WEREWOLF PIRATES! Read online

  WEREWOLF PIRATES!

  by Natalie Deschain

  ***

  Copyright 2014 Natalie Deschain

  nataliedeschain.com

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  This is a work of fiction, featuring consenting adults in sexual situations.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Also by Natalie Deschain

  I.

  “Catherine!”

  I felt a nudge at my shoulder, and shook the cobwebs out of my head. It was so hot in our cabin that I had no choice but to sleep in my slip, and even then I was coated in sweat. Whatever possessed me to accept James proposal and travel to Virginia, I could not imagine, but it had not been entirely my choice. My father would see me matched to a man of status, and James was wealthy, the son of a well-situated landowner. As a second daughter I was not worthy of a match at home, and my father had treated me as an extra mouth to feed ever since I was born. Our name had statute but our coffers were empty, and my sister Elise was the gem of the family.

  None of that mattered now.

  “What is the hour?”

  “I don’t know,” said Fianna. She was my maid, or would be once we arrived. She had indentured herself to my husband to be.

  “What is it? What troubles you?”

  “I heard the sailors talking,” she said, her voice rising. “They’ve sighted black sails on the horizon.”

  I sat bolt upright, and felt a chill in the pit of my stomach. That could mean only one thing.

  Pirates.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  I slipped out of my berth and stood up. There was little room accorded the two of us. Had my father riches to equal his ambitions, we would certainly have had the captains’ cabin to ourselves, but with the pittance paid for our passage, we were fortunate to have two rough beds suspended from the walls by chains and room between them for a trunk containing our meager goods, a gown for Fianna and two for me. I opened the trunk, swaying on unsteady legs. Despite months at sea I had not yet adjusted to the constant rocking of the ship. I feared I would grow used to it, only to begin stumbling and falling about once I returned to dry land. In the cramped quarters, Fianna laced me into my dress, and I did the same for her. On this voyage, I had been as much her maid as she was mine.

  “Hurry,” I said, pulling her behind me by the wrist.

  “We should stay below,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” I said, more sharply than I meant to. “If there are pirates out there, we’re no safer down here than on deck.”

  The Windsprinter was not a large vessel. I am unschooled in the nuances of nautical terminology, but I understand that a boat is smaller than a ship and the Windsprinter was closer to the former than the latter. It was the middle of the night, and the full moon glittered on the sea as it rose and fell around us. I ascended the ladder onto the deck, Fianna following just behind, then ascended again to rise beside Captain Phillips, standing with his mates at the wheel. A chill ran down my spine when I realized that all lights on the ship had been extinguished. As my eyes adjusted, the world repainted itself in deep violet tones. I moved to the rail beside Phillips, who chewed his teeth as he stared at something distant though his spyglass.

  “Captain?”

  When he noticed me, he handed the tube off to his second in command.

  “There’s another vessel out there,” he said.

  I could sense the worry in his voice. “What colors does she fly?”

  “None that I can see, but her sails are black.”

  “What should we do?”

  “You should go below.”

  “I think not,” I said, turning to look. “I can’t see it.”

  He took the telescope back and handed it to me. I brought it to my eye and he pulled it along, sweeping the horizon before me. Then, I saw it. The other vessel was well lit by blazing lanterns, and I could see she was much larger. I knew little of naval architecture but I knew the hatches bristling her sides and her tall forecastle carried cannon. The sails were jet black, billowed with the wind, and she was at full sail, even flying outriggers hanging out over her sides. I would swear I saw movement along the waterline. Oars it seemed, but that was mad. No ship that size would have oars. As I watched, I could clearly see the vessel changing course, leaning as she came around towards us. I saw a flash, and dropped the telescope from my eyes.

  I heard a splash, and saw a brief glimpse of the cannonball skipping over the sea like a stone over water, cast by a child at play. A hollow, moaning boom followed half a heartbeat later.

  “What was that?” Fianna cried, clutching my side.

