The entire earth seemed to tip on its side as she stumbled on the sidewalk. A fire burned from her stomach to the top of her throat, and her vision swam as a thick fog took over her brain. “Why?” She only managed to croak out the word.
Adam shrugged and smiled a disarming smile. “What are you? A werewolf? You’re not a vampire.”
“A witch.” Her throat felt scorched, like the flesh was melting from her esophagus.
“Now you’re one less witch New Orleans has to deal with. And I’ll get to move up in the ranks.”
“I don’t understand.” Her stomach roiled, and she doubled over against the pain.
Adam righted her and leaned her against a wall at the bus stop. “Your kind are cursed, Cassie. All of you. You don’t belong in this world. It’s nothing personal. I actually think you’re kind of pretty.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek. “I saw you on the roof of that club. And when you came out alone, I couldn’t waste the chance. Killing a heathen was the last task I had to complete to become a fully commissioned member of the Pillars of Righteousness.”
“That’s a real thing?” The words ripped through her throat like sandpaper. She’d heard about humans organizing hate groups against the supernatural community, but she’d never actually met a member.
“Of course it is. We’re going to get rid of you all. One by one if that’s what it takes. Here’s your ride.” He helped her up the steps and guided her to a seat.
The fog in her brain thickened to a coagulated slush. She should have been panicking, but every thought that tried to form in her mind sank into the murky, poisonous muck before she could grab hold. Was this really happening? Did this sweet man with the friendly smile actually poison her? Her head spun, and she clutched the side of her seat.
Kissing the top of her head, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and lowered his lips to her ear. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Cassie.”
“Adam…” She reached for him as he stepped off the bus.
“My name isn’t Adam.” He waved as the bus rolled away.
* * *
Branan raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled a curse. What the hell was his problem? Everything about the witch called to him. Her smile, her voice, her touch, her kiss. He could still taste her sweetness on his lips from the night before.
Rising from his chair, he paced around the desk. The clock on the wall read ten forty-five. If he went downstairs to the club now, she might still be there.
But he couldn’t. As much as his heart ached to make her his own, she deserved better. She deserved light. A family. Someone she could grow old with.
He sat on the edge of his desk and watched the minute hand tick. He’d hurt her. Of that he was certain. He’d filled her head with promises of tomorrow and given her nothing more than a single night. And even that was more than he should have given her.
It was selfish of him to take her on the roof. To kiss her the way he did. He’d known, deep down, even as he held her in his arms, they could never be together. She was a witch. He was cursed to a lonely life. And Cassie was better off without him.
But could he survive without her?
The minute hand inched its way toward eleven o’clock, a panic growing in his chest with each passing tick. What had he done? They belonged together. He could feel it in his soul. But destiny be damned, he would not curse her to the darkness.
A pained growl resonated from his chest, and he grabbed the edge of the massive oak desk and flipped it on its side. Its contents crashed to the floor, scattering about the wood, and he kicked the laptop into the wall. The plastic case crumpled with a satisfying crunch, but his act of aggression did nothing to calm his racing thoughts.
He was going insane. He wanted her. He didn’t want her. Why couldn’t he make up his mind?
He needed to find her. She at least deserved an explanation. He had to make her understand what being with him would mean. What she would have to give up. Then he’d leave it up to her to decide. It was her life, after all.
The clock glared at him from the wall, its monotonous ticking taunting him. He’d told Cassie he had all the time in the world, but she certainly didn’t. Her lifespan was limited to that of a human, and he couldn’t waste a single second.
He threw open the office door and raced downstairs to the club. He could barely hear his own thoughts through the incessant thrumming of the music, but he managed to find Thomas in the crowd.
“Was she here?”
His assistant checked his watch. “She left half an hour ago. I followed her out like you asked, but she met up with a group of humans and went to Bourbon Street.”
“Humans.”
“I heard them mention the karaoke bar. You might be able to catch her there.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” He dashed for the door and nearly plowed into the bouncer on his way out.
The werewolf grunted and bowed his head, stepping aside for him to pass.
Branan lurched toward him, backing him into the wall. “The witch who left earlier, with the curly black hair. Was she…distraught?”
“In tears. Want me to find the asshole who hurt her?”
He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to pound his fist into the man’s face. “I’m the asshole.”
The werewolf’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”
Branan shoved his way past the bouncer, into the alley. Cassie was distraught. In tears. And he was to blame.
But what was she doing with a group of humans? Had she sought them out after he’d abandoned her? Or had they seen her leaving the club alone and approached her with ill intent? His stomach sank at the thought.
As he rounded the corner onto Canal, he stopped short. Cassie walked toward the bus stop with a tall, blond man who had his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Jealousy twisted a knot in his core. How dare another man touch her? His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and it took every ounce of willpower he could muster to stop him from tearing the bastard apart. Cassie belonged to him.
But she didn’t, and he needed to remember that. As much as seeing her with another man ripped at his heart, she was better off. This man could give Cassie everything he could not.
He stepped back into the shadows and watched as the man helped her onto the bus and kissed the top of her head. Branan’s chest deflated. His witch had moved on already.
