The Legacy Series (Volume 2)

By Sheritta Bitikofer

The Pirate - 1717; James Lent, better known as the Devil Dog of the Caribbean, is one of the most fearsome pirates known to stalk the sea. Only his quartermaster knows his darkest secret that he's not just a brave captain, but a werewolf. Things begin to get complicated when he holds the daughter of the governor of Kingston for ransom - this cold and ruthless pirate's heart begins to soften. They don't get better when he needs to outrun an infamous pirate hunter, Bart Croxen. Torn between freedom and love, the Devil Dog must decide his fate before someone else does.  

The Native - 1734; Adam, the mixed child of a Navajo woman and European trader, makes the unsettling discovery that he is not any normal man. When Geoffrey Swenson shows back up to the village, prompted to visit his son for the first time since boyhood, it's for a more disquieting reason. Adam is coming into his true identity as a werewolf and must leave behind his old ways of life, his traditions, and everything he's known to train with his estranged father. But with a new sickness sweeping through the tribes, leaving may prove harder than they ever imagined.  

The Irishman - 1770; Dustin Keith only wants two things in life: to have fun and marry his childhood sweetheart. When he finally wins the approval of her traditional father, he thinks that things couldn't get better. But when what should have been a blissful wedding night turns into a walking nightmare, Dustin must come to grips with a part of himself that hearkens back to the old-world superstitions he thought he could leave behind when he said his vows.  

The Scholars - 1791; Geoffrey and Adam Swenson are imprisoned on a ship, bound for Australia - then known as New Holland - under bogus criminal charges pressed against them in England. After they escape and flee from the budding settlement of New South Wales, they find that they are not the only werewolves on this strange and dangerous new continent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moonstruck Writing
• Release date: Nov 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781946821362

Sheritta Bitikofer

Sheritta Bitikofer is a paranormal romance author of eclectic tastes with a passion for storytelling. Her goal with each book is to rebel against shallow intimacy and inspire courage through the power of love and soulful passion. Her biggest thrill comes when she presents love in a genuine light, where the protagonists not only feel a physical attraction to one another, but a deep emotional (and dare we say spiritual?) connection that fuels their relationship forward into something that will endure much longer than the last pages of their novel. A devoted wife and fur-mama to two shelter rescue dogs, Sheritta’s life is never dull. When she’s not writing her next novel, she can be found binge-watching her favorite shows on Netflix, doing Zumba with her friends, or painting at a medieval reenactment event.

Book preview

Chapter One

Windward Passage, Caribbean - 1717

---

Well, Captain, Patrick said in his Irish cadence, you were right. Three masts, twenty guns, and English. The Irishman collapsed the spyglass and turned to his captain beside him. You never cease to impress me the way you can tell the cut of her jib that way.

James, whose keen ears and nose were focused upon their prey, paid no mind to his quartermaster’s compliment. Patrick should have known he could foretell such things as the crew’s country of port and how heavily armed they were before the first flicker of canvas appeared over the watery horizon. All he needed was the wind to carry the voices and distinct scents of iron and gunpowder to him. It wasn’t a merchant vessel, nor was it part of the English Navy. The galleon, by far, was larger but not nearly as equipped as James’ ship. Its hulls were bursting with provisions and gold, things his crew needed. And for that, he wouldn’t ignore the prize that awaited them.

The ship had endured a long journey from England and the food in their stores weren’t quite fresh, but his crew was itching for a fight. And a fight, they would have.

Steer her closer, Pat, James commanded.

Aye, sir.

The quartermaster hurried to relay the instructions to their navigator, a French sailor they had filched off a merchant vessel they attacked a few weeks ago. Luckily, Louis Noir was so fed up with the lack of respect on his former ship that James had to impart little convincing.

James turned to see the rest of his crew, a ragtag lot of pirates if there ever was one, looking to him with expectant stares. Men, whose faces were marked by the arduous life on the seas and whose clothes were tattered and patched together, relied completely upon his leadership. Nearly a week of stagnant boredom with no money and only hardtack to eat, had left them eager for a new conquest. James couldn’t blame them. He had been rationing himself on the dried jerky the cook made especially for him, just so he wouldn’t starve either. After they took this prize, they could return to port with their pockets full and replenish the supplies they desperately needed.

He let a slow smile curl across his lips, a wordless signal that they should prepare to board. Men from all nations and walks of life, gave shouts of delight and scrambled to their stations. Guns were prepped, cutlasses and muskets retrieved from the holds below, and the deck cleared of ropes and everything else that would get in their way.

The Burning Rose eased on a course to intercept the English vessel, her two masts of canvas full with the wind to carry them across the expanse of sea. James hopped up onto the railing, steadying himself with the starboard ratlines as the salty breeze caressed his tanned face and played in his dark hair like a devoted lover. His affair with the sea had been long and intimate, but James never grew tired of her company or the many blessings and curses she hurled his way. It was the only place he was welcome, the only place he could call a home.

His hazel eyes fixed upon the vessel as he listened closely to the conversations, not only on his own deck, but upon theirs.

He could hear the commotion as they soon discovered that they were not alone. The captain and some dandy of an Englishman were discussing the ship they had spotted. James’ ship. The captain was wary, but his noble guest was less inclined to think there was any trouble ahead. Neither of them knew the danger that was headed their way.

