In the immediate vicinity, I could sense Rafe, a burning light that confirmed he was indeed more than mere wolf. But past him, I could sense another.
Papa Cocodril.
Humming to myself happily, I followed my magical senses closer and closer, until I felt I was practically on top of him. Rafe was loping along the banks of the water, darting between trees in flashes of silver, but I knew he had almost caught up to me.
“Hello?” I called out, treading water and sweeping my dark, wet mane off my face, “Papa Cocodril?”
He was here … somewhere. I could feel him watching me. Watching us.
“Rafe,” I said in a careful voice, knowing his wolf ears would hear me, “I need you to back off. The Sage said he would not reveal himself to anyone but me.”
From the trees there was a snuffling and then the Alpha of the Louisiana Wolves let out a howl, before doing my bidding.
“Papa Cocodril?” I tried again, looking all around me. “It's just the two of us now. Just you … and the Veil Keeper.”
For what felt like a long time, the bayou was still. Quiet. Then I felt movement in the water and something scaly brushed my legs. My breath hitched, but I reminded myself this was no ordinary gator. This was a fae-blooded voodoo priest in a gator’s form. He wouldn't eat people … would he?
A chirping noise sounded near the banks of the bayou, and bubbles rose to the surface as Papa Cocodril emerged. First his eyes, then his snout, then slowly, with his gaze locked on me, his enormous gator form exited the water and staggered up the muddy incline. All the while … chirping.
“Papa Cocodril,” I breathed with a healthy level of apprehension. Ciarah's human life had been here in Louisiana, and a sensible level of respect for the deadly beasts was ingrained in my soul, so to see this mighty creature … “Are you … laughing?”
The chirps grew louder, and his jaws opened in the semblance of a grin while his massive tail swished back and forth behind him.
“Yea, girl,” a deep and powerful voice rumbled from the reptile, “I be laughing at you. Veil Keeper, p’shaw.”
“Well, that's not kind,” I scolded with a frown, “what have I done to deserve your laughter, Papa Cocodril?”
“It's of none importance, young one,” he chuckled, his scaled head swinging back and forth in a hypnotising rhythm. “Are you gettin' out, now? De moon be almost at it's zenith an' Papa Cocodril been cravin' som rum somet’ing fierce, no?”
“Rum?” I repeated, feeling like a bit of an idiot. I wasn't totally sure what I'd expected from Papa Cocodril but … it wasn't this.
Swimming over to the edge of the water, I took a moment to inspect him a little more closely. Even if I hadn't known he were a magical being, it'd be clear just by looking at him. Normal American alligators grew to a maximum of around fourteen feet—how I knew that, I had no idea—but this guy … he was an easy twenty-five or thirty feet long and wore a necklace made of what seemed to be gator teeth.
“Dis way, girl,” the gator ordered, swinging his massive body around and leading the way through the cypress trees and deeper into the darkness.
In near total silence, I followed the talking gator for some time, my naked skin glistening and shimmering in the moonlight without my glamour on, until we reached a run-down old shack on stilts with a burning kerosene lantern hanging from the eaves.
“Ah, bon,” Papa Cocodril nodded his huge gator head, “she be 'ere already. One moment, young one.”
Curious, I stepped back and watched as he stepped his stumpy, reptilian legs onto a circle of symbols that looked freshly scratched into the dirt. He paused there, looking up at the full moon, then as the cloud moved and the silvery light bathed his brown and green body, he shifted into a man.
“Much bettah,” he sighed, grinning at me with teeth as white as rice against skin as black as coal. “Now, let us see what my woman 'as prepared fo' us. Come see, come ‘side, girl.”
He nodded his head to the shack and I raised my eyebrows, thoroughly intrigued.
“Your woman?” I asked, and he laughed a hearty belly laugh.
“Yea, cher. My queen, my lover, my jailer, Rosinée.” The way he said her name was like he spoke of a fine wine, or perfectly aged cheese that he craved.
“I heard that!” a woman's voice snapped from inside.
