Jess tied a knot in the end of the strip of cloth she’d ripped from the bedsheet and considered her handiwork grimly. During a fevered search of the room after Vasco left, she’d found an inflatable life jacket in an armoire next to the bed. The presence of the life jacket had rather surprised her. It was the last thing she’d expected to find on a pirate ship full of vampires, but then who said vampires had to know how to swim? Even vampire pirates?
At any rate, the life jacket was uninflated, folded neatly, and packaged in a square bag made of very thick but clear plastic. It was about the size of a ream of paper, but much lighter, and it had a small handle on the top. Jess had threaded the strip of cloth through the handle and now had some really ugly neckwear. On the other hand, she was hoping her efforts would keep the packaged life vest out of her way while she climbed out of the ship. She was also hoping it would prevent her accidentally dropping and losing it as she jumped into the ocean.
That was her plan. Jess had thought long and hard about what to do . . . well, really, she’d thought short and hard about it. Time wasn’t exactly her friend at the moment. But anyway, she’d decided that escape was her only option here. She had to get off this ship before Vasco returned and she ended up in bed with him, and probably, eventually, a dead, soulless, bloodsucking pirate. Her very soul was at stake here.
Aside from that, Jess was really the only hope any of the other tourists on this ship had. She hoped to get off the ship, swim to shore, get help, and send them out to the ship to save everyone else.
It was possible her plan would fail miserably, of course. She might drown, be eaten by a shark, a whale, or a giant squid. Or she might get to shore and be locked up as completely insane when she started babbling about vampire pirates and such. She might also make it to shore, get help, and get back to the ship only to find that the tourists had all been slaughtered in her absence and fed to the sharks. But Jess was hoping her absence would save them. She was hoping that when Vasco discovered she was missing, he would set out to search for her and leave the tourists alone for as long as it took for her to get them help. Because hopefully he would stay away from the room long enough that she’d be able to get a good distance away before he noticed her absence.
There was a lot of hoping in this plan, Jess acknowledged grimly, and walked to the porthole she was going to try to leave the ship through. She’d decided that slipping out of the room and trying to jump over the side of the ship wouldn’t work. There were too many crewmembers who might see her jump, and they’d just fish her out and lock her in the cabin. She needed to escape without being seen and hopefully have enough time between her jumping and their realizing she’d jumped ship that they couldn’t find her easily and fish her out. The porthole was her best bet. If it was a porthole. Jess wasn’t sure. It was rectangular rather than round, although the corners were rounded. It was bigger than the other portholes in the room that were actually round, but it was still quite snug, and if she got out at all, it would be a tight squeeze.
Sighing, Jess stepped up on the captain’s chair that she’d set before the porthole and quickly unsnapped the four locks on the window and swung it open. She took the time to stick out her head and look around, to be sure no one would be able to see her leaving. Not spotting anyone hanging over the side of the ship looking her way, she pulled her head back in, and then slid one arm out instead. Her head followed, and then she eased the inflatable life jacket out to dangle from her neck before she tried to squeeze her other arm out. It was a tight fit, and Jess was pretty sure she scraped a good deal of skin off her left arm forcing it through, but eventually she had it out and was standing on the chair with her head and shoulders out of the porthole. Her breasts came next, but they weren’t too much trouble. They were a good size, but more malleable than arm bones were, and she was able to squeeze and pull them out. Once that was done, Jess just had to get the rest of her out. Mouth tightening, she placed her hands flat on the wood hull on either side of the window and began to push.
Yeah, getting out was easier said than done, she soon learned, and wondered if this was how babies felt during birth. It seemed to take forever, was painful, and Jess felt like she was skinning herself alive, but she finally managed to force enough of herself out of the hole that gravity took over and dragged the rest of her out. Fortunately, Jess had the good sense to push herself away from the ship and grab ahold of her neckwear as she tumbled out. It saved her hitting her head on the ship hull, and losing her life jacket.