On the quarterdeck, Patrick began to shout his orders to the rigging crew, those agile men who scurried up and down the ropes, tightening the lines that held the sails taut in place. The crew of The Burning Rose had been specially handpicked by the captain himself. No coward was conscripted, no man who couldn’t prove his salt before the mast would be allowed to step foot on his deck. Only the bravest, the strongest, the toughest of sailors and pirates were tolerated. James would have it no other way. He expected no less from them than what he could do himself. Of course, not all men were like him.

As the English ship came closer, he could make out the name painted on its stern and see the disconcerted faces of the sailors staring over the railing. The captain, standing tall on his own quarterdeck, pulled out his cone and shouted, Who are you and where do you port?

James did not reply, though every man on his ship could have heard the inquiry over the creaking of the rigs and crashing of waves at the bow as they cut through the water. Instead, he turned to his crew and ordered, Raise the colors, lads!

With big grins, two of his crew yanked up their flag. A red, snarling wolf against the black fabric should tell the mariners exactly who he was. No captain alive didn’t know the flag of The Devil Dog.

As soon as the galleon crew laid eyes upon the flag, a frenzy broke out and all hands made ready to surrender. Even the captain’s shoulders seemed to drop at the sight of who was about to intercept him. The dandy beside him, with his long dark, curly wig and wide-brimmed hat, was not so deterred.

James laughed at the scene that unfolded as the captain and the man he was escorting, began to argue over the decision to turn their rudder to the pirates or stand and defend their right to pass through safely. Whoever this nobleman was, he didn’t have a clue who he was up against.

When the ship didn’t raise the white flag of surrender, Patrick came to James’ side for orders.

Should we fire a warnin’ shot, captain? he asked.

James only shook his head. It’d be a waste. I’ll give them one more chance.

And with that, the captain threw back his head and let out his signature howl, the kind that echoed across the Caribbean for miles around. It was a warning and a promise that whoever lay in the path of this wolf, would not escape so easily. Even the bravest of seafarers shivered in their boots at the sound of The Devil Dog’s howl. Only his crew, confident that their captain would ensure them an easy victory, shouted with pride at its haunting tune.

Pandemonium exploded across the English vessel and the captain finally gave the orders to run up the white flag of surrender. The nobleman protested, but James could hear the slight quiver in his voice when he did so. He’d soon see why the rest of the crew were stricken with fear.

The English vessel came to a full stop and it didn’t take long for The Burning Rose to come alongside her. James’ crew - his pack - screamed out threats and jeers as they tossed their grappling hooks across the railings to pull the ships together.

James was the first to hop over, brandishing his cutlass and pistol as he charged straight for the captain. The rest of his crew swarmed across the deck, disarming the sailors and hurrying into the open hatches that led to the stores below. He could smell their terror, a potent aroma better than any exotic spice the Caribbean could offer.

The captain pulled out his sword and dropped it as James and Patrick came upon them on the quarterdeck by the helm. The man beside him did not surrender his pistol, but stood like a fool before his attackers with his chin high and coat unsullied by the toils of labor – unlike the captain and crew around him.

James raised his cutlass and pointed the tip to the dandy’s throat. You’d be wise to follow your captain’s lead, mate.

Patrick busied himself with apprehending the captain and interrogating him on what supplies they could plunder from the holds.

The dandy snorted and spat at the ground between him and the pirate captain. James gave a wicked grin at the man’s audacity, but he would not let such an insult go unpunished. With a quick flick of his sword, James sliced into the man’s neck just above his ruff. Not enough to make him bleed out, but enough to leave a scar so he’d never forget the day he spit at The Devil Dog.

The man cried out like a ninny and stumbled back to press his hand over the cut.

I’ll give you one more chance, James bellowed. Drop your weapon or I’ll drop it for you.

Damn it, Edward, the captain shouted from the helm where Patrick detained him, don’t be an idiot. Drop your sword.

With wide eyes, Edward looked from James to his captain who had kept him safe on this journey so far. He placed his pistol to the deck and raised his free hand to admit defeat.

James did not lower his own weapon, but kept a close ear out as his crew began to transfer the goods to The Burning Rose. Rum, gold, and salted meat were just some of the precious bounty they acquired without having to fire a single shot. Just how he preferred it. You were headed to Kingston, he stated. Why? You can’t be going for trade, so are you some important person I should know?

He never failed to see an opportunity when it was presented. Holding an official for ransom was another easy way to get the kind of money they needed. With a reputation like his, any governor would give his right arm just so The Devil Dog would leave him be.

Edward and his escort exchanged befuddled looks, wondering how the pirate could have possibly known where they were going. The captain was more ready to answer, knowing that The Devil Dog had his own unique way of loosening tongues.

The governor’s daughter is holding a ball for her birthday, he said. This man intends to propose.

James scoffed at the idea. He had heard of Governor Norrie’s spirited daughter and this poor excuse for a man would find his name added to the long list of refusals. From what talk he heard in the taverns all across the Caribbean, she was certainly a prize to win, but a tough one at that.

I’ll save you the embarrassment, James said before turning to Patrick. Disable their ship, cut their sails, and send a shot through their waterline. Make sure they don’t make it to land for a good while.

Patrick laughed and shouted the orders to some of the men on the deck. They, in turn, did as their captain ordered and made sure that ship wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

James lifted his sword and snagged the tip on the rim of Edward’s hat. It flew off of the dandy’s head, exposing his pale face to the harsh Caribbean sun. Is the governor expecting you? the pirate asked as he took the hat for himself and fastened it over his brow, casting a shadow across his face.

