Pleasure of a Dark Prince

Chapter 18

Iquitos, Amazonia

Fifteen hours later…

Lucia sprinted from the heli pad through the remote river-port town, her senses bombarded by scents and sounds: the smell of hot peppers and green bananas in the market stands; the incessant horns from motorcycle rickshaws; street vendors hawking their wares, unaffected by the on-and-off drizzle of rain.

Though already exhausted from the last few weeks and wiped out from the constant travel over the last day, Lucia adjusted her backpack and travel bowcase to run even faster.

The time was a quarter after three.

Breakneck flights had gotten her out of the North-lands, then even more connections had followed to get to South America and into Iquitos.

She’d logged seven thousand miles in the last day.

Weary to her bones, she again cursed the instigator of this disaster—Nucking Futs Nïx.

She couldn’t have seen a freaking apocalypse sooner? To give Lucia time to buy a damned mosquito net, and maybe an Amazon river guidebook!

Lucia was almost to the water—not difficult, since Iquitos was encircled by the Amazon and two other tributaries. The sun peeked through lowering clouds, spawning a vibrant rainbow that seemed to end on the far banks of the Amazon.

Soon, a red clay shore came into view. Just at the water’s edge, a neighborhood of thatch-roofed houses floated on balsa platforms. A few large riverboats were lined up beside them, beached on the muddy banks.

As she ran headlong, she recalled the rest of that fateful conversation with the soothsayer:

“Nïx, how can Cruach bring about an apocalypse?”

“Apparently, he’s no longer your personal domestic problem. It’s foretold that he’ll start a plague of human sacrifices.”

Cruach’s other name was To Him We Sacrifice. He had the power to infect beings, engendering a mad need to kill whomever the victim loved most. “A plague?”

“Before, he could only afflict one with his madness by direct contact and only once he escaped his lair. But soon his influence could potentially be spread like a disease, passed from one person to another.”

“How? Black magic, the help of another god—”

“The countdown has begun. Ticktock, ticktock.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go to the docks. I’ve got you booked on a ship called the Contessa. For weeks, you’ll travel into the jungle, to the deepest, darkest part of the Amazon where no other boats dare to go. Find the Rio Labyrinto—a mystically hidden tributary. Have you heard of it?”

Lucia had exhaled a stunned breath. “Yeah. No one comes back when they go looking for it. Not even immortals.”

“Are ya feelin’ lucky, punk?”

“What’s there to help me fight Cruach? A weapon? An ally? Don’t suppose I’ll find a dieumort there.”

“Now what’s a dieumort?”

“Never mind! Nïx, what’s down there?”

“Call me when you arrive on time—otherwise all this could be moot—then I’ll reveal the rest to you. Unless, of course, I forget.” Which was entirely likely.

Lucia had known Nïx wouldn’t divulge more logistics. She divvied information like a miser parting with gold coins. Lucia had learned, like all other Valkyrie, to go on a little faith—and forbearance—with Nïx. “At least tell me what the stakes are,” Lucia had demanded impatiently. “What happens if I fail?”

“The end of life as we know it.”

“Nothing else you’d like to impart?”

“Everything you’ll need will be aboard the Contessa”. A blare of static-like noise crackled. “Oh, and beware of the barão da borracha and the guardião.”

Lucia knew some Portuguese. “Beware of the rubber baron and the guardian?”

More static sounds. “Can’t hear… call back… good luck…”

“Nïx, I know you’re faking the static.” She could picture her sister blowing into her fist directly at the receiver. The static abruptly stopped. “Why?”

“It seemed less rude than the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

Click.

Lucia slowed, her eyes widening when she spied a wave of riverboats leaving. Was she too late?

She asked fishermen returning from the day’s runs to direct her to the Contessa. They all laughed in answer. Once she finally happened upon it, beached on a section of trash-ridden shore, she realized why.

The Contessa—such a bold and noble name—was a relic. With its three stories and latticed railings, it looked like an old river cruiser from the rubber-boom days. But it was in no way preserved—rotting holes dappled the wood just above the waterline, and the windshield in the pilothouse was fractured from one edge to the other. Any visible metal was corroded, oozing rust down the faded hull like runnels of blood.

The roof on the third-story observation deck was… thatched.

She scrunched her face. Departure at three sharp? Nothing concerning this vessel could be classified as sharp. Nïx, you little rotter. Why would her sister have booked her on this ship?

No, Lucia didn’t have to accept this—she could get another ride. She stepped back to survey the only other boats still beached. Any that remained looked to have been abandoned in haste. The closest one still had tablecloths and utensils on its soaked outdoor tables.