The man smiled and waved as the bus rolled away, and Branan trudged back to his office. His witch had made up his mind for him. No more indecision. Cassie had found another, and Branan could finally put her out if his mind.
As if that were possible.
CHAPTER THREE
“Please, just let me die.” Cassie pleaded with her mom, who pressed the cup of tea to her parched lips. She sipped the hot liquid, though it did nothing to soothe the raw flesh of her throat. It already felt like she’d swallowed hot coals. “Something cold, please?”
Her mother made a tisking sound with her tongue and left the room for a brief moment. She returned with a bowl of vanilla ice cream and spooned it into Cassie’s mouth. Shock from the bitter cold made her flinch, but she relaxed as the creamy frost slid down her throat, temporarily cooling her inflamed esophagus.
Setting the bowl on the nightstand, her mother resumed coaxing her to drink the tea. “I know the ice cream makes you feel better, but this tea is what’s keeping you alive, sweetheart. You have to drink it.”
Cassie pushed the cup away. “It’s useless. I’m going to die. The poison is working too quickly.” As if to make her point, a coughing fit rose in her throat. She heaved in breaths between coughs, certain she was about to inhale her last. Wishing her last breath would come.
“Three days is not quickly. Whatever he gave you was designed to make you suffer.” Her mom used a rag to wipe away the foam that collected on the corner of her mouth. Tears filled her eyes as she brushed the hair away from her sticky forehead. “You can
’t die, Cassie. You’re all I have left in this world.” She choked down a sob and wiped beneath her eyes. “And my visions…you know they’re never wrong. Are you sure he wasn’t a vampire?”
Cassie sighed, too weak to lie to her mother again. Her mom’s visions were usually vague and could be interpreted in many ways. And while a vampire didn’t poison her, if she hadn’t gone to meet Branan that night, she never would have gone to the bar with Adam. But she didn’t dare tell her mom about her betrayal. Cassie was her only daughter. The light of her life, as she liked to say. She couldn’t bear to hurt her even more.
She smoothed her hands over the thin, lavender blanket and patted her mother’s hand. “I’m a simple witch. Why would a vampire want to kill me?”
Her mom scoffed. “You’re so much more than that, sweetheart. You’re a McClain witch—one of the most powerful in the world.”
“Not for long. Soon I’ll be one less witch New Orleans has to worry about.”
“Don’t say that.”
Tears collected in her own eyes, but she willed them not to fall. Upsetting her mother would only make her more insistent that she drink the damn magic tea.
How could she have been so stupid to accept a drink from a stranger? To go with him to the bar in the first place? She knew better. If a man offers to buy you a drink, be sure you see the bartender pour it. Men slip all kinds of rape drugs into women’s drinks these days. That’s what her mother told her nearly every time she went out. Apparently, date rape was the least of her worries.
She’d tried her best to keep her magic hidden; only casting spells in the safety of their apartment. For twenty-two years, she’d lived like a normal human. She’d tried to, anyway. Even her closest human friends didn’t know her secret. But Adam found out. And all it took was one person knowing.
Her mom pulled the blanket up to her chin and pressed a cool rag to her forehead. “It’s not your fault. If an attractive man offered me a drink, I probably would’ve accepted it too.”
If her mother only knew what she’d done. The reason the attractive man knew she was a witch to begin with. If she’d never gone to that stupid club in the first place, none of this would have happened.
“I’ll do some more casting to try and heal you. I’ll scour through my books to find the right herbs to cure you. I won’t stop until you’re better.”
“Mom—” The coughing returned, so violent it felt like she’d expel a lung.
“No more talking. You need rest.” Her mom’s brow furrowed as she stared above Cassie’s head. She narrowed her gaze, and thoughts seemed to swim behind her glassy irises. Then, her eyes widened, and a tight smile stretched her lips. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Cassie, Lord Sinclair will help you. Oh, thank the goddess!”
She stared at her mother in disbelief, the weak beating of her heart quickening. Did she know about her trips to the club? Did she know about the evening Cassie spent wrapped in his arms? And was she okay with it?
Icy tendrils of fear crept up her spine, spiraling to the base of her skull where the unexpected warmth of possibility cascaded down to her chest, filling her heart with hope. Branan’s deep red aura reflected his immense power. But did he have the power to heal? Would he even bother fixing her body when he’d already shredded her heart?
She swallowed hard, cringing as her throat seemed to melt together and then rip apart. “I thought you didn’t approve of vampires.”
“Well, I’d certainly rather you hold onto your humanity, but it’s better than losing you.”
Cassie blinked. “Wait. You want to turn me into a vampire?”
“It would cure you.”
“But, I’d have to drink blood.”
“You wouldn’t die.”
Cassie tried to sit up, but her head spun. She eased back down onto the pillow and coughed. “Yeah, like never. And, Lord Sinclair? He doesn’t owe us a favor. You know there’d be a price. Anyone who still calls himself a Lord in the twenty-first century…He’s not the type of guy who just does things out of the goodness of his heart.” If he even had a heart. After the way he led her on, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see his face again. Death sounded better than being in a vampire’s debt. Especially Branan’s.
But she’d seen so much kindness in his eyes. She didn’t mistake that.
