Snarling, the demon turned and, with a hell-born cry, made straight for Paden.
His heart pounding in anticipation of what was to come, he waited for their inevitable confrontation.
This time, the beast dared to climb aboard.
That’s it, ye filthy bastard. Come get some of me. Leave me crew in peace.
With no real form, the gelatinous mess slithered across the deck and rose up before him with dark, soulless eyes.
Refusing to show his fear, as it would only make the beast stronger, or to back down before it, Paden stood his ground with every bit of grit he possessed. “Aye, you want me, don’t you? You know what I am, and I know ye for the evil in your heart.”
Possessed of great bulbous eyes, it slobbered and drooled and reached with one taloned hand.
Just as it would have slashed him open, Patrick Michel Alister Jack lowered his linstock to the keg of gunpowder that lay between them and set the barrel ablaze.
The last sound he heard was deafening, and it ended with a bright flash and one massive explosion of pain.
1
In the Year of Our Lord 1716
Jamaica
“Way I hear tell it, that one’s so bad, he whups his own arse thrice a week.”
Eyes wide, Cameron Amelia Maire Jack burst out laughing at the unexpected, dry comment she overheard above the raucous tavern voices and music. Until she caught sight of the man it was directed toward. That sobered her quick enough.
Holy mother of God …
There was no way to miss that giant mass of human male as he swept into the crowded room like the living embodiment of some ancient hero.
Nay, not a hero.
A pagan god.
At least six and a half feet tall, he towered over everyone else there, and had a shoulder width so great he was forced to turn to the side to come through the doorway, and stoop down lest he decapitate himself with the thick, low-hanging beam. A feat he accomplished with a masculine grace and swagger that said he’d done it enough that it was habit from years of experience.
Which made her wonder how many times as a boy he must have whacked his head afore he learned to instinctively duck like that.
With a quick swipe of his massive hand, he removed his black tricorne hat and tucked it beneath his muscled arm, exposing a thick mane of unbound, wavy sable hair that gleamed in the dull candlelight. He held a set of rugged features that appeared chiseled from stone—in perfect masculine proportions.
Never in her life had she beheld his equal in form, strength, or grace, but it wasn’t just the unexpected sight of him. He possessed that raw, commanding presence that was unrivaled by king or commander. An air of noble refinement that was offset by an aura of bloodthirsty intolerance, cool indifference, and utter ennui.
He was lethal, no doubts there. Beguiling. More than that, he was an enigmatic study of warring contradictions that quickened her heart a lot more than she wanted to admit to anyone, especially herself.
In a festering den of inhospitable inequity and evil, this man reigned as its supreme emperor. And while his two companions were dressed in brightly colored brocades—like the other vain occupants of the room—this one, in stark contradiction, wore a somber black wool coat, breeches with plain brass buttons, and an unremarkable dark brown waistcoat. Even his cotton shirt and neckerchief were as black as his hair and boots. Like a Quaker … and yet his demeanor and weaponry said he didn’t partake of their religion or peaceful ways.
The only color on his body was the bloodred hilt of a barbarian-styled cutlass. And a flashing ruby signet ring on his pinky that caught the light.
But for his fierce stance, deadly demeanor, and the firm hand that stayed planted on the hilt of that sword, he could easily pass for a respectable man. Nobleman even.
Until one met that cold, dark, intelligent gaze that saw everything around him to the most microscopic detail.
She could literally feel him tallying the strengths of everyone in the tavern and sizing them up for their every weakness of character and physical flaw.…
As well as their caskets.
He was exactly the kind of unnerving male that caused her and Lettice to draw straws on his entrance back home in the Black Swan to see which of them would be stuck for the night waiting on his table.
