Killer Temptation

by Willis, Marianne

  “Yes, thank you. She’s about this tall,” she said, motioning her hand a little over her own height. “And she has big hazel eyes, long, curly, mahogany hair…oh and she was wearing a purple dress with a frilly material off one shoulder.”

  His eyes widened in realisation. “She wouldn’t happen to have been carrying an empty bottle of Champagne?”

  “Yes.” Trust Rachel to down the whole bottle herself.

  “I remember seeing a woman about twenty minutes ago. I handed over her items before she left.”

  Thank goodness. “Did she say where she was going?”

  The clerk frowned. “No, but she left through that exit.” He pointed to the door closest to them.

  “Thank you,” she called back as she headed for the front. Perhaps her sister had enough for the night and chose to take a taxi back to the hotel. With any luck, maybe the car had not yet arrived and she could catch Rachel.

  The night air was cool and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. From a distance, the screech of wheels and roaring engines wailed. The scent of gasoline filled the air with the slightest hint of sea salt. The tall building blocked her view of the beach, but the waves crashing along the shore echoed from a distance.

  The road in front of her was empty and dark, with only the golden glow of the streetlights to help her see. Cars parked along the curb on both sides of the street. She took the stairs two at a time, looking left and right. The pathway stretched out, but she could not see past the darkness. “Dammit, where are you?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  Female laughter echoed from a short distance. She straightened at the sound. The laugh was familiar…

  There it was again. Could that be Rachel? Following the noise, she turned a corner onto…an alley? A stack of boxes and a dumpster lay before her, but further up ahead two shadows under the dim streetlight caught her attention. Rachel leaned against the side of the wall with some tall man’s tongue down her throat.

  Brianna saw red. All that worry had been for naught. Rachel was here, she was safe. A part of her considered separating the little duo so she could yell at her sister for causing such unnecessary stress, but she could not embarrass Rachel that way. She wouldn’t have liked if someone had interrupted her and Tristan tonight.

  Her cheeks grew hot at the memory. She stepped back, leaving Rachel and her lover alone. She could at least seek out Amber and share the good news. But as she took another backward step she frowned at the figure holding her sister. The streetlight they stood beneath shone against dark blonde hair that was short and so very familiar.

  No, couldn’t be. The man’s head fell back with a groan as Rachel laid little kisses along the column of his throat. The glow of the light now crossed his features.

  Tristan.

  The man who had held her in his arms less than an hour ago now kissed her sister. Blood stained his mouth, and she frowned. Was that her blood from earlier or fresh blood from Rachel? He nipped Rachel’s neck and she purred a husky laugh.

  Bile rose in her throat. Her nauseated stomach lurched and she feared throwing up. Tristan held Rachel against the wall, his nose nuzzling her before biting into her flesh…just as he had done with her.

  Don’t stand here, run away you silly fool. Unable to blink, or avert her gaze, hell, she couldn’t even budge.

  Through the devastating shock, she registered the sudden change in the air. When had her sister’s laughter stopped? The continuous slurping and swallowing noises he made was the only sound audible. He stepped away from the wall, and…Good gosh! Rachel sank to the ground in a motionless heap. Tristan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, brows set into a firm furrow. He shut his eyes and…faded. His body grew transparent until he disappeared altogether.

  A harsh sob erupted and broke Brianna out of her frozen state. She staggered over to the limp body. Blood, so much blood stained Rachel’s mouth, neck and over the front of her dress.

  Brianna screamed, loud and long. Breathless, it faded to an agonised cry. She fell to her knees, grazing them along the rough asphalt. Shaky fingers extended, covered in the warm, sticky blood as she checked her sister for a pulse. There was none.

  “Rachel! Rachel!” She shook Rachel’s shoulders, urging her to awaken. The coppery scent of blood was pungent and stifling. She would wake up. She had to. Rachel must be tricking her—something her sister loved doing when they were younger—and any moment now she’d sit up and shout “boo.”

  Another cry escaped her mouth, this one longer.

