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LARIMAR

Icould kill him.

If the man holding me would bring me just a little bit closer, I would launch myself at Priest with the last bit of energy I have, my claws extended and aimed right for his heart. But if I reached into his chest, I’d probably find the space between his ribs empty.

The man has no heart.

The man is a monster.

He never loved me. Of course he didn’t. He never said he did.

He never had a heart to give.

There were many times during the swim with Maren and Nill that I thought about telling her, disclosing that I know this former Father Aragon and exactly how well I knew him.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Because part of me was ashamed. That I was captured by a rabid Vampyre turned priest, and I fell in love with him. That he kept me prisoner and had his way with my body over and over again, and I loved every minute of it.

Even when Maren filled me in on her life after leaving Limonos, all the horrors she went through with Prince Aerik, how her husband, Ramsay, the captain of the Nightwind, captured her and tortured her in a similar way, even though it seemed she would completely understand, I just couldn’t tell her the truth.

Part of me hoped she was wrong about the name, that perhaps she had some other magic Vampyre priest pirate on board.

Part of me hoped she was right.

I thought I used the last of my strength to grab the rope as the crew hauled me aboard, aided by Nill’s help, but it turns out the last of my strength converted into rage when I laid eyes on Priest.

My Priest.

My Aragon.

He hasn’t changed a bit. The years have been so cruel to me; I’ve lost all my precious fat, my hair has thinned, and I know the shine in my eyes is gone. But he, he looks as dangerous as ever, just as handsome, just as wild. His long black hair, his beard, the piercing glacial blue of his eyes…even his clothes look the same, white shirt, black pants, though he now has a holster around his waist and a short sword.

And the rosary.

The rosary I left in the cottage.

It’s now around his wrist.

He’s here and he’s human and he’s whole.

Why did the monster have to come for me? Why did he have to change?

Larimar, Maren says to me sharply, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand. Do you know this man?

I swallow thickly and answer out loud, in Spanish, so he understands. “He is no man. He is a monster.”

“You speak Spanish?” Maren asks me, even more incredulously.

“She does,” Priest says, his voice low and measured, though I can see the anxious way he’s touching his wrist, the sparks in his eyes. “So, until she learns English, I suggest we all speak her language. I assume most people on this ship speak Spanish as well?”

The men around us murmur. Must be nice to be immortal and have all the time in the world to learn as many languages as you want.

But what language we speak is the least of my concerns.

“What did you say to my sister before?” I say to Priest, goading him. “You said it in English.”

“I asked him to give you legs,” she says. “He refused,” she adds bitterly.