Blood and Sin (The Infernari Book 1)

by Laura Thalassa

  Everything that Grandmaddox said earlier came bubbling back to the surface. That I was too soft, too naïve.

  I was just tired. Tired of everyone assuming the worst of each other. Tired of focusing on hate and vendettas and war. I just wanted to enjoy a man’s hand on my back and forget for an evening that Asher and I were supposed to be enemies.

  I was born with too damn many of them already.

  Asher

  I ordered Lana a rainbow cocktail, which had seven layers of colorful alcohol which glowed under the bar’s black light. Predictably, she loved it, and I couldn’t help but smile. For myself, whiskey on the rocks.

  Wide-eyed, Lana watched the parade of passersby on Bourbon Street. They spilled off the curb and into the street, staggering with drinks in hand. Still no flashers yet.

  “You don’t have places like this in Abyssos?” I said.

  “We don’t have this many Infernari in Abyssos,” she said in awe. “I’ve never seen so many humans in one place.”

  “You should see it during Mardi Gras.”

  The sound of slurping pulled my attention back to Lana, who had drained the drink and was now sucking at the last drops with her straw.

  “That’s like four shots, you know.” I ordered her another one. “Better than Grandmaddox’s wine, huh?”

  “My own piss is better than Grandmaddox’s wine,” she slurred, already tipsy.

  I smirked, downing the rest of my own glass. “And here I thought demons didn’t have fine palates.”

  “Infernari,” she corrected, her eyes flashing dangerously over the rim of her next glass. “Why don’t you ever learn? Do you not know how to pronounce it? Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I’m curious, what’d you think of her jambalaya?” I asked, waving down the bartender for another whiskey.

  “Say it, Jame Asher,” she commanded, her hair shifting restlessly about her.

  Regarding her coldly, I swirled the glass, clinking the ice. “Getting you drunk was a bad idea. God knows you’re frustrating enough sober.”

  “I notice this thing you do,” she said, now licking the rim of her second empty glass. “It’s very human and despicable. When you don’t want to answer a question, you say something completely irrelevant.”

  I tipped up my glass to her. “Good job, you’re learning.”

  “See! You just did it again.”

  I frowned. “You made a behavioral observation, and I congratulated you,” I said, my eyes following a passerby that stared at Lana, dumbstruck by her beauty. His gaze moved to me, and he startled at whatever he saw. I watched him scurry away. “What else do you want?” I continued, returning my attention to her. “You want me to buy you a drink? Here, I’ll buy you a drink.” I bought her a third rainbow cocktail. “Happy?”

  “Very,” she said, starting in on it with lustful eyes. Then she stopped. “No, you dodged it again . . . you still haven’t said Infernari.”

  “Infernari,” I said. “There. I’m not afraid of a word.”

  “But you are.” She smiled wickedly, her long canines looking particularly sharp under the shine of the outdoor lights. “They say a name has power. Now, when you look at me, you’ll see an Infernarus, not a demon.”

  I drained my whiskey and slammed it down, my lips tightening into a pucker. “When I look at Azazel, I see a demon. When I look at Clades, I see a demon. When I look at Grandmaddox, I see a demon. When I look at you . . .” I inhaled sharply through my nostrils, “I don’t see a demon, I see something that I don’t want to be seeing.”

  It was the damn whiskey talking.

  We lapsed into silence, and I couldn’t meet her eye. Careful, Asher.

  “When I look at you,” she said softly, “I don’t see a monster.”

  I frowned down at my empty cup. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Talk about something else.”

  “Grandmaddox’s jambalaya?” she offered.

  “Will give me nightmares,” I finished, grateful for the change of subject. “I’m serious. Tonight, all I will be dreaming about is centipedes stewing in red Cajun sauce . . . I think some of them were still alive.”

  “They’re basically the same as shrimp and crawfish,” she said, “and I saw you eat a shrimp.”

  “There were spiders too, Lana . . . and cockroaches.” I shuddered. That fucking dinner was just wrong.”

  “So? That’s not even unique to Infernari. Humans eat spiders and cockroaches, too.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “In Cambodia and China. We’re not as different as you think.”

  My nose wrinkled. “Is that what they teach you demons in your geography classes? Which country you can visit to get a good deep-fried cockroach?”

  “Demon is a derogatory word, you know.” The alcohol was making her tongue sharper, and despite her hooded lids, her eyes were piercing when they met mine.

  “That’s why I use it.” This conversation called for more alcohol. I got another refill from the bartender and slipped her a fifty. “Leave the bottle.”

  “What if humans had killed your family?” Lana asked. “Would you want to exterminate them, too?”

  The question caught me off guard. Somehow she’d figured out my sad story. The family that was taken from me by her kind.

  I paused, peering down at the ice melting in my whiskey. The alcohol gave me that warm tingly feeling in my stomach, but right now it could go either of two ways.

  No, not tonight. Tonight, I wasn’t going to mope. God knew I’d drunk myself to sleep plenty of nights before, sobbing over photo albums.

  But I did want to talk about it.

  I wanted someone to ask about it. My reasons. My justifications.

