The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Read online

  “Fetch the plank!”

  The words fell like heavy stones on Tyr’s shoulders but he didn’t slow his pace, didn’t let his posture wither. He stood by the rail of the ship, waiting patiently while his crew rushed to prepare the plank. Ingrid froze and he could almost hear the gears in her mind spinning, processing what was about to happen.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered.

  Tyr said nothing. He’d tried words, and they’d failed him. She’d left him no choice.

  Ingrid shoved against his back, trying to twist her body so she could see his face. Tyr kept a firm grip on her, just enough to keep her over his shoulder, but not enough to stop her from looking at him. Let her see his face. Let her see how serious he was. She would see only the mask. Nothing more than the mask.

  “You’ll never catch the firebird without me.”

  “You said you won’t help me,” Tyr said woodenly. “I have no time for a woman who seeks nothing but my destruction.”

  The plank settled into place, thumping against the rail with a loud crack of finality. Tyr walked over to the beginning of the board and hauled Ingrid up until she got her feet underneath her. She stared at him, green eyes wide, searching his face. He stepped back and gestured for her to walk.

  “You don’t want to be here,” Tyr said quietly. “So go.”

  Ingrid’s lips moved, but no sound came out. She turned her gaze from him, her attention resting on each of the crewmen in turn. Tyr followed her gaze, part of him expecting some of the men to urge her on, to scream at the jinx to leap to her death.

  No one spoke. The crew watched her, uneasiness in their postures, gazes flicking nervously from one to another. From behind the wall he’d built between himself and his emotions, Tyr wondered idly if they were afraid of some sort of witch’s curse if she came to harm. For whatever reason, no one made a sound. Even Smalls remained silent, though Tyr noticed that he refused to meet Ingrid’s eyes.

  “The sea awaits you,” Tyr said finally, needing to get the whole affair over with. His chest tightened, but he ignored it. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “I will not walk this plank,” Ingrid said, her voice hoarse and her eyes too wide.

  Tyr rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Would you like me to help you?”

  He drew the weapon in one smooth, quick motion, aiming the point of the blade at her chest. She gasped and stumbled away from him, her arms pinwheeling as she nearly lost her balance. The board trembled beneath her and she fell to her knees, clinging to the wood and staring out at the dark water as though she could see her death etched in the waves. Tears streamed down her face and she closed her eyes, lowering her forehead to the wood.

  Several long moments dragged by, each one gouging out a piece of Tyr’s heart. He took a step forward, ready to force Ingrid to the end of the plank. As he grew closer, he heard her voice over the breeze coming off the sea.

  “I yield.”

  Tyr paused, all of his attention momentarily focused on keeping his legs from buckling beneath him. “What did you say?”

  Ingrid turned to him, her arms trembling with the ferocity of the grip she had on the board beneath her. The shine was gone from her eyes, the glistening tears the only sign of life in the once vibrant green orbs. “I will help you catch the firebird. And I will stay in my cabin until we reach land.”

  Tyr nodded, the only acknowledgment he allowed himself. He sheathed his sword slowly, not wanting anyone on his crew to see his hands tremble. The silent sobbing that came from Ingrid nearly crushed him, but he kept his face blank as he reached out to gather her in his arms. The first time his hands touched her, she jerked, grip tightening on the plank. Then a choked gasp escaped her throat and she allowed him to pull her into his arms, even clinging to him as he carried her away. The crew parted before him, quiet as a graveyard. The only sounds that accompanied Tyr as he took Ingrid back to his room were her quiet sobs and the eerie sound of his own steady breaths.

  He put her in his bed and pulled the furs up to cover her. As soon as he set her down, she turned away from him, huddling into a ball and burying her face in his pillows. She shook as she cried, every twitch of her bare shoulders an accusation that twisted his frazzled nerves a little tighter. He stepped away, lacking the words to make things right.

  He’d had no choice. Not really. At least, that’s what he told himself as he slowly staggered back to the quarters he’d held since giving up his own cabin to his prisoner. Tyr rubbed a hand over his face and stalked over to drop down onto the bed.

