The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1)

by Weis, Alexandrea

  She was being lifted up, but Jazzmyn had no strength to fight back. The darkness enveloping her was stronger than her will, and within seconds, the last traces of light before her eyes simply drifted away.

  Chapter 15

  In her dreams, Jazzmyn was running from something in a forest of stone blocks. The creature chasing her was pure evil and wanted to possess every ounce of her soul. She awoke with a start and nervously gazed about her darkened bedroom. When she sat up, the relentless pounding in her head made her waver slightly in the bed. As her mind cleared, she remembered all the things Julian had said to her.

  “God, please let it just be a bad dream.”

  But when Jazzmyn moved to the side of the bed, she saw that she was naked, and then the throbbing began in her groin. She flashed back to their frenzied lovemaking and the pain she had initially felt. She closed her eyes and knew then that it had not been a dream. Standing from the bed, Jazzmyn reached for her blue silk robe on the antique Napoleon chair next to her bathroom door. When she slipped the robe about her shoulders, she heard the faint sound of a piano coming from the third floor.

  As she exited her bedroom, she attempted to place the strange melody among the litany of tunes her father used to play. After padding across the second floor landing, Jazzmyn looked up the wide oak stairway and listened. There was something hypnotic about the slow and steady rhythm of the music. It captured the inner reaches of her heart and beckoned her to the third floor.

  Jazzmyn rested her hand on the banister and forced back the fear seething beneath her skin. She glimpsed the stairway to the first floor and thought of running out the front doors and into the street, screaming for someone to come and save her. But who would save her? If he truly was Julian Philippe Devereau, then there was no one who could take away her nightmare. No modern world miracle would be able to save her from this monster made in the past. Her hand tightened around the thick banister when she realized there were others to consider…the other women Julian would kill if she refused him. As Jazzmyn turned and looked up the stairs to the third floor, she knew she had to go to him. She had no choice; she was his.

  Jazzmyn had always been his, ever since she was a little girl. As she reflected on the excitement her childhood friend Mr. JP had always made her feel, Jazzmyn recognized the beginnings of her strange attraction for Julian. Despite the passage of time and the preoccupations of youth, she had never forgotten him. For years she had chalked up her intense regard for Mr. JP as nothing more than a lonely child’s desire for attention; that was until Julian had entered her life. The realization that the same passion she had felt for Julian as a child she still felt as a woman gave her little comfort, and only seemed to confound her even more.

  As the emotional melody wafted down the steps, Jazzmyn found her troubling thoughts being overtaken by images of Julian. Enticed by the steady beat of the soulful tune, she began to climb the stairs; ready to face whatever the fates had planned for her.

  On the third floor, she followed the music to the studio her father had converted from what had once been the library. When Jazzmyn entered the studio, she saw him, dressed in his gray slacks, but shirtless and hunched over the keys of her father’s old upright piano. Slowly, she moved closer to the small bench where he sat and became fascinated by the slight sway of his body as he played. Glancing at the piano, Jazzmyn noticed that there was no sheet music displayed above the keyboard. His eyes were closed as he played, and she marveled at the way his hands danced across the keys as if he had been born to master such an instrument.

  How could this be a monster? She mused. How could this beautiful man be the master of such ugliness?

  Julian opened his dark brown eyes and saw her inching her way toward the bench, but he never stopped playing.

  “Are you still afraid of me?”

  She motioned to the piano. “What is that tune?”

  “I have no idea. It comes out when my hands touch the keys. I’ve never had lessons, but since the day I was changed I could play.” He showed her his profile. “Music soothes me. When I’m troubled, I play.”

  “Are you troubled?”

  “Are you still afraid?”

  “No,” she admitted, knowing that it was the truth. Despite her apprehensions, she sensed that he would never hurt her. She did not understand that feeling, but she knew she could trust it.

  “Those women you killed…who were they?” Jazzmyn asked as she stepped behind him.