Edward, still brazen even after the cut on his neck continued to bleed. Yes, he replied, his voice hard and challenging. If I don’t arrive, they’ll come searching for me.

James grinned. I doubt it, mate. In any case, you will arrive to the ball. It just won’t be you.

Even Patrick shot him a questioning look.

A wicked game began to take shape in the pirate’s scheming mind. If this lass was such a prize to be won, then why not make a run for it himself?

What’s your surname?

Whether nonplussed by the pirate’s confusing speech, or finally coming to the realization that this was not a pirate to trifle with, Edward answered, Corbet.

In a grand gesture, James swept the hat from his head and bowed low. Then, my name will be Edward Corbet. For the evening at least.

Patrick, catching on to his captain’s plan, let out a great belly laugh that James echoed. When he straightened from his bow, he let the inhuman coldness wash over his eyes. One last memento of their first encounter.

Edward’s mouth gaped open at the sight of the golden, wolfish glare that fixed upon him. There was a reason James was known as The Devil Dog and this powder-wetting, bigwig landlubber wouldn’t soon forget it.

Governor’s Mansion, Kingston Jamaica

---

Grace lost track of how many men she had danced with. Five, six perhaps? They all blurred together in a mass of boldly colored coats and dark wigs, covered in a thick smog of cologne and bad breath. Through the mass of moving bodies as they danced another slow, boring reel, she only knew one thing. She wanted to be anywhere else but there.

The party was for her, but no matter how much she begged her father and mother to leave her be, they insisted that she needed to celebrate her birthday in the proper fashion. What they didn’t know, was that she knew all along this had nothing to do with her birthday.

Grace was of marrying age and she couldn’t stay under her father’s roof for much longer. The governor’s mansion in Kingston served as a finer home than the crowded streets of London, but it was her father’s hope that her future husband would take even better care of her.

The greater question was if she could even find a man whom she could tolerate – and who would tolerate her. So far, all of the potential suitors her father had thrown her way proved to be nothing but useless dandies with no sense of humor. Their noses had taken permanent residence high in the air. None of them were appealing in the least.

This ball was just another ploy to get her to pick a man and Grace wouldn’t waste her precious time hoping for much. The elegant dresses, the powdered wigs, polished shoes, and feathered hats served as reminders of everything she hated about being the governor’s daughter and part of the upper-class society of Kingston.

Things were so much easier when they weren’t so wealthy and important. She could run around and beat up the boys who called her names, all without fear of breaking some cardinal socialite sin. Grace rued the day when her father found favor in the king’s court and he was appointed the governor of the new port city in Jamaica. The only enjoyable part of the transition might have been the long journey across the Atlantic. As soon as she stepped foot onto the docks, her entire life changed for the worse. Now, she could only gaze out over an endless sea of corsets, lace, satin, and dainty things that she thought were silly.

The reel ended. She curtsied to the man, whose name she had already forgotten, and turned to walk back toward the wall where men and women congregated in their segregated groups to gossip and talk politics. Grace didn’t belong here and for the millionth time, she tugged at the rigid bodice, willing it to settle comfortably over her frame.

Well? a faint voice asked from behind her. What do you think of Monsieur Chastain?

Grace turned to meet her only friend, a petite girl a year or so younger than her. The daughter of a noted cobbler in Kingston, Lydia was the first person Grace invited to her party. She made this gathering bearable.

Grace let out a sigh. Was that his name? she questioned with a roll of her eyes. He’s no different than the man I first danced with.

Lydia’s blonde brows furrowed. You mean Mr. Rochester? Surely Monsieur Chastain was more handsome and agreeable than Mr. Rochester. That man looks as if he has a hot iron up his –

They are all disagreeable to my eyes, Grace interrupted, though she would have loved to see the faces of her father’s wealthy merchant friends in reaction to Lydia’s colorful metaphor.

Lydia’s gaze flickered upward for a moment before she reached up to pinch a bit of Grace’s bright red hair that must have slipped out of place. She quickly swatted her friend’s hand away. Oh, leave it, she whined. I’ve been waiting for this tower to fall down all evening. Mother’s servants were fussing with it for hours.

Lydia shot her a look. If I were you, I wouldn’t complain so much. You are incredibly lucky to have such opportunities. I’d do anything short of piracy to have what you have.

Grace let her gaze wander across the ballroom as dancers lined up for another set. If only you were a bit taller, then we could dye your hair and switch places.

I’m sure I can have my father fit me with a pair of tall shoes.

The girls giggled, knowing they could never get away with such a plan. Even if Grace and Lydia could somehow exchange lives, just for a day, it wouldn’t satisfy her. Even the life of a cobbler’s daughter wouldn’t suit Grace. Her heart longed for the open air, freedom, and things a woman should never want. It was scandalous to think that she could break free from her stays and go where she willed, without husband or family to tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Yet, Grace dreamed of it anyway.

The two people in her life who wanted to crush that dream were far too busy in their own circles to even notice that she was sitting out a dance for the first time all evening. Her feet, aching and throbbing, needed a rest after executing the complicated steps that had been drilled into her head.

