Page 67

We’ve been in the village of Valparaiso for six months, waiting for the Nightwind to come into harbor.

Six long, tedious months of waiting.

But to me, that was nothing.

I was alone for years in Tierra del Fuego, the wild lands across the Strait of Magellan. I only remember some of it, and I suppose that is a blessing. By the time Abe found me, I was a starving beast, having killed what settlers and natives I could find, then barely subsisting on guanacos and penguins, enough to keep me alive but not in good condition.

After that, he brought me up to Santiago for a few years, chained in a barn in an isolated farmhouse on the other side of the river. He operated under the guise of being a local doctor and would take trips into the city every now and then so as not to raise suspicions about him being there, but his true job was coaxing Father Aragon out and casting the monster back in.

It was dangerous work, but Abe assured me it was nothing like it had been when I’d first been turned. Perhaps the monster inside me had lost the thrill of depravity once it realized I lost Larimar. Or perhaps Father Aragon—Armand Alcaraz—knew how to fight back this time.

Either way, over a year ago, I put the beast away for good.

It’s not gone—I can feel it in my blood, in my bones.

The darkness, the evil.

It’s waiting to come out, biding its time for the right moment, whenever that may be.

But I no longer fear it like I once did. I survived my worst fear, clawed my way back to the light after I was drowned in shadows. I know that, no matter what happens, my psyche, my will, my constitution is strong enough to withstand the bad blood in my veins.

Perhaps one day, I’ll make friends with the monster inside. Maybe we can coexist in the same body, two sides of the same coin, beast and man.

After all, I feel the beast is the driving force behind this next venture—becoming a pirate.

More specifically, to join the crew of the Nightwind under Captain Ramsay “Bones” Battista as they search for the colony of Syrens rumored to be by Roche Island. Since they are supposed Vampyres such as myself, Abe says they hope to capture a few from the colony so that the blood lasts them longer on their expeditions around the globe.

Of course, my true reason for joining their crew and becoming a pirate of the high seas is to look for Larimar. I have been dreaming about her for the last five years. Obsessing over her. Pining for her.

I have been hunting her in one way or another.

The one who stole my heart.

Who broke our bargain.

Who left me behind to die while she escaped into the sea and became a Syren once more, the true thing she always wanted. It was never me she cared about—she saw her opportunity for escape, and she took it.

I know it’s unfair of me to feel that way, to resent her, to feel rejected and spurned, to feel as if she never upheld her part of the deal. I know it is unjustified, all this anger that’s been simmering inside me. I know this.

But I can’t help how I feel.

“Aragon,” Abe says in a low voice. “You’re doing it again.”

I pause. My hand is at my ear. The ear she bit off. It grew back a little larger, I swear it did, and when I’m especially overcome with rage or grief or frustration, I tend to tug at my earlobe. Abe says it’s one of my tells. In the past, he would tell me to rein in my emotions to keep the beast in check, but ever since the creature made his appearance in the church, the doctor is trying a new approach. He thinks that shoving emotions deep inside and hiding them behind a cold, unfeeling façade is what drove the beast to emerge. His new theory is that addressing the emotions will have better results in the long run.

I don’t agree. I don’t want to talk about my fucking feelings. I was happier when I was in control of how I felt, and how I controlled it was by ignoring it.

I sigh. “My apologies.” I lower my hand, shoving it in my coat pocket.

“No, don’t apologize,” he says. “Tell me what ails your mind.”

I groan, rolling my eyes, but I know he will only badger me until I tell him. “I’m just thinking about Larimar.”

“Of course you are,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d venture to say that’s all you’ve thought about for the last five years. What feelings have come up?”

What feelings haven’t? Anger. Desire. I want to find her. I want to hurt her for leaving me. I want to hurt her for hurting me.

“I’m mad,” I say. “I keep feeling slighted. Embarrassed, even.”