Bride of the Night (12 page)

The way he studied her scared her. She prayed that he didn't suspect her of being a monster—nor the Gator assassin.

“I spent most of my life in Key West,” she said. “I've traveled, of course. But…no, I've never heard about anything like this.”

Finn moved over to her then, watching the sky.

“Shh!” he said.

He wasn't holding a gun; he carried a sword, and his fingers were tight on the grip.

She fell silent, trying to listen as he was listening.

“I hear nothing,” MacKay said.

But then, what Finn was hearing became more evident. It was like the sound of wings, the air being beaten in the night, and a chattering sound.

“They're here! Everyone, up and at arms!” Finn shouted.

There was confusion beneath the tarp as men sprang up, grabbing their weapons. But even as Finn looked to the sky, Tara saw movement in the bushes.

“Finn!” she cried, and his eyes darted in the direction she indicated.

Richard moved forward, grabbing a burning log from the fire; she did the same. As the first of the corpses
moved out toward the camp from the interior, Finn shouted to Richard, tossing him a rifle. Richard caught it grimly in one hand, and held the burning torch in another.

Four burst out from the brush, and the chattering sound seemed to be that of other, perhaps older and more experienced monsters appearing from somewhere—the water, out of the sky. Her mother had taught her well, and in time, vampires could become exceptionally good at appearing, disappearing and protecting themselves—and becoming killing machines. There were at least sixteen falling upon them. Screams of shock and surprise filled the air as men began to fight for their lives. Dr. MacKay snatched up a burning log from the fire, waving it ahead of himself. Tara saw Finn rush forward; with his strength, he was able to slash off the head of one and twirl to catch a second with the same sweep of his sword. One came at Richard, and he thrust out the burning torch. The thing caught fire, and began to burn, screaming with fury as it ran off down the beach. At her side, MacKay fumbled with his rifle as a hulking red-haired man in sailor's breeches and a cotton shirt came toward him. But the shot caught the thing in the foot, and didn't give it pause at all. Before the creature could descend on MacKay, Tara stepped forward, snatching the rifle and thrusting the bayonet with all her strength into the thing's heart.

It fell, clutching its throat. Finn jumped in front of her, hunkering down with his knife to dispatch the head.

“Here!”

Finn took the dead man's sword and tossed it to Tara. She managed to catch it deftly.

“Watch for the eyes, men! Watch for the eyes if there's any question! They seem to have a red glow in them, all in this bloodline of monsters!”

They turned to join the desperate fray now taking shape on the beach. Richard let out a cry, racing forward into it, his momentum allowing him to flatten one of the beings, and then savagely destroy it. Tara paused, felt something behind her and swung around.

He was tall and ruggedly built, without a wound showing. He wore no uniform, but had a waistcoat and shirt of some elegance. He didn't lunge at her without control, but paused, looking at her, and laughing. This was no new vampire, she thought.

“Ah, what a tempting morsel! A rose among the thorns, as they might say. Delicious…”

She pulled back her sword and aimed for his throat with all her might. He saw her intent just in time, and ducked; the sword caught his shoulder, ripping hard, and he bellowed in rage. Then he rushed toward her like a maddened bull.

Using her sword as a stake, she let him impale himself. But he was massive and strong, and though her sword hit home, catching him dead in the gut, his impetus brought him falling down on top of her. He straddled over her; her weapon caught in its torso, and once again
he laughed. “Pretty, pretty, pretty creature! Fierce—lots of fire! I like that.”

There was no way, being flat on the sand and straddled by the man, that she could draw it out. She gritted her teeth, trying to twist the sword more deeply through him. But her efforts didn't seem to have an effect on him. He leaned down toward her, bringing his face to hers.

“So tender, so naive…delicious,” he whispered.

She felt the sand and grabbed a handful, throwing it into his eyes. As he cried out, he lifted a fist—

But the blow never landed. She winced and turned away, closing her eyes…and felt something hot spray on her arm.

His weight fell from her.

She opened her eyes. Finn was standing over her. The big man's head rolled to the side.

He reached down for her hand.
“The throat, go for the throat!”

“I couldn't get to his throat!”

“He was old, experienced,” Finn said. He spun around, slicing a creature coming his way, almost in half. But he didn't let it lie. He sliced off this head, as well.

“It's over,” he said quietly.

Keeping her hand in his, he walked back the beach. Dr. MacKay had given up his weapons for his physician's bag. Men were groaning, holding wounded arms.

Tara looked for Richard.

“He did himself quite proud,” Finn said, walking slightly behind her.

