Darkness swept across the cabin. Emeline didn’t move. “You are no gentleman, Captain. You may have rescued me, but that doesn’t mean you have an ounce of honor.”
She heard him drop to the deck, saw his shadow stretched out on the Persian rug.
“As I have told you,” he mumbled.
“This is madness. I’m going back to my cabin.” She started for the door
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your cabin is no longer locked. You are safer in here than at the mercy of my crew.”
Frustrated, Emeline skirted him and sat on his bed to think until he fell asleep. All her instincts screamed to dash back to her cabin, but without an escort and with nothing to keep the crew away, perhaps he was right. Plus, the beddidfeel comfortable. Heaving a sigh, she laid her head on the pillow and curled into a ball, thanking the Lord for keeping her safe. Within minutes, snoring rumbled from the captain, serenaded by the wind whistling against the stern windows.
Perhaps he had no plans to harm her this night. Then why keep her here? The man was an enigma.
Wind battered Emeline, shoving her down, booting her back. Thick blackness surrounded her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t get up. Couldn’t breathe. With great effort, she rose to her elbows and began crawling. She had to escape! She had to get out of here! Darkness. Black everywhere. So heavy it pressed on her even more than the wind. The darkness moved, breathed, was alive.Evil.Where was she? She inched over the cold steely ground, heart pounding. The wind ceased. Arturo Della Morte’s hideous face appeared before her, spinning in her vision. He tossed back his head and laughed, then raised his hand. The Ring shone from his finger as a devilish twinkle flashed from his eyes. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged.
Help me, Lord!
The scene changed. She stood on the shore of a lush island. Turquoise waves stroked creamy white sands. Colorful birds chirped as they flitted from tree to tree. In the distance atop a hill stood stone turrets of a fortress. Had she gone from hell to heaven?
Della Morte sauntered from the jungle, his sardonic gaze upon her. A ray of sunlight struck the Ring on his finger and nearly blinded her. She squinted.
Dozens of birds dropped from the trees onto the sand, dead. Above her, the sky rolled up like a scroll, replaced by a black void that stretched across the sky, sucking all light and love from the Earth. The turquoise waters faded to gray. Blake appeared within them, splashing through the surf toward her, a smile on his face. He reached for her, his fingers extending toward hers.
Della Morte held up the Ring. The waters in the bay spun in a circle, round and round, faster and faster until a funnel appeared in the center.
Before she could grip Blake’s hand, the force of the waves dragged him back, pulling him down into the water, tugging him toward the hole in the midst of the funnel. To what or where it led, she had no idea, but it couldn’t be good.
“Blake!” Emeline rushed toward him, pounding through the surf, reaching for his hand before he was sucked beneath the waves.
Della Morte gave a sinister cackle. “Ha! You are both doomed!”
Water tore at her skirts, imprisoning her feet, as she desperately tried to reach Blake. His head disappeared beneath the waves. Only his hand remained above.
Emeline grabbed it. The water knocked her off her feet. With both hands holding fast to Blake, she dug her heels into the sand. Water filled her nose and mouth. Lord, help!
“Blake! Blake!”
b
Blake’s name blared through his mind. Someone hailed him. Demons? His father? But Emeline was here. Wasn’t she?
“Blake!”
He shot up from the floor, instantly plucking the knife from his belt. Blinking, he peered into the darkness. The shadows of his cabin came into view.
“Blake!” a woman screamed.
Emeline! He rushed toward the bed, expecting to find one of his crew molesting her, but she was alone, thrashing back and forth and reaching one hand into the air in desperation.
Lowering to the cot, he grabbed her shoulders. “Hush now, Emeline. Hush. ’Tis all right.”
She gave a start, uttered a scream, and began punching him over and over. Snatching her wrists, he held them down. “You’re having a dream, Emeline. Just a dream.”
Her breathing lessened. Her arms went limp. He released her as a slight moan escaped her lips. He sensed rather than saw her eyes open and lock upon him.
Blake was quite familiar with his own nightmares. Not with those of other’s. Yet, oddly, he wanted nothing more than to take this woman in his arms and comfort her.
He didn’t have time to ponder it when she wrapped her arms around him. Tight. “I thought you were lost,” she whispered. “Della Morte… the Ring,” she muttered.