  Please wake up. Please shout boo. Cold—still—silence remained. Flashbacks of the past shot across her mind like a dozen spotlights. Rachel giving her a shy smile, then a big hug when she was first brought home. Rachel punching Zach Miller on the school playground when he teased Brianna for being adopted. Rachel, burning Brianna’s eyebrows with hot wax by accident the night before her big date with Matthew Fratelli.

  No, please, God. No!

  The quick click of high heels hurried toward them. Amber ran up the alley. “Bri, is that you? Oh, Gosh. Rachel!” Amber’s shaky fingers raked her hair as her wide gaze fell on the motionless body. “What happened? Is she okay? Brianna, tell me she’s okay.”

  She stared at her sister then Amber. Tears ran down her face, hot like acid, and irritating her skin. It took a few harsh swallows to be rid of the painful lump in her throat before she could speak and choke out the horrid words. “She’s dead. Rachel is dead.”

  Chapter 4

  "I can’t." Amber paced barefoot in front of the small TV of their hotel room, hands raking through her hair, eyes darting along the carpet, and teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “You know it’s forbidden. I’d get in deep trouble.”

  True. The spell should not be used for vengeance. Its purpose was for those who were ill and wished for a quick demise. Many witches made an oath to follow the regulation. Well, she wasn’t a witch, and to hell with the rules.

  One week had passed since her sister's death, since that bastard, Tristan, drank Rachel dry. She expected the urge for revenge to be persistent, but not this volatile. Every muscle she owned ached, pleading to see him, begging for revenge. No longer able to ignore these urges, she’d decided to act. She’d grown up surrounded by the supernatural, aware of the creatures living amongst humans and also mindful of how insignificant she was compared to their strength. With no weapon against the enemy, her wit must be her power. After all, she was human, not incompetent.

  “Besides, I haven’t seen a spell like that done in years,” her cousin added.

  “What about Grandpa?”

  Amber nodded, pointing her finger as if Brianna should know better. “Yes, but he was old, struggled to eat and suffered. The only reason Grandma performed the spell was because he pleaded with her.”

  Okay, she understood. Amber didn’t want to break any laws, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And aren’t rules meant to be broken from time to time?

  Yeah, tell that to the witches. “What about Rachel? She did not ask for this? Yet, she was murdered.”

  Amber’s pacing increased, shuffling along the cream carpet from one side of the small room to the other. "Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I can. I'm not as good as Lucas with spells."

  The contrast of the peach-coloured room made her cousin’s pale complexion seem stark white. Amber wrung the hem of her baggy singlet and shook her head, no doubt convincing herself not to go through with it.

  No. Even if it took the rest of her life, she would avenge her sister. She clutched the pillow, forced herself to sit on the bed instead of marching over to her cousin and shaking some sense into her.

  "Amber, you’re all I have left, and my only hope. Besides, your brother is home. He rang earlier and told me Rachel's body arrived at Knoxville Mortuary." A slight tremble shook her chin and tears stung her eyes, close to spilling. He must pay. He would pay.

  “This is so dangerous, especially for you.”

  Because she was human? Liqu
id heat shot through her veins. She wasn’t weak. For the first time in twenty-five years she felt invincible. More reason she should murder the man who took her sister’s life. The man she’d fallen for. The man she’d had sex with. Damn him. If only she could turn back the clock. She had been captivated by Tristan, so swept off her feet by his amiable French accent and chiselled good looks that she hadn’t seen him for who and what he really was. A monster.

  Guilt shivered through her system. Why had he drunk so much from Rachel and not her? He’d consumed her blood also, but perhaps didn’t take enough, and thought to compensate with his next victim. She’d give anything to trade places with her sister. If he had satisfied his thirst, then Rachel would have been safe.

  "Please," Brianna begged, tempted to sink to her knees. She must make her understand.

