"Maybe." Gris didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe the curse will find a way around that too. It's old magic, little one. Older than the captain. Older than this ship. The witch who cast it knew what she was doing."
"Tell me about her." That, at least, was an allowed question. And maybe it would quiet the lure of the forbidden room that was suddenly all she could think about.
Gris shook his head slowly. "I only know the stories. Morvenna, they called her. A wolf shifter with magic in her blood, living alone on an island that no ship approaches willingly. The captain loved her daughter, and she loved him back, and Morvenna couldn't stand that. She thought her daughter deserved so much more than to be a pirate’s bride." He paused. "Some say Morvenna still alive, still watching, still feeding the curse with her hatred. Others say she died years ago and her magic outlived her."
"Which do you believe?"
Gris was quiet for a long moment. "I believe that love should not be punished. I believe the captain has suffered enough. And I believe..." He reached across the table and gripped her hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle. "I believe you're stronger than you look. Stronger than the others were."
She hoped so too.
THAT NIGHT, SHE DREAMEDof the door.
It stood at the end of a long, dark corridor, the wood old and warped, the hinges rusted. Light leaked from beneath it, golden and wrong, pulsing like a heartbeat. Voices whispered from the other side, women's voices, soft and sad.
Jeanne,they called.Jeanne, come see. Come see what he did to us. Come see what love really looks like.
She walked toward it. She didn't want to walk toward it, but her legs moved anyway, carrying her closer and closer to that pulsing light. The voices grew louder. Marguerite. Celeste. Isabeau. Vivienne. Lucienne. Adele. Six names, six dead women, all of them calling her forward.
He loved us too,Marguerite's voice whispered.He loved us and we died anyway. You will too. You will join us behind this door.
Her hand reached for the handle.
She woke gasping, drenched in sweat, her hand outstretched toward nothing. The captain's quarters were dark around her, the only light coming from the moon through the windows. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin burned, too hot, feverish.
Pre-heat. The symptoms were getting worse. And this time she didn’t have the herbs to suppress it. For the first time in her life, she was going to experience the heat instead of just reading about it in forbidden books.
She sat up, pressing her hands to her face. Her panties were damp, and not just from sweat. The dream had left her aching, aroused, her body confusing fear and desire in the maddening way omega bodies always did.
The pull in her chest was stronger now, insistent, like a fishhook behind her sternum. She could feel the door waiting for her, somewhere below. Could feel the dead brides whispering her name.
She pressed her hand over her heart and made herself breathe.
"I won't go," she said to the darkness. To the dead women. To Marc's memory. "I won't open the door. I won't die."
The voices didn't answer. But somewhere in the depths of the ship, she could have sworn she heard them laughing.
ANATOLE
HE HEARD HER SCREAM.
Anatole was on his feet before the sound had finished echoing, crossing the deck toward his quarters before his mind caught up with his body. His wolf surged forward, flooding him with adrenaline, claws already pushing at his fingertips.
Mate in danger. Protect. Kill anything that threatens her.
He slammed through the door, half-shifted, fangs descended, ready to tear apart whatever had made her cry out.
The room was empty except for Jeanne.
She sat upright in his bed, her honey-brown hair tangled around her face, her eyes wild and unfocused. Sweat gleamed on her skin, soaking through the thin nightgown she wore. Her scent flooded the room, sharp with fear and ripe with approaching heat.
His cock hardened instantly. He hated himself for it.
"What happened?" It came out as a growl, barely human. He forced himself to stay by the door, to not cross the room and gather her into his arms and bury his face in her throat. "What hurt you?"
"Nothing." Her voice was hoarse. "A dream. Just a dream."
"The door."