  “A warning,” said Phillips.

  He drew something from his belt, and handed it to me. I took the pistol and held it like a venomous snake, pointed at the deck.

  “What would I do with this?”

  “Defend yourself,” he said. “I’ll not paint a pretty picture for you. If they mean to board us, the two of you will be held hostage for ransom, if fortune favors you.”

  “If it does not?” I said.

  “They’ll have you for a night’s entertainment, slit your throats, and leave you for the sharks.”

  Holding the awful thing in my hand, I knew it was not for my defense. No doubt he expected me to spare myself the pirate’s attentions and leave poor Fianna to face them alone, should they board us.

  “There’s no point in hoping they’ll pass,” he said, raising his voice. “Full sale, and turn a’lee.”

  “What does that mean?” said Fianna.

  “I believe it means we should turn into the wind,” I said. “For the sake of speed.”

  I moved to the rail and looked over the deck. Those of the crew who were not scrambling up the masts and rigging like apes had opened the hatches and were heaving crates and barrels overboard. The Windsprinter carried no cargo of any particular value. Odds and ends, furniture, a few casks of whisky. Certainly no treasures. The cargo landed in the water with heavy splashes and bobbed along in the water, moving with us. I feared we would gain little speed from abandoning it.

  “Captain,” the mate called. “She flies the Jolly Roger.”

  “Describe it to me.”

  “A wolf’s head, over crossed bones.”

  Phillips paled visibly, even in the dark. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.”

  He turned to me. “Take your maid and go below, miss St. Claire. Hide.”

  I needed no spyglass to see the oncoming ship now. She moved with unnatural speed, her narrow bow cleaving the waves, sails billowed as if the devil himself had set the winds to them as long pale oars the color of bleached bones jutted from her black hull and lashed the waves, driving her relentlessly forward. There was a flash from the forecastle and I dropped down by instinct, hearing the cannon’s charge whistle overhead. It punched a hole in the mainsail just as the boom followed behind it, leaving my ears ringing.

  “You know this flag,” I said, my voice wavering from the ringing my ears.

  “I do. The Fang takes no prisoners and demands no ransoms. If we cannot outrun them, we are all done for.”

  Fianna cleaved to my side.

  “Mister Stark, give her your pistol.”

  “Captain?”

  “Do it.”

  I took the second weapon, and held one in either hand. I understood fully. One for each of us, myself and Fianna. One shot, each.

  “Now,” he said, “Get below.”

  I handed off one of the pistols and tucked the other under my arm, and hurriedly descended the ladder to the deck. Fianna dropped down behind me, and she was in just in time. There was another thunderin
g boom, and splinters flew over our heads, followed in the same instant by the captain and his officers, sent spilling into the deck. Jutting from the rail where we had stood moments before was some monstrous harpoon, biting into the ship itself. A chain trailed out behind her. The Fang was close enough now that I could make out movement on her deck. The crew were turning some enormous winch, either dragging the Windpsrinter in for the kill or pulling themselves closer, I could not say. The wood creaked and groaned from the harpoon pulling on it, until it creaked and threatened to burst.

  I was glad we had been denied the captain’s quarters. We would have been killed by the impact.

  Fianna sank to the deck, and dropped her pistol, wailing. I dropped down beside her just in time. Another cannon shot this time struck the mark, and the main mast shattered two-thirds of the way up, sending a rain of splinters falling over the deck. I ducked under the rail overhead as they rained down in front of me. With a groaning, snapping crack, the mast leaned drunkenly and tangled in the rigging. Then tension on the great chain suddenly went slack, and I saw the Fang coming along the starboard side. She was three times bigger than the Windsprinter, easily the size of a ship-of-the-line, her narrow prow spreading back into a fat belly heavy with three decks of guns. As she came alongside, the hatches raised, and her hull suddenly bristled with the gaping black maws of cannon, enough to blast the whole ship out of the water and sweep the deck, killing us all.

