Love and Blood (Evening Bower Book 2)

by Sherry Rentschler

  “What do you mean? How is this possible? That land is part of my mother’s legacy and my right. How was it purchased without my knowledge or consent? I want to see the documents. You will show them to me immediately.” Jean-Louis’ voice remained liquid calm despite his growing irritation.

  The implied menace called up a panic in Mr. Albright’s face. His hands shook as he unrolled a map and a survey. But a letter with an odd red wax seal he slipped into the center desk drawer.

  Albright swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I mean I’m afraid I cannot show them to you, sir. You see, although I know they belong to a family, a claim of progenitor is pending. I’m not sure I understand it all myself, but it seems this motion predates your claim. According to some ancient documentation, I had to consent to a different buyer, pending final verification. This is the particular I wished to discuss with you. I thought you would recognize the signatory as family. From France.”

  The man paled and backed away.

  Jean-Louis prized loyalty and honesty more than money. Right now, those two things kept him from exercising his temper. Then as if doused by ice water, he froze. The vibrant embers in his eyes blackened as the lawyer’s words registered.

  Shock and an oddly visceral fear dampened the surging heat in his heart. His voice was nearly a mirror whisper. Memories of a night of blood, of Destin’s cries, of the Comtesse and Nathan’s mocking laughter, consumed him. “And the name of this owner, this possible family of mine, sir. How am I supposedly related?”

  Albright’s face twisted with confusion and legalities, his need to comply warring with his need to exercise the law.

  “Well, let’s see, yes, here it is.” He pulled a document from the drawer and adjusted his glasses. “Not a name I’m sure I will forget, Monsieur. I did not realize the long heritage of your lineage.” He placed the paper on the desk, turning it to face his client to facilitate his view the seals and signatures.

  “If I read it correctly because the original deed is in French, I believe the name is Selwyn. And I do apologize. I must speak to the clerk about the family. Impossible, of course. The solicitor in England must have misunderstood during the translation of the document from French. So many inheritors, Rainier, Geraud, but the Selwyn line died out, and you are…”

  The lawyer never heard the door close or saw his client’s departure. Finneas Albright paused, mouth agape, then exclaimed, “Prescott, my boy, I think the Riviere family is royalty!”

  JEAN-LOUIS RIVIERE, known to intimates and peers as Amor-el, master of the Riviere Plantation, CFO of the Normandy Import and Export Office based in Suffolk, Virginia, liked being recognized when he strolled the French Quarter. Down here he was one of them, and no one cared about his pedigree or even if he had any. Down here he was merely Amor-el or Am. Those who knew him well didn’t wonder how many years he graced their establishments. No one looked too closely lest they find themselves asking questions that made them uncomfortable. He was familiar, and no one delved deeper into why. A fixture without a tether. As a result, his jaunts into the Vieux Carre were quick and the kills, seamless. If and when he killed.

  Tonight he hungered, and he felt like punishing someone. His need took him to the more seedy areas of the waterfront, where the drug dealers and the pimps held after-hours court. In today’s world, every city harbored the dregs. Finding them meant blending in or become a target. When in their circle, Amor-el’s style imitated the rattlesnake. Approach, be discovered, strike. Clean and efficient. Residents expected menace. Death simply happened. No one noticed or cared.

  Except for another vampire.

  Am shrugged away his formal self, slipped out of his proper suit coat (and his formal name and lineage with it) and took out a clove cigarette. He leaned over a railing overlooking the harbor and took in a breath he didn’t need, out of a memory of relief. Then he remembered the real reason for his venture downtown.

  Somewhere down here, the vampire den prepared to open, and until he rooted out the specifics, he needed time to blend in with the new clientele. He considered where to begin his search when a velvet voice caressed him. His entire body shuddered with pleasure.

  “Hey sailor looks like we had the same idea.”

  A soft growl followed by a huff and Am smirked. He remembered the first time he heard that unique voice with the seductive edge. Although Drahomira often irritated him with her aggressive style, he admired her unchanging, honest approach.

  “Hey lady, got a light?” He twirled his cigarette and turned to greet the curvy shadow accompanied by an overly large wolfhound.

