Mate of the Vampire Read online

  Mate of the Vampire

  ML Guida

  Foreword

  Note from the author:

  Mate of the Vampire was originally A Pirate’s Obsession and part of the Legends of the Soaring Phoenix.

  But it has been re-edited and has a new cover.

  Copyright © 2019 by ML Guida

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Excerpt for Claim of the Vampire

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by ML Guida

  Chapter 1

  April 1671

  Soaring Phoenix

  Ronan Macmillan leaned against the bulkhead, detesting the tied bandages on his stubbed wrist. Sometimes he swore he could feel his absent fingers and hand move. Hell, his palm even itched. Doc said it was phantom pains, an illusion—his mind hadn’t accepted that his right hand was gone.

  Visions of the horrific island battle with the demon Zuto flashed through his mind. He couldn’t shake them. Zuto slicing off his hand. The grotesque spider. And his promise...oh his promise...

  He hated that damnable demon and his blasted curses. Because of him, the crew turned into vampires during every full moon. If they didn’t feed, the thirst nearly drove them mad.

  But now the demon had a new trick—one Ronan couldn’t refuse.

  All he had to do was to find a mermaid, a water elemental, then hand her over to Zuto. How bad could it be? It’s not like the mermaid was human. The demon needed her blood, then he’d promised to restore Ronan’s hand. He could be a warrior again.

  A cool sea breeze swept over his face, and salt tingled his lips. He turned away from his stump and slid it inside his pocket. The ocean stretched out for miles, and not a cloud marred the blue sky. He loved the sea, but how could he stay aboard the ship a cripple? He was a warrior, a pirate, not a deck swabber.

  Kane motioned for him at the wheel. “I’ve ordered the men away from the stern.”

  “Why?”

  “Mariah needs to talk to you about what happened on the island.”

  Blimey, did she know about the deal? He should have known. She was a witch—a powerful one, but he couldn’t admit it. Not yet, and he played dumb. “She bloody thinks I donna know what happened?” His raised his stump. “The damn demon cut off my hand.”

  “Aye,” Kane agreed. “’Tis more to it than that. ’Tis Lark.”

  Ronan scanned the ship but didn’t see his friend. “What about him?”

  Kane clasped his shoulder. “A time spider snatched him, flinging him to a different time. We have no idea where he is. Or if he’s even alive.”

  Ronan’s heart skipped a beat. “Another spider? By the gods, the first was terrible enough.” He forced himself to stand; brushing away Kane’s outstretched out hand. “I can stand on my own.”

  Kane lowered his arm. “Mariah needs to talk to you. She thinks you might be the key in finding her brother.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Bloody hell if I know.” Kane tilted his head. “Now go.”

  Ronan wanted to argue, but the captain’s order was law and left little argument. Ronan sighed and headed to the stern.

  Mariah waved at him to join her and William. He maneuvered between crewmen busy cleaning and repairing the ship. He couldn’t even hold a bloody mop and swab the deck.

  Several men close to the stern stopped talking and working as he squeezed by. Kane might have ordered them away, but it didn’t curb their curious gazes. A five-point star had been drawn on the deck, and at each point, there was a bowl full with some kind of herb.

  “Merci d’être venu,” Mariah said. “We need to talk.”

  William stood behind Mariah. He wrapped his arms around her, then nuzzled the back of her slender neck.

  She laughed. “William, stop!”

  Ronan gritted his teeth and fought the urge to slam his fist into William’s lovesick face. He should be the one kissing Mariah. He’d have kept her safe, not galloping around trying to defeat a demon and his fierce spider. But no, she preferred a man possessed by a dragon spirit. Being around those two was like rubbing salt into his bleeding heart.

  “What the hell do you want to talk about?”

  His loud question made them stop.

  Mariah stepped away from William and straightened her dress. William mumbled under his breath, but Ronan didn’t care. He shouldn’t have been so harsh, but there was only so much he could take.

  “Ronan, when you came on board the ship, you were babbling about how to get Lark back.” Eagerness flashed in her big violet eyes. “Do you remember what Zuto told you?”

  “Bits and pieces of a mermaid, but nothing clear.”

  She slumped against William and a tear slid down her cheek. “Je Vois.”

  A lump formed in his throat. He wanted to make her smile and give her hope, but he honestly couldn’t remember what Zuto had said. ’Twas all a blur. “I’m sorry.”

  She stood straighter. “I also know about the deal.”

  “What deal?” His shocked voice sounded like a little lad explaining to the baker how the cookies ended up in his pocket.”

  She smiled and clasped his arm. “You were feverish when you came onto the ship and talked in your sleep, oui?

  Ronan closed his eyes, and his heart quickened. Lord, stop. It was so damn hard to be around her, to breathe in her sensual scent, to experience her touch—but never her sweet kiss. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a pentagram. I was able to cast a spell and go deeper into the incantation binding you. I know Zuto promised to make you whole again, but I need to know if he said how to get my brother back. Lark’s in danger. I can feel it. We have to rescue him soon, before ’tis too late.”