Jess hit the water hard, and almost gasped as she was enveloped by the cold liquid, but managed at the last minute to remember to keep her mouth shut. She sank a lot deeper than she’d expected, and was gasping for breath when she resurfaced, but immediately turned in the choppy waves, looking for the ship. The boat was moving much more quickly than she’d realized, Jess acknowledged as she saw that it was already several boat lengths away. No one had heard the splash of her entering the water and was peering back at her pointing and shouting the alarm, but then she hadn’t expected there to be. The reggae music that had been playing since sunset would have covered any sound she’d made.
Sighing her relief, Jess did her best to tread water with one hand while unsnapping the flap on the bag holding the inflatable life jacket with the other. It was trickier than she’d expected in the choppy water, and she went under once or twice for a brief moment, but eventually managed to get it open and get the life jacket out. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of those newfangled ones that inflated as soon as water hit it. She was able to get it on, and get it buckled in place without problem, and then pulled the lanyard to make it inflate once it was in place.
That task done, Jess turned in the water, searching for land. Her heart sank when she saw how far away the lights of shore were. Six or seven miles hadn’t sounded that far when Cristo and Vasco had mentioned the number. She’d run marathons that long for charity and managed it. But six or seven miles certainly looked a good distance at sea. Of course, some time had passed since Cristo had guessed at how far out they were and, judging by how rough the water was, the wind had definitely picked up. She might be seven or eight miles out now. Maybe even nine.
Well, Jess thought, far away or not, she had no choice unless she wanted to wait around for Vasco to discover that she was missing, search the ship for her, and then turn around to come look for her and carry her off to be his vampire bride.
“No thanks,” Jess muttered, and struck out for shore.
She’d read once that the average person could swim about three miles per hour. She was not an average swimmer. Jess figured she had a good four-hour swim ahead of her. Maybe even five . . . plenty of time for a shark to find and dine on her.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Zanipolo grumbled, dropping into a chair at the table the maître d’ had led them to.
Raffaele waited until the server had handed them each a menu and left before saying, “I would not say it was a waste of time. We at least now know the rogues are not on staff here.”
“Then where are they?” Santo asked grimly.
Raffaele shook his head. He had no idea, but he was quite certain they weren’t at this resort. They’d walked over every inch of the place, including the kitchens, and every room marked Employees Only, as well as the other restaurants. Although they hadn’t stopped to order anything at any of those restaurants; they’d merely entered, given the staff a quick once-over, and left once certain that there were no immortals on staff. This was the last restaurant and the last spot they’d had left to look.
“You are ready to order, señors?”
All three men turned to peer blankly at the waiter who had approached their table, but it was Raffaele who recovered first and shook his head. Opening his menu, he murmured, “No, sorry. We’ll need a minute.”
“Sí. Of course. I will return,” the man said, smiling brightly.
Santo shifted with agitation as the waiter moved away, and then asked, “How many people did you see with bites?”
“A good forty or fifty throughout the day,” Raffaele guessed. Once they’d noticed the first two groups with bite marks on them, they’d started examining everyone who had come down to the beach. At least those who had got close enough for them to look over.
“And they were all young,” Zanipolo said suddenly and, when Raffaele glanced at him with surprise, added, “Didn’t you notice? They were all in their early twenties.” He pursed his lips briefly, and then added, “They were all fit and attractive too.”
“Or maybe we didn’t see anyone older or unfit with bite marks because they are sensible enough not to go to the beach wearing little more than tiny triangles of cloth connected by bits of floss,” Raffaele said dryly.
Zanipolo grinned at his comment. “Careful, cugino, your age is showing.”
“Were the—?” Santo began, and then paused to scowl at their waiter as he approached again. “Not yet. We will signal you when we are ready,” he said, waving him away.
“Sí. Of course, señor.”
The waiter’s smile was a little strained this time, Raffaele noticed, but turned his attention to Santo as the man asked, “Were the bite marks not all on the neck?”
Raffaele shook his head. “Some were, but most were on the arms, wrists, legs, ankles, and even thighs.”
