by Devyn Quinn
I doubt I’m going to get that chance, she thought as the door to the armoire swung open.
“You will wear this,” Amanda said, showing her the contents.
Jesse gasped when she realized what hung inside the closet. She’d expected to see clothes similar to those Amanda wore; chic, modern, edgy.
“You’re not serious.” She stifled a nervous laugh. “Is that what I think it is?”
The Amanda creature cocked its head. “Yes.” It gave a wry smile. “For your becoming ceremony.”
Jesse’s brows shot up. The confection of silk and lace looked all too familiar. She was so stunned, she almost laughed out loud with disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.” Even as she said the words, her guts tied into a thousand tiny painful knots.
The clothing she’d been supplied with was a wedding dress.
Over the last few days, Maddox had often asked himself why he couldn’t detach his thoughts from Jesse Burke or will away his attraction to her.
The first night he’d met her, he’d convinced himself she would not last long. But even in the face of Reyen’s disapproval, she’d shown herself to be a brave and tenacious fighter, determined to carve a place for herself in a world that had no use for her kind.
To believe fate had contrived to bring them together was perhaps naive. But it was all he had to cling to. The question now facing him was simple and yet tormenting.
Was Jesse Burke worth going after?
Now, with desire painfully burning in his blood, he wished he had snuffed out her life that first night and spared himself his present misery. She has half a soul, he reminded himself. She could turn demon at any moment.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. While logic dictated that he should let her go and walk away without looking back, his heart kept intruding on his thoughts. He didn’t know why he wanted Jesse. He just did.
Finding her meant he would have to do some very bad things; things that would probably take him straight into hell, and beyond.
Reyen glanced up. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Maddox took in a deep breath and released it.
“Yeah,” he stated with finality. “I want her back.”
The big Indian shook his head. “I still think it’s a mistake.”
“If you don’t want to come, I’ll handle it myself,” he grated back.
Reyen’s expression didn’t give a clue to his feelings. “You know this is the kind of fighting I live for,” he said, his voice overly controlled.
Maddox nodded. “I know . . .”
An aura of deadly calm surrounded Reyen as he folded his massive arms across his chest. “We’ve played at being slayers, but we’ve never really gotten our hands dirty because they outnumber us. Taking out a few fledglings and then running off to hide again isn’t the way to win a war.” His eyes gleamed in the morning sunlight, his unblinking gaze carrying the weight of a sledgehammer. “If we’re seriously going after these things, it has to be all or nothing.”
Maddox released a biting laugh. He’d known the day would come when he’d truly have to choose a side, take a stance, lay down his life. Tucking his tail between his legs and running away, avoiding the inevitable, was no longer an option. “I’m in, a hundred and ten percent.”
Reyen grinned. “Let’s go in and get her.”
Maddox squared his shoulders. As much as he wished it were Jesse they were going after right now, that wasn’t the case. They knew the Telave had taken her, but they didn’t exactly know who or where her captor was.
To get the answer they needed, they’d have to roust a few Consanguines. By day, the creatures withdrew into the shadows to rest. They were at their weakest, unable to shift and slip away.
Sunglasses shielding their eyes from the bright morning glare, the two men headed through the ruined Ninth Ward, heading for the places that were sure to shelter a vamp during the day. Specifically they were going to Sin Court, to Dante’s Inferno.
Reyen shot him a disgusted look as they walked through the derelict area. During the day, the old shopping center was totally abandoned, the vendors of illegal services having rolled up their wares and retreated at sunrise. “I can’t believe you hang out in this place. It’s lower than low.”
Maddox shot his friend a look. “We’ll find what we want here,” he replied tersely.
Reaching their destination, Reyen tugged on the door. “Locked.” He stepped back. Lifting a leg, he drove his metal-tipped boot straight through the flimsy thing. Glass shattering, the door flew open.
The women resting inside the shadows shrieked. Many of the females were simply humans who peddled themselves. They were essentially harmless.