  Pain radiated from where his left hand used to be, a sharp contrast to the warm comfort of her touch earlier. The cursed nub crawled with sensation in a way it never had before, a faint echo of her touch. His lips tingled as he remembered the kiss they’d shared—no doubt their last. The thought stabbed something low in his body, a painful knot that refused to ease. If he’d known earlier how things were going to play out, he might have taken her to his bed. In the end, he was a bastard anyway.

  I’m too old for this. He stared at the ceiling of the small, sparse cabin until his eyelids grew heavy. He kept his eyes open as long as he could, not at all certain he wanted to know what he’d see when he closed them. Finally he couldn’t stay awake any longer, and sleep dragged him to her shadowy depths.

  “Captain?”

  Tyr’s eyes flew open, all traces of sleep shattering like a dingy in a hurricane. His body jerked upright before his brain had even registered what had woken him and he cast his gaze about the room, searching for the source of the disturbance. Smalls stood in the open doorway to his cabin with his cap in his hand, wringing the scrap of wool in a manner that would likely unravel the damn thing.

  “Speak,” Tyr barked, irritated and disoriented at the abrupt awakening.

  Smalls jumped, eyes widening. “It’s the witch, Captain. She’s…not well.”

  Tyr’s heart plummeted to his knees. Ingrid. Cursing a blue streak, he launched himself out of the room, long strides eating up the deck between his cabin and the room where he’d left the witch to sleep. Two of his crew members were hovering outside the closed door, both of them looking as though they’d seen a ghost. Tyr opened his mouth to order them away, but was cut off by a wail coming from inside the room. The men, including Tyr, jumped, all of them staring at the door to Tyr’s quarters.

  It was a sound that shouldn’t come from a human being. A long, keening cry so full of misery and despair that only a shade from beyond the grave should have been able to manage it. Tyr swallowed hard as a cold chill flowed over his skin, raising goosebumps on his flesh. He gestured for his men to leave and they scattered like a school of fish, leaving him alone to open the door to his room.

  Ingrid lay on the floor beside the bed. Her face and hands were pressed to the wood, her hair falling around her like a fountain of blood. She’d torn her dress off until there wasn’t a stitch between her and the floor of the cabin, and the moonlight streaming through the portholes in the ship turned her body into a work of art, all smooth, pale lines and soft, undulating shadows. Tyr closed the door behind him and locked it before taking a tentative step inside.

  “Ingrid?” he whispered.

  Another long, mournful cry was his only answer. She pressed herself harder against the floor and he winced at the thought of what the unpolished wood must be doing to her sensitive flesh. He moved closer, one careful, quiet step at a time until he could kneel down beside her. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out to slide his hands under her body, gently lifting her into his arms.

  Ingrid cried out again, reaching feebly for the floor. Broken sobs escaped her throat and her body trembled violently. Tyr hissed at the myriad of small cuts on her legs, breasts, stomach, and arms. The scent of copper poisoned the perfume of apples that usually wafted from her skin. He hauled her up and carried her to the bed, gently placing her on the sheets.

  Her green eyes were open, but sunken, staring sightlessly into the night
. Her face glistened with sweat, the pale tone of her skin no longer a beautiful porcelain, but a deathly pallor not often seen this side of the grave. Her lips had lost all color and she swallowed convulsively as if it were hard to breathe.

  Tyr left her on the bed and strode to his dresser to retrieve the medical supplies he kept there. As he withdrew the satchel with the bandages, his hand brushed against a wooden box. He paused, staring down at the small chest. Something inside him made him pick it up, filled him with the urge to bring the meager treasure to Ingrid. He lifted the chest almost reverently, mind filling with memories inspired by what he knew was inside. Slowly, he carried it back to Ingrid.

  As soon as he lifted the lid, Ingrid’s trembling stopped. Her head lolled to the side, turning in the direction of the chest and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to focus. Tyr’s heart pounded, encouraged by her response. He held the chest out to her until the moonlight fell on its contents.

