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D ante kept his smile firmly in place as he walked fully into the brighter light.

He advanced slowly on Victor Bloodstone, stopping only when he was close enough to smell the shock that oozed instantly to dampen the Englishman’s brow.

Dante’s hands ached with the need to close around the stolid, patrician neck; his arms throbbed with the desire to channel all of his strength and power into squeezing, tearing, choking the life out of the treacherous thief’s miserable body.

Horace Lamprey sent his hand instantly to the hilt of his sword, but a white-lipped hiss of breath from his captain stopped the action before it could be noticed by anyone other than Dante. The hazel eyes narrowed and he managed a taut “Simon.”

Dante smiled. “Victor. I gather, from the look on your face, you were not forewarned?”

Bloodstone’s jaw tightened. “No. I was not.”

Sir Francis shrugged amiably. “For such a happy occasion I thought not to spoil the surprise. ”

“Where the devil have you come from?” Bloodstone asked, his eyes not wavering from Dante’s.

“Kind of you to ask. And I suppose the devil would be the one to answer, but since he isn’t here with us today— in his normal guise, at any rate—it falls to me to be the bearer of bad tidings.”

Aware of every owlish eye rapt upon them, Bloodstone made an admirable recovery of his wits and stepped forward. “Bad tidings? I should think it is nothing less than miraculous. Allow me to be the first to … welcome you back to life.”

Dante could hardly push away the hand Victor braced on his shoulder, though the sentiment was obvious enough in his eyes to have the intrusion swiftly withdrawn.

“The Virago?” Bloodstone attempted a smile. “Did she survive as well?”

“Alas, no. The zabras did their job well. She lies at the bottom of the sea.”

“Then we can only thank God you do not lie there with her. But … how did you escape, man? The last I saw, I would have said there was no hope.”

“Perhaps if you had stayed around awhile longer, you would have seen more.”

A few breaths were drawn in, a few more let go on soft whistles, but otherwise, the cabin was as silent as a tomb.

“I had no steerage,” Bloodstone said in a quiet, even tone. “The main was cracked, the rudder sloppy. I tried to follow our initial course of action, but the wind turned gusty and I could not bring the Talon about.”

“I have no doubt she handled like a bitch,” Dante agreed. “Especially with all that added weight on board. The barrels of food and water—?”

Lamprey cut brusquely into the conversation. “That was my doing, Captain. I did not think we should leave what few supplies we had behind to benefit the Spaniards in the event you did what damage you could and escaped. They could have used the island and our stores to refurbish and come after us.”

“Indeed,” Bloodstone added blithely. “I had no notion you would even be so foolhardy as to stand and fight, especially when you could see the trouble we were in. One ship against six?” He lifted his hand in an airy appeal to the logic of the other captains present. “Who would have expected it?”

“And when the wind died and your rudder was stronger, did you not think to circle back and search for survivors?”

“Frankly? No. If there were six enemy ships pounding me to splinters and the last you saw, I was leading them away so that you might make good your escape , would you have let the gesture go for naught and circle back—possibly to be captured and killed yourself—just so you could vanquish your conscience and say ‘We searched for survivors and found none’?”

He was smooth and convincing. Logical. Reasonable. And lying through his teeth, Dante knew.

“I suppose you thought it best to take the gold out of harm’s way as well?”

Bloodstone’s eyes betrayed a small flicker. “After all we had gone through to steal it from the King? Would you not think it the wisest course as well?”

“The Queen was pleased? I am looking closely but see no sword imprints on your shoulder.”

Bloodstone’s high cheekbones warmed under a flush. “She was too distraught over the loss of her favorite Frenchman to think of aught else.”

Dante offered up a wry laugh. “I can well imagine how she must have wept over my untimely demise.”

Dante’s apparent humor seemed to be the signal for others to relax and for one brave soul actually to join in on the exchange.

“More likely she wept over the share of her profits that went down with the Virago. For another twenty thousand, she would have danced on Leicester’s grave.”

“Twenty thousand?” Dante mused. They had easily taken six times that much; the Crown’s share should have been closer to fifty.

So you not only cheated me, you arrogant bastard, you landed the Talon before you reached England and off-loaded some of her cargo.

“For that much I would dance on my own grave.”

