Free Hunt for the Panther 3 (9781101610923) by Gerald (ILT) Rachelle; Guerlais Delaney

speak the language of love!” Smitty answered.
    Jem almost pointed out that Sina seemed to speak the language of “go away and leave me alone,” then decided it would be faster not to argue. “Okay. But be quick.”
    “Jolly!” Smitty took a step back, then squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Ready?”
    “You’ve got two minutes,” Jem warned him.
    “Okay.” Smitty closed his eyes, then recited,
    I’m just a simple pirate, a rotten buccaneer,
    But something unexplicable hits me when you are near.
    “Inexplicable,” said Jem.
    “Just listen, mate.”
    I’ve never felt this way before, I’m achy, sick, and tired.
    I thought at first I’d eaten something after it expired.
    Jem held up his hand. “Really?”
    “Really,” said Smitty. “This love thing is tearing me apart.”
    “No, I meant—” Jem began, then thought better. “Go on.”
    But then I realized it happens just when you’re around.
    My tongue goes numb, my mouth dries up, I cannot make a sound.
    “So that’s why it’s been nice and quiet lately,” Jem commented.
    “Shh.”
    It’s not the pain I mind so much—that’s not what makes me blue.
    It’s wondering if you will ever say you love me, too.
    Smitty sighed and bowed his head. “That’s it.”
    “Good,” Jem said, glad it was over.
    “Think she’ll like it?”
    “I’m sure she will,” Jem told him. “Although you might want to consider learning the Islander language, anyway. You know, in case this doesn’t quite to do the job.”
    Smitty shrugged. “I’ll try this first.” And he trotted off, leaving Jem shaking his head.

Scarlet stared at the parlor ceiling and wondered if it was possible to die of boredom. If it was, she was probably dangerously close to her own demise.
    In the stiff-backed chair beside her, Josephine hummed a little tune while working on her embroidery. She’d been at it for the last few hours, humming away as an orange cat took shape on her dainty white handkerchief.
    “Would you say that you’re a cat person, cousin?” Josephine asked, without looking up from her work.
    “No,” Scarlet replied, shaking her right leg, which had fallen asleep around the same time her brain went numb, a good two hours before.
    “Well, I definitely am,” said Josephine. “I just adore cats. Big ones, small ones, striped ones—”
    “Right. I figured,” Scarlet cut in. Josephine’s favorite topics, as she’d discovered over the past few days, were embroidery, knitting, and cats. The cousins officially had nothing in common.
    Death by boredom.
Scarlet shifted in her stiff-backed chair and shook her head in disgust.
What a horrible way to go.
Death by keelhaul would be honorable. Death by plank-walking would be brave. Even death by snakebite would be understandable. But no one would understand if they found the captain of the Lost Souls dead in a King’s Man’s parlor with a mess of embroidery in her lap.
    She looked down at her own project and grimaced. The yellow butterfly she’d envisioned flitting across the handkerchief looked more like an egg someone had dropped on the road.
    Josephine glanced up. “Do you need some help, cousin?”
    “No,” said Scarlet. “I’m going to take a break.” She stood, stretching her restless legs. “Hard work, this embroidery.”
    Josephine gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s coming along well.” She looked down at the yellow splat and bit her lip. “I can’t believe embroidery isn’t taught in the tropics.”
    “Yes, we’re really missing out.” Scarlet tossed the handkerchief aside and marched to the window. The ocean view had an instant calming effect, and she reminded herself to be nice.
    “Here in the tropics, ladies are really more into…” She racked her brain for something a lady would do. “Spices,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie—the Islander women had known all about spices. They’d spent hours gathering and drying and grinding them into fine powders, then