She stopped. “Richard? What happ—?”

“Of course Richard. And he is alive and well. There,” Finn said.

He pointed. She looked through the grotesque piles of bodies and heads, staggering men and wounded men, and she saw him. His shirt was drenched in blood.

“Richard!” she cried, rushing to him.

He caught her, hugging her close. “It's not my blood,” he assured her.

Finn had followed her, and was looking at the remains of the battle. “Gather up the bodies—they should be burned. We'll assure ourselves that it's over.”

“Wind is to the north-northeast,” Dr. MacKay commented.

“Then we'll move them northward, and set the fire a distance from the camp,” Finn said. He raised his voice to be heard by everyone. “Those who are able-bodied, gather the dead, head up the beach. And keep your eyes open.”

Finn headed to gather wood and kindling from the campfire. Richard told Tara, “I'll help Finn.”

“I'll come.”

“MacKay needs help,” Richard said, indicating the doctor.

She looked to the doctor. He seemed to be checking over every man carefully.

Tara had to wonder how he knew what he was looking for.

She came to his side, kneeling down by him where he sat with a man on the beach. It was Charles Lafferty, the man who had questioned Finn's warning of the assault.

He was bleeding from an arm wound. His eyes were dazed.

“There's bandaging in the bag,” he told Tara. “Can you get me some…and that pail…? Bathing wounds with seawater will help.” Then he turned to Lafferty, warning him, “It will hurt.”

“I'm not going to lose the arm, am I?” Lafferty asked.

“Let's hope not. As long as there's no infection,” MacKay told him.

Lafferty shook his head. “No…no, it was a sword wound, the bastard got me with his sword. Oh, holy hell, but the bastard was trying to bite me!” Lafferty said.

“He didn't manage to do so, did he?” Tara asked, unfolding the bandage.

Lafferty let out a yelp as the cold seawater washed out the wound.

“It was as if he was some kind of a cannibal. And he had one eye! He only had one damned eye left,” Lafferty said. “But do you know the worst part?” he asked, looking at both of them. “I
knew
him. He was stationed at the fort and called out just three months ago for duty
in Baltimore. I knew the bloody bastard! Pardon me, miss.”

Tara gave a wincing smile at the absurd mannerism amid so much death. She'd wielded a sword right along with the men, and they were surrounded by carnage. And still Lafferty wanted to be polite.

“Get some sleep. There's an extra ration of rum for the wounded,” said MacKay, finishing the bandage and rising.

Tara rose along with him.

“Any other wounds?” MacKay called out.

Captain Tremblay came walking down the beach; he silently caught the feet of a dead man, and started dragging him back along the sand. He looked old and exhausted, and there was blood dripping from his arm.

“Captain!” Tara called, rushing after him.

He paused and looked at her. “Ah, lass, I'm sorry for this. Sorry that one so young and tender should be here. You're well—unharmed?”

“I'm fine. But you're bleeding.”

“It's nothing. A scratch,” Tremblay said.

Down the beach, the fire being ignited suddenly snapped, shooting flames up into the sky. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air.

“Let Dr. MacKay bandage your arm, Captain, please,” Tara said.

Finn and Richard were returning at an even pace.

“Agent Dunne!” Tara called. “The captain is wounded.”

“See the doctor, Captain,” Finn said, taking the body
the captain had been concerned with. “You can't let yourself fall prey to a wound.”

Tremblay nodded. Wearily, he turned. He headed for one of the pallets beneath the tarp, and Tara and the doctor followed. MacKay cut away his shirtsleeve, and Tara gasped when she saw the deep slash in his upper arm.

“That's not a little flesh wound, sir,” she said, unfolding the bandage while MacKay bathed the wound. MacKay didn't seem happy with seawater alone; he found a rum bottle and uncorked it, pouring some of the alcohol over Tremblay's arm.

“A waste of fine spirits, surely!” Tremblay protested.

“Ah, but good for all that ails such a wound, sir. Now, Captain, here's the bottle. Take down a good portion— I've got to stitch up that arm.”

“I'm good at pain, MacKay.”

“Then take a healthy swig so that you'll be good at sleep. The sun is nearly up, and we need our captain to have rest,” Tara said.

Tremblay sighed and lifted the rum bottle, wincing as it burned down to his gullet. Tara assisted, preparing the needle and sutures, and when they were done, Mackay told her, “Some of us will have to get some sleep now, or this whole sad little party will be useless.”

“I will close my eyes and rest,” Tremblay said.

Tara rose. Down the beach, a group of the men stood, watching the fire.