  “For you, honey, I’d start a fire,” Drahomira laughed, and immediately the sound of tiny, far away bells tickled his ears. “What gives? I don’t see you down this way much.” She strolled over to him and leaned her back against the railing. The river smelled like fish, and when combined with the street smells of fresh pastries and pizza, it became a peculiar aroma. She wrinkled her nose, sensitive to the ripeness.

  “Not your usual fare, my friend,” she continued and pulled a single wooden match from her pocket then snapped it with her fingernail. It burst with orange light, but the acrid sulfur and charcoal smells faded quickly, smothered by the other more pungent scents.

  Am accepted the match and lit his cigarette, letting the rich flavor take him to a different time. Absently, he rubbed Reaper’s head as he lingered over his brief reverie punctuated with intricate smoke curls.

  “No, chérie, I confess.” His voice vibrated with warm, low tones. “I wanted new sights and smells and needed a change of venue.”

  “You mean you wanted to hunt. I get it.” Dra leaned back over the railing, and her red leather stretched, making crinkle noises. “Everything okay between you and my little birdy or is daddyhood too weird for you?”

  Amor-el pulled hard on his cigarette and then tossed it into the water. The smoke lingered, circled him, then blew off, leaving a sweet incense in his clothes.

  “All is well with my beloved, but I am worried. Ever since the birth, nothing seems quite the same and Rhea denies any change.”

  “I noticed. Probably motherhood. I mean, who knew you had it in you?” Again the laugh, throaty and lighthearted.

  Am stepped away and then suddenly turned back, face shadowed. “Did Rhea tell you the news?”

  Dra straightened, alerted, and shook her head. The movement tossed her red tresses around her shoulders in compelling waves.

  “Tobias Wickamshire is in town. Franklin and Cooke saw him at the airport,” he said.

  Dra’s eyes brightened to a brilliant neon green. Her response elicited an instinctual one in Amor-el, and his eyes glittered in understanding.

  “No, I don’t believe it,” she growled, and Reaper tensed. “By the Beng, he’s got balls. I’ll kill him where he stands. Where is he now?” Her body quivered like a bow pulled too tight.

  Am stood close to her, and his voice dropped until he oozed with controlled fury. “I am with you, but Dra, wait. I wanted to ask you if you knew about this new club opening somewhere down here. The advertisement in the paper, small and bland. I’m certain it’s a vampire den. Might be why he’s returned or at the very least, he may be connected. I need help, and you’ve got feelers down here. Rats, if you will.”

  Dra huffed, “I really don’t care, hon. Tobias is the reason that someone I cared for is dead and he was party to what happened in my country. We have a blood oath sworn on each other. I’m not waiting around. He dies.” The dangerous crimson oblivion circled her feet and Am stepped back. Those mists might not hurt him, but when riled she was unpredictable and deadly.

  “Dra, wait. We need information. Besides, he has to know you’ll hear about his return. He may be working with someone. Let him sweat a bit.” Suddenly Am smiled, baring his long fangs, “When it’s time, I promise I’ll hold him down for you.”

  “Why Mister Riviere, I didn’t know you played with your food,” Dra purred in her best Southern voice, and they both laughed.


  Eventually, she agreed to wait. They decided to grab dinner and discover what they could about the new club.

  On the way back from the waterfront, the duo parted ways and Am headed home. Dra decided to make a quick check of Vickie’s store, then over to Club Malachite before returning to the bayou.

  Her favorite mode of travel remained rooftop running (vampire gymnastics), and that’s how she reached Vickie’s building. Reaper ran the streets. In the wee hours of the night (or morning, depending on your point of view), the French Quarter offered a few dedicated, wandering souls despite the near truth that nothing ever actually closed in NOLA. Reaper easily avoided those late night nomads. The two of them, vampire and hound, mastered the art of shadow and stealth.

  When they reached Victoria’s store, everything seemed quiet. Dra walked the roof and checked all sides of the little shop. After about ten minutes, and when she was satisfied that Vickie hadn’t left the stove on or a window open, she departed for her club. Reaper paced the storefront then gave chase down another back street.