As the small threesome band tuned their instruments in the balcony that overlooked the ballroom, Grace’s eyes fell upon a man who was just entering the hall. He neither wore a wig, nor an obnoxious hat like the others. Instead, his thick, slightly wavy ebony hair was tied behind him with a plain black ribbon, much like she had seen on the young soldiers and sailors. His coat and everything beneath was moderate in terms of style, but nothing about the man himself could ever be considered average.

His broad shoulders and thick chest told her that he must have been a laborer of some kind, but he carried himself like a dignitary. He held his chin up, his stare intense and presence commanding. He held his hands behind his back and only gave the slightest of bows when addressing the men who greeted him. He neither spoke, nor made conversation as he slowly ambled across the ballroom. There was a confidence in his stride that captured her attention. He walked as if he owned the mansion. Perhaps he was a captain or lieutenant in the army. He had the looks of a great leader.

His face was tanned, as if he had spent years in the hot, unforgiving sun but it was a compliment to his handsome features rather than a detriment. His eyes, above all, an arresting shade that was a strange mix of brown and green, made Grace’s attention linger a little longer than she should have.

When the stranger met her gaze, he came to a full stop. Bodies moved between them, but his focus never wavered. Grace felt her heart beat faster within her chest the longer their eyes were fixed upon one another and the room seemed as if it would tilt out from under her feet at any moment.

A few seconds ticked by like hours, and then he smiled to her. There wasn’t a more charming smile in all of the Caribbean. No, in all the world. Even if Grace met every man who ever lived, they could never give her such a blessing as this stranger did with a simple smile.

For once in her life, she felt as if she would faint. Grace always thought those women who fainted at the slightest inconvenience were nonsensical.

Lydia grabbed hold of her arm. Are you all right? she asked.

There wasn’t an accurate reply to such a question. She wasn’t sure whether she was floating on a cloud, or on her way to falling to a merciless fate at the hands of this stranger who was now walking toward her.

Grace broke eye contact with the man long enough to give Lydia an errand to fetch her a glass of brandy. The blonde, still oblivious to what could be the matter with her friend, hurried away and left Grace alone to receive the stranger.

He stopped in front of her and the world slowed to a halt. She could have easily extended her hand and touched the rough fabric of his black coat to make sure he was real, and not some phantom sent to make her world spin off kilter.

You’ll have to forgive me, he said, his voice so deep and mesmerizing that all other noises in the room were mute to her. I can’t recall what would be appropriate here. Do I introduce myself first, or should you?

It took a moment for Grace to fully register that this was no fantasy, and he really was speaking to her. This man, of lower class than her, judging by the utter lack of refinery in his attire, was addressing her and neither of her parents or close associate was there to do the formal thing and introduce them.

Does it matter? she asked, wondering if her words were loud enough for him to hear. She certainly couldn’t hear herself. The stranger had stolen her voice with just one look.

He must have understood her because his smile widened and he took a step closer. I suppose not. The man bowed at the waist, a little deeper than she had seen him do before. My name is Edward Corbet.

Grace’s heart skittered. This was one of the men her father had spoken of, but this was not what she had been expecting. According to her father, Edward Corbet was the epitome of nobility in London. He was wealthier than the governor, that was for sure, but this man before her didn’t dress like other men of his class. A man of his stature would have never forgotten the rules of introduction either. Could there be another Edward Corbet?

After a pause, she pushed aside the thought and curtsied for the stranger who had unwittingly wooed her without ever speaking a word. Grace Norrie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Corbet.

The pleasure is all mine, he replied.

The world slowly came back into focus and the lighthearted cords of the violin in the balcony reminded Grace exactly where she was. Her eyes darted to the spot where her father had been moments ago and she was grateful to find he was still talking with the other men he had invited to the ball.

My father mentioned you, she said, feeling as if she needed to fill the silence between them. He said you sailed all the way from England to be here.

Edward nodded, his eyes dancing with delight. I did, and you were certainly worth the journey.

Grace’s cheeks felt warm and she wondered if he could see her blush through the powder that had been applied to her face before the party. I should tell you that flattery will do you no good, Mr. Corbet.

He took a daring step closer and she could almost feel his breath on her face. Then tell me what will get me within your good graces and I will surely do it.

The challenge in his gaze sparked a fire within her, where a want for adventure had once been. Perhaps, despite his prominent reputation and high class, Edward Corbet could be that adventure for her.

She flashed him a simpering smile and jerked her chin toward the dance floor where the others were still assembling for the next set. Dance with me.

The list of rules they had broken within such a short time was growing longer and longer. No woman was to ask a man to dance. What right did she have to demand or request his consideration? It was his honor to dance with her, not the other way around.

Yet, Edward didn’t seem to care for the rules either. He nodded his consent and they walked side by side to join the other guests as they took places across from their partners.

When the band struck up the first tunes, Grace forgot all about her aching feet. She spun with Edward, their arms intertwining as they stepped close and pulled apart again in time with the music. His touch was like wildfire across her skin, warm and enticing. She longed for each moment they drew nearer, and felt her heart squeeze each time they were separated in the dance.

The sentiment seemed to be mutual in Edward and each time she came to face him, she could see the smoldering, ravenous look in his eyes. Though each step was carefully placed, Grace could feel her body tremble with a need for him that she never imagined she could feel.

You dance well, he said when they came to circle one another, their hands firmly clasped as if a hurricane were ready to blow them apart again.

