Chapter Twenty-Two

Five Years Later

"Nervous?" Abe asks me.

I frown, shooting him a quick glance before going back to watching the harbor. "Why should I be nervous?"

"First day in a new vocation has got to be rather nerve-racking."

"You act like being a pirate is a job."

"Isn't it?" he asks, but in my peripheral vision, I see him stroking his beard, something he does when he has a case of the nerves.

I can't blame either of us, though I think it's more anxiety that the ship won't show up at all.

We've been in the village of Valparaiso for six months, waiting for the Nightwind to come into harbor.

Six long, tedious months of waiting.

But to me, that was nothing.

I was alone for years in Tierra del Fuego, the wild lands across the Strait of Magellan. I only remember some of it, and I suppose that is a blessing. By the time Abe found me, I was a starving beast, having killed what settlers and natives I could find, then barely subsisting on guanacos and penguins, enough to keep me alive but not in good condition.

After that, he brought me up to Santiago for a few years, chained in a barn in an isolated farmhouse on the other side of the river. He operated under the guise of being a local doctor and would take trips into the city every now and then so as not to raise suspicions about him being there, but his true job was coaxing Father Aragon out and casting the monster back in.

It was dangerous work, but Abe assured me it was nothing like it had been when I'd first been turned. Perhaps the monster inside me had lost the thrill of depravity once it realized I lost Larimar. Or perhaps Father Aragon—Armand Alcaraz—knew how to fight back this time.

Either way, over a year ago, I put the beast away for good.

It's not gone—I can feel it in my blood, in my bones.

The darkness, the evil.

It's waiting to come out, biding its time for the right moment, whenever that may be.

But I no longer fear it like I once did. I survived my worst fear, clawed my way back to the light after I was drowned in shadows. I know that, no matter what happens, my psyche, my will, my constitution is strong enough to withstand the bad blood in my veins.

Perhaps one day, I'll make friends with the monster inside. Maybe we can coexist in the same body, two sides of the same coin, beast and man.

After all, I feel the beast is the driving force behind this next venture—becoming a pirate.

More specifically, to join the crew of the Nightwind under Captain Ramsay "Bones" Battista as they search for the colony of Syrens rumored to be by Roche Island. Since they are supposed Vampyres such as myself, Abe says they hope to capture a few from the colony so that the blood lasts them longer on their expeditions around the globe.

Of course, my true reason for joining their crew and becoming a pirate of the high seas is to look for Larimar. I have been dreaming about her for the last five years. Obsessing over her. Pining for her.

I have been hunting her in one way or another.

The one who stole my heart.

Who broke our bargain.

Who left me behind to die while she escaped into the sea and became a Syren once more, the true thing she always wanted. It was never me she cared about—she saw her opportunity for escape, and she took it.

I know it's unfair of me to feel that way, to resent her, to feel rejected and spurned, to feel as if she never upheld her part of the deal. I know it is unjustified, all this anger that's been simmering inside me. I know this.

But I can't help how I feel.

"Aragon," Abe says in a low voice. "You're doing it again."

I pause. My hand is at my ear. The ear she bit off. It grew back a little larger, I swear it did, and when I'm especially overcome with rage or grief or frustration, I tend to tug at my earlobe. Abe says it's one of my tells. In the past, he would tell me to rein in my emotions to keep the beast in check, but ever since the creature made his appearance in the church, the doctor is trying a new approach. He thinks that shoving emotions deep inside and hiding them behind a cold, unfeeling fa?ade is what drove the beast to emerge. His new theory is that addressing the emotions will have better results in the long run.

I don't agree. I don't want to talk about my fucking feelings. I was happier when I was in control of how I felt, and how I controlled it was by ignoring it.

I sigh. "My apologies." I lower my hand, shoving it in my coat pocket.

"No, don't apologize," he says. "Tell me what ails your mind."

I groan, rolling my eyes, but I know he will only badger me until I tell him. "I'm just thinking about Larimar."

"Of course you are," he says matter-of-factly. "I'd venture to say that's all you've thought about for the last five years. What feelings have come up?"

What feelings haven't? Anger. Desire. I want to find her. I want to hurt her for leaving me. I want to hurt her for hurting me.

"I'm mad," I say. "I keep feeling slighted. Embarrassed, even."

"Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned," he chuckles.

"It's woman scorned," I correct him. "Shakespeare."

"No. It's actually the playwright William Congreve," he says. "And it's applicable to all genders."

"Regardless," I say, giving him a steely look, "that is how I feel."

"And you realize how unjustified these feelings are, yes? The monster took over your body. You tried to kill the woman you love. You ended up burning down the church. She fled into the night and disappeared into the sea because it was the only way she would survive against you and the villagers who turned on her. Then, you ended up setting the entire village on fire, burning most of the people alive, and drinking the blood of the ones you didn't. Yet somehow, you feel scorned that she left you…"

"I never said it was fair," I grumble. I don't need the events of that night brought back up, but they seem to come up every day. I scan the horizon again, anxiety prickling the back of my neck. "Are you certain the ship is supposed to arrive today?"