Reyen barreled in. “Who do we need,” he snapped as the women scattered.
Maddox slipped past him, pushing past a few scantily clad female bodies to locate the dressing rooms. Finding the one he sought, he yanked open the door.
Clad only in a bra and panties, Nayia was stretched out on her mattress. The candles around her flickered, close to burning out. Arms across her chest, she lay unmoving, not even breathing, and her skin looked strangely waxen. Contrary to the old legends, the undead did not have to sleep in a coffin containing the earth of their grave. Nor were they unconscious, dead to the world, as they rested. They could be up and around during the daylight hours, though most preferred to remain inactive.
Reyen didn’t give him a chance to wake her gently. “That her?” he asked, and then barged past without waiting for an answer. Bending down, he snatched the woman up like a doll before slamming her back against the wall. “Wake up, bitch,” he growled. “We need to talk.”
Nayia’s eyes immediately snapped open, revealing glowing silver orbs of loathing. She’d taken out the colored contact lenses she normally wore to conceal the common defect plaguing the undead. Their eyes lost color, reverting to a dull, lusterless shade.
A growl rolled past her bloodless lips as she bared her fangs and raked at Reyen’s face. “Bastard!” she hissed. “Let me go.”
Reyen delivered a slap that rocked her head back against the wall. Catching her flying hands, he bent her arms up behind her back and slammed a knee between her legs, effectively pinning her to the wall. “Be still or I’ll break ’em,” he warned.
Nayia stilled. Her gaze settling on Maddox, the viciousness melted away from her features as recognition set in. Her fangs disappeared. “What’s going on?” she asked, bewildered and confused. “We had a deal. I give you the bite and you keep that stake away from my heart.”
Maddox shook his head. “Answer a few questions and I might consider honoring that.”
Reyen tossed the woman to the floor. “Keep in mind you ain’t got no deals with me,” he said, prodding one bare thigh with the tip of his boot.
Realizing she was trapped with no way out, Nayia flexed her hands. “What do you want?”
“You know there was a girl with me,” Maddox said.
She laughed in disbelief, then sobered when she realized he was serious. “There have been a lot of women with you, Maddox,” she chided. “I know I’m not the only one you get the bite from.”
Reyen glowered over that bit of information.
Maddox ignored him. “No, there was another. I’m sure word would have come your way.”
Nayia’s eyes brightened. “I’ve heard of the half soul,” she said in a sultry voice. “We’ve been waiting for her for a long time.”
Maddox’s heart froze in his chest. “Then you know what she is?”
Nayia offered a crafty smile. “Oh yes. We’ve all known she would eventually be found.” Her voice betrayed no excitement, only an edge that tweaked his nerves.
“Who took her?” he demanded.
Nayia stubbornly shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
Reyen prodded her again. “Oh yes, you will.”
But Nayia wasn’t so willing. “Bastard! Don’t touch me.” She sprang into the air with a fierce cry, c
lawing at Reyen for all she was worth.
Reyen caught her flying figure and slammed her into the wall. Nayia’s sharp fingernails shot upward across his face, drawing a long slice in his cheek.
Reyen’s eyes narrowed, and a half smile appeared on his lips. He brushed his free hand across his cheek and spared but a brief glance at the blood coloring his fingers. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, bitch.” Nothing less than total retribution would suit his megalomaniacal visions of revenge.
Snaring her wrist, Reyen savagely twisted her arm, snapping the bone as if it were no more than a brittle twig. Nayia howled in agony as he kept his grip and pinned her wrist against the wall. Reaching for the bowie knife strapped at his hip, he brought it up, leveling the deadly weapon against one of her fingers. He pushed the blade deep into her skin. A dribble of stinking blood bubbled from the cut.
“You’ll tell us what we need to know,” he warned, “or I’ll cut off your fingers. One by one.”
“Kill me,” she snarled.
Reyen made as if he were going to slice off a finger. A look of pure fear swept across Nayia’s contorted face. “I can’t,” she wailed. “My eternity would be worth nothing.”