  His hands glided along the keys. “Some were women I thought were you, the chosen one who could free me of this curse.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Some were women I knew, women I wanted to be with. Every time I would take them to bed, I prayed things would be different. But I would blackout, and then the nightmares would begin. Ugly dreams about killing and tearing people limb from limb.” He stopped playing and turned to face her. “Then I would wake up, covered in blood, to discover that my nightmares had come true.” He wrapped his arms about her and pulled her to him. “I want this to be over, Jazzmyn. I have lived too long as this monster, and I want to have peace with you.”

  At first her body arched away from him, but as he rested his head against her chest, her resistance evaporated. She lightly ran her fingers along the dark curls atop his head. “For this to be over, for no more women to die, I must marry you?”

  He leaned his head back. “You must commit to me in a voodoo ceremony, which means you declare your love for me, and it will end.”

  She analyzed his features for any hint of deception. “And that’s it? No bloodletting, killing of chickens, or making me drink some putrid potion?”

  “You just need to say the words. The words are their own magic, Jazzmyn.”

  She took in a deep breath and slowly nodded her head. “All right, Julian. If that’s what you need me to do, then I will do it, as long as you promise me that this will end, and no more women will die.”

  He stood from the piano bench and picked her up off the floor. He laughed like a schoolboy as he happily twirled her about. “I promise it will end, and when I am free of these infernal bonds, I will take you away from here and show you the world.” He placed her feet back on the ground.

  “Then what? Do we come back here and live as husband and wife, like nothing ever happened?” She took a step back from him. “What about your home? Who will you transfer the Devereau Trust to when there are no more Julians to live in The Satyr House?”

  His deep brown eyes became round with surprise. “You knew about the house?”

  “Never underestimate the power of city hall. There’s a guy there who has traced every Julian that has owned The Satyr House back to you, or the former you.” She scratched her head. “This will take some getting used to,” she muttered.

  “Where do you want to live?” he excitedly asked.

  “I have no idea, but I know I don’t want to live in that house of yours. I don’t want to be constantly reminded of what you once were and all the things you have done.” She looked him over with a renewed interest. “Are you really over a hundred and fifty years old?”

  He nodded his head. “A hundred and eighty this year, actually.”

  “But you look like you’re in your mid-thirties.”

  “I was younger and a lot thinner before I was cursed. The curse changed my features, making me appear older and bigger than I was.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Took me a decade or two to get used to the face I saw in the mirror every day.”

  She hesitated and then asked, “How does it feel to live for so long?”

  “Time is immaterial to someone like me. It is the people in your life that make it worth living, not the time you have to live it.”

  “But you have seen so much history. Did you ever meet any famous people from the past? What did you see? Where did you go? Did you fight in the Civil War, or the First World War, or even World War II? What about electricity, the telephone, and the automobile?” The questions began to tumble forth from her like a waterfa
ll.

  “I’ll tell you everything in time.” He pulled her into his arms again. “Right now, I have something else I desperately want to do with you.”

  Julian hungrily kissed her, and Jazzmyn’s restless mind stilled. His lips meandered over her round cheeks to the nape of her neck.

  The arousal in her swelled as she clung to him. “I can’t believe this. I’m sore as hell from before, but all you have to do is touch me and I want you all over again.” She ran her hands over his hairy chest. “It’s like you’re some irresistible force and I’m helpless against you.”

  “We are meant for each other. That’s what you feel,” he whispered as his kisses moved down her neck.

  “It’s as if I’m enchanted by you.” She leaned her head back as he untied the belt on her robe. “Am I enchanted by you? Have you put some spell on me?”

  He chuckled. “No, I’m not the one with the magic, Jazzmyn.”

  “Do you think it will always be like this between us?”

  He eased back from her. “What are you talking about?”

  She placed her hands about his face. “What happens to us after, when you’re human again? What if after this curse is lifted, we drift apart?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “There will be no drifting apart, Jazzmyn. We must stay committed to each other for the rest of our mortal lives; otherwise the curse will return.”

  She let her hands fall to her sides. “Return? What do you mean?”

