The thought of Rebekah nagged at his mind for a moment—her ship had been leaving that night. The witches’ hurricane seemed to be coming in from the ocean, and Elijah hoped that she had made it to open water in time. But there was nothing he could do to help her now. She had chosen to strike out on her own, and she would have to handle hurricanes and worse without her family to back her up.
“There’s an arsenal in the cellar,” Klaus informed him brightly, his mood improved since Elijah had taken his side against Vivianne. “We can pick them off from inside the house for a while, although we’ll need a better plan while we do.”
“They won’t wait outside forever,” Elijah agreed. “And the house might not last the night, so that plan will have to come to us in a hurry.”
Vivianne’s head snapped up. “What do you mean about the house?” she demanded. “Klaus told me it was protected.”
“Against weapons and intruders,” Elijah reminded them both grimly. “I doubt the spell will hold against the weather, and your people, my lady—your other people—are raising that against us as we speak.”
A crash of thunder punctuated his words, and the other two flinched. “The weather?” Klaus said incredulously.
“The witches,” Vivianne understood. “They could do that.” Her black eyes searched Elijah’s face, and he could see her hope fading fast. “Are you sure?”
“I have it from the source,” he confirmed. “We must deal with the werewolves now, before the hurricane hits us.”
Klaus whistled appreciatively. “A hurricane,” he repeated, grudgingly impressed. Then his manner shifted, and Elijah knew he was preparing for the fight at hand. “I have some ideas, brother,” he said. “But you’d best not run off again to play politics.”
“Politics are done,” he assured his brother. “We have done what we could, but now we fall back on your skills rather than mine.”
Klaus grinned, and Elijah found himself grinning as well. “I knew you’d come around,” his little brother said, and Elijah cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder.
“An arsenal in the cellar, you say?” he asked, feeling confident despite the circumstances. They were on familiar ground now, and they had each other’s backs. “Show me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE STORM CAME in faster than any Rebekah had ever seen. The captain was caught completely off guard, stammering that it couldn’t be happening. They lost precious minutes to his stupidity, but it didn’t matter. They were never going to make it to open water before the hurricane reached them. It wasn’t even going to be a close race.
“We have to turn back,” Eric urged, his brow furrowed with concern. “The captain is putting everyone in danger. We need to tell him there’s no need to take such a risk.”
“We can outlast this,” Rebekah said, gripping the rails as lightning forked the sky. There never should have been a storm that night, and it couldn’t possibly be as bad as it looked. “It’s just a bit of rain. You’ll see much worse than this if you stay with me.”
Eric looked away from the hurricane to pull her near for a kiss. “Of course I will stay with you,” he said into her hair. “Through this, through worse—through anything. But the ship’s crew have made no such vow, and this is far more than just a bit of rain to them.” She realized that he was leaving his entire life behind to go with her, but he couldn’t leave his habits. He was a leader. Of course he thought of the common sailors, even at a time like this.
“They are all being paid as well, and they understand the risks,” she replied, but she was not so sure. The sailors looked alternately green and pale, clinging to the rigging and watching the clouds anxiously. The captain, who stood to gain the most by leaving and arriving on schedule, was the only one who seemed to think that they should press on. Aside from Rebekah, of course, who had not been afraid of storms since she was a child.
“We can go back,” Eric persisted, “After this, we’ll have every night together, my beloved, so what does it matter if that begins tonight or tomorrow?”
No, she wouldn’t go back—she couldn’t. If they hesitated, they might be lost.
The water was growing wilder by the minute. As they watched, a wave broke just over the bow of their ship, and a few of the sailors shouted in alarm. Wave after wave pummeled the ship, and the wind groaned and whipped about them in an incessant fury. They were tossed about like toys, and the ship spun in the water’s brutal current. Even the captain looked nervous. Finally, Rebekah realized that a broken boat and a drowned crew wouldn’t carry them far, and that they had to turn back.
“Wait here,” she told Eric, kissing him as she left his side. “Please, where I can see you, and hold on.” Another wave broke over the rail, higher this time, and a line snapped free of its mast and whistled through the air above their heads.
When he nodded his assent, Rebekah ran forward to the bow, where the captain struggled to keep control of the wheel. The ship was less and less inclined to respond to his orders, much like his crew. The storm was slowly taking ownership of them all, and she cursed the time she had lost to her stubbornness.
“Not to worry, Madame,” the captain shouted, his voice barely audible over the shrieking wind. “It’s just a trifle. Looks worse than it is.”
Rebekah positioned herself before him and ruthlessly caught his eye. “Turn the ship around,” she ordered, her voice humming with compulsion. “We’ll return to New Orleans and sail again when the weather is clear.”
“We’ll turn back now,” he agreed numbly, then shook himself into action. He began barking orders, which the sailors struggled to obey. By then, one wave out of three was soaking the deck, and the crew was fighting just to stay on board.
Lightning struck down out of the sky near them, and a tree just past the shoreline exploded into a shower of sparks. It was too close, Rebekah realized—they were too late. The ship would never make it back to the harbor, not intact. Just as the thought occurred to her, a crewman was washed overboard, his hands groping for the rail until they disappeared below the white-capped waves.
“Eric!” Rebekah screamed. It had been a terrible mistake to leave his side. She had to get back to him. She tried to run, but the deck tossed and rolled. Another wave washed over the boat, tugging hungrily at her ankles. She wiped the spray from her eyes and found him again. He was holding fast to the central rigging, just as she had asked him to do, but even then she had underestimated the hurricane’s fury. Eric’s feet skittered across the wooden boards of the deck, the strength of his grip the only thing keeping him on board.
In the back of her mind, Rebekah counted between each wave. She would make it; he could hold on. She would reach him before he was swept into the water, and she could carry him safely to land. She would turn him the second they had solid earth beneath their feet, pact be damned. She could not live with the thought that she might lose Eric.
She could predict the swell and crash of each wave, but the next bolt of lightning caught her completely off guard. It struck the mast, and the sound of splintering wood and booming thunder was deafening. She staggered as the deck beneath her feet shuddered.
It cost her two seconds at the most, perhaps only one. But one was enough. A beam the width of her torso collapsed across the ship, splitting the deck from the prow to the stern. And she could not see Eric anymore.