Chapter Twenty-Four

"When was the last time you ate?" Ramsay asks us. It's been a couple of days since our trial by shark, and frankly, I'm still a little discombobulated by the turn of events. I have a hard time remembering the last time we fed. I have a hard time trying to remember what life was like before we boarded the Nightwind. It's as if everything that came before was just some hazy dream.

Or, in my case, a nightmare.

Though I still have Larimar at the forefront of my thoughts.

Her face is all I see when I close my eyes.

I try not to close my eyes.

"Five days ago," Abe fills in as we follow Ramsay and his brother, a grumpy-looking fellow named Thane, down the length of the ship. We just spent the day swabbing the decks and straightening the lines, same as the day before. Apparently, tomorrow will be more of the same. There's not a lot of variety on this ship, at least not for newcomers. I suppose I should be grateful we're not on latrine duty.

"Five days? Then you must be starving," Ramsay says. "You've both been working hard enough, I reckon. Best you sample some of our goods."

Thane grumbles something under his breath.

"What was that, brother?" Ramsay asks, motioning with his hand behind his ear. "You have something you wish to share with your captain and new crewmates?"

Thane manages to glare at all three of us with one, swooping glance. "We should have picked up more bloodletters in Valparaiso," he says gruffly as we head down the stairs to the deck below. "We took on two more Vampyres; we should have picked up two more victims to make things even. Now, they're going to be feeding from our resources, and you, apparently, have no plans to make any stops going through the strait."

Ramsay gives his brother a tired look. "First of all, you know I don't like that term, Vampyre. We didn't give that to ourselves—the humans did. We're the Brethren of the Blood, and that is that, not some name handed out by the hand-wringing Christians in Eastern Europe. No offense, Father Aragon."

I raise my palm. "No offense taken. It's just Aragon now, not father."

I have told Ramsay this quite a few times since, but he either forgets or he likes to choose your name for you. I'm not sure what it is, but I know I have to pick my battles on this ship, or they will be picked for me.

"Of course," Ramsay says as we go down another set of stairs, past the deck where Abe and I have been sharing a small cabin with bunk beds. "But back to you, Thane, and your grumbles. We couldn't risk getting any more bloodletters while picking up these two. It would have been too dangerous, would have drawn attention to ourselves. We were lucky enough that our ship traveled past unscathed."

"Because you weren't flying your Jolly Roger," Abe says. "That's the problem with you pirates: you always have to be telling the world exactly what you are."

Ramsay grins. "Don't you think that's the plan? Tell the world what it wants to see—pirates. Vicious marauders of the deep. Criminals of the high seas. Hide the truth—we're the monsters in every fairy tale."

"Poetic," Thane mutters. "Still doesn't make up for the fact that we have two extra mouths to feed."

"I could throw you overboard if that would help even the score," I say to Thane earnestly.

Ramsay bursts out laughing, and that gets me another dirty look from Thane.

"I would take you up on your offer, Aragon, but Thane is the best quartermaster we have."

"The only one you have," Thane points out.

"And he's needed to keep me in line," Ramsay goes on. Then, his expression darkens slightly. "Though lately, it seems we've switched roles."

Thane's golden eyes flash with something—regret or sorrow. More than that, I can feel the weight of history in them. I have no doubt this crew has seen and gone through their share of tragedy. None of us are immune.

I exchange a knowing glance with Abe, and we continue down the stairs until we're at the very bottom of the ship. Here, she creaks and groans with the sloshing sound of the waves beating the wooden sides. We've been lucky that the weather has been agreeable so far. We're offshore enough from Chile that we can't see the land, the ship itself having found an easier and faster course as we barrel toward the bottom of the world.

To where I had salvation for one, brief moment.

Salvation that came with violet eyes.

Until everything went up in flames.

Suddenly, we stop before a heavy door, and the smell of human blood floods my senses, overpowering the scent of oil, brine, and salt that has permeated the ship for the last few days. I feel my fangs harden in my mouth, the hairs on my body standing on end, my pulse picking up speed.

Ramsay nods as he looks me over. "It's surprising, isn't it, that you haven't smelled them by now? I think the Nightwind does a good job of keeping it contained. Otherwise, we'd be reminded that we have them down here for the taking, and no crew could function with that."