I stayed where I was, near the waters of the bayou. It was dark out, the silver moon casting her long arms across the surface of the water, but it was far from quiet. I could feel little bugs skimming across my skin, mosquitoes swarming in buzzing circles around my head, unable to bite my enchanted skin or drink my magicked blood.
“I didn't expect you to have a visitor,” I said, adding silently in my head, and most especially not the Swamp Witch. Lover? Jailor? How could a person be both one in the same? I could never be around my jailors again, not without trying to kill what I wasn’t positive could even be killed. But sharing a bed with someone willing to steal another's freedom? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“Yeah, well,” Papa Cocodril said, his irises gleaming yellow in the darkness. I wasn't sure if that was from the enchantment, his magic, a failed glamour, or something else. “I only get one night a month, girly, and I ain't about to waste it if you know what I mean.” He flashed me another grin and a wink, reaching up to tug on the gold ring threaded through the center of his nose. “Get outta dat swamp and come on in.”
He gestured at me with a hand covered in rings and then started off toward the wooden shack, perched on stilts and hovering above the soft, mossy ground. The man was nude and erect, but I didn't sense that his hard cock had anything to do with me—no, he was clearly very interested in seeing Rosinée.
I waited until his bare butt disappeared into the house and then started across the wooden platform toward the front door, wondering why he was nude but still wearing jewelry. Interesting. I added that mental note to my index of questions to ask Rafe later. And trust me, I had a lot of them. I should invite the man out for beignets and coffee and pick his brain. There were so many things I wanted to know about the wolves, their customs and culture, their shifting abilities (especially the whole clothes/no clothes thing), their relationship to the fae and the Veil Keeper.
The night air kissed my skin, along with the hot burn of Rafe's red eyes, watching me from the shadows.
I ignored him and moved across the ground on silent feet, listening to the chattering of night birds, the grunting of gators … and the distant buzz of sprites' wings. Pausing in the center of Papa Cocodril's island, I noticed one watching me from a nearby branch, its sharp white fangs bared in a hiss.
“Don't worry,” a woman's rich voice called from the doorway. I glanced over to find the Swamp Witch, Rosinée, standing in the golden glow, wiping her hands on her apron and gesturing with her chin for me to come up the long wooden ramp to the house. “I spelled this island against unwanted visitors. One of those little buggers try to fly over my wards? They'll be incinerated faster than these bloodsuckers in the Zap lamp.” She tapped her knuckles against a light hanging near the door before turning around and heading inside, not even bothering to see if I would follow.
Sweeping my wet hair over one shoulder, I quickly arranged it into a fishtail braid, and headed up to the front door. Well, the tattered curtain hanging over the doorway, but same thing.
The air was thick with the savory smells of gumbo—I recognized the spicy burn of andouille sausage, the salty scent of crab meat, and the richness of … gator meat? Hmm. Was that cannibalistic for Papa Cocodril to be eating? I had no idea.
“Take a seat,” the witch said, her dreadlocks swinging forward as she leaned over the bubbling pot and inhaled sharply, letting out a satisfied sigh. “And do you want a robe or something to cover up with?”
Taking a quick look around the shack—which, really, was just a single room—I noticed a small bed, a dresser, and the tiny stove Rosinée was working over. There was nothing else but an old metal screen in the corner, Pa
pa Cocodril's smooth, velvety tones echoing out from behind it as he sang a low, sad song under his breath.
“I don't need a robe,” I told her, comfortable enough in my nakedness to sit in a chair in a strange room with full confidence.
“I thought that new soul o' yours was human?” the president of the rougarou said, dressed in heavy skirts that jangled with beads and bone as she moved. She seemed so different than the woman in the story I’d been told, the one about her straddling her motorcycle, lording over Arlo's crumpled form.
I squeezed my hands into fists and Rosinée noticed, letting out a deep, chilling bellyful of laughter.
“I might be human on the inside,” I snarled, before she could comment further, “but just remember, this new body is fae. This new body belongs to a goddess. I could rend your head from your shoulders before you had a chance to add the okra to that gumbo.”
“So you think,” the woman said as Papa Cocodril made his way over to the table and took one of the other two mismatched chairs, settling into it with a top hat lilting on his head, a cane across his lap, and a blue and white bowtie at his neck. “But you don't know everything, girly. In fact, you don't know a lot from what I hear.”