Aboard the Contessa, voices sounded dimly from indoors, and one—maybe two—males stomped around on deck.

At least it had people on it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. She checked the braids she’d plaited to cover her ears, then called, “Is anyone up there? I need to board this”—tub, wreck, joke of a—“boat.”

A crusty boot slammed on the gunwale, and a big, bleary-eyed man leaned over it to peer down. “Ship, lady. This here’s a ship,” he said defensively, as if she’d told him, “Your penis: I find it minuscule.” The man’s accent was American Southern, his voice raspy.

With blood-shot gray eyes, he gave her a once-over, then drawled, “Dr. MacRieve, I presume?”

Dr. MacRieve? Nïx had just gotten elevated from ass-kicking to certain death.

When dealing with humans, Lucia had always used Archer as her last name. Since she would never own up to her real one.

“From LSU?” he asked, snagging a hip flask from his jeans pocket for a generous gulp.

Wondering what else Nïx would have told this man, she answered, “Yes, that’s me. And you’re the… captain?”

“That I am. Captain Wyatt Travis.” He wore a white button-down, mostly unbuttoned, and when the wind blew off the river, the material billowed, displaying a surprisingly rock-solid torso.

Lucia supposed he wasn’t unfortunate looking, with his carelessly ruffled blond hair and stubble, but he was noticeably inebriated—even if she couldn’t have smelled liquor wafting from his pores. She conjectured what Travis would blow on a BAC meter, wagering a healthy two-point-oh.

Why would Nïx book her on a rotted tub with a drunken captain? She could just see Nïx clapping merrily and crying “For fun!” “And my assistant booked a room, right?”

“We’ve held a cabin for you. Last one left.”

“Air conditioner?”

“One. And it ain’t in your room, darling.” His accent wasn’t just Southern. She realized the captain was a Texan.

“Wait, the last cabin?” She scanned the decks. The ship looked to have at least half a dozen of them, spaced equally on the first two floors.

He shoved down a rickety gangplank. “You don’t have to sound so shocked that we’re booked up.” Ruffled feathers. The only thing worse than a perpetual drunk was a sensitive one. “There’re three docs like you aboard and my cook and deckhand as well.”

Including the captain that would make six humans. This wouldn’t do. Unlike some Valkyrie, Lucia shunned mortals whenever possible. To reveal secrets of the Lore to one of them would draw punishment from the gods, and Lucia was already in a tenuous position with one. Or two. “How much for the entire boat?”

“You ain’t the brightest bulb in the marquee, are you? I already got these passengers aboard—they’re unpacking their scientifical crap in the lab as we speak. We’ve just been waiting on you.”

Weeks on board with mortals? And clearly, she would have to hijack the boat to get to the deepest Amazon, where nobody dared to go. The humans would have to be dealt with then.

Perhaps Lucia could find a Lorean to captain another ship. A river city like Iquitos would be home to countless immortals.

But as she debated her options, that awareness returned, the sense of being watched. She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced over her shoulder, thought she saw a tall male, a too-tall male. Was MacRieve closing in on her even now? She knew he couldn’t be far behind—because he hadn’t been for the entire year.

Or maybe she was overreacting. Exhaustion weighed on her until she felt like falling down, and in the past, she’d imagined him in shadows, over a rise, or on a balcony overhead peering down at her.

For as many times as she’d seen golden eyes glowing with hunger from some nearby shadow, she’d imagined she had.

Her ears twitched. Awareness. No, he was near. “I’ll take the cabin!” I can dump the mortals later. She chucked her pack over the railing, holding her graphite bowcase under her arm as she acted like a human female, teetering up the gangplank.

He frowned. “Uh, don’t you have equipment you need to have loaded?”

“Nope. We’re all good.”

“Orientation and meet-and-greet is required.”

“Yes, of course.” She could play along, be sociable, or act like she was. “But we need to leave immediately.”

“We’re on river time here.” He offered her a hand she didn’t need as she stepped aboard. “Now, you’re in the seventh cabin, first level, all the way fore in the bow. Here’s the key—”

She snatched it from him. “I’ll double—triple—your fare if we leave this instant.”

He narrowed those gray eyes. “Quadruple it, and you’ll see a big-ass boat go fast.”

“Agreed.” This heartened her. Mortals who were motivated by money were controllable.

As the captain hastened to the pilothouse, calling out for someone named Chuck to “kick her in the guts!” Lucia climbed to the observation deck. She shaded her eyes with her hand, scanning for MacRieve. Iquitos was the most populous city in the world that couldn’t be reached by road. Only boat and air traffic in or out, difficult to get to in the best of circumstances. Maybe she’d lost him.