  “I’m not a bigoted person.” I tried to keep my voice even, taking another slow sip. “It’s the nature of demon magic.” I didn’t even feel the burn of the whiskey, not now that we’d moved to this topic. “They were cursed because some demon somewhere used their blood for I don’t even know what—for all I know, it could have been a fucking parlor trick—and my wife and daughter had to die for that. For no reason.” I looked up at her, nodding grimly as I topped off my glass, spilling some on the bar. “It would be different if you cursed us willingly. If it had been Azazel, or Clades, if they had come in and killed them on purpose, then I would get my revenge and be done with it, like you said. But it wasn’t on purpose. Their death was a byproduct, a mistake. They died because of the very nature of demons. That, I’m not willing to abide.”

  Now her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. While she mulled it over, she grabbed the whiskey bottle and filled her own glass. “You think it’s not fair?” she asked.

  “I know it’s not fair.”

  “Do you know what I think isn’t fair?” she said. “That there are scarcely a thousand of us left, while there are billions of humans. Billions. They’re like those cicadas earlier. There’s so many that each creature is worth very little. The Infernari are only culling from humans because there’s an imbalance.” Seeing my unamused expression, she added, “I have nothing against cicadas. But you don’t worry about cicadas, do you? You only worry about the rarest creatures . . . creatures you would call endangered.”

  To compare people to cicadas . . .

  I wanted to shout at her, but I held back. She didn’t understand.

  “Try losing the two people you love most in the world,” I said, working my jaw, “try doing that, Lana, and tell me every life isn’t precious.”

  She held my gaze. “You think I haven’t lost the people closest to me? My father—dead. My mother—dead. My native clan—wiped from existence.

  “But it’s more than that,” she continued. “Being a healer . . . Every time an Infernarus falls, it hurts . . . right here.”
She pointed at her heart. “I’m connected to all Infernari through their blood; they are all family to me, and no, I can’t imagine what losing a mate must be like—I haven’t been mated yet—but there were years during the civil war where I thought I would die of grief. To me, Infernari are everything; they are precious, they are my soul and blood, and I would die to save them . . . like you would for Nicole and Joy.”

  I stilled at their names.

  She had never spoken their names before. I hadn’t even realized she knew them. I’d never told her.

  Brad must have.

  Strange that she remembered when she didn’t even remember what the A stood for in USA . . . she remembered the names of my wife and daughter.

  That realization sat strangely in my stomach.

  “You know,” she continued, “your ancestors used to make blood sacrifices to us; they used to worship us. We were gods to them.”

  She was talking about the Aztecs, the Incans, the Germanic tribes of Old Europe. “Yeah, and those civilizations got wiped out for a reason.”

  “We also cared for them,” she said. “We were like shepherds, you were our flock.”

  “So you were slaughtering us like sheep,” I muttered.

  “Infernari die if they don’t use magic,” she said. “For us, it’s like breathing.”

  We were at an impasse.

  She was terrified of losing the last of the people she loved. I had already lost mine. But we were the same, too.

  “You said you’re connected to Infernari through blood? What do you mean?” I asked.

  Her hooded eyes took a moment to focus on me, now showing the alcohol. “Their blood flows in my veins, my blood flows in theirs—so when I heal myself, I’m really healing them.”

  “So that’s how you do it at a distance?”

  “Uh-huh.” She sucked on the rim of her glass.

  “You share blood . . . What, always?”

  She eyed me. “Only when I want to,” she said enigmatically.

  “So you’re bound to protect me, you’re bound to protect your species . . . to heal them . . .” I trailed off, unable to look away from her sad eyes, which flickered under the lights like iridescent abalone shells, matching the faint glimmer of her hair. The background murmur of the bar suddenly fell away—leaving just us, just me and this beautiful creature, alone in our own little bubble of grief.

  Bound to each other.

  “And you want to kill my species,” she finished for me, “which means my only hope—”

  “Kind of a Catch-22, huh?”

  “—is to convince you to change.”

  I nodded soberly. “I won’t.”

  “Then one of my brothers will kill you. I can’t protect you forever.”

  I shook off the unsettling moment we’d just had and wrestled the whiskey back from her to refill my glass. “I’m probably going to die, then. I’m too old to change.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You are so many contradictions, Jame Asher.”

  “Like?”

  “You are so meticulous to avoid death, yet so reckless when it comes to life. You’re a violent savage to my people, yet fiercely protective of your own. You hate all Infernari . . .” her eyes flicked between mine, “. . . yet you don’t hate me.”

  Her words unnerved me. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then why did you save me? Why am I not still tied up in the back of your wheeled machine?”

  Because you’re innocent.

  Because you’re kindhearted and brave.

  Because I might like who you are more than I hate what you are.

