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The youngest sailor, Ron, returned when he said he would with a white frock and feminine underclothes. Luckily for me, his wifewasjust my size. I donned the clothes, braiding my long, dark brown hair to the side, unable to do much else since it was damp.
What seemed like hours later, the cargo had been successfully tallied and loaded into its place below deck. Men scurried from here to there across the deck and below and the vast ship pulled itself from the harbor. I watched from the deck, hands gripping the railing as we made our way onto the Atlantic Ocean. This was only my second time crossing it and it was still somehow just as magical.
I could feel eyes burning into the back of my neck, turning around to find James staring down at me from the wheelhouse where I am sure his father was busy navigating the beast of a ship. His gaze was intense, slithering all over my skin. It was overwhelming, forcing me to retire to the captain’s quarters, hoping he would not come to find me.
By nightfall, my throat burned with such intensity from the exertion of my run that I knew I would have to feed on a crewmember. Tonight. James and Nicholas had not yet returned to their room, which was likely for the best, so as to not draw any speculations or questioning. I stepped out onto the deck once more, the cool Atlantic breeze washing over the ship. The breath snatched from me in awe at the sight of the sky.
Oh, the sky on the water was ethereal.
Stars were brightly lit, nary a cloud to be seen and each was a stellar seed, a shining white crystal against a blue velvet fabric. Those sparkling stones reflected perfectly on the water which we skirted across as if we were walking in some realm never before beheld by human eyes nor touched by human hands.
I walked quickly to the side of the ship in utter wonderment, the waves rocking us back and forth steadily as we carried forward. I could still make out the shoreline many miles away, a small break in the sea of stars. Salt danced in the air along with the smell of the burning coal from the boiler room below.
Footsteps emerged from behind, young and spry. The sound continued toward me, suddenly placing a hand on the small of my back. I turned, already knowing who those steps belonged to. James, with his handsome face, stared off into the waters.
“It is very beautiful, isn't it?” he asked, smiling softly. He had a dimple in his cheek, his hair rustling in the breeze. I ached to run my hands through his sandy locks, to feel the sort of rush which accompanied any intimate interaction.
Instead, I kept myself cool and contained by removing his hand slowly and gently from my back. It was heavy, hot, and it had been some time since I had been touched so softly in a way that wasn’t directly linked to sex. Nonetheless, that same desire flooded my veins.
“Mr. Reynolds, my husband died last night. I am inmourning.” I could not outright take him to bed, there had to be a game about it. A tantalizing dance of cat and mouse, one where the mouse thought himself the cat.
“I really could not tell, since you are wearing white,” he chuckled, then frowned, his dimple disappearing. My brows pinched and my lip gutted out. I’d already grown fond of the dimple, it reminded me of another one but I would not think of him now.
“This was hardly my choice, Mr. Reynolds. I think it highly inappropriate for you to be touching me like that,”Play hard to get. He came in front of me, placing his hands on the railing on either side of my body. James pressed my back into it, his face was so close to mine that I anticipated electricity.
There was none. There never was with anyone. Anyone except—
James’s nose skimmed mine, his warm breath washing over my face. I opened my mouth, the length of his body pressed into me. It was impossible to stifle the moan.
“I see, well good night then, Mrs. Blackwell,” he murmured, his lips just barely grazing mine as he spoke. James sauntered off, his gait strong and masculine. I watched him the entire way until he disappeared below deck, gripping the wooden rail to stay put.
I spent the remainder of the evening learning the layout of the ship, learning the schedules posted in the crew's quarters to figure out which unfortunate gentleman would be easy to pick off first. I was the first to return to the captain’s quarters, where I spent the night curled in a tight ball, tormented by the thought of William’s body against mine.
The next morning came early with warm, golden sunbeams streaming through the door that had been left open. I woke with a pounding headache, the sun bathing me hot, too hot. Squinting into the brightness, I hissed as I tried to move away from it. Why had I not moved sooner?
I must have been thirstier than I thought as it was the only time when sleep found me solidly. I slunk into the nearest corner, rubbing my temples to try and stop the ache. James sat above a map at the desk, studying it closely while I calmed myself, smelling the vanilla of his scent. It made my mouth water.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackwell,” he said, still hunched over his work. “You have slept in, a hundred lashes for ye!” James chuckled playfully, turning to stare at my less than peaceful expression. I raised my lip at him in disgust, hardly hearing his words over the throbbing in my head.
His happy expression turned frightened, color draining from his features. I must have been more vampyre-like then I thought. Taking a deep breath, I fixed my face into something more human.
“I am not feeling well this morning,” I said stiffly. If the poor lad was suspicious, I could easily suck his life from him and throw him overboard. No one would know.
“I can tell; would you like me to fetch you some coffee?” James asked, still shaken. Coffee typically helped, though alcohol was better.
“Coffee would be wonderful,” I said, closing my eyes. “Whiskey would be even better.”
He laughed uneasily, his boots tromping as he made his way into the brightness. When he was far enough away, I quickly slammed the door shut, moving back into my dark corner. James returned a while later with two cups of hot coffee and a slice of sourdough bread. I took the black liquid from his hands and drank it with haste. It was bitter and harsh but I wished the caffeine would quicken the loss of headache, which was dulling slowly and seemed to only press behind my eyes.
“The bread is for you, it seems my father's men have eaten all of the other rations for the morning.” James handed me the single slice of sourdough, but I shook my head. Human food was difficult to digest.
“I am not hungry,” I muttered softly, taking another big gulp of the terrible coffee, it smelled of ammonia really. He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the desk he had but moments ago been pouring over.
“Really? You ate little to nothing last night, and one would believe you would be starving by now...” he trailed off, waving the bread in the air as he spoke. I slid onto the ground, finishing the coffee off completely. I was going to absolutely need to hunt tonight.
“I feel little for eating, currently.” I stated, realizing this could work to my advantage in the role of the traumatized widow. James seemed to go far off into thought, biting off a piece of the bread and nodding.
“I feel most deeply for you, Mrs. Blackwell. I cannot imagine the trauma that would be inflicted from witnessing such an event as you have. I hope to never know that pain.” He smiled then, gaze coming back to me, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes as he took another bite. “Do you think your husband would want you to find happiness again?”