“Odd,” Santo said with a frown.
“Smart, more like,” Raffaele countered. “Fifty people with bite marks on their necks would definitely draw more attention than a rogue would want. Bite marks in different spots on several individuals could pass as bug bites of some kind, and that’s what most of them thought they were. At least in the case of the people I bothered to read.”
“Did you learn anything else from the people you read?” Santo asked at once.
Raffaele eyed him briefly. He didn’t really want Santo getting too invested in this matter. The trip was supposed to be so he’d relax, after all. However, curiosity soon got to him, and he reluctantly asked, “Like what?”
Santo shrugged discontentedly. “Anything. Trips or tours they might all have in common?”
“You mean like maybe a nest of immortals run the local ziplining place and they feed on each customer as part of their payment?” Zanipolo suggested.
“Sì. Like that,” Santo said at once.
Raffaele shook his head slowly, and admitted, “I did not think to search for that kind of information.”
“Maybe we should,” Zanipolo said solemnly, and then added, “That group at the table in the corner behind you were one of the ones where everyone seemed to have a bite.”
Raffaele glanced over his shoulder at the table in question. They looked a little different dressed than they had on the beach in almost nothing, but he recognized them anyway.
“The group has been on a lot of tours,” Santo said, focusing on one member after another with narrowed eyes. “A monkey safari, a catamaran trip, an island tour, the Seaquarium, shark feeding, ziplining, scuba diving . . .”
“Those are all day tours,” Raffaele pointed out. “Immortals are more likely to run night tours of some kind.”
“Maybe not,” Zanipolo argued when Santo sat back in his seat with a cluck of irritation. “What do they care if they’re out in the day if they’re rogues who feed freely off of every mortal who passes through? I mean, we saw a lot of people with bite marks, Raff, and that was just here at this resort, and it was only the ones dressed scantily enough for us to see the marks. If this all comes down to a local tour, and there are tourists at every resort with these marks . . .” He arched his eyebrows. “That’s a lot of people bitten.”
“A hell of a lot of people bitten,” Raffaele muttered, frowning at the thought. This could be a lot bigger nest than they’d considered.
“Señors, I apologize to interrupt.”
All three men turned to eye their waiter as he stopped at their table again. He was still smiling, but it was a cross between a pained smile and one of apology as he said, “But if you wish to order, you must do so now. The kitchen is closing.”
Raffaele raised his eyebrows at this news and glanced at his watch, surprised to see how late it was. They’d been searching the resort for much longer than he’d thought. It was almost ten o’clock. Lifting his head, he glanced to Zanipolo in question. “Well?”
Zanipolo took a quick glance through his menu, but then let it slip closed and shook his head as he got to his feet. “If the kitchen is closing, the restaurant is too. I don’t want to keep these guys past their shift. We can go down to the waterside pub-style restaurant. They’re open until two or something, and had a burger on their menu I wanted to try anyway.”
“Oh, no, señors, por favor. You are welcome to order. We do not mind the staying late,” their waiter protested, glancing from them to the maître d’ with alarm. It seemed obvious he feared getting in trouble.
Smiling faintly, Raffaele reached into his pocket and retrieved a couple of bills as he stood. He slipped the tip to the man as he shook his hand, and then said loudly enough for the maître d’ to hear, “We aren’t feeling like Italian tonight, after all. Maybe another time. Sorry for the trouble. Have a good evening.”
“Gracias,” the waiter said sincerely. “Por favor. You must come back. Anytime. I will be happy to serve you.”
Raffaele nodded and ushered Santo and Zanipolo out. The three of them were silent as they made their way across the resort toward the beach and the restaurant there. It was a much more relaxed restaurant, a bar as much as a food place, and had a band playing when they entered.
“This is more my style,” Zanipolo said cheerfully as they took their seats and accepted the menus offered them.
“It reminds me of the restaurant where we played in St. Lucia,” Santo said, his voice a deep rumble.