She realized that she was exhausted.

“If the injured are all tended, then I will lie down, too,” she told MacKay. He nodded. She asked him, “What were you looking for on the men?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

“You were searching them over—beyond their wounds.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Bite marks, Miss Fox. Bite marks.” He smiled grimly.

All she could do then was return his scrutiny, and nod. “Good night, then,” she said.

Tara found her pallet and blanket and lay down. She was so tired, and yet, there was still commotion around her, and the sun was rising.

She closed her eyes. She heard conversation. The men were back from the mass cremation. Finn was assigning the current guard duty.

A moment later, she felt warmth at her side. Cracking her eyes, she saw that Finn had lain down at her left side.

And Richard was at her right.

Her protectors, she thought, before she did fall asleep for a bit.

 

W
HEN SHE AWOKE
, R
ICHARD
still dozed at her side. The sun was steadily moving toward its apex.

But she could see that Finn had walked to the shoreline and stood there with Dr. MacKay and a few of the men, looking out at the horizon.

She quickly found her feet, made sure the blanket
still covered Richard and hurried down to the shore to join them.

“What is it?” she asked, coming to Finn's side.

He pointed. “There.”

She looked out. Far on the horizon, she saw a ship. The sails were tattered, hanging limply. The main mast was broken near the top, and hanging precariously.

“She's a ghost ship,” MacKay said.

“Among other things,” Finn muttered.

“She'll just drift on by.”

“She might. But we can't take that chance.”

“There's no one at the helm!” Mackay insisted.

“Looks can be deceptive. She's more than a ghost ship, Doctor. I'm going to take a longboat out to her, and see if we can make sure that she is…abandoned. Those things came from somewhere last night, Dr. MacKay. I think that was our rescue ship. And I do believe that her crew is past help. No matter, we must search her out. And,” he added, “when we make her seaworthy, she may still be our salvation.”

F
INN WAS CONCERNED
.
No one had slept until daybreak, which meant the day was well on by the time they'd all awakened. He chafed to get going, but MacKay had told him that the captain was asking for him, and that it was important that they talked.

Captain Tremblay's wound was causing him a great deal of trouble. Before he could set the course for the day, Finn knelt with Dr. MacKay by the captain's side, and felt the feverish touch of his skin. Dr. MacKay cooled his forehead with a cold cloth, and redressed the wound, Tara assisting from across the captain's prone body.

Tremblay seemed to be caught in his own dreamworld, created, perhaps, by the fever. Beneath closed lids, his eyes made darting motions.

Then suddenly, the captain opened his eyes wide and stared straight at Finn. “You will watch out for my men, sir. You will watch out for my men!”

“Aye, Captain. But you're not going to die. You're going to get well,” Finn assured him.

With an amazing strength, he suddenly gripped
Finn's arm. “You will not let me become one like
them.
You will not let it happen. Swear to me. Swear!”

Tara stroked a hand on his cheek. “You're not going to die, Captain. You can fight this.”

“I am an old man,” Tremblay said. “I feel my strength slipping far away. I do not fear death. I fear what I saw last night.”

“You will never become one of them, Captain!” Tara assured him.

Finn watched her, noting the way she looked at the captain. She'd been his captive; his ship had been the one to run Richard's pride to a blazing death in fire and water. But Tremblay had treated her with courtesy, and she seemed to have acquired an honest affection for him. She looked at the captain now with tenderness, and her fingers touched upon the man's face with the brush of a feather.

She loved Richard, of course. That was so easy to see. And yet, the two did behave more as siblings than as…as lovers. It was, Finn had to admit, irritating to realize that he'd felt…yes,
jealousy,
regarding the man. Tara Fox was not easy to slip into a compartment in his mind.
Possible spy, assassin. Not to be thought of as a woman.

Any creature, alive or dead, he mused, would find her appealing. Even that one creature last night, accustomed to seizing what women he chose—and murdering those who displeased him, bored him or were simply there when his hunger peaked—had known that she was
different. She walked with pride and beauty; her eyes flashed with her passions, and though she knew fear, she knew as well to fight around it.

Finn found himself entranced, watching her, and suddenly wondering what it would be like when her eyes filled with tenderness and passion as she looked into the eyes of a lover. Though he'd been at war so long—his one guiding function to keep the president alive—he had thought about little else lately. There had been women; perhaps his very mix of blood made him attractive to the opposite sex, but he hadn't felt this strange torment of sexual longing that twisted at and tore into his emotions, as well.