  “Because it’s easier when you cooperate,” I said, bristling at her questions. I drained the rest of my glass and slammed it down on the bar, startling the girl on the other side of me. Working the cash register, the bartender eyed me like she regretted giving me that bottle. “Look, you’re a good girl, Lana. You might be the only good demon out there. If anyone’s got a shot at turning me, it’s you. Hell, Dominus probably hand-picked you just for me . . . a little doe-eyed fawn to fuck with Jame Asher’s head. Whatever . . . I’m drunk.” I grabbed the bottle and staggered off the barstool. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  I threw a wad of bills on the counter and, after snatching up the whiskey bottle, I grabbed Lana’s hand. I felt her grip tighten around mine as I pulled her out into the crowded street. She wove a little, too, clearly more tipsy than she let on. She better be, considering how much alcohol I’d fed her.

  Thanks to Louisiana’s open container law, I could walk right down the center of Bourbon Street swigging my bottle of Jack like a sailor. Half the crowd carried Styrofoam “go cups” from the countless lit-up bars and strip clubs lining the street for blocks. Like Disneyland for adults.

  The thought triggered a memory. Disneyland on Joy’s second birthday.

  Instantly, my mood soured.

  I washed it down with another swig from the bottle. No one even gave me a second glance.

  But oh, they gave Lana second glances. Plenty of them.

  Sashaying next to me in her skintight jumpsuit, her eyes a luminous blue-violet and her long hair breezing unnaturally behind her, she had the attention of every guy on Bourbon Street. A whole crowd of douchebags parted around us, eyeing her up and down and whistling.

  Their catcalls grated my nerves. But unlike the guy I glared at earlier, they were too drunk to heed my stare telling them to back the fuck off.

  “Let’s see some titties!” one of them hollered, dancing in front of her, a dozen necklaces of glittery beads clanking around his neck.

  Lana had halted, momentarily mesmerized by the rainbow colors.

  “I’ll give you my best beads . . .” he continued, “this one right here if you show us your tits . . .” He fumbled to get one off.

  Nuh-uh. I was not in the mood for this crap.

  All night, I’d kept it on lockdown. But seeing this little twerp, seeing his crap plastic beads jingling over his fraternity hoodie, seeing him yelling and shaking his beads in Lana’s face, I cracked.

  I tried to keep my cool, but I couldn’t.

  Rage flared under my skin, and my fingers clamped into fists.

  I tossed the bottle aside, grabbed the guy by the collar, and shoved him up against a nearby arch. “Mardi Gras’s in February,” I growled. “So take your beads and get the fuck out of my way.”

  He shoved me back. “It’s always Mardi Gras where I go.” His breath reeked of beer. “That your girl? ’Cause she was eyeing my beads like she wanted some.”

  My eyes fell to his clinking jewelry. I lifted up the strands of his cheap plastic beads. “You think a girl like that—” I jerked my head toward Lana, “is going to show her tits to a little shit like you for crap beads like this?” I flung them in his face. “You know what, give them to me. All of them. You’re done.” I pried them over his head and stumbled away with a fistful of plastic necklaces.

  Smirking, I turned around, and one of his frat brothers punched me in the face and laid me out on the curb. The blow rang in my ears.

  The other douchebags danced away, shouting, “Dude, you beaned him!”

  Yep, had to get drunk and pick a fight with six frat boys, huh, Asher?

  Not my proudest moment.

  Rubbing my jaw, I rose slowly, seeing red. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  I tackled the guy into a nearby oyster shack, bowling over a table and scattering the screaming patrons. Already cocked back, my fist slammed into his face. His nose sprayed blood. Nice.

  I was going to go to jail for this.

  For defending Lana.

  Fuck.

  I landed one more punch before his friend dragged me off, arm clamped around my neck.

  Tonight w
as just not my night.

  I got my feet under me and thrust us backward. Through sheer dumb luck, I managed to ram him into the archway, earning a grunt. Bits of plaster flaked off above us. Grabbing his arm, I heaved him over my shoulder and slammed him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Wheezing, he raised his palms at my cocked fist, and I backed off.

  Breathing heavily, I turned back to the other four and wiped my bloody lip. “Anyone else think it’s Mardi Gras?”

  They looked drunk enough to attack me, too. Probably thought they could take me six versus one.

  “Bro, bro, he’s got a gun!” Catching sight of my holster, the guys grabbed their buddies and stumbled backward, tripping on their heels.

  I called after them, “Come at me, bros! I want some more beads!”

  But they were gone.

  Idiots. I wasn’t even carrying concealed, and it took them that long to notice.

  I looked around at the rest of the onlookers—half the street had paused to watch—and they ducked their heads and continued on their way, like I was going to shoot them or something.

  “Humans are weird.” Lana frowned, clearly still trying to figure out what had happened. “What was that even about?”

  I picked up the beads, and led her away by the elbow. “Told you you’d get into trouble.”

  “That was you who got into trouble,” she said. “He was just being nice and trying to give me some beads . . . and can I at least have one? Or do I have to beat you up and steal them from you now? Is that how the bead game works?”

  Her naivety made me smile. “Stop. Look at me.”

  We paused on a street corner out of the way, those strangely beautiful eyes of hers fixed on me. God, she was innocent. Something protective reared up in me.

  I draped all the beads around her neck. “There. Now they’re yours.”

  The way her eyes lit up, you’d think she’d just learned Santa Claus was real. She ran her fingers reverently over the molded plastic balls, her expression wondrous.