...Neither heaven nor hell could be so cruel as to deny him in death that which he’d ne’er had the chance to experience in life. Somehow, someday, Amalie would return to him, and Richard with her.

Nate sensed it with a certainty that belied logic, the intuition of the dead and the damned. Just one night with them—together—that’s all he wanted. Surely it wasn’t too much. The three of them had died too soon. They had unfinished business. Maybe that’s what kept him anchored to this spot, racked between cold nothingness and the scorch of unfulfilled desire. They’d return, and he must be here. Waiting…

Till then, ’tis any port in a storm, mateys.

The couple he now watched weren’t the ones he really needed, but their love play warmed his spectral core, gave him energy to manipulate into substance. Like a sponge he soaked up their body heat, gaining strength from every kiss and caress, each lusty groan and gasp. With a pirate’s ruthless avarice, Nate plundered their passion. Just a bit more and he’d have the power and means to create a body for himself, a replica of the physical form he’d once worn. Temporary, perhaps, but solid and sizzling as the lovers’ own.

Oh, to be a man again, if only for an hour. To fill lungs with air, feel a heart pumping hot blood through almost human flesh. To have one’s belly burn with hunger and cock grow heavy and hard. Aye, to claim a tight wet passage, join with another, skin to skin. To sweat and grope, taste the bitter and the sweet, smell the musky odors of mating.

To feel alive!

The only problem was how to keep his intended prey…er, partners in bed. If they bolted at the sight of him it would rather defeat the purpose of manifesting a body. He wanted to fuck them blind, not scare them senseless.

On the other hand, they seemed an adventurous pair. Their pirate act had quite amused him. Maybe he should show them how the game was really played?

What a tempting thought. It wouldn’t take much to do it. Their minds were malleable now, easy to penetrate with them drunk on each other and the bubbly brew he’d watched them consume at their private supper here in the room. Nate couldn’t carry them into the past any more than he could return there himself, but with a little extra effort he might recreate a scene or two in dreamscape. With a few modifications, of course.

Rewrite history?

Did he dare?

Hell, what had he ever not dared?

As his face formed out of ethereal mists, and sturdy limbs and torso took shape beneath it, Nate felt tangible lips curl into a grin, felt his power and passion rise. He was going to enjoy this immensely. So would his new crew if he still had his old skill. Cutlasses be damned. They’d soon learn how a real pirate wielded his weapon. Yo-ho-ho. But forget the rum; he had something much tastier in mind.