He quickly drew his gaze from her and focused on the captain. There was no need to dwell on the future when they still had to persevere here. But if they did survive this…

Then what?
She was his captive; she would be brought to trial—if they lived. He admired Richard, but Finn now found himself praying that neither he nor Tara was the Gator. But if not, then how had his information been so accurate, and how had Richard's
Peace
been setting to sea—
an armed blockade runner!
—when it had?

They were all captured here in a struggle now for life or death; if they didn't get ahead of the diseased they'd all perish; this was definitely a take-no-captives situation. Questions of national allegiance would all be moot.

“Captain, I will leave you in the hands of our good
doctor MacKay, and I will see to it that the ship out on the water is made safe. She will take us far from these waters, and we'll send a warning for those in the islands to take care. You will be fine. I will give orders and guidance to your men as if they were my own, and we will all fight our hardest to prevail.”

Tremblay turned to look at Tara. “If I…succumb, you will do me the honor of death! Promise me that you will see to it that I don't flounder in a prison of death and destruction, that I may die in God's good graces, and stand before Him in heaven?”

“Dr. MacKay won't let you die,” Tara said.

“Promise me!”

“We all vow such. But as you are an excellent officer of the Union, sir, we need you. We won't let you die,” Finn said. Then he stood; it was time to get out to the ship.

He started walking toward the line of Union longboats. Tara came running behind him. “I'm going with you,” she told him.

“You can't,” he said, looking around at the campsite. This morning, every man seemed to be at work cleaning a rifle or honing a sword.

“I can be helpful,” she said. “If someone does get at me, it won't matter. I am what I am—they can't
turn
me into anything.”

“I want to take a party of six—two top deck all the while, and four to flush out the ship. What reason would I give to these men to take a lady aboard on such a mis
sion? She is a monster? Please don't decapitate her because she's a
different kind
of monster?”

“But
you're
a monster,” she reminded him.

“A masculine monster, Tara. And I'm afraid that matters among these men.”

“But that's foolish.” She pleaded, “There must be a way…?. Please, you need to let me come. I can really help you—and you know that.”

He looked at her, down into her eyes. He felt the sensation streak through him again that he wanted
more
of her.

That meant he should turn away, turn his wall into a brick wall.

Except that she was right. She had fought exceptionally well the night before.

“All right. Inform Richard. I'll leave MacKay to watch over the captain. We'll be three, then. I'll bring three more with me. Find Richard while I decide who is most able—and least wounded,” Finn told her.

She nodded solemnly, and turned to do as he had bidden.

Finn looked around the camp. He thought about the second body they had found on the island last night. It was plausible that a tide had carried the body up to the mangroves. It was harder to construe how one might have wound up inland.

He'd seen the men as they'd worked, sailing the Union ship. He'd seen them all pitch together, setting up camp on the island. It was possible, though difficult
to believe, that one of them was a traitor—or worse, a minion for a monster.

He looked after Tara, and then stared down at Captain Tremblay and Dr. MacKay. McKay rose, grim.

“You think that he was infected?” the doctor asked him quietly.

“I don't know. You'll have to watch over him, and the camp. But I doubt if anything will happen during the daylight hours. Someone got onto that rescue ship who shouldn't have been on it, or there has been someone among us all the while,” Finn said. “Keep a sharp eye out while we're securing the ship. We'll bring her in and anchor her as swiftly as we can, and hopefully, be out of here by tomorrow.”

“Any words of wisdom for me?” MacKay asked.

“Keep your sword at your side. Don't hesitate. Perhaps get a few of the men remaining to sharpen pine branches strong enough to pierce through muscle and sinew. And watch the captain.”

The man nodded. “Godspeed, then. I will do my best here.”

Leaving the doctor, Finn found Richard and Tara waiting at the longboats. Richard had a rifle over his shoulder, a sword in a scabbard. Tara had found a belt and sheath that would fit her, and she was ready, too.

Charles Lafferty was with them, his shoulder still bandaged, but he had a grim look on his face.

“Agent Dunne, I'm begging you, give me the chance
to accompany you, sir! I've learned what we're up against, and I'm ready for the fight.”

Lafferty was a big man, and Finn had seen him wield a sword.

“Your arm is wounded.”

“My left arm, sir. I can fight with my right, and do so well, I swear.”

Finn nodded. “Lafferty, fine. You're in. You'll guard topside while we search below.” He looked over the men who waited, some seeming as if they would like to be called. Others had the look of soldiers who would do their duty, but did not relish an actual confrontation.

“London, Grissom—are you up for the journey?” Finn asked. London was as solid as a steel drum. Grissom was not a big man, but Finn had seen the way he could move.

