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For a sweet, terrible moment, I am plagued by memories of Larimar on the cross, naked and writhing as I drink her beautiful blood. I had her, had her in my hands, and I ruined it all.

“What’s that?” Abe asks, gesturing to the needle, tube, and now a jug Ramsay has in his hands.

“It’s how we get the blood,” he says as he walks over to the woman. “There are very few of us who can handle feeding directly from them with our fangs. As you know, we tend to get a little…carried away. Some of us, like Thane here, can do it as long as there is another Brethren in the room to hold him back if he gets out of hand. Last thing we want is for greed and hunger to take over.”

Ramsay then goes on to explain how the needle and tube create pressure, allowing the blood to trickle into the jug in a slow, controlled manner, something I know Abe is already well-versed in.

Abe seems quite impressed with it all, since this style of handling blood and sustenance appeals to him—he’s always looking for the most streamlined way, avoiding all murder if possible. It’s not that he particularly objects to murder—Abe has certainly never had any trouble killing humans for me—but he believes the only hopeful future for Vampyres, one where we can co-exist in secret beside humans, is to keep our dealings as quiet as possible.

Hence why he also doesn’t seem too sold on the idea of letting these blood-drained humans go after they’ve provided for the crew, but we’re new here and not about to tell Ramsay what to do. At least, I’m not. How he runs his ship is none of my business—I’m here for one reason only.

Ramsay makes quick work of preparing the humans, taking some blood from the woman, then the other men, until all five of them have filled a jug’s worth. The humans don’t even seem to know what’s going on and have submitted to the process. At least they don’t seem to be in any pain.

“Fascinating,” Abe says as Ramsay hands him the jug. He tips it to his mouth, the blood pouring neatly straight down his throat. His pupils glow red, and Ramsay snatches the jug from him before he finishes the whole thing.

“My apologies,” Abe says sheepishly, clearing his throat. “Seems I was hungrier than I thought.”

Ramsay hands me the jug next, and I finish the rest of it. I’m no stranger to drinking blood from a cup, but it is the first time I’ve had various blood types mixed together. Can’t say I enjoy it all that much—too messy for my palate—but I’m in no position to complain. It has certainly given me more energy, my senses sharpening, the gnawing in my gut subsiding.

With the jug empty, Ramsay puts everything back and tells the humans that someone will be by later to clean up and give them more food, and we lock up the hold behind us.

“I don’t think you’ve really had a proper tour of the ship,” Ramsay says to us. “We put you to work straightaway. Come.”

Again, we follow him and Thane throughout the ship as he points out the various quarters. Aside from the hold where they keep the bloodletters, there’s also a section for prisoners and one they dub the “chain room,” where they keep unruly Vampyres. Then, there’s the weapons room, stocked top to bottom with every gun, sword, and weapon you can think of, plus cannonballs and gunpowder. They point to a jail room at one end, though I don’t go inside, and on the next level up, there’s the gun deck, lined with cannons and closed ports, as well as some of the crew’s quarters. On the next deck up is our cabin, closest to Thane’s quarters, and Ramsay’s. I have a feeling that we would normally be sleeping in the hammocks below like most of the crew, but perhaps we’re treated a little better because of my past as Priest, and Abe because he’s an esteemed doctor. Or maybe they just want to keep an eye on us.

Finally, we end at Ramsay’s quarters at the very back of the ship. It’s spacious, with lots of shining teak and draped tapestries, lined with bookshelves topped with figurines from various cultures around the world.

And an assortment of crystals. I look around for the seeing one, which should resemble a crystal sphere, but it’s not in sight.

He’s the witch, I think. Or something like it.

“Have a seat.” He gestures to two velvet armchairs.

Abe and I sit down while Thane grabs a bottle of what looks to be whisky, skillfully carrying it and four glasses over to us. He pours us each a generous amount and then hands them to us.

“This whisky belonged to Francis Drake,” he says. “The most infamous pirate of all.”

“Privateer,” Abe corrects him.

“If he’s just a privateer, then I’m just a pirate,” Ramsay says. “How about we cheers to us pirates, then?”

We clink our glasses together.

“Salud,” I say in Spanish.

“Salud,” the rest say.

The whisky goes well with the aftertaste of blood, smooth and nuanced. I try to take my time with it. Because of our metabolisms, we generally don’t get too drunk, but it can happen from time to time, especially if you work on it.

“Now,” Ramsay says as he leans back against his desk. His feet are crossed casually in front of him, his glass dangling from his fingers, but the look in his eyes is markedly serious. “How about the two of you tell me why you’re really here?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

LARIMAR

Larimar!

The storm is coming.