"More of the ship's magic," I say, clearing the thirst from my throat.

He nods. "She provides when she needs to."

"So, you have humans in there?" Abe gestures to the door. Even the pupils in his eyes have gone red with hunger. "Ones you've kidnapped?"

"We call them bloodletters," Thane explains. "And yes, they've been kidnapped."

"They were given a choice," Ramsay says to him testily.

Thane stares at him for a moment and then shakes his head. "A choice. Yes, of course." He looks to us, his expression somehow even more tired than usual. "Back in the day, we would attack other ships or raid ports, and humans were the main cargo we were after—not just jewels and money and weapons, but the humans themselves. We kept them in the hold as prisoners and fed from them until they all died…a slow, gruesome death. But ever since Maren joined the crew, she wanted to change our tactics to one that's more humane and merciful."

"We give the humans a choice," Ramsay says, eyeing his brother with a hard, warning look, as if he doesn't want Maren mentioned again. "They become our sustenance or die. If you choose the former, you'll live and eventually be taken back to shore, albeit drained of a lot of your blood."

"And if you don't?" Abe asks.

"Well, you die, and we take you anyway," he says.

"But you can't possibly let these people out after you've been feeding on them," Abe says, the red starting to fade from his eyes and the insatiable curiosity of his doctor's mind taking over. "They'll tell everyone what happened."

"You seem to forget the power we possess naturally, Doctor," Ramsay says, tapping his temple. "We compel them to forget. At any rate, there's nothing a good old spell won't fix."

"Who on this ship knows how to use magic?" I ask, wanting an answer of some kind. Are there Vampyres who are also witches, who weren't turned like I was?

"I do," Ramsay says, his voice stern, his gaze telling me he won't divulge any more. In due time, I suppose.

Thane adds, "Even if the humans do remember what happened, no one will believe them."

"That's what they said about what happened in Eastern Europe," Abe points out. "But now we have the term Vampyre because there were one too many stories that legend turned into rumor."

Ramsay shrugs. "We're doing our best to be a little more moral. If it backfires, I have no problems sliding backward on the scale."

Thane lets out a wry snort. "Maren wouldn't let you."

"She lets me do what I need to," Ramsay says pointedly.

"Oh, but when the crew voices their displeasure…" Thane says.

"I take it not everyone is happy with your new system?" Abe asks.

"No," Thane says. "And we are supposed to be a democracy on this ship."

Ramsay just shakes his head. "Enough with this jibber-jabber. These men are starving, and I've been a most inhospitable host thus far."

To be fair to the captain, he has given us food, which was rather good, but not the sustenance we really need.

He takes out a skeleton key and opens the door to the hold with a loud creak.

The smell of the humans hits me like a fist to the face.

It's dark in here, but there is a lamp nailed to the wall, high off the ground, that gives off a low glow, casting the humans in deep shadow.

There are five of them, one woman and four men, all dressed in simple shifts, the white clothes splattered with blood. They are sitting on a pile of hay, chained to the wall by their hands, with enough slack to let them turn around, lie down, or reach for their latrine bucket. They all have empty plates beside them, where a few crumbs of bread linger, and there are jugs of water between each person.

Frankly, it looks like hell, and it smells like it too, even with their sweet blood scenting the air.

They all stare at me with dull expressions, their eyes glazed.

"Are they drugged?" I whisper to Ramsay.

He nods. "It's a combination of us feeding on them all the time and the rum we keep flowing through their veins. I swear, it gives their blood a little bit of a kick."

"Five people," Abe says, looking around the room with a discerning eye. "Five people for fifteen Vampyres?"

"This is why we need more," Thane grumbles.

"We take a little each day," Ramsay explains, walking over to a shelf and picking up a needle attached to a tube.

"You don't," Thane points out.

Ramsay shoots him an icy look.

"But you don't," Thane continues. He looks to us. "He has Maren."

"Ah," I say. I immediately think of Larimar. Those gills on Maren's neck must mean she's a Syren or still has Syren blood. That explains why the captain gets special privileges from his wife. Her blood goes a long way.

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?"