by Elle Thorne
Safe to say, Étienne no longer believed in anything good. And he was fine with his belief system.
“I’m going to visit Nana.”
“Don’t get caught,” Achille muttered.
Giving Achille another nod, Étienne headed toward the cemetery to see his grandmother’s grave and pay his last respects. She’d been right. She’d received that visit from the dark visitor, and now she was gone.
He approached Nana’s grave, the fresh mound of dirt a different color than the older graves. A white luminescent object caught his attention. Étienne bent down to study it.
It was a shell, a sea shell that Nana’s grandfather had given to her grandmother long, long ago, when they’d been in a country far different than this one. The shell had made a long voyage, and managed to be handed down, despite hardships and moves.
A wave of melancholy floored Étienne momentarily. He swallowed down the knot of emotions.
Chapter 6
Latrice watched Étienne from the shadows, but a feeling of unease made her senses prickle. The tiny hairs at her nape raised. He bent down to study something on Marguerite’s grave, and seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings.
Oblivious until a peal of laughter filled the tiny cemetery. The sound was hollow and ethereal. And out from the shadows stepped an elegantly dressed man, his hair pulled back, his nails immaculate, his skin perfectly flawless and without pores.
Vampire!
Latrice was filled with dread.
Étienne’s head flew up, his eyes widened, then narrowed as he studied the preternatural creature. He showed no fear, and yet, no belief in the horrors this nightwalker could inflict upon him.
Surely he wasn’t so ignorant. Surely he knew. Surely.
The vampire smiled, revealing fangs that glistened in the moonlight.
Étienne’s posture changed as if now he realized what the creature was.
“Go away,” Étienne hissed low, because clearly there was still the overseer to fear.
Before Latrice could fully process the events, Étienne had taken off at a run, heading toward the bayou. Behind him, the vampire walked slowly as though enjoying a day in the park. Every few paces, the vampire would move at preternatural speed and close the distance between himself and Étienne.
Latrice ran after them, at an angle, as quietly as she could manage, steering clear of low branches and undergrowth obstacles.
She heard a splash, and picked up the pace to find a sight that made her heart seize as though a fist had been clenched around it.
Étienne.
In the vampire’s arms.
Limp.
There, at the bank’s edge with the alligators, raccoons, and water moccasins as witnesses, the vampire was draining Étienne’s blood. His long hair made a curtain, blocking Latrice’s view, but she didn’t need to see to know what was happening.
She couldn’t sit back idly, simply couldn’t.
Standing to her full height, which wasn’t much, she flung her hair behind her much the same way a warrior takes a stance in the midst of battle.
She knew she didn’t need to make a sound, that the vampire would feel her.
She took a step closer, revealing herself and losing the cover of the shadows.
Latrice’s dark eyes picked up the light of the silver moon’s beam. White stripes emanated from her pupils to the outer edge of her brown irises like the spokes of a bicycle.
The vampire’s head flew upward, his fangs exposed, a hiss coming from deep within his chest. His eyes rimmed in crimson, the whites dark from the feeding.
“Go.” A tiny drop of blood lingered on the corner of his mouth. “He’s mine. Mine.”
Latrice lifted her hands, raising them to the moon as if in supplication.
She clenched her jaw with the force of the power she was pulling in and pushing out toward the vampire. The power surged through Latrice, forging through her like a force of nature, it picked up all her powers, then jetted through her hands lethal and invisible to human eyes, making a beeline for the vampire.
The nightwalker fell back from the power of the combined surge of her skills and the moon’s energy. He caught his fall, dropping Étienne, who landed on the bayou’s bank, half in the murky water, half out.
The vampire raised his hands to counter the invisible force. The move was futile for a mere vampire could not oppose it.
His lips moved, trying to talk, or curse, but no sound came out though his throat worked furiously, tendons visibly taut.
Latrice flicked her hands at the vampire, a move that almost seemed casual, though the momentum behind the move was anything but.
The vampire opened his mouth wide, perhaps to scream, but was interrupted by a sound of cracking as though glass was giving way to weight.
In unison, his fangs popped, shattering into hundreds of pieces, raining down on the still motionless body of Étienne.
“Go,” Latrice whispered. “Now. Or I’ll do the same to every bone within your body.”
She hoped he’d take the threat seriously, though the cost to her would be great. Invoking this much power could kill a lesser witch, but for a witch of Latrice’s magnitude, it could render her near unconscious if she was not careful.
This and the idea of starting a clan war between vampires and witches in the area was not something she wanted. Without his teeth, he’d starve, for a long time, until they returned, but he wouldn’t die. He’d be in his own personal version of hell while his fangs regrew. Then he’d be the same.
The vampire’s mouth snapped shut. The glare he gave her with those crimson-rimmed eyes promised her pain if he ever had the chance. Quicker than she could have snapped her fingers, he’d vanished into the darkness soundlessly.
Did he kill Étienne?
She hoped not. She was powerful, but not omniscient.
She dropped her hands, her body nearly without enough strength to stand, much less walk, but she had to take care of Étienne. She ran to Étienne’s body, turned him over.
