Travis paused for a deep drink from his mug, so she took the opportunity to glance at MacRieve from under a lock of her hair.
He looked suspicious and aggressive, so different from the man she'd first known. He was harder now, darker. Because of me. Her lips were still tender from his harsh, demanding kiss - a constant reminder of what he planned to do with her this evening.
He's going to try to have sex with me. Realization fully hit her. This very night.
How was she supposed to sit through this meeting, knowing what would befall her when they returned? She was on edge and knew he could sense her tension - because she could sense his as well.
And what would she do when he tried to? Earlier, as she'd removed her clothes, the look in his eyes had been delighted, as if he were unwrapping the best gift he could possibly conceive of.
Surprisingly, she'd responded, finding it... erotic to strip at his command. Maybe she was a closet submissive - who'd needed to dominate every opponent over a thousand years. All except for MacRieve? Am I delirious?
"We're heading south toward the very end of the Amazon proper," Travis continued, "then turning off on the San Miguel tributary to some of the most remote parts of the basin. We'll motor all night until the river gets tight." Another swig for the thirsty captain. "Since we're going deeper into virgin territory, this trip lent itself to several different disciplines. Everybody here's in different fields, so there's no direct competition."
He made a negligent hand motion toward the young woman beside him. "This is my cook."
Of middling height, with soulful hazel eyes, the female looked to be all of nineteen. "Hi, I'm Izabel Carlotta Ambos," she said with a confident wave. Izabel was comely, though she wore a shapeless shirt and baggy cargo pants, cinched tight with a belt. "I'll be preparing your meals. My bife a cavalo is deliciosa, and if you keep the kitchen stocked with fish, I'll keep fresh feasts on the table."
MacRieve perked up at that.
"Some of you have met my twin, Charlie. He's the deckhand." Same Brazilian accent as her brother, same hazel eyes.
Izabel smiled at her, and Lucia gave a pained smile in return. Oh, no, not the we're the only two females on a ship of males bonding bit. She had no need for additional "pals." Especially not short-term human ones.
Besides, there was something off about her that Lucia couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps Izabel had Lorean in her, somewhere far back in her family line. Or maybe she was completely human, but with a curse hanging over her. Something was amiss.
"Yeah, that's right," the captain said. "Chuck is my right-hand man. You'll meet him later." Another draw from his mug. "Chuck and Izabel are new to the Contessa - so this trip is the last one of a long trial period. Drop me a dime if they screw up." The captain seemed to have a cosmic inability to call Charlie anything but Chuck. "Now, some of you are already acquainted, but it's customary on this ship to do a round of intros. Tell us who you are, what you study, and why you're here."
The pale man said, "I guess I'll start" - his accent was east coast, upper crust - "I'm Benjamin Rossiter, an M.D. and professor of chemoecology at Cornell. I'll be looking for uncataloged plants in the hope of discovering pharmaceutical uses." Though his manner was relaxed, he had dark circles under his blue eyes and sweat had beaded above his upper lip. "We've only identified one percent of the medicinal plants in the basin, yet that one percent accounts for twenty-five percent of all our pharmaceuticals. The potential is nearly inconceivable." He held up a palm, casting them a half grin. "And I'll stop myself there, so I don't make your eyes glaze over." The guy looks moneyed. So what's he doing on a tub like this?
The darkly handsome man spoke next. "I'm Marcos Damiãno, head of the department of social anthropology at the University of São Paulo."
If Lucia had suspected Izabel had some connection to the Lore, she was certain Damiãno did.
"My specialization is indigenous shamanism, and I'm here to search for uncontacted tribes."
MacRieve still had his arms crossed over his chest. "If they're uncontacted, do they no' want to stay that way?"
Lucia jabbed her elbow at him, and he grunted.
Damiãno gave a tight smile that didn't reach his vivid green eyes. "Several large oil companies are bidding on these remote territories, falsely claiming they're unoccupied, so any tribes there will certainly be contacted regardless. My aim for this expedition is to get photos of them from a distance and prove their existence, which would halt all oil exploration on their lands." He waved to the cowlick guy beside him. "Dr. Schecter?"
"Right, right, I'm Dr. Clarence Schecter, a zoologist from UC San Diego." He removed his glasses, polishing them with his shirttail. "My area of study is unculled species of reptiles."
Rossiter raised a brow. "Unculled?"
"Yes, when men hunt, they pick off the largest of the species. Over time, the pool becomes smaller. So the deeper into the jungle we get, the more chance there is of spotting larger-than-normal river specimens."
With all their talk of going deep into the jungle, Lucia might not have to dump them as early as she'd thought.
MacRieve scoffed. "What do you mean 'larger than normal?' Normal out here is no' exactly small." MacRieve had said he'd hoped never to come back here. How long had he been in the basin before? And why?
The captain agreed. "I see giant animals every day. Tarantulas with meaty bodies the size of dinner plates. Foot-long scorpions. Twenty-foot-long gators. Giant otters and even catfish'll stretch nine feet."
"And by gator," Dr. Schecter said in a patronizing tone, "I assume you mean the South American crocodilian species called the caiman?"
At Travis's shrug, Schecter said, "That's the thing. In other areas, we have fossil records of caimans reaching forty feet long. But they've been overhunted. Now, once we gain enough distance from civilization, and with the sonic baiting techniques I'll utilize, I'll be able to document primordial specimens."
MacRieve coughed the word, "Sonic" just as Rossiter made a sound of realization.
"Megafauna," the man said. "You're searching for megs! If you're a cryptozoologist, just admit it and take your ribbing."
Cryptozoology - the study of creatures from "myth." They're in a room with at least two cryptids. And they don't even know it.
"Me? I'm not a cryptozoologist!" Schecter flushed red. "Otherwise I'd be aboard the Barão da Borracha."