The ship’s diesel engines fired up, coughing black smoke as they sputtered, but they stayed running. Travis began reversing from the shore, narrowly missing a floating gas station, then he increased the speed. The ship surged backward, water swamping the back platform that stretched the width of the boat.

The entire hull groaned, the motion sending Lucia tilting toward the railing. As she balanced herself, she craned her head around, eyes wary.

Nothing. After several heartbeats, Travis shifted gears, and the Contessa ground forward. Finally, Lucia breathed a sigh of relief. They were under way. She was on a boat heading out on the Amazon after flying all the way from across the world, in record time.

Really, how could the Lykae have headed her off here? There was no way he could catch her.

And her trail would grow colder in the days to come. She climbed down to the first level for her bag, then headed for cabin seven to stow her stuff. Just as she got to the door, her sat-phone chimed with a new text message. She peered at the screen, saw it was from Regin. Gods, she missed her sister and best friend like an ache—

RegRad: We’re not BFFs anymore, Luce. So SUCK IT!

Lucia sighed. At times she understood why others could only take Regin in short doses.

Suddenly, her ears twitched again, which meant someone aboard was possibly about to attack her or that MacRieve was near. She hoped it was the former as she plunked her case down on the deck. Dropping to her knees beside it, she unfastened the titanium latches and yanked free her bow and quiver from their foam padding.

After stringing the bow, she stood once more. She spied something out of the corner of her eye, something glinting in the sun. She glanced up, over toward the shore.

MacRieve. Just there on the rise. To elude him for this long only to be snared now?

His timing. For the love of gods, his timing!

Could he still make the boat? One more dock lay ahead for the Contessa to pass, coming up swiftly, but fifty or sixty feet of water separated it from the boat.

Apparently MacRieve thought he could make the distance—he slung his duffle bag over his body and got that intent look she’d become familiar with. Wait… Did he have blood splattered over one side of his face?

No time to contemplate that; she dashed to the back platform. In a flash, she had her bow up and arrow loaded. His expression turned murderous, and he shook his head slowly, as if vowing retribution.

Damn him! She couldn’t shoot, because she knew he wouldn’t even try to dodge her arrows. He would still do anything to keep her from harm—even as each time she saw him he continued to appear darker, angrier.

And gods help her, sexier.

With a sound of frustration, she lowered her bow. MacRieve had already begun sprinting, gaining superhuman velocity, his massive body moving with the speed and smoothness of an animal.

She swallowed. He was nearing the end of the dock but hadn’t slowed—was pumping his arms for more speed. No. No way he can make this distance, werewolf or not.

Heart in her throat, she watched him spring from the edge in an explosive leap. A second passed… still in the air… momentum hurling him toward her spot—

Just short! He landed chest-first against the side of the platform, his black claws digging into the teakwood.

After wincing at the sound of his ribs cracking, she remembered herself and reared back her leg for a swinging punt to his head. But he snatched her ankle with one hand, tossing her to her ass. In a single fluid movement, he sprang to the deck to cover her, pinning her arms—and bow—over her head.

A seething, soaked Lykae was stretched over her, his body a cage of damp, rippling muscles. She grappled to get free, a laughable effort against a being with his strength, but only managed to get as soaked as he was.

What would he do to her? What didn’t she deserve?

“Now, that’s no’ nice, Valkyrie.” His deep voice raked over her as his eyes scanned her face, taking in every feature as if relearning them. “And no way to greet your male.”

“You’re not my male!” He did have blood on his face—now it mingled with the water and sweat trickling down his cheek. “Let me up!”

He kept her pinned. “Missed you these months,” he said. “Again and again.” The double meaning was clear when his eyes flickered ice blue. “But no longer. The game’s changed now, beauty.”

Snared. Somehow the huntress had been hunted to the ground and trapped.

No! She was on a mission to save the world. She’d lose the Lykae and get on with it. She had to.

Or every being on earth would pay for what she’d done—and for what she would never do again…

At that thought, she renewed her struggles beneath him. Oh, gods, MacRieve was getting hard!

In a hushed, threatening tone, he said, “We’ve unfinished business to take care of.”

“I want you off this boat, MacRieve!” Lucia snapped.

Garreth was growing erect, stiffening for her with a swift heat, and she had to feel it. “Do you, then?” His tone was disbelieving—because even now his Lucia was responding to him so sweetly. A blush tinged her high cheekbones, and her pupils were dilated with interest. Her lips parted as she stared at his own.