"That's what the boy from the next village said. He saw the ship with his own eyes."

"But how do you know it's the Nightwind?"

Abe looks at me, a twinkle in his eye. "The boy said it was moving under full sail and fast as lightning." He wets his finger and sticks it in the air. "Yet there's no wind."

"Just what I need, a damn magic ship," I mutter.

"Speaking of magic, I haven't told them much about you. They know you're a Vampyre, of course, and one of sound mind and constitution."

I let out a sour laugh.

"But I haven't mentioned you were a priest," he says. "Nor have I mentioned that you were, at one point, a witch. Or that you were turned. Best not to rock the boat, so to speak, before we're integrated with them. You know how Vampyres can be around witches, even former ones. And, well, they tend to thumb their noses at the monsters, think they're beneath them."

"Who can blame them?" I say under my breath.

"I did mention that you knew a thing about Syrens."

I balk. "What did you do that for?"

He shrugs with one shoulder. "I figured it would be extra incentive for them to make the stop and pick us up."

"Or it could be the reason we've been waiting here for six months," I point out, trying to control the rage bubbling up inside me. "They might not be coming here at all. You might have ruined everything."

He fixes a steady eye on me. "Or I may have made them curious. I assume they already know a thing or two about Syrens, since they hunt them. They'll likely want to know how you happen to know a thing or two as well. We always have much to learn from each other. I am sure they will see it that way too."

"They're pirates," I point out. "I don't think they care much for learning. All that matters to them is raping and pillaging."

Abe laughs. "Come now, even you know better than to believe rumors and legends. Besides, you slaughtered an entire village of innocent people, the very flock you were sworn to protect. I don't think you have a moral leg to stand on, Aragon."

He doesn't need to remind me. I reach for the rosary around my neck, the only thing I saved from my previous life. Somehow, even in the darkest parts of my insanity, I managed to go to my cottage and grab the rosary that had last bound Larimar's wrists together before I burned it and everything else to the ground.

That's why I can never fully blame the beast for what it did. There was a part of me in there the whole time. The beast wasn't sentimental—I was. I had the ability to push through every now and then, which meant, deep down, I was an animal too. Part of me thinks that I let the beast in and let it stay for as long as it did simply because I didn't want to confine myself to society's norms anymore, and certainly not the rigid teachings of the church. I want to be a lewd, hedonistic, primal being and not be bombarded by guilt for it.

As such, I am no longer a priest. My relationship with God, whoever that may be, hasn't changed much, but I can't, in good faith, be a man of…good faith. I can't be a willful hypocrite preaching from the pulpit. I slaughtered my own congregation. I am not fit to spout God's word.

You also nailed Larimar to the cross and drank her blood, I remind myself. Truth is, I was never fit for the job, but we all knew that.

"Ah, do you see what I see?" Abe says excitedly. He points up the bay toward the port of Quintero, where a black ship appears jutting out from around the coastline. "That's the Nightwind."

"It's a ship…" I say, not entirely convinced. Our eyesight is better than a human's, but it has its limitations. But even as I say the words, I see how fast the ship is moving, despite how the seas are calm and the air is still.

And as it gets closer still, white sails full of magic wind, I begin to feel excited for the first time in a long time. There's a perverse sense of hope too, as if this will actually lead me to Larimar. I have no idea if she was with the colony before I found her or if she returned to them after—she was quite secretive about her whereabouts, which often made me wonder what she was hiding—but either way, this will do more than I did on my own. Even with wings, I could only do so much flying over the icebergs of the southern seas. Syrens don't need air, and there's no reason for them to come to the surface.

Which is also why I find the idea of Syren hunters intriguing. How exactly do they find them when the oceans are so large and deep?

I suppose I'm about to find out.

If they'll have me.

I look at Abe. He's grinning to himself with excitement, adjusting his hat anxiously. The poor sap has been through so much, pulled from his lofty work at the monastery to come down and babysit me once again. I'm sure some part of him wanted to leave me to my own devices—but being an immortal, the chances of me dying, even as a monster, were slim, and even if he didn't feel some sort of sentiment toward me as a friend, he does seem to have this strange urge to want to protect humanity from blood-suckers such as ourselves.

This will be good for him, I think, a chance to be away from the demands of rehabilitating monsters. Maybe the pirates need their own moral compass on board.

But will it be good for me? That remains to be seen.

If I do end up finding Larimar, what will I do to her?

Will the monster make another appearance? Will he be worse to her than he was before? Will he kill her and then disappear, leaving me to deal with the consequences? Or perhaps he'll take over for good. I might be so despondent that I'll fully hand over control of my body, mind, and soul.

"They're going to ask me what I know about Syrens," I say to Abe as I pick up my satchel with my meager personal belongings, swinging it over my shoulder. "How much should I divulge about Larimar?"

