Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

Luigi straightened from his slouched position against the cabin door. His black eyes swept again over her. “I will not enjoy sticking my stiletto between your ribs, for you are but a woman. It is the blood from your husband’s throat that will make this miserable voyage worth my while.”

Anthony. He would be easy prey, all his attention fastened on the storm, on The Cassandra. He would not even know why he would die. A great fury welled up inside her, and she was not aware for a moment that he was walking slowly toward her, his eyes dark with lust.

“I really did not enjoy your body that first time, my lady. Andrea had spoiled you. There was so much blood, so much sticky seed smeared on your thighs. But it will be different now. You will know a man before you die.”

He was unfastening the buttons on his breeches, not even bothering to pull them down.

He had nearly reached her while she screamed, and he laughed savagely, spurting flecks of saliva into her face.

“You are already hot for me. Give me pleasure, signora, and I will make your death easy.”

I am only a woman, she thought frantically, and he fears naught from me. The thought seared deep into her. Her only hope was her woman’s weakness, her woman’s helplessness. Her eyes fastened upon the fragments of glass on the floor, near the table.

His hands were reaching for her, and she could smell his lust, could see his bulging sex, freed from his breeches. She fell toward him, and when his arms closed about her, she drew up her knee and kicked his naked groin with all her strength.

He bellowed with rage and pain, and grasped his belly.

“You damned bitch! You miserable little whore! God, how you will die!” He lunged at her, though his body was bent in his pain.

Cassie slammed her fist in his face and tried to struggle past him, but he hurtled her to the floor, throwing her upon her back. Sharp white lights exploded in her head. She bucked her body wildly against him, until she saw his fist poised to strike her. With a desperate strength, she lurched sideways, throwing her arm above her head. His blow caught her cheek, but it made no impression in her fear. And now he was the one yelling, cursing her, pummeling her, ripping at her dressing gown.

She felt a tremendous sense of elation. Her fingers closed over a jagged triangle of glass, and with cold dispassion, she watched her arm swing forward, the raw glass a spear held tightly against her palm. As he reared up, his hands jerking at her thighs, she saw nothing but his distorted face, felt nothing save that fierce triumph. The jagged glass sliced easily down his cheek, from his eye to his jaw.

He rocked backward, screaming with pain, his hands covering his face. She jerked the stiletto from his belt, pushed away from him and scrambled to her feet. She was at the cabin door, twisting at the knob, before he could stagger to his feet. The yacht careened wildly and both of them teetered, grasping at anything to keep their balance.

Cassie rushed down the dim companionway, her body reeling with the heeling yacht. She saw the stairs that led to the deck and felt a sob of defeat rise in her mouth. The hatch was securely battened down. It would take precious time to wield the iron fastenings. She heard him cursing behind her, heard his booted feet drawing nearer, and she stumbled up the wooden steps, moaning aloud when they caught in the hem of her dressing gown. She thrust the stiletto between her clenched teeth and jerked frantically at the heavy handles. She could hear his agonized breathing before the handles gave way.

She shoved upward with all her remaining strength. The heavy wooden panels flew outward and she was blinded by a torrential blanket of rain. She saw bloated mountains of water crashing over the deck, with force enough to wash her overboard. She jerked herself to her feet and threw herself forward on her stomach on the swirling deck. And then she couldn’t move. His hand clutched her dressing gown, pulling her backward. She kicked wildly at his arm, but he held fast. He was facing death now. He could not let her escape.

She tried to wrench her arms free of the sleeves, but the force of the wind and the water pounded at her. She felt his fingers digging into the back of her legs as he pulled himself through the hatch, using her body as an anchor.

She felt herself strangling on her own fear. The sharp edge of the stiletto cut the corner of her mouth. She had forgotten the stiletto.

She grasped it in her hand, savoring the feel of it, and rolled over onto her back. He was above her, his disfigured face inhuman, like a creature

from the blackest pit of hell. The wind whipped the rain across the gash, and blood welled out, splattering her face and breasts.

There was only hatred in his eyes. He made a gurgling sound, and his hands, curved like claws, flew to her throat. As he fell forward, she locked her fists between her breasts, the point of the stiletto upward. She felt it tear through the flesh of his neck.

For an endless instant, he stiffened above her, his dark eyes filled with surprise. Blood spurted from his mouth and throat, and her scream momentarily pierced the howling wind. She pushed at him, and his inert body rolled sideways over the slippery deck. A wave broke over the railing and dragged him further away from her. His foot caught on a coil of rope as he was pulled back, and he flipped like a stuffed doll onto his back.

She screamed again and closed her eyes against the sight of him, bloodied and limp, the silver handle of the dagger gleaming brightly as it rose upward from his pinioned neck.

Her cries were swallowed by the raging wind and rain until Dilson, agilely making his way aft, slewed his head about at the thin wailing sound. He scrambled down, clutching at the open hatch doors to keep his balance, and peered into Cassie’s rain-blurred face.

He sucked in his breath in consternation. Her dressing gown was ripped open and her body shone white, save for rivulets of red that streaked over her face and breasts. He tore off his canvas cloak and covered her.

“Dilson, fetch the captain.”

Her voice was a low whisper, dulled with shock. He saw Luigi. “Oh my gawd.” He flew toward the quarterdeck, yelling even before the captain could possibly hear him.

The earl whirled about at his shouts. He passed the helm to Mr. Donnetti and stared at the white-faced Dilson.

“My God, man,” he shouted over the wind, “what the devil has happened?”

“The madonna,” Dilson croaked. “Quickly, captain, quickly!”

He froze for an instant, and then lunged after Dilson.