Her mother stood and paced the small room. Her muscles tensed, and she turned to face Cassie. “I would pay any price to save my daughter’s life.”
Silence stuffed the room like cotton. The only sound Cassie heard was her pulse pounding in her ears. Her chest tightened. She wanted to rush to her mother, to take her in her arms and tell her they’d find another way. That she’d live without the help of the vampire. But her muscles betrayed her. Her weakness seemed to increase with each breath.
“Any price, Mom? Even trading your life for mine? I won’t let you do that.”
Her mother returned to her position on the edge of the bed. “It won’t come to that. Lord Sinclair has a kind heart, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.”
“How do you know that?”
Her mom smiled and smoothed the blankets. “I peeked into his soul.”
Cassie’s eyes widened. Her mother’s ability to see into someone’s soul was invasive and extremely taxing on her powers. It could take hours to recover from a glimpse into the depths. She’d seen the effects first-hand.
Her mom shrugged. “Just a quick peek, a long time ago. I wanted to see what our ruthless leader was made of.”
“And?”
“He’s kind and just, but extremely sad and untrusting of others.” She rested a hand on Cassie’s leg. “He will help you. Don’t you see? I misinterpreted my vision. I saw death surrounding you. I saw vampires. But the vampire isn’t the one to kill you; he’ll be the one to save you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Branan paced the receiving room of his eighteenth-century Garden District mansion. The hardwood floor creaked under his black leather boots with each step. He drew back the heavy green curtain covering the window and gazed out toward the cemetery across the street.
Rows of massive stone and stucco tombs jutted from the ground, giving the graveyard a city-like appearance. Enormous oak trees loomed around the border, their branches reaching like skeletal arms, fingers outstretched toward the necropolis.
He should’ve been in a tomb five hundred years ago.
He’d gladly take death over the pain ripping through his chest now. But he’d made his decision. To deny destiny was a risk he’d chosen to take. Cassie had moved on, and witches couldn’t be trusted. Especially not with his heart.
So, why had he granted an audience to this witch? Perhaps it was the desperation in her voice when she’d called. Maybe he was intrigued at the mystery of what her request might be. She didn’t say much on the phone, just that it was a life or death matter.
His love for Cassie had softened him. After five hundred years, he could let go of his grudge against witches, couldn’t he? After all, this wasn’t the witch who’d betrayed him. No, she was already dead when he’d arrived to kill her. But he’d taken the blame.
That was the point his reputation of being a hard-assed vampire, hell bent on retribution and order, had solidified. But he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. A control freak, maybe. He did like to keep his realm in order. Though, deep down, he knew he didn’t have nearly as much control over his lands as he should.
Chaos reigned now that the humans had decided to take it upon themselves to rid the world of magic. Most of the supernatural beings had gone into hiding long ago, so he wasn’t surprised to receive a call from a witch he never knew existed. Just like he never knew Cassie existed. And they both would’ve been better off had they never met.
He smiled wryly and let the curtain fall across the window. Humans and magical creatures had coexisted peacefully at one point, not too long ago. But Branan knew, even then, it wouldn’t last. It didn’t take long for the humans to get scared and go on a
killing spree. He sighed and resumed his pacing. How long had they been back in hiding? Eighty years? It was hard to keep track of time.
The doorbell chimed, snapping him from his thoughts. He exhaled a curse—at the witch for bothering him or himself for allowing her in—and opened the door. The woman straightened to her full height and bowed her head.
“Lord Sinclair. I’m Jocelyn McClain. I spoke with you earlier?” Though her posture suggested confidence, the crack in her voice revealed the same desperation he’d detected on the phone.
“Of course. Please, come in.” He stepped to the side to allow the woman entrance, but she didn’t move.
“It’s my daughter, sir. She’s in the car. Can you help me bring her in?” Jocelyn never broke eye contact, seemingly unashamed of her request for help.
His chest tightened at the mention of a child. “Of course.” He followed the mother to her Toyota Camry and paused as she opened the passenger door. His breath caught at the sight of the…woman. She was definitely not a child. Long, black hair clung with sticky sweat to her ashen face. Dark circles rimmed her sunken eyes, and dried foam dotted the corners of her gray-white lips.
Branan swallowed hard, his heart wrenching at the sight of his sweet witch. Though she sat on death’s doorstep, there was no mistaking her.
“Cassie.” Her name came out in a whisper so quiet, Jocelyn didn’t hear.
Her lids fluttered open, and she gazed up at him with hypnotic, dark eyes. Deep pools of midnight beckoned him, dragging him down into their depths.
“Hello, Lord Sinclair.” A coughing fit followed her greeting—a fit so forceful, he thought she might die right there.
He cringed at her use of his formal title, when only days ago his first name had danced from her lips.
What had he done?
“Oh, Cassie. I told you not to talk.” Jocelyn made a fuss over her daughter, stroking her forehead and patting her hand. All Branan could do was stare. Comprehension eluded him as death danced about her aura, threatening to pull her under at any minute. Could this be his Cassie, who had radiated warmth and light beneath the stars only four days prior?
Bewitching the Vampire Page 3