Courting the Darkness
By
Karen Fuller
World Castle Publishing
http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
World Castle Publishing
Pensacola, Florida
Copyright © Karen Fuller 2011
ISBN: 9781937085407
Library of Congress Catalogue Number 2011928380
First Edition World Castle Publishing July 1, 2011
http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com
Licensing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
Cover Artist: Karen Fuller
Editor: Brieanna Robertons
Dedication
I would like to thank my sister, Kimberly Sturm, and my friend, Chasity Brooks, for their enthusiasm and encouragement. It was their eager pleas for the next chapter that kept me motivated to complete this book.
I would like to give a special thanks to Clarrissa Zamora, for her assistance in some of the technical issues concerning the magic.
CHAPTER ONE
Desiree Dupuis hastened her steps down Bourbon Street. Pushing her way through the crowd of Marti Gras revelers, icy fear danced down her spine. She turned her head, looking back over her shoulder, eyes darting over the laughing faces in the street. Costumed revelers danced before her in a nightmarish menagerie, drinking merrily, looking past her frightened expression with a blind eye. Her heart sank. She was alone in a crowd of uncaring people, which, in itself, was nothing new, but at this point, she needed a safe place to hide. Someone or something unnatural was after her. She felt it in the pit of her stomach. Having lived in New Orleans for the last 125 years, she had developed street-smart instincts, which had thus far kept her alive. She had not managed to live that long by taking foolish chances.
Ducking into the first shop she came to, she pressed herself up against the wall to hide from the people on the street. Heart racing madly in her chest, her body involuntarily quaked in fear, allowing the panic to engulf her. Her eyes remained glued to the door, expecting it to spring open any second. What if he followed me into this shop? Would I even know before it was too late?
To her surprise, the shop door remained closed. She tore her gaze away from the door to dart frantically around the room, searching for danger, catching the curious stare of the shopkeeper. The man was relatively slight in stature, not affording much protection. She nodded, giving him an uneasy smile, looking away, not wanting to draw any further attention to herself.
The shop was small, not leaving too many places to hide. She rubbed her face with trembling hands, unable to shake that uneasy feeling that she was missing something. She frantically searched the room again. “Girl, you need to get a grip.”
Closing her eyes, she willed herself to calm down. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal. Opening her eyes, she inched up toward the plate glass window, gripping the sill, peering into the packed street, studying the crowd in frustration; with so many people on the street, it was impossible to tell if someone had followed her or not. She turned her back to the window, suddenly feeling foolish. “Stop being a coward,” she whispered under her breath. “There’s no one following you.”
Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her coat tighter. “Here goes nothing.” Opening the shop door, standing briefly in the doorway, she held her breath and visibly tensed, expecting someone to jump in and grab her. Nothing leapt out at her from the shadows; there was no boogeyman waiting for her. She allowed her body to relax and laughed at her own foolishness, stepping out onto the crowded sidewalk.
“Did you think you could hide from me, witch?” She felt a sudden jerk from behind her as her foe grabbed her by the back of her jacket. Her mouth gaped in a silent scream. She froze in mid-step, cold chills racing down her spine. Whipping her head around, her eyes locked with amazing blue ones. He smiled menacingly, fangs glistening from the lights of the building. “Did you forget that you are late for your appointment with Drake? He’s not as patient as I am.”
Her eyes rounded with the realization that a huge vampire held her captive in his iron grasp. Now she knew what chased her from the shadows. That gave her no comfort. Knowing about the existence of vampires was one thing, but meeting one this way was an entirely different matter. Catching her breath, her gaze dropped from his eyes to the sharp fangs. Those teeth could easily end her so far immortal existence. Tearing her eyes away, she whipped her head back around to the street, searching for anyone to help. Her gaze darted frantically into a sea of faceless strangers, leaving her with the realization again that she was alone in a crowd.
