“She may have had help.” Drake swallowed the lump in his throat and forced the words out. “A coven of witches has been attacking me. I hear a banshee’s wail. They mean to kill me, but we both know that’s impossible.” Drake pulled his hair back from his forehead. “I haven’t slept in days, and my nephew’s ghost torments me.”
Flynn tapped his index finger on the arm of the throne. “The stowaway?”
“Shit.” Drake shot out of his chair, scowling as the realization sank in. “All this time…you knew?”
“Aye.” Flynn met his eyes. “Did ye really believe I never walked the bowels of my ship? I could tell you how many bilge rats sank that night with the Sea Dog.”
The revelation erupted in his heart like a volcano spewing raw fury into his veins. “You knew there was a child belowdecks, and you ordered us to sail into that storm anyway? You fucking knew it was suicide.” He crossed to Flynn’s chair in two strides, pointing at his chest. “You murdered that boy!”
“You can’t place that blame on me.” Flynn shook his head slowly. “It was yours the moment you brought a child onto a pirate ship.”
Drake lunged forward, grabbing Flynn’s shirt in both fists and jerking him to his feet. “The Sea Dog wouldn’t have sunk if you hadn’t been so hell-bent on reaching Savannah that night. I’d kill you right now if that were even possible.” He released the man with a jerk, sending Flynn stumbling backward. “You’re not fucking worth it anyway.”
Drake turned to leave the room when a shriek pierced his inner ear, and the world blurred into a spiral of vertigo. His sea legs struggled to find their equilibrium as he clamped his hands over his ears. An anguished scream raked through his throat, and he dropped to his knees. Through his narrowed gaze, Thomas stepped out of the shadows with vengeance in his eyes.
…
After her meditation, Heather stretched and tried to take refuge in her bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. She grabbed her robe and went downstairs. If she could talk to Drake, maybe she could at least settle her mind, but in order to make that happen, she needed his phone number.
She opened the front door and peered out. Savannah’s historic district was usually bustling with ghost tours at night, but the silence on the square told her it was later than she realized. Was Greyson still patrolling?
As if he heard her internal question, he walked under the yellow glow of one of the streetlights. “Heather?”
He was shorter than Drake, but his build resonated strength even under his trench coat. “Agent Bale told me you’re the master gunner for the Sea Dog crew.”
“I am.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the darkness. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, pulling her robe a little tighter around herself. “I was wondering if you had Drake’s cell phone number.”
“Aye.” He started for the porch steps and stopped. “Mind if I come inside?”
Her lips curved at his manners. He was much older than he looked. “Sure.” She stepped back, leaving the door ajar for him.
Greyson entered, closing the door behind him. His gaze wandered over her, but she didn’t detect the usual fear and awe at her pale complexion. In the light, he was her polar opposite. His skin was a deep sun-kissed tan. This was a man who spent most of his time outdoors. He wore his brown hair in long, tight braids, and as he offered his hand in greeting, she noticed a tattoo on his forearm. It was a sword with two blades, joined together at the tip into one. She’d never seen anything like it.
“Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand, lifting her gaze from the tattoo. “Does the sword symbolize something?”
“My love of weaponry?” He chuckled and released her, glancing at his arm before meeting her eyes. “It’s a mythological blade. The Tyrfing is a cursed sword of legend that could cut through any material, metal, stone, flesh. Inspires me, I guess.”
He took his phone out of his pocket. “Drake’s not big on technology. Having his number doesn’t mean he’ll ever answer it.”
Heather smiled as she reached for hers and opened her contacts. “He mentioned something about that.”
Greyson lifted his head with a mischievous spark in his hazel eyes. “Yer not going to call my mate and bust his balls for having me watch yer place, right?”
Heather laughed, shaking her head. “Not exactly.” Unlike Drake, Greyson didn’t seem to try to hide his true accent. Maybe Drake had told him she knew their secret. What else had he shared about her? “Did Drake tell you what I do for a living?”
“Didn’t need to. I’ve heard your name before.” His smile dimmed. “Is it depressing to speak with the dead?”
“No. At least not to me.” She shrugged. “In fact, most of the time I get to pass on messages of love and hope to families, so it’s actually kind of inspiring to see that love never dies.”
He pondered her words for a moment before giving her Drake’s cell phone number. With his crooked grin in full force, he headed for the door. “You’ll be lucky if he answers. You have no idea how hard my mate fights technology.”
“Wait,” she said. “Are you just going to sit outside my house all night?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Drake’s pretty convinced you’re in danger, and watching people is what I do these days. Don’t worry. You’ll never know I’m lurking about.” He winked and exited before she could say anything else.
Heather chuckled and pressed the call button on her phone. She didn’t recognize the voice that answered.
“Drake needs help.”
Heather frowned. “Who is this? What happened?”
“He’s on the floor, hands over his ears.”
Drake let out a pained wail in the background. Oh, god, she recognized that sound. He was being attacked again.
“Salt.” Heather gripped her phone tighter. “Circle