Then her dazed expression seemed to clear. “Get off me, you brute! If you won’t leave, then I will!”

“You think I’ve searched—and fought and protected you from afar—for this long just to let you go now?” Not from too afar. Moments ago, he’d slaughtered two demon assassins who’d been lying in wait in an alley—for her. They’d had their swords raised, intending to take her head. He’d collected theirs instead.

But now Garreth had her safe in his arms. The urge to squeeze her into his chest grew nigh overwhelming. To have her truly under his watch… after so many months when she’d been in constant danger.

Satisfaction soared within him, and he eased his face down to her mane of glossy hair, taking her scent into him once more.

Gods, nothing smelled as fine as Lucia.

“Are you… smelling my hair?” She sounded aghast. Or titillated. Who could tell with Lucia, the Mistress of Mixed Signals?

His voice was rough when he admitted, “Aye, just one of the things I missed about you.” Just as satisfaction mounted, so did lust. The smell of her hair was almost his undoing. And her body was so soft and warm beneath him.

She squirmed harder, but he wouldn’t budge. “MacRieve, I’m here on important business! Business that doesn’t concern you. If you’re trying to win me over—”

“I’m no’. Gave up on that in the first month.”

She flushed guiltily, which heartened him. Maybe his female wasn’t as cold and unemotional as her vicious sisters, though she’d certainly convinced him otherwise over the last year. “No, my only aim these days is to keep you alive.” They were in the midst of an Accession, and in this treacherous time, she’d come here, to his least favorite place on earth.

And one of the most perilous, even for immortals.

She struggled to free her arms and her bow, brushing her hip against his erection. A pleasured breath escaped him. “I remember the last time we were in this position.” Of their own volition, his hips curled, making her gasp. At her ear, he grated, “I rocked against your sex till you came for me. You feared I’d stop before you could.”

She glanced away, her blush deepening, her squirming intensifying.

“Little to the left, sweet. And harder.”

She cast him a withering glare as she thrashed her arms. “I’ll shoot you so full of arrows—”

He held her tight. “Eventually, you will run out of those.”

“I make my own,” she said between gritted teeth.

“O’ course you do. But I consider your archery our foreplay. So—fire—away.”

“You’ve stalked me, hunted me to the ground. I’m sick of it! I should have shot you when you leapt.”

“Oh, so I’m to be the bad man? Have you forgotten what you’ve done to me? To my family?” And the worst of it hadn’t even occurred until after she’d fled New Orleans. Then the fun had really begun—hijinks and traps all over the world for the last year. “And you should no’ have run from me with no explanation.”

She met his gaze with a mulish look. “I wasn’t running from you. I’ve been doing my own deal. And I didn’t owe you an explanation! Still don’t. Now release me!”

“Maybe you dinna owe me an explanation, but thanking me for saving your life might no’ be too much.”

Instead, her chin jutted.

So that’s how she’s to be? Finally, he allowed her to scramble up but shot to his feet beside her, cupping her nape. “Take me to our cabin.”

“Have you gone insane?”

“Would you blame me if I had after all you’ve done to me? All you’ve denied me, denied us—”

“Who the hell is this?” a male demanded from behind them.

Garreth turned, spied a drunken human. Must be the captain. The man eyed Lucia’s bow and Garreth’s dripping clothes. With the look of a bloke who’d seen it all, he said to Lucia, “Is there a problem, doc?”

Doc? Though the mortal was packing muscle, Lucia had to know that he couldn’t do anything to help her.

Her lips thinned. Oh, aye, she knew better. “No, no problem, Travis.”

This Travis turned to him. “Lemme guess, you’re our obligatory stowaway?”

“New passenger.” Garreth dug into the pocket of his soaked jacket, then handed the man a soggy wad of cash. “Garreth MacRieve.”

Travis glanced from Lucia to Garreth, then to his handful of bills, accepting it with a nod. “We don’t have any cabins left—”

“No’ a problem. I bunk with this one from now on.”

Lucia opened her mouth to protest, but Travis said, “Then welcome the hell aboard.” With that, he turned and climbed back up to the wheelhouse.

Lucia jerked from Garreth’s grasp. “This isn’t over. And if you lay another paw on me, MacRieve, I’ll make you regret it.”

When she turned from him, he laid another paw on her, giving her arse a possessive squeeze, groaning with pleasure; she whirled around and punched him with shocking force in the Adam’s apple, doubling him over as he coughed.

As she hastened away, he grated, “Still doona regret it.”