“You hear?” I asked, immediately on edge. “You sent the sprites.”
It wasn't a question, but Rosinée laughed and answered me anyway.
“No, I have other methods, you silly girl,” she said, chopping up some okra and tossing it into the pot. “You best reign in that arrogance or your immortal head will end up in a glass jar, staring at shadows for the rest of eternity.”
My throat tightened and I had to blink several times to banish the sudden rush of memories.
Dark shadows surrounding me, claws raking my skin, rending my flesh. My mouth opens in a scream and those nails dig into my tongue, severing it, taking my voice away for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time. I can't remember. It doesn't matter; I don't care. I just want to have a voice again; I want to feel human.
“Tell me about those lords of yours? The whole world took a gasp and a breath when you claimed three of them at once. You sure you want to go committing to all that dick for the rest of your soul's stay in the Veil Keeper? Or maybe you plan on jumping ship like the last one and so your commitments don't mean shit to you?”
“I can have other lovers,” I growled out through gritted teeth.
It was true—I could. The Veil Keeper was not bound to mate with just her Lords, but it was very rare for her to stray outside of them.
“P’shaw, Rosinée,” Papa Cocodril scoffed, rapping the head of his cane against the table, “Dat's enough o' dat gossip, eh? Dis young Veil Keeper didn't come to listen to you prattle on, and nor did I, see?” He turned his eerie white irises back to me and scratched at his chin. He still wore the same bone necklace as he'd had on as a huge gator, which was interesting.
“So, girl. You come for da key? Took you damn long time, no? Dat key been not’ing but trouble por moi, see?” He narrowed his eyes at me and I couldn't help my curiosity.
“How so?” I asked. “Does it have something to do with you being turned into a gator?”
My eyes flickered to Rosinée and back to Papa Cocodril. The story said it had been the Swamp Witch who'd cursed him …
“Yeh, you could say dat,” he chuckled heartily and even the dreadlocked witch cracked a smile. “See my woman here, she ain't never had the best of morals and values. Only good t’ing she ever do was fall in love with a fils-putain like me. Anyway, dat last Horned One, he entrust yo' key to me, for safe keepin', see? But Rosinée, ma chère, she want dat power fo' herself.”
Startled, I glanced at the swamp witch in question and found her scowling at Papa Cocodril, looking every bit the pissed off wife.
“Ah, don't cha give me dat scowl, woman. Dis be old news, dis.” The ageless man scolded his lover then turned back to me with a flash of bright white teeth. “Ah, da rest be history. I refuse, she turn me into gator. One day a month, we meet, we eat, we fuck, and she ask me to apologize and give her yo' key. Every month, I say no, and off I go as a huge ass gator.”
“Ah …” I wasn't totally sure what to say to that. The whole reason he'd spent so many years in gator form was because he was protecting my key? From the woman standing mere feet away?
“But you here now, you can take dat blasted t’ing off my hands and my woman an' I can be done wit dis stupid fight, no?” He raised his brows at me but when my attention flickered to Rosinée, there was something I didn't like about her smile.
Everything Papa Cocodril had said was true, but she had noticeably not contributed to his story. Why? For fear of being caught in a lie?
“Yes, I suppose I can.” I squinted at the swamp witch, but until she spoke I wouldn't be able to sense any deception. “So, may I have it? I'm sure you have better things to do with your night than entertain me.”
“'course you can, girl.” Papa Cocodril tugged his gator tooth necklace off his head, removing his top hat to do so then replacing it on his curly dark hair. He then took the middle tooth and inserted it into a groove of his intricately detailed cane and popped it open to reveal a hidden compartment.
A hidden compartment, that was totally empty.
“How … no …” The ebony skinned man stared up at me, then at his lover with pale eyes wide in shock. “Dis isn't possible.”
“Of course it's possible, you old fool,” Rosinée snickered with a cruel edge to her voice, “Did you really think I'd just give up on accessing the power of the Veil when it was so close to my reach? I found your little hiding place some fifty odd years past, cher.”
