But none of this was new; he’d existed like this for . . . he’d lost count of the days. Being held in the dank hold, surrounded by stench and sickness, the days and nights running together. All he knew for sure was it felt endless.
He let his head loll to the side. More aching muscles. More pounding in his head. But even through the pain, he did register that the hold didn’t smell as awful as usual. Nor did he hear the customary coughs and retching of the other prisoners. Why?
It didn’t matter, really. He still felt wretched and he was still restrained. A state that had gone on for an eternity with no end in sight.
Eternity. Eternity?
The word joined the pain in his head, bouncing around, causing no agony, just questions. Why did that word seem so significant? He wished he didn’t feel so miserable and he could focus. Eternity.
Then slowly the explanation came back to him like a floodgate had been jimmied open, and memories rushed in.
The captain of this prison ship was female, and she was . . .
“A vampire,” he said aloud before he could stop himself.
Another kick landed against his backside—this strike even harder than the first.
Shit, had one of the crew just heard him? Did they think he intended to reveal their secret? He knew that would mean certain death, and he had no intention of letting the truth about his captors be known. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a vampire either. But all he knew at this moment was that he did not want to die.
He needed to be sure whoever heard him knew that. He wasn’t a thief, even though that was the accusation that had brought him to this hideous state. Nor was he a traitor. He’d vowed to the captain he would never expose the crew’s secret if she spared him. Was that why it was quiet down here? Had the crew fed on the other prisoners? Shit, he had to scramble to make sure his confused slip of the tongue wouldn’t be his undoing.
He opened his eyes, expecting his gaze to meet darkness. The fact that it didn’t was almost as disorienting as the complete blackness. He blinked, trying to get an idea of where he could be. In the Captain’s quarters? On deck?
He blinked again. This was not the eighteenth-century prison ship he had been brought to Louisiana on. Unless his captors had miraculously turned the ship into a houseboat, because this was decidedly a house. He glanced around him to see an assortment of what appeared to be sex toys and restraint devices on the faux-marble walls. Okay, it was a strange house, and although he couldn’t say exactly where he was, it was definitely not the ship. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t manacled to the beams above, and the reason he thought he’d felt the rocking of the vessel was that he was dangling in the air. His ass was in a swing of sorts with his arms cuffed together above his head and to the swing itself.
What the hell?
But he was quickly distracted from his own predicament when a small person seemed to scramble out of nowhere, screaming. Really, really loudly. A very cruel joke when he couldn’t get his hands free to cover his already-sensitive ears. The caterwauling certainly wasn’t helping the pain in his head. But more than anything, he hated the fact that he was restrained, bad memories still clinging to him. He tugged at the cuffs binding his wrists, his movements erratic and panicked.
Only when he glared back at the woman, whose screams were not helping his situation, did everything completely fall into place.
“Cupcake?”
The woman stopped looking frantically around and stared at him, then her gaze dropped to what she was wearing. His puffy shirt. Her already-pale face turned ashen, and for a moment she looked as if she might pass out. Then her wide-eyed stare returned to him, roaming down over his body. Her eyes stopped and grew even rounder when she reached his crotch.
He looked down also, and saw that he wore nothing but chaps. And his Old Chap was lying against his thigh for the whole world to see. Or at least for Cupcake to see. Amazingly, her gray pallor turned pink almost instantaneously.
But with her reaction, a sheepish averting of her eyes and the realization that he wasn’t back on Captain Morgan’s Floating Ship of Bloodletting and Doom, he actually chuckled. Being in a sex swing with his Happy Jack swinging in the breeze was not the worst thing he’d ever experienced.
Especially when it was having such an interesting effect on Cupcake, who still averted her eyes—mostly. He noticed she took quick glances every now and then. Which was making old Happy Jack all the happier.
“I don’t suppose you could help get me down?” he finally asked when it became clear that Cupcake had no intention of saying anything first.
She hesitated, shooting another quick glance at him, this one directed at his face. Mostly.