  William clasped her hand and kissed her white knuckle. “We will. I promise.” He looked at Ronan, his eyes turning hard. “Why would you even think of making a deal with Zuto?”

  Ronan’s heart beat harder, sending anger rushing through his veins. He clenched his fist, trying not to bash it into the judgmental, shape-shifting dragon’s smug face. He glared. “He didna give me much choice. ’Twas the deal or my life. Which would you have chosen, ye muttonhead?”

  Flecks of yellow flickered in his William’s green eyes. “At least I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to sell my soul to the devil.”

  Grand, he’d stirred the dragon Drakon’s anger. He was about to get his arse burned to a crisp. He’d had enough of this conversation. He motioned toward the drawing. “This says I should remain a cripple?” Bitterness crept into his voice.

  “No.” Her voice softened. “But you need to understand something. Anytime blood is used, it becomes a powerful spell, not something to be taken lightly. Only magie noire requires the use of blood. Be careful in t
his deal, Ronan. Once you fulfill this promise, it cannot be undone.”

  Ronan glared. “What if the binding spell would save your brother? Would you do it?”

  “I would not want to do, but if it was the only choice...” She stuck her chin out in defiance. “Then oui, I would. I’d do anything to save Lark. He’s the last of my family.”

  Ronan turned away. He understood desperation. He’d tried everything to save his parents and his younger sister, but the bloody Sassenach murdered his family. Pushing back the painful memories, he looked at each point of the star suspiciously. He’d had enough spells to last him a lifetime. “What do you mean?”

  Wariness reflected in her beautiful eyes. “My magic revealed that he didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

  He tensed. He should have known. Zuto was a liar. “And?”

  “Unfortunately, I was not able to unravel what he has hidden, but you must be careful.”

  “Thanks for your fortune telling. As if I didna know to be careful of that devil.” His voice came out harsh and louder than he expected.

  Men ceased doing their chores, watching them with curious stares. The captain had stopped talking to Sean Mallory and now was looking their way. Sweat trickled down Ronan’s spine. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. He’d failed miserably and darted to the middle of the drawn star, trying to ignore the inquisitive stares.

  “I fear the sword that severed your hand also makes you quick to anger.”

  Ronan stiffened. “I’m not filled with hate and anger.”

  Her features softened and she smiled. “No? I can see the anger in your eyes and hear it in your voice, oui?”

  “’Tis no mystery, Macmillan.” William pressed his lips tight. “You’ve been in a foul mood since we left the island.”

  Ronan glared. “And you were as jolly as a leprechaun with a pot of gold when you were first shifted into a dragon?”

  William shrugged. “I’ll not deny it. Will you admit to your bad temper?”

  Ronan clamped his mouth shut.

  “Vous arrêter deux!” Mariah clapped her hands. “This is not helping.” She pulled out a chain with a purple stone on it and hung it around Ronan’s neck.

  Her caress and intoxicating lavender scent sent more shivers down his back.

  “This is amethyst,” she said. “It contains the general power of healing and will protect you from any other evil spells.”

  He rubbed the stone. “Blimey, why is it warm?”

  “Because yesterday I boiled it in a pan of salt water, then left it out in the sun for one hour. The stone absorbs the sun’s rays, and this enhances its protective powers, so the stone remains warm. Not only will this protect you from incantations, but it will help heal your aura. The charge is good for one week.”

  “Healin’ what?”

  “Your aura.”

  “I’m not interested in whatever the hell an aura is. I need my hand back.”

  Mariah frowned. “You want to be a demon’s slave, oui?”

  “No,” Ronan grumbled. “I donna. But neither do you. Zuto will trick you into believing we can get Lark back.”

  “Je connais, but we must try.”

  “Trust me, Ronan.” William clasped his shoulder. “The stones work. I know.”

  Ronan remembered that after Zuto first cursed William his anger had been wound up tighter than a fisherman’s tangled net. He picked the stone off his chest and examined it. “Is this going to get me my hand back?”

  “Ronan as I told you before. I am not sure I can heal your hand. I have never done anything like this before. I do not know if it will tell us how to rescue Lark. I feel your element is different. Love is driving your force. Romantic works are with water, and the water will help heal your soul.”

  Ronan snorted. “Romance? That’s the last thing I want.” How could any woman replace Mariah?

  Mariah narrowed her eyes. He looked away and refrained from any other comments.

  “You must believe, Ronan. Or the magie will not work.”

  “Aye, I believe.” He had to. He could care less about his soul, but his hand—he’d give anything to have it back.

  Mariah looked at his right hand, her eyes filled with pity. He didn’t want her pity. He wanted her love.

  William rubbed Mariah’s back. “Why are you so worried? Zuto can’t leave the island.”

  “Oui, but he does not need to leave the island. His magie is already here.”

  Ronan tensed. “You mean inside me?”