  Amber stopped pacing and turned toward her. Dark shadows marked beneath her eyes, and her strawberry-blonde hair didn't seem as vibrant as usual. Then again, she too must look like hell. Ever since Rachel's death, they had wallowed in this cramped hotel room, miserable and mourning. She could not remember the last time she ate a decent meal. The half-eaten chocolate bar on the kitchen table didn’t count.

  A techno beat rang in the air and Brianna cringed. Her phone. She didn't need to look, but stalked over to the wooden dresser and snatched the small device. Unknown flashed on the screen. It must be Tristan…again.

  She had given him her number the night of the celebration, before he left her with a hollow ache in her chest. She remembered watching him walk away and believing she could never get enough of him. She did not understand the powerful emotions he stirred, and she sure as hell didn’t want to comprehend them now. After all, he had lied. There wasn’t an important emergency because she found him outside making out with her sister before leaving her dead in the cold, dark alley.

  "It's him again. Am I right?" Amber’s gaze shot to the phone, also aware of the non-stop calling.

  "Yes."

  "Will you ever answer?" She hadn't taken any of his calls since that night. He didn’t quit, however. "Not until you agree to help me. Do you remember our last conversation with Rachel? We never told her how much we loved her, how important she was, how beautiful, funny, caring…nothing!” She shouted, panting now. Rage ran through her veins like a fatal poison, blackening her blood and decomposing her soul. “He took that from us, took away our chance to say goodbye.”

  A heavy sigh left Amber’s lips. She stood in front of the small, round table. "All right. All right.” She clutched the back of a chair. “I'll help you.” The grip she held tightened, knuckles whitening. “But what if this backfires, what if I'm not powerful enough to complete the spell?"

  Brianna’s shoulders sagged. Anything to do with witchcraft, and her cousin shrivelled in fear. Even when they were kids and Amber had learned how to perform spells, she’d always cried, afraid of failing. Aunt Taylor, Amber’s mother, wasn’t very encouraging either. Most of the time, the Elite witch belittled her.

  Your brother is more powerful than you. Why can’t you be more like him? Or sometimes she complained about her techniques. That’s not the right way, she had said during many gatherings with the clans. You’re embarrassing me as well as yourself. No wonder Amber doubted herself.

  Brianna was grateful for the parents she’d had, ones who loved her and were proud of her, no matter what.

  But, I’m not like you. She once cried to them a few years after the adoption.

  You are like us, her mother insisted. You may not be powerful like us, but you share our spirit and values in life. You’re our daughter.

  I’m your daughter by documents, signed papers...

  Paper or blood, her father added, it’s the same thing for us. We love you, Bri-bee.

  Bri-bee, the nickname she received after being stung by a bee on their first summer holiday as a family. It had stuck like glue since, but she’d never minded. She had never been called that before, and though her adoptive parents did not have the privilege of naming her, the moniker made up for it.

  Did her biological parents even like the name they gave her? She could not remember them, being very young when first placed into foster care. A good thing, perhaps. At least this way she had no memory to hold on to. From what she learned growing up, they’d left her on the office doorstep of children’s services at the age of two with only the clothes on her back and an ID bracelet with the name Brianna Clare. No surname or link to where she came from.

  Adoption changed her life, and because of it she loved her family very much. Not only would she do this to avenge Rachel, but also for her parents.

  "You are powerful enough," Brianna insisted. Even though Amber did not classify herself to be the best witch, she knew how to cast spells and had done so several times in the past. "I believe in you."

  Amber smiled with a slow, sad nod. “Let me see what I can do.” She shuffled toward the bathroom.

  “And Amber?”

  Her cousin paused at the doorway.

  “Once this is over and we return home, I wondered if we can talk about you moving in. That’s of course if you want to,” she rushed out. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand living alone, and you’re the closest thing I’ve left to a sister.” Her chin trembled on the last part, but she inhaled deep and controlled her emotions.

  Tears glittered in Amber’s eyes. “I would like that,” she said before heading into the bathroom.

  The phone in her hand rang again, piercing her ears, her heart. Now that things were going her way, she could put the next step of her plan into motion. On one deep inhale, she hit the small green button and put the phone to her ear.

