something and used to be a pirate back in the day,” she told him with a crooked smile, and then added, “Well, a privateer . . . maybe.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his eyes dancing with interest at this news, but then grunted and waved for her to continue.
“So, he geared up his old pirate ship, welcomed any immortal who had trouble affording their blood to join his crew, and . . .” She hesitated and then sighed and said, “It’s kind of a tourist thing. There’s a program where people go out to swim with the sharks and stingrays. When they return to the landing site, they watch a sort of pirate dance/fight routine and are encouraged to buy from stalls with local goods,” she explained. “While they’re watching the show, our crew, dressed like sexy pirates move—”
“Sexy pirates?” he interrupted. His voice was serious, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
Ildaria grimaced. “I wore black leather thigh-high boots, a black leather bra and matching short shorts or skirt, and either a pirate hat or a head scarf . . . and a sword of course.”
“Of course,” he murmured, his gaze sliding over her as if he were imagining her in the costume she’d just described and liking what he was seeing in his mind’s eye.
Ildaria wasn’t one to blush, she was too old for that, but she was quite sure she was blushing now under his gaze. She also felt oddly warm and a little breathless. Clearing her throat, she tried to ignore his attention and quickly added, “The guys usually went topless, or with an open vest, or an open peasant top with long sleeves, tight leather pants, boots, a pirate hat or head scarf, and a sword.”
“Right,” he said slowly, but didn’t sound all that interested in what the guys were wearing. She was quite sure he was still stuck on her costume.
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Anyway, the crew would move through the crowd, picking donors and inviting them on the pirate ship for a tour to feed the sharks.”
A lot of the twinkle left his eyes then. In fact, he looked a bit grim when he said, “The sharks, huh?”
Ildaria sighed and shrugged unhappily. “We did take them out to see and feed sharks if we could find any. We also served them cheese trays and punch made with really watered-down alcohol in it.”
“Watered down because you didn’t want to drink alcohol filled blood.”
He sounded angry again, but she ignored that and nodded.
“When did you feed on them?” he asked grimly.
Ildaria shrugged uncomfortably. “We weren’t supposed to feed on them until we reached international waters. That was the whole reason behind Vasco doing this. To get us the blood we needed without leaving us homeless, or having to go without it until we were so desperate that we inadvertently attacked a mortal on land and were executed.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his gaze disapproving. “You weren’t supposed to feed on them until you reached international waters,” he murmured her words almost thoughtfully, and then said, “But you did, didn’t you?”
Ildaria’s mouth tightened. “What? Now you’re a mind reader?”
He shook his head. “No. But you said you ‘weren’t supposed to,’ not ‘we never fed on them until we reached international waters,’” he pointed out in a low rumble.
Ildaria’s mouth twisted at that and then she looked away and sighed. “I usually did wait. I always tried to. But there were three, maybe four times when one or the other of the idiot mortals managed to corner and try to rape either myself or one of the other women.” Her mouth firmed with anger at the memory, and she confessed, “Those ones I fed on early and in the most unpleasant way I could think of.”
G.G. didn’t comment at once, and after a moment she huffed out a breath, letting go of her anger as she said, “Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave the memory with them so it was really a stupid, useless thing to do that taught them nothing and endangered both myself, and Vasco, who didn’t deserve that kind of trouble.”
“Then why did you do it?” G.G. asked reasonably.
Ildaria hesitated and then shrugged unhappily. “I couldn’t help myself. I just . . . I really hate men who think they can just take what they want and rape a woman.”
Ildaria turned her gaze back to her drink then, staring at it grimly and refusing to meet his gaze after that admission.