  Drahomira paid no particular attention to the homeless guy across the street who slurped a beer and watched her every move. When she was out of sight, the stranger dialed his cellphone.

  “Just as you said. She came back.” A pause. “Yup, ready.” Another pause. “I’ll see to it.”

  The stranger tossed his beer bottle and ran across the street, face hidden by a hoodie. The shadow disappeared around the side of Thymeless Treasures and the night forgot him.

  CLUB MALACHITE CLOSED at 5 a.m. like clockwork, and the staff cleaned up enough where everyone got out by six. Dra had an apartment above the club though she rarely used it. She liked having a home, but in reality, she lived in the cemetery or out at the bayou. Mostly, it kept up appearances and kept the rumors about her to a minimum. Only Janice and Keta knew the truth about Dra. The rest of the club crew felt the boss was a NOLA curiosity who treated them well and whose club rocked the Quarter.

  Tonight it was all hands on deck. Janice did the seating and hosting, Seth worked the bar, Keta bussed in the kitchen, Tyler (otherwise known as Tye-dye) covered the front of the house and Steel served the upstairs lounge. After hours, Tyler and Steel worked the movable floor.

  Drahomira slipped inside before anyone realized she was there. Keta laughed when Seth spotted Dra and nearly dropped a tray of glasses. Janice said the boss lady was a vampire. Seth scoffed. Keta loved teasing him about it.

  Seth was all New Orleans, born and bred. His Cajun roots dated back hundreds of years, with some of his family immigrating from France and Portugal. His rich mocha coloring and skinny good looks drew a never-ending female college clutch, a continuous source of embarrassment. For a guy who seemed born to the culture, he often appeared clueless. But the warmth in his big brown eyes hid a keen intelligence, one Dra prized. His short ponytail gave him a hippiesque profile, and the women sighed over his chiseled shoulders. He was their local hunk and a damn fine bartender.

  On the other hand, Keta was a pale street urchin with gray-blue eyes, blue hair and a bohemian love of bangles and color. Keta was fifteen with a fifty-year-old soul, perky, annoying and observant. She knew all about drugs, sex, and, unfortunately, abuse. Scars covered her forearms as proof of her vast experiences.

  Dra found her, saved her from an attacker, and, long story short, kept her under wraps rather than see her swallowed by a struggling foster system. They had a bond, the vampire, and the girl. However, underage girls couldn’t sell or serve drinks, so Dra kept her off the floor during club hours. Keta constantly whined about it. The best part about Keta? She observed everything and said nothing, which is why Dra secretly adored her.

  Steel was the newest of the crew, a twenty-seven-year-old wise man from Pennsylvania. He graduated early from Tulane, coached for a while, then left it all behind to work in the Quarter. Nice enough guy but Steel lived up to his name with piercing hazel eyes, and a jaw cut sharply into his chin with a perpetual five 0’clock shadow.

  Dra knew he had his eyes on Victoria. Handsome, in a mysterious way, he never talked about his family and kept to himself unless Victoria visited. He had a smoking habit he tried to quit and needed a break often to divert his addiction. Usually, he went outside and walked if off, like tonight.

  Tyler, or Ty, or Tye-dye as the crew called him, was a NOLA hippie. The nickname came from his endless supply of tye-dye shirts. He couldn’t wear them working at the club, but the rest of the time, he lived in them. When Drahomira checked his employment record for more info, she discovered Tyler came from an old family in Virginia. He never spoke about his parents but said he was the oldest of seven and lost his entire family in a tragic car wreck when he was seventeen. Tyler survived, but it cost him his spleen and some of his memories. Ty’s roots traced back to the slaves from Africa, something he was intensely proud to admit.

  Ty pushed thirty, kept his black hair cut short. His face maintained a smoldering angry look that usually stopped the conversation before it started. Whatever churned inside him, he was silent but polite and efficient. That’s all that mattered to Janice and therefore, Dra, who made him the honorary bouncer.

  “Hey boss,” Seth nodded to Dra, “we’re almost done.”

  “Boss lady!” Janice padded over in her bare feet. “We only have about six weeks till Halloween. Are we having the usual gathering?”