As do you, she replied breathlessly.

They stepped away and weaved through the other dancers until they came together again. Something tells me that you aren’t fond of it, though.

Grace smiled. And what makes you think that? He was completely right, but she wasn’t about to admit so. Dancing with him was still more enjoyable than dancing with the other men there that night. They entwined their arms and she let out a slow, airy breath as his hand brushed against the rigid fabric of her bodice. Even through the layers of clothes, his touch was exhilarating.

Edward leaned in, much closer than any man should have, until his lips nearly grazed the outside of her ear. Your heart is miles away, isn’t it? Away from this house, away from this town and everyone you know.

Grace swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath, though he was stealing it from her very chest. So, what if it is?

They broke away and came to stand in their respective rows. His absence was keenly felt, though his eyes roamed over her like a forbidden caress. Now, Grace couldn’t tell if her face was flushed from embarrassment or the exertion of the dance.

He wasn’t able to answer her question until they rejoined in the middle again. I could help you, he promised. I can take you there, where you long to go.

Was he serious? Could he take her away from this place? Would he, if she asked? One look into his eyes, rimmed in a dark golden hue that encircled the rich hazel, she knew he wasn’t lying. How could he know her most secret longing to escape? How much did he know about the black nights spent lying awake and wishing that she were someone else? Could he really change all of that for her?

Whatever feelings were betrayed through her own sapphire gaze, he must have known what she would say next.

Take me, she whispered.

But when they stepped away, the dance was cut short. On the other side of the hall, she heard her father raise his voice in anger toward one of their servants.

What are you talking about? he demanded, drawing the attention of half the assembly. Even the band’s melody came to an awkward, out of tune stop.

Grace was too far away to hear what their head servant, Mr. Stevens, was saying. Yet, from his pinched and troubled expression, it couldn’t have been good. She turned to tell Mr. Corbet that she would be right back after attending to her father, but he was gone. A quick search through the crowd left her frantic. It was as if Edward had vanished like the phantom she had suspected him to be.

Gone? her father bellowed, summoning her back from her own crisis. She weaved her way through the guests to come to his side just as her mother did.

What’s wrong, Mr. Norrie? her mother asked, probably more troubled by the fact that he was causing a scene at their daughter’s birthday party.

The governor, his mouth set in a vicious scowl, did his best to control his temper. We’ve been robbed, he grumbled to his wife. Mr. Stevens found our private bedroom doors open. Your jewelry is gone.

Grace watched as the color drained from her mother’s face, but the woman didn’t gasp or shriek as she might have expected. Instead, she calmly nodded in understanding. And the money boxes?

Her father didn’t have to confirm it. He only looked to the ceiling and then grabbed Mr. Stevens by the arm to pull him aside, away from the party guests who were watching the commotion. Grace, totally unconcerned about the money or jewels that were stolen, rushed to her mother’s side and took her cold hands.

Do you want me to fetch your smelling salts? she asked, knowing that her mother was given to fainting spells at the slightest trauma.

Mrs. Norrie gripped Grace’s hand and shook her head. No, I’ll be fine… Who was that man you were dancing with? I didn’t recognize him.

Grace looked around the room one more time, searching for Edward in vain. That was Edward Corbet, mother. Father spoke about him, remember?

Her mother donned a look of puzzlement. Mr. Corbet of London? That wasn’t Mr. Corbet, she said. He looked nothing like the man. Besides, the Mr. Corbet I met would never have been seen at a formal party like this without his wig.

Grace’s lips parted in confusion. If that wasn’t Mr. Corbet, then who was he?

Her mother had no answer for her, and Grace was sure that no one else would either. If they did know the man, he would have been stopped several times before coming to address her.

Even if the stranger she danced with wasn’t Edward Corbet, there was no denying that he had awakened something inside Grace and it would not be contained. He had been completely right when he said her heart was far away from Kingston and Jamaica. Neither was it in England. It was hidden in that unnamable place between the unknown and undiscovered, waiting for her to find and reclaim it.

She was without husband, without any means of supporting herself, but Grace knew she could stay under her father’s roof no longer. A plan began to form, growing and maturing so quickly like that raging fire the stranger had started in her soul. And it would only consume her if she stayed locked away in this world of etiquette and impractical rules.

Grace would make her escape. Perhaps not tonight while her father continued to fume about his stolen property, but soon. Very soon.

Chapter Two

Port city of Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, Three Weeks Later

---

Be back on this deck by dawn or I’ll keelhaul your bombed arses myself! James shouted as most of his crew filed down the gangplank in a not so orderly fashion. They dissipated into the throngs of other sailors on the docks of St. Thomas, eager for a drink and a little catting to reward themselves after taking another merchant galleon the previous day.

I’ve seen him do it! Patrick added, pointing an accusing finger at one of the more rowdy of the crew who was known for getting a little too sloshed on the rum at this particular port. Charlotte Amalie, formerly known as Taphus and a known hub for those looking to trade and barter black ivory from Africa, had always been an old haunt for James and whatever crew he sailed with at the time. He was on his fourth rotation of men now, but Patrick, his quartermaster and oldest friend, knew very well why he didn’t join the others at the taverns and bawdyhouses.

Still, the Irishman watched his captain with that usual expecting look, waiting for James to crack and tell him all that plagued his mind for the last three weeks since they left Kingston. His lips were sealed. There was no coming back if he admitted that the prize he endeavored to win at the governor’s palace had inadvertently won him instead.

