“No, too Wonder Woman. Valkyries are real.”
“Why is a Valkyrie working for a vampire?”
Kara sipped her coffee, scrunching up her nose at the question. “Let’s just say I lost a bet.” She shrugged. “But Gaspard isn’t bad once you get to know him. He’s got an old-world charm and code of honor that I respect.”
“Why couldn’t you feel the ghosts here?”
“That is an excellent question. I should have been able to, but maybe since they weren’t fallen soldiers…? I have no answer now. Who was that, by the way?”
“Nathan Beauchamp, my husband’s ancestor who owned this house during the Civil War. He is the one who got the Beauchamps into the sugar industry, making the family quite wealthy—which was easy since he used slave labor. He freed his slaves toward the end of the war, and the family had money troubles for awhile, but they were able to make it.”
“Why is he hanging around?”
“Several individuals are still here. I get the sense there is unfinished business of some kind, but I don’t know what it is. They’ve been present since I moved in. They keep me company.”
“You can see and feel them?”
“Mostly feel them. They don’t adopt a substantial shape, but I can perceive them. I’ve never personally seen a ghost manifest in the physical plane. That is a peculiarity of only the strongest hauntings.”
“Why?” asked Kara.
“The ghost has to hold strong human emotion to tie itself to the physical world. Something has to feed that emotion, be it love, anger, shame…whatever. It is rare to see more than a gauzy haze or a translucent outline.”
“Interesting. I’ve never met a sensitive like you.”
“It’s a family quirk,” Adelaide replied. “Now something interesting about you. You said you can sense ghosts but couldn’t sense this one…” She gestured with her hand for more information.
“I’m learning that there may be a number of things I can’t perceive,” said Kara, frowning behind her coffee mug. “But we digress. You can’t stay in that cottage. It’s in shambles.”
“I am staying in that cottage, and it isn’t your choice. And by the way, how did that exasperating man know that the foundation needed to be replaced?” Adelaide’s temper rose, and it was only years of strict, knuckle-cracking instruction that allowed her to place her mug onto the table rather than throw it.
Kara drained the dregs of her coffee, unimpressed with Adelaide’s anger. “He knows something about old houses and guessed. Let me suggest a compromise. Please allow my employer to fix the hole in the roof, clean up the place, and provide food and cooking utensils for you.”
“I don’t want charity.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Mrs. Beauchamp, he has more money than he could ever spend. Let him help you. It will make him feel better and make you safer.”
“Why will it make him feel better?”
“I told you. He has an old-world honor. He wouldn’t rest knowing that an elder lived next door in squalor. It would bug him to no end.”
Adelaide’s eyes sparkled. “If it will drive him crazy, maybe I should do it.”
Kara placed her hand on Adelaide’s. “It would make me feel better to know you are in a safe, secure place.”
Adelaide considered her options. She had no way of knowing when Paul would call, so though money was coming, she had no idea when. Something had changed during her visit with Kara. It was as if she’d made a new friend. That hadn’t happened in so long she’d forgotten what it felt like.
She inclined her head. “I accept, with thanks, and Kara?”
“Yes?”
“Call me Adelaide.”
6
At least the woman would allow him to help her. Gaspard owed her that much. It was her ancestor after all that shepherded him into this life. He would have died a starving pauper if not for the Baron de Rochon.
Lisette ran her hand down his back, scooting up behind him so she could massage his shoulders and the strong muscles in his upper arms. She’d adapted to his nighttime hours, sleeping later into the morning so she could take afternoon classes during law school. Now that she was an associate at a local firm, she needed to be in early, and their schedule was becoming troublesome. He liked Lisette very much, but his insight the other night into her addiction coupled with the necessities of her career made him think it was time to let her go.
But not now. He twisted and brought his right hand up to cup her head, pulling her mouth to his. While maintaining the kiss, she moved around him so she was sitting in his lap, his groin next to hers, both of them aroused, but he didn’t want a hard, fast encounter. He wanted to make it last, since he realized this would be the last time. He wanted to seduce her.
He broke the kiss and nipped her bottom lip, massaging her shoulders before he slipped her robe off. He massaged her arms and then, in one movement, lifted her off him and lay her down on the bed so he could gaze his fill. He skimmed his hands down her body, teasing, tempting, but never letting his touch fulfill her desires. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts up for his touch, and brought her hands up above her head to grasp the bedstead, a sign of her surrender.
Their lovemaking was a languid dance that took them both to the brink, brought them down, and started up again. It was long, beautiful, and for Gaspard, bittersweet. He held back his bite, an act of self-denial unsurpassed in its difficulty. He plunged into her, mouth at her neck, scenting, breathing, but didn’t even nibble, no matter how she pushed her neck into his mouth, twisted to give him better access, and begged.
“Why?” she demanded, after it was over, but the tears in her eyes told him she already knew.
She left that evening, and Gaspard called for a sanguineer he did not know.
The woman who entered was middle-aged with a strong frame and, he couldn’t help but notice, a beautiful bosom. She was shaking like a leaf but managed a wan smile.
“Come here and sit beside me,” Gaspard said, patting the sofa next to him.
“Thank you, sir.”