  The Halloween parties in the Quarter were tourist fodder, full of drunks and crowds of college kids searching for their favorite vampire. Well, perfect. Halloween provided the ideal opportunity to flesh out this new club and track down Tobias if she hadn’t already.

  Dra offered a fanged grin. “What do you think, hon? Should I disappoint the fans?”

  “On it,” Janice giggled, grabbed her notebook and immediately started a list.

  Janice, for all her efficiency, was a bit of a wild card. Blessed with straight brown hair, she usually sported a ponytail (or two) but could also effortlessly whip it into an elegant chignon. Her makeup was soft and natural except for the favorite ruby red or green lipstick.

  Janice rarely partied with the crew after hours, locked herself in her office before hours, had a boyfriend she wouldn’t talk about or introduce. She was sunshine with the crowd but liked going to voodoo parties more than to the movies. A strange bird with a penchant for absinthe and horror movies. She looked forward to Halloween. Dra liked her very much.

  The crew finished their floor work and everyone headed to the kitchen to clean up and grab a bite before heading home. Steel came in the back and mopped behind them. The front of the club darkened with a few green lights illuminating the bar. Drahomira picked through some paperwork, approving Janice’s invoices and tossing the junk. Satisfied with the night’s bank receipts, she left the rest of the papers and exited into the alley.

  “Reaper,” she said as she summoned the mists. No response. Frowning, she walked toward the street, and found her hound wagging and panting over a stranger’s hand. Dra instantly felt the other’s vampirism and worse, a flavor of home. She paused as her hand slid to her glickris, the deadly curved blade that hung at her waist.

  “Honestly princess, I thought you might have welcomed me to your city. Didn’t you get my letter? At least your boy here seems happy to see me.” The vampire straightened from the hound. Reaper whined and ran over to Dra then back to the stranger like a puppy wanting nothing more than to play. Recognition dawned slowly, then with delight.

  Visit? Crap on toast, the letter in her boot.

  “Alexi? By the Beng, is it really you? But why have you come? Is it Sergei?”

  The burly vampire stepped forward and caught the street light. He spared no expense on his attire, opting for a well-tailored suit and a bronze-capped walking stick, an affectation left over from his European travels. He wore an official-looking pin in his lapel with Dra’s country flag and the Magyar crest. Dra noted he was damned handsome.

  “Sergei is well, though he is less himself without you and misse
s you dearly.”

  “I understand that the council took my advice. You look delicious enough to eat, old friend.” Drahomira purred.

  “I am most gratified, your highness. Indeed, I am now His Eminence, Prince Alexander Fedorovich, Viceroy of the Bohemian Magyars, Chancellor to her Royal Highness Princess Drahomira Premysld, and uncle to the princess’s betrothed, Prince Sergei Vratislav of Romania. He bowed formally.

  Dra laughed loudly, filling the space around them with wild, echoing bells. “Honey, I am lucky to have you. You’re a handsome mouthful, undoubtedly someone’s pain in the ass and a joy to see.”

  Alexander laughed with her and stood tall again before changing the subject. “I did write, and I had hoped you would meet me. I arrived only a short while ago. May we go somewhere more private? Perhaps my hotel? I have rooms not far from here at the Hotel Monteleone.

  Dra agreed then considered Reaper. There was no way he was getting into the hotel unnoticed, and she couldn’t leave him in the bar.

  “Reaper, go to Vicky’s. Wait for me. Understand?” A little mental conversation ensured as they touched foreheads and, with a nudge, Reaper bounded off.

  “Your wolfhound is as I remember, princess. Time does not move for him or you. Or is that a new hound?”

  Dra neglected to reply because some secrets were solely hers. Instead, she linked her arm through his free one and began their stroll. She filled him in on her club and her love for the city. A few questions later, she knew whatever his reason for coming, it didn’t bode well. Her instincts warned her, and her defenses went on high alert.

  “You do not care about my hound, Alexi. Why don’t you spit it out? Why have you come all this way now when you don’t answer my letters? With the gypsies and me locked in our blood feud and my hatred for Raikas keeping me from returning, there is only Sergei. If he’s not a problem then what could bring you to me, my Lord?”