"As much as you wish," he says as we start walking down from the ridge we've been standing on, heading to a winding footpath that leads to the beach. "What you tell them is up to you. On the one hand, if you're honest, they'll know that you didn't join their crew just to siphon their catch. On the other hand, if you're honest, they might think you're there to sabotage them."

"Why would I do that?"

"Well, you fell in love with a Syren. If they end up catching Larimar, are you telling me you wouldn't stop them from eating her?"

A hot coal of anger burns in my gut, and I clench my fists at the thought. "She's mine, Abe. No one else's."

"So you say. But if you tell them you were intimate with one of the Syrens they are hunting, there's a chance they might toss you overboard into the oceanic abyss. They would consider you too compromised."

I press my lips together in thought as we reach the shore. "They would be right."

"Then perhaps we don't tell them," Abe says.

"They'll want to know how I got my expertise…"

He sighs, staring out at the ocean as the ship gets closer and closer, sealing our fate. "Tell them the truth. It's easier that way. You saw what she did to the villagers. You captured her, you brought her to your house, you fed from her, and she managed to escape one day. No need to mention the part about giving her legs. They don't need to know about your magic yet."

"Or the fact that my house was a church."

"Perhaps it's best to tell them as little as possible. Vampyres are an ornery bunch, and I imagine pirates even more so. You'll fit right in."

It doesn't take long for the ship to come close. Soon, she's dropping anchor not far from shore, and a small rowboat is lowered to the water with a man aboard. The ship itself is impressive in both height and girth, and it hums with magical energy, giving it a life of its own, like a sentient being. I have to wonder how Vampyres happened to get their hands on enough magic to bespell a ship. Perhaps they might even have a witch on board. Vampyre witches are rare, but they aren't unheard of.

The rowboat gets closer, a Black man at the oars, who pulls in a few yards from shore.

"Ahoy there," the man says in English, casting a suspicious eye over us. "And who might you be?"

"Doctor Van Helsing and Aragon," Abe announces with a flourish of his hands, speaking the language fluently, just as I can.

"Aragon what?" the man asks. "Or does he only have one name?"

I raise my brows. It had always been Father Aragon, but now that I'm not a priest…

"Aragon Alcaraz," Abe says without hesitation, using the name I was born with. It doesn't sound terrible. "We've been waiting for your ship for six months. I sent your captain correspondence last year."

"Aye," the man says with a shrug. "Schedules are hard to keep in these parts. Well, I suppose you check out."

He starts rowing the rest of the way until the hull scrapes against the sand. Abe and I quickly walk to the boat, throwing our satchels over before climbing aboard. I wade in the water to my knees in order to push the tender out of the shallows.

Abe takes his seat on the wooden plank across from me and makes a disgruntled noise. The hem of his pants is wet.

You're not going to last a day, I think to myself.

I'd tell him so, but I don't want this man to kick Abe off for being unseaworthy, even though the man is shooting me a look that says, And this man wants to be a pirate?

"I'm Cruz, by the by," the man says, rowing us toward the ship.

"Pleasure to meet you," Abe says. "May I ask how many crew members you have? Are they all Brethren?"

"We have thirteen, including one human." Then he shakes his head. "Pardon me, two humans."

"Two humans?" Abe asks. "How is that possible? Oh, I see. You keep them as food. I was wondering how you would all feed while at sea. You can't possibly come across that many food sources in the middle of the ocean."

"It can be challenging," he says carefully. "But no, the humans on board are part of the crew. We make a point not to eat them." He sounds utterly serious, but he flashes a grin at us.

"What do they do?" I can't help but ask. "As crew. Do they know what you are?"

"Very much so," he says. "It's not an easy thing to hide. One of them, Sedge, is our cook. The other, Maren, she's the captain's wife."

"A woman on board," Abe says. "That's not bad luck?"

Cruz gives him a knowing smile. "Oh, not this lady. She's very much good luck."

"So what do you use as sustenance?" Abe asks. Always with the questions, and he's like a dog with a bone if he doesn't get his answers.

"We have our ways" is his simple reply.

"Hunting Syrens," I comment.

Cruz's gaze slides over to mine and holds it for a second. "Bones told me you know something about them. Or that's what your letter said. Is it true?"

I give him a cautious nod. "I do. I've hunted and caught one myself."

His eyes widen. "Pray tell."

"I'll wait until I talk to Captain Bones," I say. "Would hate to have to tell the same story twice."

Cruz absorbs that with a nod and keeps rowing until we're at the side of the ship. Up close, her energy hums even greater, the great height of her rising from the sea like a behemoth.

The Nightwind.

Heads poke over the railing and drop ropes down, which Cruz quickly attaches to either end of the skiff before it's hauled up out of the sea.

Then, our boat becomes level with the deck of the ship.

Standing there are a dozen grim-looking men with swords and pistols pointed our way.

The last thing I see is an oar heading toward my face.

Then, all the world goes black.