Lucia didn't think Rossiter had been asleep for an hour since they'd left. He was growing paler, his tall body rangier, and sometimes she thought she detected a growing glint in his dark blue eyes, like a... madness setting in. How could it not? Like her, Rossiter was running out of time.
Schecter continually crept about at all hours of the night, dipping his sonic lure into the water, and just as continually, Izabel gave Travis long looks.
When Travis didn't think anyone was around, he'd checked her out a couple of times, then had appeared furious with himself. Yet it seemed Travis hadn't noticed Charlie was giving him long looks as well.
Despite the fact that the Texan wasn't particularly kind to either twin, both of them were falling for him.
Lucia actually liked Izabel. For a mortal. The girl was affable and no-nonsense, and reminded her a little of Regin. Though Lucia could never shake the feeling that something was off, it didn't deter the budding friendship. And Izabel had confided secrets, explaining things about the captain that had puzzled Lucia, like his anger whenever Charlie made improvements to the boat - or his irritation at any reminder that Izabel was an attractive young woman.
It turned out that Travis was a widower of eight years. His wife had apparently been a paragon, running tours with him, helping him restore this boat. She was the one who'd lovingly hung all the maps and quaint lists that remained to this day. The embroidered tablecloths and curtains had all been done by her hand.
In Iquitos, it was rumored that Travis remained true to his dead wife, and the Contessa was a de facto shrine to her.
Lucia had asked Izabel, "Why don't you just tell Travis you want him?"
"Two reasons. The ghost of his perfect wife. He hates anything that might tempt him from being faithful to her memory. And then there's Charlie. Doesn't matter. Capitão will never want me. Not everyone has it as good as you and Mr. MacRieve."
Lucia had been startled by her statement - because things were good with MacRieve. Though he was a rough-and-tumble werewolf, he could be remarkably patient. As they walked the decks, he would teach her Gaelic phrases. He'd chuckled a couple of times at her early attempts at pronunciation. Then he'd stopped laughing when he realized how quickly she was learning.
And he was thoughtful. A few days ago, she'd heard MacRieve arguing with Schecter about taking "scientific credit" for a "previously uncataloged find." Curious, she'd sidled to the corner, peeking around.
In his big paws, the Scot was painstakingly cradling a delicate cocoon. Just emerging from it was a butterfly with silver wings, glittering with opalescence. She'd never seen anything like it.
"Schecter, what in the hell do I want scientific credit for?" MacRieve gave a grunt. "Just want to name it."
"Well, if you don't care about credit, then what would it hurt to allow me to claim this species and give it a designation? Honestly, Mr. MacRieve - "
"Schecter, go fook your science. I'm naming this after my lady, and if you say another word about it, you'll get this butterfly all messed up with your jugular blood."
The professor gaped, speechless for long moments. Finally he cleared his throat and said, "Uh, well, yes, of course. What will you call it?"
"Lucia Incantata," MacRieve murmured. Her toes had curled when he'd absently added, "Reminds me of her eyes..." She still sighed whenever she recalled the look on his face.
That night, he'd "surprised" her with the butterfly, setting up a mosquito net in the cabin to keep it in.
The offerings only continued. When she'd mentioned how lovely she found the blooms of those Victoria lilies, the next morning, she'd awakened to find a flawless white lily bloom by her bedside. The vase? A rinsed-out Iquiteña bottle.
On top of everything, he'd given her a never-emptying arrow quiver. She'd gasped when he'd proudly handed it to her. "You just happened to find one of these lying around on board?" It was so elegant, with fine leather ties that could be strapped to her back or thigh.
"Had it with me the whole time."
The item in his bag she'd seen wrapped in leather... Which meant he'd brought it for her even when he'd been furious with her. "Did you filch this from the fey?"
With a wolfy grin, he'd said, "Well, they damn sure doona sell them."
"MacRieve!" Yet once she'd gotten over her breathless excitement, she'd felt a tinge of sadness. This was a gift from a would-be lover, something to help her archery. Too bad she couldn't keep the archery and the lover. Still, she'd rewarded his thoughtfulness amply....
He didn't promise gifts as some men were wont to do - MacRieve merely delivered them, delighting her Valkyrie sensibilities.
Yes, atop decks, life was constant. Belowdecks, she and MacRieve indulged their lusts.
Any time it rained during the day, he'd offer his hand with the grated words, "Come, Lousha." Just as he would command later when he wanted her to climax. She'd be shivering with anticipation by the time they got to the cabin.
With his palm over her mouth to cover her screams, MacRieve did wicked things to her. During each encounter, he grew more aggressive with her body, kissing her harder, touching her even more possessively. She knew he considered her his woman - and the idea only aroused her more.
The first night on board, he'd told her that she'd pray for him to be inside her. Again, he'd been right. When he spread her thighs wide, then lazily petted her sex, it drove her wild. Especially when he stroked just at her core while rasping in her ear, "One day I'm goin' tae be wedged so deep right in here. You'll be hot and wet and fit me like a glove."
Again and again, she tried to imagine how his shaft would feel plunging into her body. Most women in her situation would fear his size. But after his onslaught of teasing and petting...
Yesterday, she'd nearly begged, murmuring how much she needed him inside her.
He'd gnashed his teeth, puncturing the paneled wall above their bed with his claws. "Gods, woman! No' till you ask me. Out o' bed!"
Every night after they were sated - or as much as they could be with their limitations - he held her in his arms. They watched her butterfly dance in the lamplight, talking for hours.
They'd speculated as to why Nïx had warned her about the Barão and why its captain kept returning to remote tributaries if some of his passengers didn't make it back to port. "Maybe Captain Malaquí's been finding demons out there," Lucia had said. "He could be sacrificing unwitting cryzos to them in exchange for power."
"We've heard of crazier things in the Lore...."