“Yeah,” Raffaele agreed with a smile, glancing around at the high, round wooden tables and the barstool chairs. They’d asked for the deck, and had been led straight to a table along the rail. It overlooked the dark beach and the water beyond.
A beautiful view, Raffaele decided, and it truly was. The night was so clear and the ocean so calm inside the reef that the moon and stars were reflected on the water’s surface as if it were a mirror. Shaking his head, he murmured, “You can see for miles.”
“Yeah, but I was talking about the food,” Zanipolo said with amusement. “Look, they have chicken fingers, and fish and chips.”
“I thought you wanted a burger?” Santo said, sounding amused.
“Sì, but look at all the options,” Zanipolo said.
Raffaele didn’t look. He was busy squinting out at the ocean.
“What’s got your attention, cugino?” Zanipolo asked suddenly.
Raffaele frowned. “I think there’s something floating out there.”
“What? A boat?” Zanipolo asked, turning to peer out at the water now too.
“No. Not a boat,” he said with certainty.
“Madre de Dio,” Zanipolo gasped suddenly. “It looks like a floater.”
Raffaele’s mouth tightened at the word. That was exactly what he’d feared it was—a dead body floating in the water. Someone who had fallen off a cruise ship, or simply been dragged out by the currents and was now being floated gently back in, he thought, and then stiffened as an arm came up out of the water and then slid back in as the other arm rose and did the same.
“Is that—? They’re swimming! They’re alive!” Zanipolo exclaimed with excitement.
“Not for long,” Santo predicted grimly, and then pointed out, “Whoever they are, they’re beyond the reef that protects the swimmers on the beach, and I’m quite sure that’s a shark fin I see off to the right out there.”
Raffaele didn’t comment. He was already on his feet and leaping over the railing surrounding the deck. He hit the soft sand below with a jolt and took off running, shedding his clothes as he went. By the time he reached the water, Raffaele had torn off his T-shirt, kicked off his shoes, and undone his pants. He paused at the shoreline long enough to push them off, and then raced into the cool water, his gaze measuring the distance between the shark fin and the swimmer. By his guess, it would be close, but he should reach the swimmer before the shark did . . . hopefully.
Jess managed another couple of strokes before she had to pause again and return to simply floating along in the water. She knew she should probably turn over and look around to be sure she was still moving toward shore and hadn’t somehow drifted off course, but she was so tired she couldn’t make herself do it. She’d just float for a bit more first, she decided, her eyes drooping closed.
Jess was exhausted. The waves had helped, carrying her along as she kicked her feet, but she’d had to battle them to keep from being taken off course. She was hoping to reach shore near the resort where they were staying. She had no money, and all she was wearing was her bikini bottoms and the torn T-shirt, which she’d knotted between her breasts in an attempt to make it more decent. Jess would really rather not stroll up on shore at the hedonist’s resort she’d heard was up the beach from theirs in one direction, or the private nudist’s resort in the other. Her resort, where her family was, and where her room waited with her clothes in the closet, and her money in the safe, was her aim.
Fortunately, her battle with the waves had ended when she reached the protected bay. The wind had died abruptly, the waves disappearing, and swimming had become much easier. Unfortunately, Jess had been exhausted by then, and now faced a different battle. Her arms felt leaden, as did her legs, and she was struggling to keep from falling asleep and drifting back out to sea.
Sighing wearily, Jess forced her eyes open and stared up at the starry sky as she dragged one arm out of the water, swung it up over her head, and plunged it down to push through the cool liquid and propel herself along. Her second arm had followed in the same action before she realized she’d stopped kicking her feet again.
“Idiot,” she muttered, fluttering her feet in the water. It was really the best she could do at the moment.
A splashing sound behind her caught Jess’s ear and she stilled briefly to listen. It was a sound she’d heard several times since entering the calm of the bay. There were fish here. They jumped. Still, she decided she’d put it off long enough and should roll over and check to see that she was still heading for what she thought was her resort. Letting her legs drop, she straightened in the water, turned, and then shrieked in surprised horror when she saw the shape moving toward her through the water. It was so close it was nearly on top of her, and for one second she thought it was a whale, or a huge shark rising up out of the water, and then she realized it was a human doing the butterfly swim stroke. She’d just happened to turn as they were in the push phase, their head and arms out of the water.