It was a timely jest and served to break the tension with the other captains.

The shock of seeing a ghost gave way to the pleasure of seeing the pirate wolf in their midst again and the captains started to jostle forward, finding their voices all at once.

Dante’s back was pounded and a glass was pressed into his hand.

A flood of eager questions came from all quarters and toasts were offered.

Praise was heaped on the heads of the two valiant captains who had dared raid the King’s treasure house at Veracruz, both of whom continued to stare steadfastly at one another, seeing and acknowledging the true way of things in each other’s eyes.

It was Drake who interrupted the revelry by reminding them all of a third hero present.

He hailed Spence forward and insisted he take up the story of the rescue and the attack on the San Pedro.

He listened and cheered as enthusiastically as the others, so that one would think he was hearing the tale for the first time.

But Sir Francis was nothing if not a master at manipulation, and by the time the paintings of the three Spanish harbors were produced, the men were crowding around the table, absorbing his every word, agreeing—nay, insisting —their first strike be against Cadiz.

Through it all Dante and Bloodstone stood in opposite corners of the cabin.

If anyone noticed that the- two did not seem overly anxious to seek out each other’s company again, it went unremarked.

If anyone noticed the frequent looks that passed across the room, laden with promises, threats, and cutting derision, they preferred to keep their heads bowed and their own gazes safe from accidental interception.

The storm rolled over the huddled fleet like a great wet blanket, smothering lights and sounds, pounding like angry fists on the decks and hulls, driving all but the most stalwart under cover.

There was no one to watch, no one to hear his screams, no one to see the rivers of blood that poured from Dante’s knife as he imagined stabbing Victor Bloodstone.

He would use the traitor’s own jeweled dagger and plunge it into the bastard’s soft underbelly, just above the pubic bone, jerking upward on the blade until he had ripped through the groin, stomach, chest, and eventually the heart.

All the while he was dying, Bloodstone would scream for mercy, beg for it, but Dante would only murmur the names of the men who had died much more horrible deaths on board the Virago , men who had died because of a common thief’s greed and treachery.

Then he would gouge the knife deeper, giving it an added twist to carve out the bowels, spleen, and liver.

Dante smiled and looked down into the celebratory cup of brandy he had poured himself. He took a satisfied swallow, letting the most excellent liquor roll to the back of his tongue and down his throat, warming him all the way to his toes.

When he looked across the cabin, Victor Bloodstone was still standing there, talking in muted tones to Horace Lamprey, and Dante had the pleasure of killing him all over again.

“Simon?”

It was Drake, with Carleill beside him, and Dante gave them his grudging attention.

“Watching the storm, were you? Hellish thing. Black as a maw out there.”

Dante had only been vaguely aware of the weather and he looked now, seeing the thick white splatters hitting the gallery windows beside him.

“I thought I ought to ask formally if you would honor us with your presence at Cadiz,” Drake said.

“Given the nature of the hunt and your penchant for always striving to be in the hottest part of hell at any given time, I may have overstepped myself by presuming you would want to accompany us. I am reminded, however, you have just come from a particularly exhausting adventure and may feel the strain would be too much.”

Dante smiled. “I think I can bear up, but I thank you for your concerns over my health. In truth—” he glanced over at Bloodstone— “I am feeling quite invigorated.”

Drake followed his gaze. “I thought you might.”

Dante took a sip of brandy and pushed his shoulder away from the wall. “You might have had a thought to warn me, Francis. You know how I dislike surprises.”

“Yet you handled yourself admirably well. Victor, on the other hand, seemed a little uncomfortable.”

“It is rather close in here,” Dante mused. “So much rhetoric, so much damned zeal.”

“And not one word of dissent.”

“So far.”

“So far,” Drake agreed. “Borough will probably give me the headache with his infernal discourses on naval warfare, but the rest … they seem an eager lot.”

“They usually are at the mention of the word profit”

“Do you deny the possibility that vast profits exist? If nothing else, Cadiz is the warehouse for supplies that come from the Mediterranean and Baltic. Cannon from Italy, cordage, spars, sailcloth … even the priests who hold their court in Seville will disembark for Lisbon through Cadiz. And if we should stumble across another treasure ship or two…?”

“You did make that a highly likely possibility,” Dante noted dryly.