  “Je suis désolé.” She leaned over and patted his shoulder. “But I will do my best to combat the evil and keep him from controlling you.”

  “What do you mean controllin’ me?”

  “Zuto does not take bargains lightly, and he will push you to fulfill his request. I need to strengthen your stone.”

  “I’m not gonna mate with any damn fish. ’Tis not dignified.”

  “Asseyez-vous s’il vous plaît,” she gestured.

  Ronan almost walked off, but he caught the captain’s eye. He didn’t look too pleased. Ronan sighed. He’d play along, but he was one step away from choosing the brig over this nonsense. He flopped down while William sat on the outside of the star.

  “Mother Isis, I’ve need of you again. S’il vous plaît, écoutez-moi.” She raised the chalice and chanted in a language he didn’t understand. She tapped the cup with the dagger. At each point of the pentagram, she repeated the chant and tapped the chalice. She widened her arms and arched her back. “Come, Healing Mother, I ask for you to show us the way to find my brother and to heal Ronan Macmillan, servant of good. I beg of you to heal him.”

  A pagan god? Ronan shook his head. This whole tale was unbelievable, so why not an Egyptian Goddess?

  A wind caressed them like a blanket. The herbs spun around in the bowl.

  Ronan tried to concentrate, but he broke out in a hot sweat. Perspiration slipped into his eyes, and his clothes stuck to his body like paint. He wiped his face on his sleeve.

  Mariah spoke more gibberish, then Ronan’s stomach swayed. Bile burned in his gut, and for the first time since he’d been a young lad, he felt sea sick. What the hell was happening?

  Concern filled William’s eyes. “Are you well? You’re turning green.”

  “I’m fine,” Ronan muttered. But he was far from it. He couldn’t breathe, and his shirt itched, scratching his sweltering body. He yanked off his shirt, ripping the buttons, since he could only use one hand.

  William gave him a curious look. “Ronan?”

  “I said I was fine.” He rubbed his arm across his forehead. “Just hot.”

  Mariah scowled. “Concentrate, both of you. Close your eyes.”

  Ronan closed his eyes and forced himself to listen to Mariah’s sweet, alluring voice. She chanted and sang some of the words, luring him into a daze. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. And then, he didn’t want to. His muscles grew heavy, and he couldn’t move.

  An inner voice whispered, “Sleep go to sleep.” Or was it Mariah?

  He swayed back and forth to the rhythm of her voice. Tingles crept over his hot skin. All of a sudden, he couldn’t feel the rocking ship beneath him. ’Twas as if he were floating on air. A vision formed—or was it a dream? He flew above the ocean, skimming the foamy surface. Water sprayed onto his naked skin, cooling the heat boiling inside him.

  An island appeared ahead. He didn’t know which island and didn’t care. But the closer he got, fear edged up his spine. He recognized the white sand, the trampled palm trees—’twas Zuto’s island. Anger rose inside him, burying his fear, and hate twisted his gut. He wanted to choke the life out of the demon.

  But then the figure changed. ’Twas not a tall, looming male figure, but a much shorter one—a curvy one. Long blond hair cascade down a lass’s back. Her puffy blouse was pulled down, revealing creamy white shoulders, and her dress slit opened hinting at silky thighs. She stared at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He los
t himself in those eyes—they were more mysterious than the deepest part of any ocean.

  She parted luscious red lips, and desire filled him. He wanted to caress her sweet body, kiss those red lips.

  Black fog seeped over the island, covering the woman. Ronan wanted to call out to her, but she disappeared. Suddenly, red eyes glared at him through the dark cloud. Blistering and twisting pain burned on his chest, as if the amethyst stone had melted into his flesh. Agony blazed down his right arm, and he couldn’t breathe. His blood burned. The stench of burning skin shot up his nose. Someone was screaming. He was screaming.

  Pounding footsteps raced across the deck. “He’s on fire!” someone yelled. “William, what the bloody hell did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” William said. His voice sounded far away.

  “’Tis the magie norie,” Mariah cried. Dread filled her French accent. “Zuto’s punishing him. Pull him out of the pentagram.”

  Someone tackled him and pounded on him. “Jaayus! Macmillan! Macmillan, can you hear me?”

  He knew that voice. Kane. Strong hands gripped his arms, pulling him to his feet, and he howled again. He panted and opened his eyes. Kane knelt next to him. The crew hovered around them, fear and worry filling their eyes.

  “I am so sorry, Ronan.” Mariah knelt next Kane. Tears streamed down her face. “Zuto. He punished you for trying to break the spell.”

  Ronan glanced at his body; his clothes were gone. His skin was blistered and burned. His damn stump was bleeding again. Blimey, was he dying?

  He gripped the chain around his neck and yanked it. The silver chain broke. He threw it, and it slid across the deck. Then, with each ragged breath, the misery lessened, and his black and burnt skin healed. Roman examined his skin. It returned to its normal golden brown. “I will not wear that bloody stone again.”