Apparently, realizing how close they were, the swimmer stopped abruptly and treaded water in front of her, but didn’t say anything. He simply stared at her through the darkness, his eyes seeming to glow. A trick of the light, she supposed.
“I thought you were a shark or something,” Jess said finally, so exhausted her words came out slurred.
“No,” he growled the word, and then added, “There was a shark when I headed out. Fortunately, he lost interest before he got too close to you and turned back the way he came.”
Tilting her head, Jess eyed him silently. The man had an Italian accent so was obviously a guest at one of the resorts and not a native. She was trying to figure out if he was joking with that shark bit when he asked, “How did you end up out here, cara?”
Startled at his using what she was quite sure was an Italian endearment, Jess hesitated to answer.
“You are wearing a life jacket,” he added, and this time she noticed the accent as he asked, “Did you fall off a boat or cruise ship?”
Jess shook her head wearily. “I jumped.”
“Jumped?” he echoed a bit sharply.
Jess nodded, and then craned her head to try to get a look at the shoreline beyond him. The waves had carried her into the bay, but the water had been much calmer from there and, recognizing the area, Jess had pinpointed where she thought her resort was and had swam in that direction, crossing the large bay at an angle meant to get her there. She wanted to know if she’d succeeded or not.
“Why?”
“Vampires,” Jess muttered distractedly as she surveyed the buildings directly ahead of her onshore, which, incidentally, still looked a long way away to her. The good news was, she was quite sure the lights belonged to her resort, which was made up of one large, sprawling main building and six long, narrower buildings. The large building was where the reception lobby, the spa, several small stores, the resort clinic, and several of the restaurants were situated. The rectangular buildings were four stories high and held the hotel rooms. From what she could see, the building shapes and colors were the same as her resort. Dear God, had she actually done something right tonight?
Realizing that the man had gone silent, Jess shifted her attention back to him. She couldn’t really make out features, and was pretty sure she was imagining the glowing eyes. That combination made her wonder if he was even really there. Maybe she was having exhaustion-induced hallucinations. Was that a thing?
“Did you say vampires?” the man asked, his voice at least an octave deeper than the last time he spoke.
That was when Jess recalled her decision to keep mention of vampires out of her explanation. She’d debated the matter thoroughly in her head as she swam. On the one hand, not mentioning vampires meant that the authorities would be wholly unprepared for what they would encounter when they chased down and boarded the ship. On the other hand, mentioning vampires would probably get her labeled a crackpot, and leave the other tourists without any chance of rescue at all. However, leaving out the mention of vampires, and perhaps just hinting at the ship’s crew being strange, and uncommonly strong, and suggesting the officers take crosses might be enough to ensure they went to help and were also on their toes.
“No,” Jess lied. “I . . .” She was too tired to come up with a lie to cover her error, and really, staying there, treading water, was just sapping more of her energy. “I need to get to shore,” she said politely. “Can you move, please?”
Rather than move aside, the man moved closer and then just stared at her and treaded water.
Jess bore that for what felt like forever and then shifted impatiently in the water. She was about to snap at him to get out of the way when a tension she hadn’t realized was there left his shoulders, and he said, “Turn around and relax.”
“Why?” she asked warily.
“Because I’m going to tow you to shore. You’re too exhausted to make it on your own. You’ll fall asleep and drift back out to sea,” he added gently. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you,” Jess breathed, and immediately rolled on her back in the water. She’d barely done so when she felt a tug on her life jacket and then began to glide backward through the water at a steady, rather impressive speed. She’d be onshore in no time at this rate, Jess thought just before she lost consciousness.
“It’s a woman.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s wearing a life jacket.”
“What happened?”
“How did she end up in the water?”