  It was a symbol of Tyr’s naïveté. A few handfuls of dirt with a tiny brown thread that had once been a seedling. He’d bought it years ago, a pathetic attempt to recapture some of the comfort of home. The sprout had never stood a chance of becoming an apple tree, had never stood a chance of surviving at all, but somehow, on that particularly grey and dreary afternoon, Tyr had not been able to resist. He’d brought the would-be sapling onto his ship and tried to care for it far past the point when he’d known it was dead. He stared at the chest of dirt and the remains of the dead plant. He’d never quite been able to force himself to throw it away.

  Ingrid groped for the chest and he held it still until her fingers found the soil. A deep breath filled her lungs, seeming to draw the scent of the dirt deep into her body. Tyr kicked himself, only just making the connection.

  She was an earth witch. He’d brought her out to sea knowing it would cut her off from her power, but he hadn’t thought beyond that, thought to just how much being so far away from land would affect her. He glanced at Ingrid’s naked body and then at the floor, reasoning that she’d likely been trying to get as close to the earth as possible—a pathetic feat considering how much sea sat between her and her precious energy source.

  The scent of fresh apples wafted past his nose and Tyr jerked his head around, his eyes widening as his gaze landed on the chest. The seedling…was alive. Pathetic yes, not more than a tiny green shoot no bigger than a blade of grass, but it was alive. Alive and smelling more of an orchard than anything that tiny and insignificant had a right to. Even the soil seemed richer, darker, as if it had just soaked up a summer rain. He stared at the seedling and then at Ingrid.

  She lay there, staring at the seedling. Her shivers had stopped, but she still looked too pale, and the small cuts on her body were beaded with blood. Tyr eased the witch hazel from the pouch and poured some of it on a clean cloth. He watched Ingrid’s face as he began to clean her cuts, but she didn’t respond, didn’t wince at the sting or even look at what he was doing.

  Unsure of how to proceed, he focused on cleaning her cuts and nothing else. There was little point to bandaging the small wounds, and none of them bled more than a drop or two.

  He lost himself in his task, his mind devoid of anything but the sharp, stinging scent of witch hazel, the red richness of Ingrid’s blood, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, on the silky softness of Ingrid’s skin.

  “Would you have done it?”

  Tyr’s hand stilled, witch hazel-soaked cloth pressed to a series of smaller cuts on the side of Ingrid’s left breast. He didn’t have to ask what she meant.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. He slowly turned his gaze to meet hers, proud when he didn’t flinch at the vulnerability in her green eyes. “I value no one’s life more than my own, Ingrid.” He looked back at the cloth. “I tried to tell you that.”

  Ingrid nodded slowly. “You did.” She looked away from him, staring at the plant. “I won’t forget it again.”

  Chapter Four

  Something hot cradled Ingrid’s hip, a touch that melted her insides and left her feeling restless and needy. She opened her mouth on a gasp and the grip tightened, a new source of heat claiming her mouth. A kiss unlike anything she’d ever experienced stole her breath, drew the air out of her lungs until she chased after it, returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her tongue entwined with another, breath mingling amidst a flutter of tiny nips and licks. Her heart pounded in a thundering beat, the vibration making her hyper-aware of the warm chest pressed against her bare skin.

  She tangled her fingers in longish hair as she held her lover’s face closer, keeping him locked in the never-ending kiss. The warm weight against her hip slid down her thigh, lifting her leg to allow the heavy, weight of her lover’s body to settle more firmly between her legs. The sudden increase in pressure against her aching center made her throw her head back, breaking the kiss as her lips parted, waves of pleasure crackling along her nerves. A masculine groan tickled her ears and then wet heat started at her jaw line and traveled down her neck.

  “Ingrid.”

  The man’s voice was hoarse, a plea ripped from his very center. The grip on her thigh grew more insistent, the weight between her legs meeting the thrusting of her hips, the tide of pleasure rising to an almost insurmountable height. Ingrid blinked as the familiar voice pulled her out of the erotic haze that had muddled her mind.