  "Brianna?" Her name broke from his mouth in an outburst of panic. "Brianna, are you there?"

  "Yes, I’m here."

  "Dieu merci. I've been calling you for days. I’ve been worried sick. Are you all right?"

  She bit her lip, tempted to throw her phone against the wall and watch it shatter to pieces. But instead she took it out on the hot pink platform heels near the bed. Kicking the shoes, they bounced across the carpet. "Yes." Dammit. The ire in her tone stopped her from sounding convincing.

  "Brianna?"

  Concern radiated in his voice. Concern? How dare he!

  "Are you sure you're all right? You sound upset. Why haven't you returned any of my calls?"

  "I’ve been busy with a…tragedy in the family." Her gaze averted to the tiny floral design on the cream quilt, which did little to occupy her thoughts. Nothing would make her forget what she lost; her sister, her best friend, her family.

  Silence met the line.

  Did the call drop?

  "I'm sorry to hear that,” he said.

  The worst part; he sounded genuine. Yeah, I bet you are, you bastard.

  "Tell me what I can do to help?"

  Her nails bit into her palms, leaving a sharp sting and half-moon crimson lines. "I think you’ve done enough."

  "Pardon?"

  "Your voice alone has helped me plenty…I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.”

  Again, silence. "I can imagine this is a horrible time for you, but I would love to see you." The hope in his voice spoke volumes.

  Of course he would, to drink from her again, drain every vein in her body. She shot her gaze to the ceiling, inhaling another deep breath.

  You can do this. You’re strong enough. "I'm quite eager to see you too." She swallowed, forcing the bile back down her throat.

  "Good." He smiled; she heard it in his tone. "Meet me tonight, ma douceur."

  "Of course," she urged enthusiasm into her voice, which was almost impossible when she’d rather shout insults and threaten his life. “Where should I meet you?” She yanked the pen and notepad from the bedside table. The fountain tip scratched against the pad as she took down the address. "This area isn't far,” she muttered, remembering the guide mentioning this neighbourhood when she and the girls toured the city two weeks ago. He must still be in Nice. The n
ight of the Armistice Celebration he’d told her he lived somewhere in the southwest of France. “So, you never went home after the ball?"

  "No!” he said, as though it was the craziest thing he ever heard. His accent became more prominent with the rise in his tone. “I can’t leave you behind."

  What a crock. He no doubt planned to kill her just as he had Rachel. "Well, in that case, I'll see you tonight.” She blinked. Could that be her voice? So husky? So believable? A good thing, since she didn’t want to rouse his suspicion. "I'll stop by around eight."

  "I can arrange to meet you, or pick you up—"

  "No!" She cringed. That came out a little too harsh, but she would not put Amber at risk by giving away their location. "I would rather come to you."

  “Brianna?”

  “Yes?”

  A pause. "I'm sorry for whatever you're going through. I promise to hold you and kiss away your pain tonight."

  She swallowed and tried not to breathe so heavy. "Do you really mean that?" She couldn’t help but ask. How could he act so...normal? Had he no shame for murdering an innocent?

  "Yes. At the celebration I told you there were things I needed to explain. I will do that tonight."

  "Okay. I can’t wait. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye, ma chérie," he murmured.

  She released the call, and set the phone beside her. A warm, wet tear ran down her cheek. She swept it away with the back of her hand. No more. Tears were for the weak, and tonight she must be strong.

  The bathroom door swung open with a low squeak. Amber strode out with a bunch of pillar candles and a tube of red lipstick. Brianna straightened, blinking away the remaining moisture.

  "I um…I found this in Rachel’s makeup trunk. Trust her to always come prepared.” Amber smiled, weak and miserable. “I think I can use this to cast a poisoning spell...but you know what you must do, don't you?"

  Her gaze ran over the lipstick and a shudder shook through her. From the items her cousin held, it wasn’t hard to guess. "Yes.” The simple word broke from her mouth.