“Aye, sir,” London assured him quickly.

“Aye,” Grissom said more gravely.

Finn looked back at the camp. MacKay's arms were folded over his chest; he wasn't leaving his position by the captain.

“Then we're on our way. When the ship is secured, I'll send out a flare. Billy!” he called, searching the ranks for the seaman.

“Aye, sir!” Billy said, waving from the rear of the tent, near the fire.

“Someone on guard at all times. The good doctor MacKay is in command if the captain is incapacitated.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Grissom said.

“Yes?”

“The lady is coming with us? On such a mission—”

“I cannot leave her here, Grissom. Shall we go?”

He didn't wait for argument from the men but headed straight into the boat. The others moved in. Tara took a seat in the rear; Richard sat center, and picked up an oar. Grissom sat next to him, looked at him a moment and then picked up the other oar. Finn and Lafferty picked up the second set while London was near the rear.

When they reached the abandoned ship, Richard rose carefully. “I can nab that iron rod with a lasso,” he suggested.

Finn knew he could leap the distance, and Tara most probably could as well, but it wouldn't do at the moment. “Aye, Richard.”

“If this don't beat all,” London said, grinning. “It's us and the Rebs today. Well, in my book, that sure beats fighting, for once!”

Richard was good, hitting his mark on the second try.

“I'll take it up first,” Finn said.

He looped his arm around the rope and tested it; the hold was secure. He began his climb, careful as he reached the deck. Looking around, he saw no one at first, and then a body lying over the helm. He walked over to it quickly, jerking the man back.

This fellow had not been ravaged. Whoever had attacked the ship had been stealthy, had taken out the helmsman first. No blood hunger had caused this kill;
the man's throat had been slashed, probably from the rear, a quick slice from the left ear to the right. Blood pooled over the wheel, and down to the deck.

Leaving the corpse, he came back to the rail and looked down; Richard was on his way up. Finn reached down to assist. When he cleared the deck, Tara began her assent. She was quick and nimble, even encumbered with the sword. As she neared the rail, he and Richard crashed into each other in their attempt to help her over.

Richard gave way. Finn slipped his arms around Tara's shoulders, hiking her over and setting her down. He felt the brush of her body, and felt the reaction of his own. He stepped back quickly. “Lafferty, come on, we can give you leverage from here!”

London was the last up. When they were assembled on deck, they looked at the dead man at the helm.

“I know this ship, sir. I've sailed on her,” London told him.

“How many decks?”

“Captain's cabin there, sir. One below, two officers' quarters portside and bunks starboard, and storage for food and supplies. Three below, you've got the cannon ports, and below that, ballast and more storage.”

“There's no splitting up. No one goes anywhere alone. Richard, you and Lafferty topside. The rest of us will begin a sweep. Take the captain's quarters first, and dispatch anyone you find,” Finn instructed.

Richard and Lafferty headed for the captain's quarters. While they made their way to the steps leading
below, Finn watched the two. They worked well in tandem. Richard held back, ready with his sword. Lafferty kicked the door in.

“Dead captain!” Lafferty called.

“See to him,” Finn said. “Head off, body in the water.”

“Aye!” Lafferty replied.

Finn led the way down. The ship was laid out exactly as described. He paused, listening. There was nothing but the sound of the waves against the ship, and the movement of the two men overhead.

He motioned to London and Grissom, who began a thorough search through the trunks and barrels of salt, rum, dried beef and other food supplies. Walking ahead, he knew that Tara followed him. He paused as they came to the seamen's bunks. Blankets covered them. They glanced at one another, and started searching through the bunks.

“One here,” Tara called, her voice tight.

He hurried over. A man lay in the bunk. His eyes were closed, his face unmolested. His torso was ripped from throat to groin. All that remained was a bloody mass.

Tara turned away. The body was so destroyed that Finn didn't think the man could make a return. Nonetheless, he drew his knife and decapitated the man. As he did so, he heard movement, and Tara let out a startled cry.

He turned; a man had burst out from the first of the
small officers' quarters; his eyes were blazing. Blood spattered his white shirt, but he showed no signs of injury. He was almost upon Tara. Finn spun with his knife ready, but his effort wasn't needed. Tara cried out again, both hands on the hilt of her sword as she brought it swinging high with true aim. She caught him dead in the neck and with such energy and power that the head went flying. For what seemed like a long moment the body stood, then fell at their feet.

Grissom and London came rushing over. London stared at the body, and then at the head, and then at Tara. “I will serve with you anytime, Miss Fox…”