The sound of applause made her jump. She whirled around, her eyes scanning the darkness, fearing the return of the vampire. Or worse, of a clan of vampires.
She was lucky.
A man walked up, swaggering, his stride confident, his carriage self-assured.
Dark haired, as she knew him to be.
Dark eyed, as she remembered.
“Latrice,” he said, in that accent she remembered but had not heard in a long time.
“You,” she said, for she knew not his name. He’d never revealed what he was called, though she’d known him for decades. “What timing, shifter. What are you doing here?” She hadn’t seen him in many years.
Shifter, that much she knew, though he’d never given her his name.
Drifter, too, because he never stayed long. As far as she knew, he never stayed anywhere for long.
“Wonderful performance, driving that bloodsucker away. Would you believe me if I told you I missed your company, bellisima?”
His accent was European, but he would never tell her from where. The words he used were usually Italian, so she did wonder if he wasn’t from that country. When she’d asked him once, the last time she’d seen him, all he’d confessed to was spending a lot of time there.
“Why are you so worried about him? Why save him?” He pointed to Étienne.
It was none of his business. “Help me take him to my cabin.”
“What’s in it for me?” His eyes narrowed, his white tiger flashed in the depths of his eyes.
“What do you want, shifter?” Why wouldn’t he tell her his name?
“Spells. You cast spells, any I want for a century.”
Her laugh was derisive. “A decade. No more.”
“Deal.”
He carried Étienne to her cabin, then made himself at home at her table. “What will you do with him now? He’s as good as dead.”
“I can’t let him die.”
“And how is it you propose to keep
him alive?”
She stared at him a long time.
Realization dawned, showing on his face. “No. You can’t mean to do that.”
“I’ll need your blood to do it.”
“I can’t agree to that. It’s not done. It’s not allowed. Even though there is no council here in this country, yet. The Shifter Council in the Old Country would make my existence miserable if they found out I assisted you in this.”
“I’ll take the secret to my grave.” She stalked toward him. “I don’t even know your name.” She stood before him, diminutive but powerful in her magic. “Give me what I seek.”
“Make it a century of spells.”
“Two decades.”
He glared at her.
She narrowed her eyes, letting him see the gravity of the situation. The urgency of the timing. “You know I could take your life. You know I don’t need your permission.”
“Yes, I know. I also know you have a particular fondness for me.”
True. There was something about this man. He’d been her lover once, for a short spell, after the sorcerer she’d loved had been taken from her.
Then Étienne had entered her life and her future. For the last decade, she’d followed, watched him, wanted to help him but knew with his beliefs, he’d never accept a witch. Not even as a friend, though there would be more than friendship between them.
She’d also known he’d never leave Marguerite. Latrice knew that though Marguerite was his grandmother, he loved her as the mother he never had. Now Étienne’s hand had been pushed.
There was no Marguerite.
“So, you’ll help?” she asked the shifter again, hoping what she did would not create a hybrid of Étienne. The life of a hybrid shifter-vampire was not an easy one. The conflict. The bloodlust, the bonding to a vampire.
She prayed to everything she believed in and everything she didn’t. Prayed that Étienne would not become a hybrid.
Chapter 7
Étienne was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, not by a long shot, he’d been with a woman, or two, though the occasions had been few and far between, but he knew exactly what he was waking to when he felt her on him moving, his shaft buried deeply within her. Was he in a dream? He felt strange, and in the far distance, he could hear the snarls and growls of a predator.
Nature took over, as nature does, and he immersed himself in the dream, enjoying the woman giving him pleasure, taking his time until his body released with an explosion that made him come undone.
It was the deep roar that made him realize this wasn’t a dream. The roar that permeated his mind, wreaked havoc on his body, making his nerves tingle and his muscles flex painfully.
That’s when he opened his eyes and confirmed he wasn’t in a dream.
There was a woman on him, her body still holding his shaft captive as she convulsed in ecstasy, her body wracked with orgasms.
“Who are you?” Étienne grabbed the woman’s shoulders, at the same time trying to figure out where he was. It was one room. A cabin, as best as he could tell from a quick glance. Not one of the Arceneaux Plantation cabins. No, this cabin was different. The sounds of the bayou filtered in from shuttered windows covered with sheer cloth to keep the bugs out.
He sat up, the woman still in his lap, but their bodies no longer engaged. Full-breasted, full-hipped, long dark hair, beautiful cocoa skin, dark mahogany eyes that glowed with an eeriness.
She wasn’t right. Something about her was off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Notably, he had to admit to himself, she was beautiful.
And though she wasn’t quite right, she wasn’t quite wrong, either. Still, he couldn’t figure it out.
And though he knew he wasn’t dreaming, he couldn’t stop the feeling he was in a dream. Or that he was not alone within his skin.
Again, he repeated his question, because she watched him carefully, her eyes nervous as though expecting him to be possessed. “Who are you?”
“I’m Latrice Mathieu.”
He’d heard that name.