Reyen pressed his blade to her finger. His eyes glistened. “If you think your life’s worth anything now, babe,” he drawled, “you’re sadly mistaken.” He pressed the knife deeper into her finger, and dark blood welled up.
“We were told to find the girl,” she said hurriedly, “but not to harm her.”
“Who wanted her?” Reyen asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
Nayia’s head dropped in defeat. Her knees sagged under her weight. Reyen let her slip to the floor, where she crumpled in a heap. “Amonate.” The whisper was barely audible.
Maddox felt his blood run cold. “Oh, shit. She’s exactly who we don’t want to be dealing with.”
Amonate—she was also known as the reigning Demoness of New Orleans. Catching up with Amonate was like trying to catch the wind.
Crafty and wicked, she moved through the centuries, spreading her malevolent disease throughout the human population. Like most Monarchs, she had a tight control on her subjects. Older Consanguines might live and function independently in their own collectives, but they still owed allegiance to the sire whose bloodline had birthed them.
Amonate had learned—as most immortal beings do—how to blend into an ever-changing world. Her identity changed as often as the decades, and she was a master at reinventing herself. Her present identity and location were unknown.
The answer didn’t seem to faze Reyen. He gripped Nayia’s hair and snapped back her head. “Who is she now?” he demanded in a voice hoarse with anxiety.
Clutching her wounded hand to her breast, she whispered, “Her present identity is Celeste. Celeste St. Cyr. She’s known—”
Maddox cut her off. “I know who she fucking is.”
How ironic—the vampire queen of New Orleans had been hiding in plain sight. Everyone and his dog knew Celeste St. Cyr was the designer behind the Shadow Chic Goth clothing line. Insanely wealthy, the woman lived a life of luxury, always jet-setting, always on the go. She was also very reclusive and hard to get to, surrounded day and night by a cadre of bodyguards. Though she was wildly popular in the business of fashion, no one on the face of this earth had ever seen a clear photograph. Her body was always cloaked from head to foot in one of her fashionable designs; her face was always shielded by a heavy scarf and huge sunglasses.
Maddox knew why. Her eyes, or lack thereof, would give her away. A demon’s eyes always looked like hollow black holes in mirrors. This strange anomaly extended to cameras.
“Great spirit,” Reyen muttered, wiping a hand across his face. “We’ve been so fucking blind and stupid, it’s pathetic. She’s been in front of us all this time.”
Maddox sighed. “We’ll never get to her. It’s impossible.”
Reyen gave a piranha’s grin. “That’s what you think. But there’s no reason for anyone to give her a heads-up.”
Maddox stared down at Nayia’s face, noting the way the candlelight accentuated her skin’s shiny deathlike pallor. Her gaze remained on him, glassy yet condemning. Her ravaged expression fully revealed the demon inside. From beginning to end she was a predator.
He couldn’t think why he’d ever been attracted to Nayia, or why he would find the bite so alluring. Right now everything about the Telave repulsed him.
After a moment of silence, he sliced the side of a hand across his throat in a crude gesture of execution.
Chapter 17
The wedding dress fit as if it had been made for her.
Looking in the full-length mirror, Jesse made a face. No doubt her mysterious captor had used Amanda’s measurements to get every last detail perfect. Designed with a high collar, long sleeves, and cut to a length ending just below her knees, the dress was fashioned from pure white silk overlaid with delicate lace. From a distance it looked demure, the selection of a woman whose character was as pure as the driven snow. A closer examination revealed the pattern of the lace to be a spiderweb of skulls. White lace tights, also in the skull pattern, and spiked white sandals with straps that wrapped halfway up the calf completed the outfit. It was truly a Shadow Chic piece.
Jesse’s mouth quirked down. I look like the bride from hell.
As she’d slipped into the confection, her mind had whirled with contemplations as to the outfit and its meaning. The answer that kept popping up in her mind was an ominous one. She didn’t like the shadowy world her mind kept leading her into, one rife with rituals and sacrifices to feed the beasts of nightmares.