“What is your name?”
“Sarah.”
“What made you volunteer for this job?”
She looked away for a moment. Gaspard reached out, placed one finger under her chin, and turned her to face him.
“It is okay; you can tell me.”
“My son.”
“You have a child?”
She had tears in her eyes. “Yes, he’s four, but his father is abusive, and I don’t want him near me or my boy.”
“And you came to me thinking that we could protect you if you became a sanguineer?”
“Yes, your staff told me this was possible.” She was wringing her hands by this time. Her knee bobbed up and down with anxiety.
“Marc!” Gaspard called.
“Yes, sir?” Marc said from the door.
“Have we looked into Sarah’s situation?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Please do so, and have Kara do it.”
“Oh,” grinned Marc, “that’s evil. He won’t stand a chance. Sarah, where does your husband like to hang out? A bar? A pool hall?”
“Skeeter’s Tavern. He drinks and plays darts. He’s quite good.” Her knee stopped bouncing, but she was rubbing her hands together as if to keep warm.
“Marc, please ask Kara to make sure he knows that Sarah and their boy are under our protection. Let’s make it very clear. Not deadly, but she should leave no room for doubt.”
Marc chuckled. “She’s going to love this.”
Gaspard turned to Sarah. “You may stay here until we are sure you are safe. In the meantime, I want you to be certain about taking on this position. We will provide protection for you whether you are a sanguineer or not. It is your choice. You should know that there is a chance you might become addicted to the bite. I’m going to make sure all sanguineers are rotated to lessen the chance, but in all honesty, I can’t guarantee it won’t happen.”
“I knew what
I was doing when I applied,” she responded. “I’m just nervous because I’ve never done this before. I have no idea what to do.”
Gaspard looked deep into her eyes and said, “Ah, mon ange. Relax.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and he could hear her heart rate slow. He brushed her neck with the tips of his fingers, and her head lolled to one side. Moving closer, he breathed on her neck, bringing his left arm up to steady her head. His right hand rubbed gentle circles on her upper back between the shoulder blades, providing a gentle, reassuring pressure. Her breathing slowed and her body relaxed into his embrace. He bit into her but with as much care as possible, and she didn’t flinch. She didn’t seem to even notice.
Her blood was sweet with the depth of fine wine. This wasn’t the blood of a young girl fresh out of school and ready to take on the world. This was the blood of a woman who had loved, laughed, and grieved. He savored it before swallowing, breathed in her scent, and with an effort of pure willpower, moved away from her when he’d had enough. I could drink her down, he thought, dragging himself away with one last inhale and a shake of his head. His thoughts flew to a woman he’d known in Paris. I shall have to be careful.
Sarah recovered from her stupor, like a woman coming out of a pleasant dream. She nodded to Gaspard and slipped out the door.
After dinner, Gaspard called for Marc.
“Are you ready to discuss the evening’s schedule, Monsieur?”
“I am.”
“I understand that Lisette has left us? Should I arrange a severance salary for the period of one year?” the executive asked, looking down at his feet so as not to cause Gaspard any embarrassment.
“Yes. And we need to discuss the sanguineer policy.”
“In what way?”
“The addiction is worse than I understood. I am afraid for our sanguineers’ mental health. I think we should try rotating them so they don’t give more than once a week, and not to the same vampire. How have our longest sanguineers managed?”
“They are addicted, but they volunteered for this position and have been well compensated. They show no desire to leave.”
“Drug addicts don’t want to leave their heroin, either. I want a doctor to visit Lisette tomorrow to see how she is doing. We may need to wean Lisette off the bite in stages. Now, what appointments do I have this evening?”
“The contractors working on Mrs. Beauchamp’s property want to give you a short update. They are waiting in the front room.”
“I shall go to them now.”
Gaspard walked the few steps from his office to the front room, finding two of the contractors waiting for him, looking uncomfortable sitting on an antique chintz sofa in their sawdust-covered work boots and carpenter’s pants.
The two men stood and shook hands with the vampire. The head of the team spoke.
“Mr. Bessette, we wanted to let you know that the foundation on the Beauchamp mansion is even worse than we thought. There are the normal fractures that one would expect on a house that old, but it is almost as if someone dug tunnels from the main house to the grounds, or perhaps the other way. It is very odd. We will have to fill in quite a bit of dirt.”
Gaspard nodded. “I am sure that Madame is not prepared for that extra cost.”
“She is not, which is why we came to you as you requested.”
“You did right. I will pay for the extra work, but do not tell Madame. She wouldn’t accept my assistance in this way. You must do it without letting her know.”
“Yes, sir. That is generous of you.”
Kara walked in on the tail end of the discussion and stood by as the contractors left. Her hands were crossed in front of her, hip jutted out to the right, a small scowl on her face. She wore jeans and an old T-shirt that read, “New Orleans: Lestat sucked here.”
“You summoned?” she said, dragging out the word with an acerbic flair to show how she felt about being called like a dog on a leash.
“I need you.”
“What for? And by the way, Adelaide is not going to like it if she finds what you are doing.”
“So, let’s ensure she does not find out.”
“Why do you think there is all of this extra damage?” she asked. “You must have a theory.”
