The Devil's Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

took the briefest of moments to relax his muscles, which is what she must have been waiting for. Her mouth opened and she rose up to enclose it around his right ear. She bit down with the brawn of a steel trap, her teeth ripping through the fabric of his ear. The tremendous pain spiked throughout his skull like a flower that blossomed needles instead of pedals. When he pulled away, he saw that she had a chunk of his earlobe in her mouth with blood cascading down her chin. Before he could comprehend the horror of the moment, she spit the lobe into his face.
    He fell away from her, wiping blood from his eyes. The pain in his groin no longer mattered as the intense throbbing from his severed ear resonated through his head and splintered into the muscles of his neck.
    The woman was starting to get to her feet when Griffith felt something hard in his grip and realized that he was still holding the cutlass. He summoned all of the energy left to him and swung the weapon in a great arc. The blade smashed into her scalp with a satisfying spray of blood that was warm on his face.

 
LIVINGSTON
     
    When Edward Livingston opened the door, the waning sunlight fell upon what looked like a slaughterhouse. The girl was face-down, with blood oozing out of her head. In the dingy light he wasn’t sure where the blood ended and her hair began, but he was certain she was dead.
    Next he saw Captain Griffith's legs; the rest of him was blanketed in darkness. Livingston stepped over the girl and dropped to his knees beside Griffith. A large chunk of the captain's right earlobe was resting on his collar, and a lengthy gash had been carved into his left arm, bleeding profusely.
    "What in Hell?" Livingston exclaimed.
    "That fire-haired whore," Griffith responded with a wry smile. "She very nearly killed me."
    Livingston gritted his teeth. He’d known the girl was trouble from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He stood and returned to her body. "Are you dead, bitch?" he demanded. When she didn't respond, he emphasized the question by digging the tip of his boot into her ribs. She didn't budge. He kneeled beside her and put two fingers to her neck. Happily, he found a pulse. He would take great pleasure in torturing her for what she had done to his friend. He recalled that one of the crew had suggested putting her on a stove. He rather liked that idea.
    "Patch her up," Griffith croaked. "And fix her to the mainmast. If it's death she desires, she'll find it there."
    Livingston cocked his head. Had Griffith lost his mind? The girl had plainly tried to kill him. She'd taken a good portion of his ear, sliced his arm, and surely would've done worse if not overpowered, and the most creative anguish he could think of was a few measly days in the sun?
    "Captain," Livingston started to protest.
    "She'll be lucky if she lives out the night," Griffith interjected. "The fight she put up. . . you should've seen it." Livingston noted a disturbingly proud glint in Griffith's eyes. "She deserves a chance, don't you agree?"
    "No," Livingston growled. "She's had it with chances."
    "Five days," Griffith said, cutting him off. "If she lasts that long, she'll have earned her life."
    Livingston’s teeth gnawed at the inside of his cheek. He knew better than anyone that a dispute was best settled between the two people it involved and no one else. Technically, he could have overridden the captain's request and hurled the girl to the sea before she regained consciousness, but he did not wish to sully their friendship.
    "Five days," Griffith persisted.
    Livingston sighed. He was suddenly aware that the room had grown dark, and he turned to find several of the crew shadowing the door, struggling to see over one another and get a glimpse of their captain's condition.
    "Bring Thatcher," Livingston told them. "Captain’s injured." The crowd dispersed swiftly, scattering in different directions.
    A minute later, Thatcher shuffled in, ushered along by two of the crew, and