  He sighed as he held her in his arms. “It means that if you ever rescind your vow of love for me, I will turn back into what I am. Your love must be permanent and everlasting, like Odette’s.”

  “Wait, are you telling me there are conditions after this curse is lifted?”

  “Yes, of course. But what difference will it make? We will be committed to each other.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Not to worry, Jazzmyn.” He traced his fingers along her right cheek. “You are so much more than I could have ever hoped for. To accept what I am and commit to me, that takes great courage.” He pulled her body close. “No wonder I love you.”

  Jazzmyn’s heart sputtered. “You love me?”

  “I’ve been in love with you since you were a little girl. I’ve watched you grow and marveled at the woman you’ve become.”

  Jazzmyn contemplated his words as he slipped the blue silk robe from about her body. “But were you in love with me, or in love with the idea of me?”

  “The idea of you?” He frowned as he stepped away and unzipped his pants. “Love is love, Jazzmyn. It’s what we feel for each other.” He tossed his slacks aside and pulled her back against his body. “It’s what I feel from you when I hold you in my arms.”

  As Julian lowered her to the floor, Jazzmyn considered her feelings for him. Was this love or was it need? She was not one of those women who fell in and out of love like a change of seasons; she was more guarded with her emotions than that. But Jazzmyn could not explain this strange compulsion she had for Julian. Was this the madness that poets had penned torrid sonnets to since man first put his thoughts to paper? Or was this something based on a more primal instinct? And what of Julian’s feelings? Did he really love her, or was his love really his need to be free of his curse? She wondered if there was something more sinister than supernatural going on with Julian.

  But as Julian moved his hands over her naked body, her overwrought mind was inundated with images of Kyle. Her thoughts crept back to their night together and the way Kyle’s hands had felt on her skin. Kyle. His name made her body quiver with regret.

  “Relax, my love,” Julian purred.

  As Julian’s fingers teased her sensitive folds, the rising tide of desire bounding in her veins erased all visions of Kyle from her head.

  “This time, I promise I will be gentle,” Julian pledged and kissed her right breast.

  Jazzmyn closed her eyes and groaned as that desperate yearning took over her senses, and once more she felt herself slipping into that mindless abyss of pleasure that only Julian Devereau was able to create.

  Chapter 16

  The singing of birds from the towering oaks outside of Jazzmyn’s bedroom window woke her from a fitful sleep. She had been dreaming of being chased by something through the darkness and tripping over tombstones. As she stretched she felt for Julian next to her, but the bed was empty. When she glanced about the bedroom, she saw that his clothes were gone, but her blue silk robe was still on the floor where she had left it the night before. As she slipped the robe about her shoulders, her body rebelled at the exertion; every fiber of her being ached, and as she slowly walked to the bedroom door, the discomfort between her legs was even more painful than the previous night.

  “That’s what you get for screwing a man built like a horse,” she softly chided.

  After stepping from the bedroom door, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit her. She made her way down the stairs and around to the hallway leading to the kitchen. The coffee in the air blended with the smell of pancakes on the griddle. Driven on by curiosity and hunger, Jazzmyn quickened her pace until she stood at the entrance to her yellow kitchen.

  At the old stove, next to the sink, she saw Julian, his back to her, flipping pancakes on the griddle. He was wearing his dark gray slacks from the night before with his pale blue shirt casually shrugged over his shoulders and left unbuttoned over his chest. On the floor next to him, starring up at his thick body, was Mr. JP.

  “Are you two friends now?” Jazzmyn called from the doorway.

  Julian turned to her. “I fed him some milk, and now he’s what I believe is called my new BFF.”

  Jazzmyn laughed as she leaned against the kitchen doorway. “Is that for me?”

  Julian went back to his pancakes. “For us,” he corrected. “I woke up this morning starving, and figured I would make us some breakfast.”

  She came closer and examined the pancakes on the griddle. “From scratch?”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Of course. My very best eggless whole wheat pancakes.” He nodded to the coffee maker on the white-tiled counter by the sink. “I was going to bring you a cup of coffee, but now that you’re up….” He picked up a pancake from the griddle with his spatula and flipped it onto a plate.