Day and night, waking and sleeping, James thought about the silently passionate redhead he met in that crowded ballroom. He saw her blue eyes whenever he closed his own. The scent of her perfume and arousal burned like a hot brand in his mind that he could never forget, even if he wanted to.

The words he whispered in her ear while they danced weren’t lies. For once, he didn’t have to fake his attraction to a woman just to fool her. Grace Norrie was different and the wolf within him agreed wholeheartedly. He could have gotten used to her presence, the warm touch of her hands, and the delicious sound of her voice that bewitched him so completely.

If it was possible, James would have whisked her away onto his ship and never looked back. To hell with the crew, the governor’s treasure, and any other plunder he would ever steal. Fantasies played in his mind of the two of them roaming the seas together, charting courses no one had ever dared and making love under the stars along the way. It was damn foolishness, all of it.

Each time he thought he’d drown in such a fantasy, cold, cruel reality came back to remind him that such a life wasn’t possible. She was a governor’s daughter and he was one of the most wanted pirates in the Caribbean. What kind of a life could he possibly give her?

Have ye ever tried goin’ on shore with the rest of them?

Patricks’ voice sliced through his musings long enough for him to remember where he was. James straightened up from his place leaning against the railing of his ship. You know I have, he replied. It’s not somewhere I’d prefer to be.

Going ashore didn’t mean a reprieve from being cooped up on the ship. It was just another chance to be recognized, to be hounded down by pirates and militia men alike. They either begged to join his crew, or were itching to capture him and cash in the sizable reward for his head.

The quartermaster gestured to the empty deck, but James knew at least the cook – Mr. Bones - and carpenter - Mr. Jacobs - were down below with a few of the others resting from the last raid. We’re at loose ends, Captain. No need for all of us to be here.

James jerked his chin to the dock. If we’re at loose ends, I don’t see you running after them with your share from the last haul.

Patrick shoved his captain’s shoulder. The hot-headed, overprotective Irishman was the only man James suffered to be touched or jostled by. Anyone else would find himself under the golden stare of the wolf that he was so known for.

I’ll go on shore, but only with ye, the quartermaster replied. You’ve had somethin’ pressin’ on yer chest ever since we left Kingston and this is the first time we’ve made port in weeks. What ye need is a good, stiff drink and a bit of cattin’ to freshen ye up.

Never once, did James think any of those things would solve his troubles. Unlike the rest of his crew, he had come to realize long ago that such pursuits were empty. It didn’t matter how much rum he drank, or how many women he bedded. By morning, he was still a creature, something that should have never existed. Yet, the heart of a beast beat strong within his chest.

He relented to his quartermaster’s insistence, but only because James knew that Patrick was in need of a little relaxation himself. He knew his friend was too stubborn to let the matter alone.

With the collar of his coat turned up and head ducked low, James walked with Patrick to the nearest tavern where many of his crew had retreated to. Every tavern was alike. Same putrid stench of drunkenness, smoke, piss, and sweat. Same boisterous laughter, gunshots and slamming of mugs upon tabletops as men pissed their money against the walls.

Women swayed in the laps of men who boasted about their journeys, puffing themselves up to be great sailors or merchants when the reality was far less glamorous. Coins rattled in purses and clattered into the hands of whores and barmaids who kept the men occupied and happy. For now.

Patrick led his captain to join the others at a table in the far corner. The pirates who had come to fear and respect him as their leader, lifted their mugs in greeting. James returned the niceties with his own brand of insults and jeers as a brimming pint of grog was thrust into his hand.

No matter how many swigs he took of the drink, James remained as sober as a nun, unlike his crew. It didn’t take long for them to become part of the rabble, leaving the infamous captain the only coherent mind in the place.

It was a good thing he could think clearly, otherwise he might have never picked up on a strange and fascinating development on the other side of the tavern. He watched the door - mostly to make sure no officers or patrolmen entered the tavern in search of unsavory characters to arrest - when he spotted an odd figure slip in with a group.

The young sailor kept his head low, the wide brim of his hat shading his face, but James could make out a bit of red hair at the nape of his neck. The boy’s slight frame meant he was either fairly young, or fairly new to someone’s crew. His body hadn’t been broken and toned by the hard toil required on a ship.

Then, there was the way he moved. His steps weren’t lumbering or heavy, but light and graceful as he dodged the stumbling drunkards and avoided the whores who didn’t pay him a second glance. James watched the boy, his thumb stroking over the rough handle of his mug that was only half empty. The young sailor sat alone against the wall and as soon as he lifted his head, James had to force himself not to burst from his chair.

The clothes the boy wore were baggy, but not baggy enough to hide the fact that this boy wasn’t a boy at all. One deep whiff of the foul air confirmed it and James steadily rose to his feet. Careful not to cause a disturbance that would draw attention to himself, he made his way to stand next to the sailor.

James closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. How long had she been masquerading as a man? How long did she think the charade would last? Still undetected, he leaned against the empty space on the wall beside her.

How did you manage to sneak out? he asked, just loud enough for her ears alone.

From the corner of his eye, James saw her go rigid. He only needed to hear her speak and every suspicion would be validated. Her head tilted ever so slightly, as if she were trying to get a good look at him while still being subtle.

What are you talking about? she replied, her voice dropped to keep up her disguise.

