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I groan and raise my head. It’s dark, and everything is moving.

I blink hard and try to get my eyes to adjust, only to realize it’s dark because it’s somehow nighttime, with the sky full of stars and scattered clouds, and the world is moving not just because I was hit on the head with a blunt object, but because it is moving.

I’m on the deck of the ship, chained around one of the masts.

In front of me is a tall, swarthy-looking fellow, his dark hair tied back and a few days’ stubble on his cheeks, dressed head to toe in gray. He has a sword in his hand, though it’s down by his side, and he’s staring at me with both curiosity and amusement.

“Father Aragon,” the pirate says in a wry voice, and I jolt at the sound of my godly name. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Captain Battista. You may call me Bones or Ramsay—it doesn’t really matter, since you won’t be with us for very long. See, we don’t welcome liars on board the Nightwind. It’s not just me; you’d find out that I’m actually quite tolerant, but rather, the ship herself doesn’t like dishonest crew. She gets rather…cranky.”

As if on cue, the ship groans as it goes over a wave.

“Who are you calling a liar?” Abe says from behind me, chained to the other side of the mast. He’s trying to sound annoyed, but I hear the pain in his voice. He must have been hit with the same oar.

Abe, I warn him. He has a bad habit of talking back and not reading social situations properly. Or not caring to.

“You, obviously, Doctor Van Helsing,” Ramsay says, “if that is, in fact, your real name. Frankly, it sounds verily made up.”

“It’s Dutch,” Abe says, spitting.

“Ah! That explains why it sounds like a turd in your teeth,” he says.

I’d laugh at that if I wasn’t so concerned with how he learned I was a priest.

“It is his name, and he is a doctor,” I growl at him. “And I was a priest. I was Father Aragon.”

“Oh, I know,” Ramsay says to me, leaning on the sword, his hands casually draped over the hilt. “You might not think we can keep up with all the news and rumors that this world has to offer due to us being perpetually at sea, but we do visit many ports. We talk to many different souls—when we’re not drinking from them—and we have other ways of getting information. I reckon I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“Apparently,” I say under my breath.

“So tell me, Father,” he says, not impressed. “Why did you and the doctor lie about your past vocation? Were you ashamed of what you did in Nombre de Jesus?”

How in damnation did he know that?

Easy, Aragon, Abe’s voice slides into my mind. Let him speak first. Don’t give away Larimar.

“Wouldn’t you be?” I ask, looking the captain dead in the eyes.

He studies me for a moment. “I suppose I would be. Then again, I’m not like you. I’m not a beast. It would surprise me to learn that a monster feels shame.”

“As you can see, I’m not a monster,” I say to him through gritted teeth. “Presently,” I add.

“I just don’t know,” Ramsay says, straightening up. He looks down the length of the ship toward the helm, and I follow his gaze to see a beautiful woman standing near the wheel. “Maren, I’m afraid I’m going to need some of your feminine intuition with these two.”

The woman picks up the hem of her teal gown and walks down the middle of the ship, the rest of the crew parting for her like Moses parted the Red Sea. She doesn’t at all look like how I thought a pirate woman would look. Her dress looks clean and extravagant, her long, wavy black hair pooling around her shoulders, framing her ample breasts.

Ramsay moves out of the way as she steps in front of me and crouches down to my level, keeping just out of reach in the event that I try to grab or kick at her.

Her eyes are a piercing shade of blue, almost unnatural, and she stares at me so intently that I fear she’s learned absolutely everything about me already, that there will be no lies safe from her.

I sniff as she continues to look at me. She smells clean, like a woman and the sea, reminding me of Larimar. There’s something about her that makes my cock twitch, causes my heart to stumble. She doesn’t really look like Larimar, aside from her breasts, and I suppose any woman will smell like the sea if she’s been on it for too long. But still…

“I’m Maren,” she says in a rich, hypnotic voice. I know that Cruz said she was human, but there’s something about her that makes me wonder if that’s completely true. “They say I’m a good judge of character, but I think they just want to pass the responsibility off on me.”

“The responsibility of?”

“Whether you live or die,” she says flatly, a curve to her lips.

“We’re Vampyres,” Abe protests.