“What?!” Papa Cocodril thundered, slamming his cane down on the floor and actually shaking the structure we were in. “Fifty years? Fifty years?! Why I still been swimmin' around dat dere bayou like an overgrown lizard if you had da key all along?”
“Because you haven't apologized!” she screamed back at him, throwing a glass and smashing it against the wall. “You should have given me, your wife, what I damn well asked for in the first place!”
“Woman, I aught to—” Papa Cocodril was looking like he was gearing up for a hell of a screaming match so I decided to butt in early.
“Sorry, hi. Can you finish this later? Where is my key, Rosinée? I assume you weren't able to use it or we wouldn't be here right now.” I gave her my very best don't fuck with me glare and she shuffled her feet a little awkwardly as her bluster deflated.
For a long moment, she said nothing, just inspected her fingernails with a tight mouth until Papa Cocodril made a low, menacing growl in his throat.
“Fine!” she snapped, glaring at the enraged voodoo priest and then snarling at me. “No, I couldn't use it. Damn thing is fucking useless in the hands of anyone but the Veil Keeper.” A sly look crept over her face, despite her words ringing true. “I do know where you need to use it though.”
“Let me guess,” I sighed, “it'll cost me.”
“As anything worth having does in Faerie, no?” The Swamp Witch smiled and tossed her long dreadlocks over her shoulder as she regained her confident stance.
“What's your price, witch?” I demanded, growing very tired of these games.
Her eyes darted to her lover then back to me before her chin tipped up stubbornly.
“A baby,” she said decisively, and I thought I must have heard her wrong.
“Uh,” I frowned, “you want …”
“I want you to cure me of infertility. I have asked your good for nothing Horned God multiple times, and even tried my very best to persuade him, but it seems he is more stubborn than … well… than this bastard.” She nodded her head to Papa Cocodril, who had groaned as he sat back down to rub at his eyes. “It's simple enough to do, for you. All I require is a sample of your bodily fluid after the height of passion.”
“My bodily fluid?” I asked, the human side of me roaring to life. Ciairah O'Rourke burst out of my mouth in a shower of profanity. “What the fuck sor
t of bodily fluid are we talking here?” I snapped before the goddess' eternal patience took over and I found myself sucking in a sharp breath.
“I need the wetness of a god or goddess—specifically one whose powers extend to fertility. My magic can do the rest.”
“How do I know you won't misuse what I give you?” I started, trying not to think too hard about what she was asking for. She wanted the sweet nectar from between my thighs, the slick easy arousal that I made for my Lords. I couldn't even imagine 'giving' that to Rosinée or anyone else. It wasn't a commodity; it was a privilege I bestowed on my lovers.
But I needed that goddamn key.
“How do I know you won't use it against me?” I repeated as Rosinée spooned the gumbo into a wooden bowl and passed it to me. I stared hard at the food. It smelled like heaven, but I wasn't about to eat anything this woman gave to me. I supposed I could just ask though, couldn't I? “Is this poisoned?”
“This here is regular ol' gumbo, my Mami's recipe, and if you don't want it then I'll eat it or give it to that stubborn ass of a husband over there.” She gestured at me with the bowl and I narrowed my eyes. “It ain't gonna kill ya, hurt ya, maim ya, or put ya to sleep. How does that sound?” Every word she spoke was thick with truth.
“It won't transfigure me?” I asked, and the swamp witch snorted.
“Good goddess girl, you a paranoid little thing, aren't ya? No, it won't do nothing to you except fill your belly with good wholesome food. Here.” I took the bowl with a small sigh and set it on the table, breathing in the spicy smell as my mouth watered.
“So, are you going to take this deal or not?” Rosinée asked, serving up another bowl of gumbo for her husband. She served herself last and joined as at the table as I tried to figure out what to do here.
“How do I deliver this … fluid?” I asked, goosebumps crawling across my skin. This whole idea was making me uncomfortable, but I needed that key. I fucking needed it. My whole people, the entire hunt, the very fabric between worlds relied on me getting that key.
Dark Glitter_A Dark Fae Reverse Harem Romance Page 22