That was enough for him. James reached up and tugged off her hat, allowing her bright red hair to tumble down over her shoulders. Grace made a sound of protest and stood to confront the man who had ruined her disguise. As soon as those eyes met his, brilliant and glittering like the most precious sapphires in all the world, James thanked whatever powers were at work in the heavens to produce this miracle.

Your fellow crewmates must have been staring at the sun too long, because they’re blind as worms if they couldn’t see all your curves.

There was a moment of hesitance in her, and James could see the war of emotions plainly written in her face. Shifting back and forth between confusion and irritation, it was clear that she didn’t recognize him right away. James wasn’t all too surprised. He shaved his face especially for her birthday, but kept to one of the oldest seafaring superstitions and refrained from taking a razor to his beard since then. His thick, dark layer of stubble was a better disguise than her little getup.

She reached out to snatch her hat back, but he held it high above his head and well out of her reach. Grace would have to climb him to get at it. Unfortunately, she didn’t try.

Give me my hat, she demanded.

It was then he noticed that her delicate hands were wrapped in bandages. Judging by the traces of old blood in the cotton, her captain gave her plenty of work on whatever ship she had snuck aboard. James wanted to be furious with any seadog that would make such a dear lady slave away on a ship, but they didn’t know any better.

Not until you answer my question.

James chuckled at her pathetic efforts to jump for her hat. When she slipped on the spilled rum on the floor and collided straight into him, his free arm encircled her waist to hold her close. This was right where he always wanted her to be, in his arms with her breasts pressed against his chest. How rousing it was to feel her body, free from the constraints of a corset and thick petticoats.

Though she might not have made the connection yet, Grace still didn’t seem to mind. She neither struggled nor fought against him as other respectable ladies would have. Instead, the heady scent of her arousal cut through the stench of tavern life and called to his own manhood like the red-headed siren that she was. If they continued to stay so close to one another, she’d come to realize exactly how she made him feel. It’d be impossible to hide.

Did you find your heart yet? he muttered in her ear.

Grace jerked back so she could get a good look at his face again and he gave her a wicked, mischievous grin. She gasped, and recognition donned in those pretty eyes of hers.

You!

James gathered a bit of her shirt and vest fabric in his hand, a precaution just in case she decided to run. He mocked her by feigning the same shock she displayed so openly.

Grace beat at his chest and he smelled a bit of fresh blood seep from the broken blisters on her palms. You lied to me!

James shrugged. I do it all the time, darling. I’m sure I’m not the first man to ever deceive you, and I won’t be the last.

That hidden temper finally flared within her and James could only laugh.

You were the one who stole from my father, weren’t you?

Is that why you came all the way from Kingston? he teased. Just to track me down? Well, I hate to tell you this, but we’ve already sold off your –

Grace pushed against him to try and get free. I don’t care about what you stole! she declared. And what do you care of my reasons? You never cared from the beginning, did you? You were just trying to distract me and my father so we wouldn’t see what you were planning all along.

James had to admit that she was smarter than he originally thought. Beautiful, feisty, and intelligent. Even the wolf within him admired that about her. What he didn’t like was that she was completely right. It had all been part of his plan and it worked. He just didn’t plan on everything else that happened in between. He didn’t plan on fancying her or becoming a mess in her absence. Seeing her now was like breathing fresh air, even in this squalid shithole, and he hated to admit it.

However, she was wrong about one thing. He did care about her reasons. He cared that she was a little fire bird trapped within that gilded cage. If he had the chance, if he could have set aside the plan for one moment, he would have done exactly as he promised and freed her somehow. This wasn’t what he intended for her, though. She didn’t belong in a nasty place like this, with her body disgraced by sailor garb and gentle hands tarnished by labor.

Yet, here she was, out in the wild open and free. She didn’t need his help in escaping. But now, he had to set things to right.

James slapped the hat back on her head and tucked it neatly so her feminine features were somewhat hidden again. I’ll tell you one thing I do care about now, he said. Seizing an opportune moment.

There was a glint of panic in her eyes, and though James would have taken that opportunity too, it wasn’t the one she was thinking of. In one swift movement, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her out of the tavern like he was hauling a sack of flour.

She screeched and beat at his back. The drunken sailors laughed and pointed at the spectacle, but made no move to stop James from finally claiming his prize. He would have been a fool to pass up a chance to hold the governor’s daughter for ransom. They could be back to Kingston within a few days and his crew would get another easy bounty for them to gamble and waste away at another port. It wouldn’t be easy to give her up, but James’ first duty was to his men, not his heart. And certainly not this throbbing, aching need that might get the better of him before this new escapade was through.

Grace finally stopped struggling when they arrived to the docks. Dozens of people stared as the man, whom she now understood to be a thief, carried her over his shoulder toward a ship. She might have fought harder if she wasn’t so bone-tired and starving from the long voyage aboard The Lady Adventure. It was a fine, respectable merchant vessel and the only one in Kingston that was in search of hired sailors at the time when Grace made her escape.

What she hadn’t expected, after cutting her hair to her shoulders and donning an outfit she stole, was the amount of work involved in sailing on a ship. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, but she thought that because of her slight frame, they would give her some of the lesser jobs. Not so. If anything, they set her to some of the toughest and filthiest tasks on the ship.

