
* * * *
Viviana hurtled through the sea, toward her splendid island cove. The mortal would be safe there. And he would be all hers. The girl he'd had in his arms would surely drown, and this pleased Viviana. She did not like to share her men.
Secluded and enchanted, the tiny isle was her haven of tranquility, her isle of dream. Storms could not touch it.
Like all the others before him, the pirate would fall under its spell and be hers until the day he would ultimately die. She glimpsed his face as she ducked under the thundering waves. His smooth face was flushed, healthy. Vibrant. She grimaced. He should be white, or nearly blue from the lack of oxygen. Her magic was enough to keep him alive, but for a limited time. Little by little he would suffocate if she did not release him to the air above the sea. She had no doubt she would reach her cove in time, but never had a man looked as healthy as he had during the transit from shipwreck to isle.
How very odd.
Despite the ruddiness that stained his cheeks, she whisked her tail and increased her speed, lightning through the tempest. She didn't want to see his face, didn't want him to unsettle her any further. She couldn't wait to taste his full lips, couldn't wait to caress his throbbing manhood with her probing tongue. She let these thoughts wash over her as she raced to the cove.
She surfaced in calm water, the storm well out over the open ocean. Streaks of lightning flared in the distance, followed by subdued booms of thunder. She gazed at the mortal as she concentrated on changing to her mortal form. A tingling erupted on the lower half of her body, engulfing her with the feeling of being brushed by an electric eel.
She stood on two legs and with the man in her arms, waded to shore. After laying him face down on the beach, she turned and gazed out toward the dark sea, the dark horizon. She yawned, exhausted with the rescue and subsequent change, and waded back into the water. Once in deep water, she slipped below the surface to her bed of seaweed. She thought of the morning promise of sexual fulfillment as she snuggled into the soft, swaying strands. Before her body had even finished the change back to her aquatic form, she fell asleep.
* * * *
Patrick groaned. Every muscle in his body throbbed and ached. He rolled over and wiped sand from his lips, spitting out the salty grains. He wished the legends of his kind were true - that vampires didn't suffer pain, didn't suffer the ailments common to mortals. Ha! Although he was healthier and infinitely stronger than he had been in his mortal body, he still ached after a hard night's work. Or after being tossed like a rag doll on a violent sea. He raised his head, which hurt like Thor himself had been pounding on it with his massive hammer.
Shannon. Where was she? He remembered the leap off the ship, remembered having a firm grip on her. His next vague memory was rushing through the water, realizing he could breathe as well under the water as above it. Then, nothing. How had he reached this isle?
He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled along the beach, searching. The full moon appeared from behind a cloud, illuminating the beach long enough for Patrick to see she wasn't there.
"Shannon!" His voice rasped. He had trouble choking out the single, anguished word. He cleared his throat, coughed, and called her name again.
The only response was the waves crashing in an endless and hypnotic cacophony upon the shore. He sank to his knees, clenching his hands in the sand. He'd lost her. Somehow, he'd lost her. He shot into the air and flew along the wind currents, searching for her body among the rolling breakers. He searched until the first hint of a glow brightened the horizon.
Dawn. No more time. With a howl of despair, he crashed into the ocean, into the depths of the sea. From the massive amount of debris littering the ocean's surface, it was easy enough to locate the shipwreck and once underwater, the iron coffin, face down, on a smooth surface of sand, surrounded by bubbling mollusks. With an easy motion, he flipped over the coffin and waited for the sand to settle before opening the lid and climbing in.
* * * *
Shannon tread water, her legs aching. For once she was glad of the work she'd done over the years on the farm. She was strong, and determined enough to fight her way to shore.
A piercing, agonized cry rent the night and she spun around in a panicked splash, gasping. Then it was gone and the night was silent except for the lapping of the water against her face and the ever more distant thunder.
Something large and gritty brushed against her leg and she kicked reflexively. Her foot landed against something hard, with skin like sandpaper. A shark? With a frantic, sharp intake of breath she swam as fast as she could in the direction the mermaid had taken Patrick, praying that she was indeed taking him to shore.
She swam hard until the feeling of threat was gone. She let her mind wander as she focused on the tint of rose sliding up the Eastern sky.
A mermaid. She'd always believed there were creatures that lived outside the natural realm of human awareness. And she hadn't been hallucinating. In her mind, she could still see the beautiful woman's bright blue-green eyes, eyes the color of a swirling, sunlit, turquoise sea, the gleaming lavender and sunset-colored scales. She could still feel the feather-like touch of the creature's tail to her cheek.
But why had the creature glared at her so menacingly? She recalled the stories and folktales of the siren's deadly song, how their melodies meant death for sailors who heard the haunting strains. Mermaids were not gentle folk, like the elves or fairies. Still, it was hard to believe a creature so ethereal and beautiful could be evil. She prayed the creature would spare Patrick's life, would save him from the watery grave.
Each stroke, each kick made her weaker, her strength pouring from her limbs with each struggling movement. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, and more than once she swallowed the bitter salt water. Worry clouded her thoughts as her gasps dissolved into agonizing wheezes. Her lungs were on fire. Her thighs were even worse, numb and jellied. Her arms felt heavier every second. She wouldn't make it, after all. She was going to drown, very soon. She would never see the man she had loved with all of her heart again.
"Oh Patrick, why couldn't you save me?" Her salty tears mixed with the brine of the sea.
Then, she spied a mass of softly glowing white, not far away. An island! She drew in a startled, relieved breath and gathered the last of her strength for one last push. She would make it. She would make it to the blessed island if it killed her.
She swam.
* * * *
Viviana awoke as the water around her warmed a fraction. The sun above cast her world in shimmering gemstones of flickering light. A school of bright yellow tangs shimmied past, their lazy movements uniform and coordinated.
She breathed deeply, letting the salt water invigorate her body from the inside out. Memories of the night rushed back to her and she smiled. The man was on her island. Her man, on her island. She would enjoy him over and over throughout the day, crooning to him in her soft sensual song, making him a more than willing participant. She couldn't wait to get her hands on his firm, muscled chest, couldn't wait to take his manhood in her hands and slip it inside her. She couldn't wait to hear his moans of masculine ecstasy.
She ran her fingers through her hair, preening, loving its silky feel. Pushing up toward the surface, she grinned, her face upturned to greet the sun and sky as she broke from the water.
The day was glorious, full of sunshine, with no hint of the terrible storm from the night before. Well, except for the debris floating all around her. Something glinted out of the corner of her eye and she reached around and snatched the object from the water.
A silver, heart shaped locket, without the chain. The girl's, probably. With a sneer she hefted it over her shoulder and smiled as it plinked into the ocean behind her.
She gazed toward shore, wondering if her man had woken yet. With a flip of her tail she swam toward her gathering of smooth boulders and took a place behind one. Placing her hand on the smooth surface of one giant rock, she peered around with an expectant pause in her breathing.
She gasped. The pirate was gone.
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