He had heard it and he didn’t want to ever meet it, or so he’d thought, all his days.
He leapt to his feet, unceremoniously dumping her into the cot he’d been sitting on. She righted herself and reached for a shift. She pulled it over her head and covered her nudity, then handed him his pants.
Étienne slid them on quickly.
“You’re a witch. Why am I—what is—why is this happening?”
“I am a witch. And you are not a hybrid, thankfully.” She pushed her hair back from her face and stepped toward a corner of the cabin, one that functioned as a kitchen. Pulling a kettle from a low flame, she poured two cups of steaming greenish-yellow liquid, then handed him one. “Drink.”
“I do not drink the potions of witches.”
“It is not a potion. It is simply a tea.”
“Tea does not come in this color.” He put the cup on the table, concerned it would spill, as it was rickety.
“It comes in many colors when it has herbs and spices added to it.”
“Potions. I have no reason to trust you.”
“That I saved your life is not reason enough?”
“Saved my—” Étienne had been ready to ask her, when he was abruptly lurched into a whirlpool of memories.
A vampire.
Dying.
Being carried.
Murmurs between a woman—this woman, Latrice—and a man with an accent Étienne didn’t recognize.
Then…
He struggled with the memories. Fought to bring the elusiveness under harness. The man with the pale and poreless skin. No, that was no man. That was a creature.
Vampire!
The word hissed through his brain, loud and excruciating. His hand flew to his neck feeling for the spot where the bloodsucker latched onto him, remembering the initial stabbing pain that yielded to a euphoric pleasure before he could blink. Étienne twisted his head around, scanning the cabin.
The witch was watching him with eyes that held understanding. And maybe a touch of pity.
“What happened?”
“You were attacked.”
“I think I died.”
Her expression didn’t change.
“Why do I seem to be well now? You healed me?”
The witch glanced around the room, then said, “I kept you from dying.”
“But w—”
The baying of dogs in the distance interrupted him.
“They’re looking for you.”
Damnation! He’d not even thought about that. Of course, overseer Jasper was eager to find him.
Dread made adrenaline course through his body. An excruciating pain erupted in his gums, agony crawled over his skin. Confused, Étienne looked down at his chest. Beneath his skin, stripes of black and white undulated. The stinging surge in his mouth made him bite down.
Something was wrong. His teeth.
He touched his fingertip to his canine. It was extended past the point it usually was.
He looked at the witch, horrified. “I’m turning into a vampire. Heaven help me.”
Odd request, since he didn’t believe in heaven, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that now. Would the light burn him if he went in it to run from the dogs?
“You’re not a vampire.” She stepped closer. “Étienne, listen to me. You must calm down. You’re making things worse.”
“Calm down?” He couldn’t help his voice from rising.
“You. Are. Not. A. Vampire.” She enunciated each word clearly while tapping on his chest with her finger. “Now let’s get you to a hiding place before that miserable overseer is here.” She stopped tapping, put both hands on his shoulders and forced him to look into her eyes. “Understand?”
Étienne nodded.
“Deep breath,” she instructed.
He sucked air in, blew it out slowly, his pulse subsiding.
“Now, do as I direct you.”
Chapter 8
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br /> Latrice released Étienne’s shoulders and shoved the kitchen table aside, then moved the threadbare rug next to it. She leant down and sought the loose plank that hid a latch to open the trapdoor that lead beneath the cabin.
Once the trapdoor was out of the way, she pointed at the rope ladder suspended into the swamp water below.
“Go. Wait there.” She handed Étienne a reed she kept handy, for times like this. “Take this, get underwater, breathe through this. Do not come up before I signal.”
He looked down at the dark murky water, shook his head. “There’s gators in the swamp.”
“That area is protected.” A wire mesh wall had been built around it to keep creatures out. “You will be safe. Safer than if that overseer finds you here.”
He nodded and slipped down the trap door.
She put the table and the rug back in place, breathing hard from the rush, adrenaline, and exertion.
No sooner had Latrice returned her cabin to its former semblance, when there was a pounding at the door. On the other side of the wood, she could hear the dogs huffing, puffing, and growling.
She opened the door to a carrot-headed, pale-skinned man with red splotches on his face. In thick, freckle-dotted hands he had ropes attached to collars on dogs that clearly feared him.
“Where is he?” The man panted the words out.
Latrice cocked her head. “Who?” She took a step back to allow him to peek into her cabin.
“That—” He looked at her hard. “Étienne.” Except he pronounced it more like Et-teen. He held his hand above his head. “Yea tall, muscled. Light skinned.”
“I have seen no one. I’m a free woman. I don’t consort with anyone.”
“You’re a witch.”
“It is rumored,” Latrice told the overseer. “And you don’t know where he is?”
“We lost his trail by the creek.”
The shifter had carried him, so that’s where the scent must have ended. Did Étienne’s scent change after the ordeal? “Do your dogs smell him now? If your dogs lost his scent, there’s a reason. He was probably taken by a gator.”
The overseer narrowed his eyes. “You could be right.”