So, when she glanced up and saw the man was carting her to another ship, she let out a long groan and succumbed to her fate. She didn’t know what the blackguard had in mind, but it couldn’t have been favorable. What opportune moment could he be talking about?

It wasn’t until she saw the name painted on the stern of the ship that she finally made the connection. The men she sailed with for the last two and a half weeks sometimes talked about The Burning Rose in reverent, fearful whispers like it was some malicious ghost that could be summoned out of the fog by simply uttering her name. Even the captain seemed afraid of the pirate ship that was rumored to swoop down upon unexpecting ships with unprecedented speed and brutality. The pirates aboard were just as equally dreaded, especially their captain known only as The Devil Dog.

The man who carried her up the gangplank must have been part of The Devil Dog’s notorious pirate crew, looking to gain favor with his captain by presenting him with a bartering chip. He knew she was the governor’s daughter. How he knew that she was a woman beneath her disguise was a mystery. Not even the men she bunked with below decks on The Lady Adventure suspected who she really was.

Men, their faces and clothes grimy and riddled with stains, hurried up to meet them. Grace wished she had time to tuck her hair beneath her hat.

What’s all this, Captain? she heard one of them ask while the others whistled and made lude comments about her bum that was in full display.

Grace’s eyes went wide and she looked around for any man who resembled the dangerous pirate captain with the glowing golden eyes that made him so infamous. She saw no one, but the man who still had his arm wrapped around her legs answered the crewman.

Here, I have a bit of precious cargo that needs returning to Kingston.

He affectionately patted her rump and Grace tried to angle her leg in such a way as to kick him in the jaw, but his hold on her was steadfast. In response to the man’s words, the crew gave out loud shouts of victory, as if they were already guaranteed a ransom.

Let me down! she cried, feeling her heart pound even harder into her throat as all the blood rushed to her head.

The man, The Devil Dog, laughed at her expense. With such deft precision that she was left slightly dizzy and disoriented, he dropped her to her feet and held her arms tight with her back pressed against him. If she wasn’t so furious for falling into the hands of a ruthless pirate, she might have enjoyed the feel of his body against hers. It was something she had dreamed about almost every night swinging in her hammock on The Lady Adventure. Never had she imagined that the man, parading as Edward Corbet, was not only a thief, but a pirate.

Once her vision cleared and she could see straight again, she found herself facing about a dozen pirates leering at her with crooked smiles. Surely the captain wouldn’t just throw her to the wolves like this? If he intended her for ransom, he couldn’t deliver tainted goods back to her father.

It’s bad luck to bring a woman aboard, Captain, one man contested. Especially a redhead.

I say we tie her to the bowsprit all the way to Kingston! shouted another.

Make her sleep below decks with us!

What’s she doin’ all the way in St. Thomas?

Grace ignored the obscene remarks they made about her red hair and the way her vest stretched across her chest.

The Devil Dog silenced them with just a word and said, I’ll hang any man by his guts if he so much as touches my treasure.

Grace wasn’t sure whether to find such protectiveness endearing or disturbing. I’m not your treasure, she spat viciously, letting the venom from her ardent words be heard by all the men.

The pirate spun her around until she was facing him again and forced to glare up into the eyes that had ruined her. Grace might have run away eventually, but this pirate, this cad and brigand, quickened her plans prematurely. She set out to sea in search of that freedom she longed for, but only found toil and hardship. This wasn’t the life she anticipated, but her home wasn’t in Kingston anymore. She had no place to go, no place to claim as her own. She was stuck in limbo all because he had put some silly notion in her head to go out and seek that adventure he promised.

He smiled down on her and she hated the way her core tightened with longing that was so contrary to what she should have been feeling seconds before.

As long as you’re on my ship, you’ll be whatever I want you to be.

The weight of her situation finally settled on her shoulders. This was The Devil Dog. She danced with him at her party, she flirted and dreamed about that face that enchanted her so irrevocably. The Devil Dog saw through her disguise, and was now holding her hostage on his ship. The Devil Dog was staring at her, right here and now. This pirate was not what she envisioned when she listened to rumors of the man who went into battle with the eyes of a demon and ferocity of a wild beast. This couldn’t be the same man who swept her off her feet in the ballroom back in Kingston. Surely this handsome face didn’t belong to a cutthroat.

But the men around her, the ones who addressed him as captain, the ones who looked to him for answers about the woman he held so close, had confirmed it. This was The Devil Dog; scourge of the seas and murderer of all who stood between him and the treasure he sought.

Mr. Bones! The Devil Dog shouted over her shoulder. Tend to her hands. We don’t want to deliver damage goods back to the governor, do we?

Abandoning his former gentleness, the captain pushed her into the crowd of pirates who were eager to get their hands on her soft skin. Another man, whose touch was light and bony, caught her and immediately directed her toward the stairs that led below decks. The pirate who had her now wasn’t like the others. Thin, older, and smelling of lard, she assumed he must have been the cook.

Once they had escaped into the cool darkness that reeked of fusty, stagnant water and manly odors, Grace glanced down to her hands. In all her struggling, she had broken open the cuts and blisters that she acquired while serving on The Lady Adventure. A lot of good that had done her. If she had known it was The Devil Dog who grabbed her in the tavern, she might not have put up much of a fight. It was pointless, which was why so many merchant vessels gave up their cargo to the pirate without firing a single shot. Once The Devil Dog had his eyes set on a bounty,