  Yet, they did not fire. Flashes and smoke on the deck hurled more chains into the Windsprinter’s rigging, and the shapes moving on the deck whirled and threw grappling hooks over our rail. I moved with Fianna to the far side of the ship, scooping up her discarded pistol as I went. I pushed her behind me, tucking into a corner as far aft as I could manage.

  My arms lost their strength as raw, liquid terror surged through me, as cold as the sea water around us. The crew of the Fang was not human. They were… they were monsters.

  They moved like men, and wore men’s clothes, bright colors her and there and the tar-hardened vests buccaneers wore, and they swung aboard the Windsprinter with knives clenched between their teeth, boarding hooks in their hands, or muskets, or flaring blunderbusses, but where normal men have skin they had fur, and their faces were more wolf than man, full of fangs and with wild flashing eyes. The crew of the Windsprinter gave battle, but they were mowed down, swept from the deck like tenpins. The pirates cut them down where they stood or shot them down like dogs or simply lifted them bodily from the deck and hurled them overboard. Worst of all, I watched a dozen men discharge their pistols into the things’ chests, to no effect at all but raucous laughter and shouted boasts. The two ships dragged together until their clash sent me off my feet, and I collapsed in a heap with Fianna.

  I pushed against the wall behind me, moving to shield her, and held out the pistols, though my arms were shaking like leaves in the wind and I’d have been lucky to hit the deck, much less any one of these creatures.

  “Look what we got ‘ere, boys! Englishmen brought us a pretty!”

  That they could speak shocked me on its own. The voice was guttural, growling, unsuited to the throat that gave it. These wolf-men were hunched, slavering creatures, moving closer every second. I swung the pistols round, hoping they would hold, knowing they wouldn’t.

  “Two pretties,” the same one growled. “An’ one’s got pretty red hair. You an Irisher, girl?”

  “Don’t answer them,” I said, turning to Fianna.

  “What d’ye mean to do with them pistols?” another one said, drawing closer. “Maybe I’ll take ‘em and shove ‘em up your pretty little arses.”

  “There’s whisky in here!” one of them called, peering into the hold. “I can smell it.”

  “Good,” the one nearest us said, gazing at us hungrily. “Some libations before the main course.”

  Fianna squealed and pressed against me.

  I nearly dropped my weapons as I heard the sound. A roar so loud it was almost a war horn, it peeled into a long, mournful howl, and the raucous monstrosities went silent, and backed away from us. I could hear the deck creaking as a shape half again as tall as the others, strode across it, looming over us. My breath caught and the barrels of my pistols dipped for a moment before I swung them both ‘round to aim at this… creature.

  He was terrible and magnificent at the same time. Dressed in finery to equal any London dandy, he was broad shouldered and tall, built like a strongman. His fur was purest white, glowing in the darkness, and his eyes were blood red and fixed on me. Where the others reminded me of frothing, rabid dogs, this creature was regal. A thick bolt of white hair hung down his back, as heavy as a cloak, and a long tail swished behind him as he moved, lashing the air. I felt a sudden, unwelcome impulse to glide my fingers through that thick fur and feel its softness against my skin. His vulpine features were strangely sensitive. This must have beens some pirate king, for the others backed away, lowering themselves almost to all fours. Their ears pressed against their heads and they stared down, like frightened dogs.

  “If you mean to shoot me, you must needs cock the pistols first.”

  I looked at the weapons, tilting them back. He slapped them out of my hands with his own, so large it would have matched my head in size had he made a fist.

  He tucked them through his broad sash. In a hook on his belt he carried a tomahawk, as an Indian might, but so huge it would take an ordinary man two hands to wield it. On the other hip, a cutlass. He folded his huge arms over his broad chest.

  “Speak.”

  “My father is a man of means,” I said, as calmly as I could. “My maid and I are quite valuable to you.”

  “Aye,” he rumbled. “That you might be.”