“I do not have a theory, but I’m going to ask you to help find the answer.”
Kara made a face. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do what you do best. Explore, study, research. Listen. See if there is anything that we don’t know about that property that we need to know. Fault lines? Sand pits? What is causing that level of destruction to the property?”
Kara gritted her teeth and said, “You know damn well that is not what I do best. What I do best is search for and gather the slain on the battlefield. What I do best is serve Odin. What I do best is fight in hand-to-hand combat, or on horseback with a sword. I do not babysit older society ladies and investigate mundane soil shifts in this swamp of a state.”
The air around her roiled with an unnatural energy. She was furious, bored, and more than a little annoyed that she’d landed in this spot, despite it being her fault. It amused him. He liked to watch when she got like this. The energy she released reached out and touched his aura, tickling it at the edges. It was arousing and provocative, like nothing he had ever experienced before. She intrigued him, and if he wasn’t so afraid of, nay…not afraid, cautious of upsetting her true boss, she’d already be his. Maybe. He wasn’t sure he could make her be anything if he was honest with himself.
Gaspard reclined with a languorous, leonine air on the chintz sofa while the Valkyrie in front of him protested. He watched her with half-closed eyes, enjoying the show. The air was crackling around her, sparks flying from her heels. He wondered what it would be like to be inside all that energy. Would it be like being in the calm of a tornado, or plunging into the full force of a hurricane? He hoped to one day find out.
His feigned air of indifference infuriated her even more. The house shook, and the chandelier in the nearby living room tinkled in protest.
“Kara! Control yourself before someone gets hurt. Or, before I have to spend more money fixing things.”
Kara took a deep breath and shook the tension out of her arms, rolling her neck to release those muscles. She paced three steps one way and three steps back, forcing the energy into physical release. The antique rug she was pacing on smoked as the energy grounded itself like electricity. He sighed. Yet another thing to replace.
“Why is it that I have to do this task? Aren’t there others who would be better at this job?”
“Stop pacing! The rug you’re burning a hole in is worth at least ten thousand dollars. I have money, but I don’t like to waste it because an employee has a temper tantrum.”
Kara looked down at the scorched, ruined rug. “Sorry, but it’s your fault.”
Maybe he had baited her. He’d burn a hundred rugs if he got to see her in her full glory, even once. If he got to share that energy with her. Got to hold her in his arms and have her look at him with a burning desire.
Moving on, he said, “Madame likes you, and you have to admit she is clever. She got the best of you, didn’t she? Tricking you into revealing yourself like that.”
The old woman had gotten the best of her. She had to admire Adelaide’s spunk. Kara hadn’t felt the house ghosts, and the eighty-year-old used that to her advantage.
“You haven’t sensed any ghosts here, have you?” Gaspard asked. “Ghosts don’t usually like to hang around vampires. We’re both dead, yet vampires are still living. I think it frustrates them.”
“Ghosts are remnants of the past, with not fully capable minds and bodies like vampires. It is not true to state that a vampire is dead, technically speaking, at least not to people like me,” responded Kara, arms crossed. Her posture said this was a subject she didn’t care to discuss.
Now Gaspard was curious. “How do you sense us?”
“Vampires take up space in the physical realm. You aren’t d
ead, you are undead, or perhaps altered-living,” Kara explained. “Ghosts exist solely in a metaphysical realm.”
“Altered-living,” mused Gaspard. “Perhaps I should petition the city council to accept us as a special interest group, like the physically disabled, albeit with an expanded life-span and a severe allergy to sunlight.”
“I’m sure if you wanted that, you could get it passed through the legislature,” Kara responded with a grimace. “You own the city council.”
Gaspard stood up and stepped toward Kara, lowering his voice. “It is true,” he whispered. “But there are many things I want and don’t yet own.”
He took another step toward her and waited for her response. When she didn’t move, he took another, and then still another so that he was inches from her body. He could see the pulse in her neck, sense her heartbeat, and feel her breath. Her scent was intoxicating, and he breathed it in, savoring the taste of it on his tongue. He reached out one hand and caressed her cheek, locking gazes with her for that one moment, his eyes searching for something, anything, in hers.
She never budged, never flinched, but her glare told him not to move one millimeter closer. He wondered how quickly she could move. Was she faster than he was? Did he dare?
“We can’t get everything we want,” she snapped, ducking under his arm, sliding past his body and out the door.
Gaspard crossed his arms over his chest and let out a deep breath. How ironic. The ladies’ man couldn’t get the one lady he wanted.
7
Once Adelaide agreed to accept Gaspard’s help to restore and move her things into the guest house, she took to it like the society lady she was.
“You there, young man, handle those dishes with care, please! They are real china, not paper plates!”
“Your hands are rather dirty, sir. Would you please wash them before touching my clothing? And for goodness sake, wipe your feet off before you enter the house. You are tracking mud everywhere.”
Once the four beleaguered movers left the cottage, Adelaide settled about making the cottage as homey as possible. She puttered with plants on the windowsill, fluffed pillows, made some tea, which she then let get cold, and delayed the inevitable.
Souls Collide: Book 1 of The Soul Wars Page 4