  She went to the coffee maker and retrieved two mugs from the cabinet above it. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Don’t drink any,” he told her. “Used to love the stuff when I was mortal, but my system can’t tolerate it.”

  Jazzmyn stopped for a moment as his words registered. “When you were mortal?” She placed the mugs down on the counter and turned to him. “Do you know how weird that sounds?”

  Julian removed the last pancake from the griddle and stacked it on the plate. “Try living this way for a hundred and fifty-seven years. It took me years just to realize I had to eat like a goat in order to not feel sick all the time. That’s why I’m a vegetarian. Greens and whole wheat products are the only things that agree with me. That and red wine.” He poured the remnants of the batter on the hot griddle. “I’ve had to change my diet, leave all the people I knew behind, and learn how to manipulate the changing legal system in order to hide my identity, like with the records department at city hall. I’ve had to do the same thing in several other countries. Then there are the added burdens of my physical changes. I have to have all my clothes and underwear tailored to accommodate my added size.”

  Jazzmyn rolled her dark green eyes at him. “Because of your added size, I’m going to be walking like a bowlegged cowboy for a few days.”

  His joyful laughter filled the air. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

  “After the fourth time I think I lost all sensation down there.”

  “Not all sensation, I assure you,” he added, and then he gave her a wicked smile.

  She picked up one of the mugs on the counter and reached for the coffee pot. “I still find it hard to believe that you are what you say you are,”
she conceded as she filled her mug with coffee.

  He flipped a pancake on the griddle. “It wasn’t my choice, Jazzmyn. Eve was trying to show me the error of my ways. I have had several lifetimes to come to terms with the kind of man I was.”

  “What kind of man were you?” she asked, cradling her cup of coffee in her hands.

  “I was arrogant and selfish,” he confessed, keeping his eyes on the griddle. “My father owned an export company that shipped sugar and cotton all over the world. We were very well off and had houses in the French Quarter and the family sugar cane plantation in St. Charles Parish. I had a core group of friends, sons of other wealthy men in the city. We drank, gambled, and bedded the most beautiful women we could find. My father was grooming me to take over his business, and that was why he arranged the marriage with the Livaudais family. He wanted us to be accepted socially to help grow our fortune. But after this happened,” he motioned down his body, “everything changed. My two younger brothers were killed in the Civil War, and after a time I had to cut all ties with my family. I had to become a recluse so no one would ask any questions about my unchanging appearance.” He carefully slid a pancake from the griddle to the top of the stack on the plate. “After my father died, I sold off the family business and most of the assets. I took the cash and built my home. The rest I invested.”

  “What is it like to live so long and see so much?” Jazzmyn took a quick sip from her black coffee.

  He picked up the plate of pancakes and brought it to the round table in the corner of the kitchen. The table had been set for two with the everyday, mismatched china Jazzmyn kept in the kitchen cabinets.

  Julian put the plate down on the table and had a seat. “It fills you with a lot of regret. If you live long enough, Jazzmyn, you learn to regret a great deal.” He rested his arms on the table. “I watched my mother die of yellow fever, only to live long enough to see it cured. I watched my two brothers die in a war that eventually everyone wanted to forget. I had a younger sister, Penelope, who I adored, die in the pains of childbirth. I have lived long enough to see childbirth become pain-free and something a woman checks into a hospital for, like checking into a hotel. My hometown has become almost unrecognizable, yet every street corner, every home, holds a wealth of memories. I have lived to see all of my friends die and my entire family laid to rest in our crypt that used to be at the edge of town. But the edge of town these days marks the beginning of a whole new world, the suburbs. I have seen children born, grow up, grow old, and die. I have lived too long for the heavy burdens I have had to bear. I have been forced to commit too many atrocities that will forever haunt me and for which I am truly ashamed. I want to be free of the beast that lingers within me. I’m tired of immortality. I want to be human. I want to grow old. I want to die one day and be remembered, not be the one left remembering.”