  I felt a flutter of… I was not sure what.

  “I’m not sure if this lot would bugger you or bake you,” he said, leaning over us.

  “Captain…” I said, trying to fight the choking fear that threatened to close my throat. “Be reasonable…”

  He barked out a roaring laugh, and threw his head back.

  “Hear this one, lads! She says be reasonable.”

  A gale of laughter rewarded him, some descending into yipping barks.

  “What sort of man is your father? The sort to pay handsomely for you?”

  “Yes!” I said, clutching Fiona.

  “What about that one? Is her father some lord too, that I should bow down to her?”

  “Captain…”

  “Captain!” another of the monsters bellowed. “Captain, she calls him! Yer Grace is the style accorded the King of the Werewolf Pirates, you limey cunt!”

  “Silence!” the great beast roared, and backhanded the offending beast, sending him sprawling with a yelp. “I’ll not have you offend our guest.”

  I stood up, slowly, holding my hands out. Fianna clutched my side, burying her face in my skirts.

  “Show us your tits!” one of them barked.

  “I said shut up!” the King roared.

  He turned back to us. “These two are mine. Any of you lot lays a hand on either, and you’ll have your guts for garters.”

  Before I knew what was happening, his massive hand clamped around my arm and dragged me to my feet. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong, and lifted me easily from the ground and threw me over his shoulder, leaving me hanging over his back. I pounded with my fists and kicked my feet, but to no avail. I could feel his hot breath on my skin as my skirts swirled.

  “Settle down, lassie, or I’ll drop you in the drink.”

  He threw Fianna over his other shoulder with equal ease, and bounded from the deck of the Windsprinter over to his own vessel. My belly did a loop as he jumped, and I screamed in spite of myself, until I covered my mouth. Fianna wept openly, and with good reason. These monsters crewed a ship from hell.

  The vessel was enormous. The lesser beasts were dragging themselves around great winches, dragging our poor little ship against her side, and already they were plundering the hold, heaving ba
rrels and casks onto their own deck. The wood beneath my feet was old and so dark it was nearly black, and ebon sails were lashed to the masts overhead as the crew of monsters began their work, tearing the ship apart. Not knowing what to do, I stood beside the captain and hugged Fianna, who wept softly into my shoulder. Strangely, no tears came to my eyes even as I watched the beasts with their axes hacking apart the ship that had carried us these three months.

  It was all I could do not to stare at my captor. Everything I knew told me to find this beast repulsive, but I could not. One booted foot up on the rail, he was strangely regal with his vulpine features and beautiful, lustrous fur. The broad just of his chest was as proud as the prow of his ship, and he wore his weapons like a man that knew how to use them. I hadn’t noticed the blade he strapped to his back, some great absurd claymore that looked more fit for a knight than a sea captain. He watched his minions dragging what remained of the cargo out of the hold in silence, not sparing me a glance of his red-gold eyes.

  Fianna calmed in time.

  “May we go inside?” I said. “I have a chill.”

  “You’ll go where I wish,” he said, his voice a low growl, “and you’ll be silent, if you would live through this.”

  “What do you mean to do to us?”

  He turned his huge head slightly towards me. His ears twitched, and his features tightened.

  “Did I not command you to be silent?”

  “If I am to be a hostage,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even, “I would expect treatment in accordance with my station.”

  “Your station will be bent over the rail, if you can’t be quiet,” he snorted, and turned back to watch.

  “Faster!” He roared, prompting me to jump. “Are you tired, you worthless swabs? Need a nap?”

  Soon, the last of the Windsprinter’s cargo was being lifted aboard the Fang, borne aloft in a net. The creatures leapt across the gap between the vessels as they wrenched the grappling hooks out of the splintered wood. Bobbing in the sea, the Windsprinter began to drift away, the pilot’s wheel turning this way and that as it leaned drunkenly to the side, unbalanced by the shattered and fallen mast.