  Tyr’s head slowly came into focus. His silvered blond hair brushed her jaw as he continued to lay a path of heated kisses down her neck, across her throat. His calloused right hand gripped her thigh, holding her in place as he rocked against her, deep groans rasping past his lips with every thrust. What was left of his other arm was under her body, pressed against her back as he dragged her harder against his chest.

  “What…?” Ingrid tried to speak, but pleasure melted every thought that tried to form. She put her hands on Tyr’s shoulders, hesitating before pushing at him. She didn’t want him to stop…did she? He was in her bed, she must have—

  The memory of the night before came roaring back like the kraken exploding from the surface of the cursed sea. She remembered standing on the plank, Tyr holding a sword at her back, ushering her to her death in the icy waters. The whole crew looking on as her pride broke under the weight of her fear and she begged for her life, promised to bow down to him during the voyage.

  Anger beat like a second heartbeat inside her as she remembered going back to her room, her panic feeding on itself until she reached out for the earth to comfort her—and remembered how far she was from her land. Humiliation burned her cheeks. She’d torn off her clothes and pressed herself to the floor of the ship, mad with the need to be closer to land, as close as she could get. It was so far under the water. Too far.

  And that was how he’d found her. Naked and pathetic, no doubt crying out like a child. Her anger burned hotter, burning away the pleasure. After all that, he’d had the gall to climb into her bed? To take her in his arms as if she were some sort of wanton bar wench?

  “Get off of me!” She shrieked the words, turning the bits of sound into sharpened projectiles.

  Tyr froze, his mouth still open against her skin so she could feel every ragged breath. He stayed there for a minute and his eyelashes swept her flesh as he blinked. He tilted his head up to look at her and she gritted her teeth at the pleasure warring with confusion in his eyes.

  “Get. Off. Of. Me.” She sliced each word off with the most cutting tone she could manage, filling her eyes with all the ire she had in her.

  Tyr’s eyes widened and he looked down at her naked body as if just realizing where he was. He hissed in a sudden breath and tore his hand from her thigh, used it to shove himself from the bed. He stumbled as he regained his feet and Ingrid’s cheeks blazed with fresh humiliation as she noticed his breeches were damp where they’d been pressed against her. She pointed at the door with a trembling hand.

  “Out.”

  “Ingrid, if you’ll just let me think for a moment.” Tyr ran a hand through his h
air. “Er, it would seem I owe you an apology?” He frowned, noticeably fighting the urge to stare at her exposed flesh.

  Ingrid jerked the bed furs up to cover her nude body, barely resisting the urge to shred them in a fit of temper. “You bastard. You threaten to kill me for disrespecting you and then you crawl into my bed as if you have every right to be there. How dare you hold me to promises made under duress when you yourself break every promise you make.”

  “I broke no promises.” Tyr’s voice was a deep bass, still coarse with what could have been sleep or passion.

  Ingrid pressed her lips together, the fog of anger clouding her mind making it difficult to form a coherent argument. “If leaping into my bed whenever you please is not violating your promise of gentlemanly behavior, then am I to assume this is part of what you meant when you warned me I must show you respect? Would it be disrespectful not to spread my thighs for you whenever you will it?”

  Tyr went completely, perfectly still but for a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I would never force myself on a woman.”

  Ingrid gathered herself to sit as tall as she could, pretending she wasn’t curled up naked in his bed. “Putting aside the fact that you seem to think threatening my life doesn’t make you just as much of a bastard as trying to force your way into my bed, are you suggesting that I invited this seduction? Because I assure you, I have no such memory.”

  He looked away then, shifting from foot to foot. “You were in a bad state last night. I didn’t want to leave you. I meant only to stay and keep you safe, I did not mean…” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair again. “I was sleeping,” he mumbled. “Don’t remember starting any of it.”

  “How convenient.” Ingrid clutched the furs tighter to her chest. “Then I’m to believe you would have seen me drown with no problem, but a few cuts had you worried enough to climb into my bed?”

  The skin around Tyr’s eyes tightened, the same muscle in his jaw twitching as though he were fighting back a hot retort. He shook his head, still not looking at Ingrid. “I won’t stand here and argue with you. I’ll respect your wishes and leave.”