“Come,” Amanda urged. “Mistress waits.”
Jesse lifted her chin to conceal her ease. “Let’s get going.” She didn’t care for the chill of foreboding as she followed her faux twin down a long staircase and into some sort of foyer.
What she saw took her breath away. Sheer grandeur surrounded her, and her heart leapt in wonder. Her high heels echoed on pure white marble veined with black. Mouth agape and eyes wide, she paused to better take in the high ceilings overlooking arched alcoves and beautifully paneled walls.
In plan and structure, the manor was severely austere. Everything was white: floor, walls, and ceiling—even the plush cushions on tactfully placed antique chairs. The magnolia blossoms were a stunning white in their cut crystal vase on the clear glass table. Even the grandfather clock was fashioned exquisitely from bleached wood. All was white. Fabulous paintings hung on the walls, each one a rare and expensive masterpiece.
The foyer was a carefully arranged showplace. Warning: Look, but do not touch. The place was beautiful yet devoid of warmth. It was not a home but a shrine. The more Jesse studied it, the more it felt like a tomb.
Two men dressed in heavy dark suits were positioned, standing ramrod straight, at various points in the foyer. One couldn’t fail to deduce their purpose: They were bodyguards. Both were big, brawny bruisers, and by the looks of them, they knew how to use the weapons strapped under their arms.
Kindred, she thought. Those who protect the vamps during the daylight hours.
Amanda resumed her walk. Jesse followed, staying close behind her.
The room they entered was a library, cooled by a light breeze winnowing through the French doors that opened onto a covered patio leading into the lush gardens she’d viewed from her bedroom window. The room was dim, shadowy. Several walls were lined with book-laden shelves. Several long couches covered with beautiful throw blankets invited one to stretch out, as did comfortable lounges with high backs and leather upholstery. Beneath vaulted ceilings, the floor was fashioned out of some sort of black polished wood. A scattering of expensive rugs lessened its severity. A fireplace with a marble mantel provided heat during colder weather.
Music, art, literature—there were signs of all within these walls. A baby grand was angled in one corner. An easel, sketch pad, and chalks were situated near a window seat that afforded a view of the back acreage
and the magnificent sunsets that waltzed across the lawns as night descended. The room was a place of ease, peace, and cerebral pursuits. The days of skulking in cemeteries and living in tombs were apparently over for the undead. They seemed to like luxury—a lot of it.
“This is incredible,” Jesse whispered, as though afraid the sound of her voice would break the serene ambience of her surroundings.
She instinctively rubbed her hands over her arms to still the rising goose bumps on her skin. The library was cold, but that was not the cause of her chill. She had a strong impression of being watched. She glimpsed a shadowy movement, dark and stealthy, from the corner of her right eye. Stiffening, she turned her head but saw nothing to warrant her burgeoning sense of unease.
Had the movement been a trick of the light?
No. Jesse was sure she could feel something else in the room—something threatening, although the basis for that eluded her. Only Amanda was present, and she didn’t appear to be aware of anything unusual.
But as she looked around the room, she thought she saw the air around her shift, then shimmer like heat waves on asphalt.
She blinked to clear her vision. It didn’t help. She was dizzied and felt faint, when a distinct whiff of sulfur burned her nostrils, bringing her upright with the sudden awareness of its presence.
A woman appeared out of thin air, walking toward her. “Jesse.” She smiled, spreading out her arms in greeting. “Welcome home.”
Jesse immediately stiffened. Where the hell had she come from?
To buy some time to gather her scattered thoughts, Jesse looked the woman over. She was truly impressive, with skin a striking sheen that might almost be described as coppery. A long fall of straight black hair fell over her shoulders, reaching almost to her knees. Her eyes were dark, her cheekbones fashionably angular. Her mouth was wide, generous, and smiling. She was dressed in a chic white pantsuit that highlighted the unusual hue of her skin.