Raffaele shook his head at the rapid-fire questions shot at him by Zanipolo and Santo as he carried the woman out of the water. Rather than answer, he merely said, “Bring my clothes, please,” and walked past them, heading for the resort buildings.
The men had already gathered his clothes for him on the way down, so merely fell into step on either side of him as he walked.
“Is she alive?” Zanipolo asked with a frown, leaning slightly in front of Raffaele to look at the woman in his arms as they walked.
“Yes,” Raffaele said quietly. “I think she has just fainted from her exhaustion.”
“Are you taking her to the resort clinic?” Santo asked as they reached the rows of lounge chairs at the head of the beach.
“No. I want to look her over myself first,” Raffaele said solemnly.
“Why?” Santo asked at once.
“Two reasons,” Raffaele responded as they made their way out of the rows of chairs and reached the concrete paths leading to the various resort buildings. Much to his relief the paths were pretty much deserted at this hour with most people already in bed, or situated in the bar enjoying the entertainment. There were only one or two guests making their way to their rooms and they paid them no attention.
“What is the first reason?” Santo asked as they approached the paths around the pools.
“I want to look her over for bites,” Raffaele admitted.
“Bites?” Zanipolo asked with interest. “What makes you think she might have been bitten?”
“Because when I asked her if she’d fallen off a boat or cruise ship, she said no, she jumped, and when I asked why, she said—” he glanced around to be sure no one was near enough to hear, and then lowered his voice anyway as he finished with “‘—vampires.’”
“Bingo,” Zanipolo said with grim satisfaction as they got past the pools and approached their building. “She’ll be able to tell us where the vampire nest is and how they operate. It’s got to be some kind of dinner cruise or something. Or it could be a day cruise. She could have had to swim a long way.” He frowned over that briefly as they reached their building and walked along the open hall to the stairs, and then asked, “What is the second reason you want to examine her before we take her to the resort clinic?”
“When I got to her she was beyond exhausted,” Raffaele said as they started up the stairs. “Her words were slurred and she could hardly keep her eyes open. I thought it would be easier all around if I read her mind to see what had happened, and took control of her to drag her in.”
“And?” Santo prodded as they exited the stairs at their floor and started along the hall to their room.
Raffaele was silent for a minute, having trouble accepting what he was about to say himself, but when they reached the door to their suite and Santo pulled out his key card to unlock the door, Raffaele swallowed and said in almost a whisper, “I couldn’t read her.”
Santo had got the door unlocked and started to open it before Raffaele spoke, but now he stiffened and turned sharply to peer at him with amazement. “What?”
Raffaele merely nodded.
“Score!” Zanipolo shouted gleefully. “Didn’t I tell you? I told you! Didn’t I? Hot resorts are the way to go to find our mates! I so told you that!”
“Yes, you did,” Raffaele admitted with amusement as Santo pushed the door open for him to carry his life mate into the room.
“And he’ll remind you of that every day for the rest of his life,” Santo said dryly as he let the door close, locked it, and then hit the light switch, turning on the overhead light.
“Sì, I will,” Zanipolo agreed gleefully, moving to Raffaele’s side to peer down at the woman he held. Eyeing her almost reverently now, he whispered, “Cugino, your life mate is very pretty.”
“Yes, she is,” Raffaele agreed solemnly, his gaze sliding over her as well. Her lips were full and looked soft, her nose straight, and while they were closed now, he knew her eyes were large and lovely, and an eggshell blue. Her hair, of course, was wet, but appeared to be a dark brown.
“What is her name?” Santo asked, moving closer to look her over as well.
Raffaele stiffened at the question. “I don’t know her name,” he admitted.
“You didn’t ask her?” Santo asked with surprise.
Raffaele shook his head.
“Are you kidding me?” Zanipolo asked with disbelief. “You finally meet your mate and you did not even ask her name?”
Raffaele opened his mouth to respond, but was forestalled when the woman in his arms suddenly began to shriek and thrash wildly about.