As the oldest and most powerful witch in her coven, she was not defenseless. However, she knew her powers had very little effect on vampires. Also, her lack of confidence in herself didn’t help much. She could conjure an illusion to trick one into thinking that she could destroy them. She could also conjure a powerful energy ball that would kill an ordinary human, but a vampire wouldn’t be fazed much. Their undead immortality only left them truly vulnerable to a few things: beheading, a wooden stake to the heart, fire, and, of course, the sunlight. She prayed that this one was unaware of her limitations. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face her captor. “I don’t answer to a vampire.” Only a trained ear would detect the falter in her voice. “Go back and tell your master that he’s not my boss.”
For over a hundred years, Sean Devereux had loyally served as Drake Bouvier’s bodyguard. Drake’s orders to him that evening were quite clear. “Bring in the witch.” So, that was exactly what he intended to do. Tightening his grip on her jacket, he narrowed his eyes. “Those are bravely spoken words for a slip of a girl like you, even if you are a witch.” A slow smile played across his lips, exposing his fangs once again for intimidation. “You will come quietly—or not. Either way, you’re keeping your appointment.”
Looking away, Desiree’s mind raced for excuses to give her assailant. She had no idea what Drake could possibly want with her, but she was smart enough to know that once in his clutches, he would force her into his personal service as his witch to do as he commanded, resulting in her losing all of her freedom. That scenario did not set well with her at all. “Please let me go.” She turned, facing her captor again. “Tell Drake you couldn’t find me. Or, uh, tell him I left the city.” His unwavering glare silently answered her plea, frustrating her further. Rolling her eyes, she threw out both hands. “Oh, I don’t care what you tell him as long as he quits looking for me.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he shook his head callously at her attempt at reason. Releasing his hold on her jacket, he alternately placed her arm in his steely grip. “Sorry, child, no can do. Drake has commanded your presence, and I am under orders to bring you in. You can come willingly or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you. It’s your choice.” He shrugged, uncaring, either option suiting him.
She glared, raking her eyes over him, assessing for possible weaknesses. He was a gorgeous blond vampire, about six-foot, dressed in black leather pants and jacket. His black T-shirt stretched tautly across his muscled chest. She found none.
Under normal circumstances, she would drool over him, but only from afar. Her track record with mortal men was not too great. Once her Wiccan status was established, most men hightailed it in another direction in fear. She had learned over the years to avoid show
ing her interest, which in turn, saved her a lot of heartache, but it left her with a very lonely existence.
The thought crossed her mind to try flirting with him as a method of distraction, but the cold, uncaring gleam in his eyes showed her how unyielding he could be. Usually a good judge of character, she assessed that further attempts at protest would be futile. Nodding in resignation, she allowed him to lead her back up the street toward the docks.
He pulled her behind him, forcing her to keep up with his long strides. Stumbling unexpectedly, his grip kept her from falling, and to her surprise, he slowed his pace for her to keep up. “Thank you,” she mumbled reluctantly. He did not even glance her way or acknowledge her comment.
A lone immortal witch was a prime target for witch hunters or those who coveted her magical abilities. She lived in forced seclusion, being very careful to remain anonymous in order to keep her freedom.
Somehow, word leaked out to Drake Bouvier, the vampire king, exactly how old she really was. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. She was actually a hundred and twenty-five. A hundred years prior, she had been experimenting with her witchcraft, and had conjured a spell that backfired, resulting in her immortality. That backfired spell left her feeling insecure about her abilities. That same insecurity is what hampered her now.
Several times over the years, she had tried to reverse the spell, but to her dismay, remained unsuccessful, inadvertently cursing herself. Watching her loved ones die over the years, without aging a day herself, was painful. All her loved ones were long dead, leaving her sad and alone.
Her mind raced, worrying over what Drake might want from her. It figured the one failed spell she cast could further curse her into servitude for eternity. Since Drake was already immortal, she was not sure why he wanted her services, but she was smart enough to know that he might never let her leave once he actually had her. A powerful, immortal witch would be a coveted commodity for someone in power.
Sean pulled on her arm to stop in front of the huge warehouse, effectively pulling her away from her worried thoughts to the present. Lifting his hand, he knocked three times on the large iron doors. A hidden panel slid back. “Open up, I’ve returned with the girl.” His words rang ominous to her ears as the doors slowly swung open. Yanking on her arm, he pulled her inside.
From the street, the vampire headquarters resembled an ordinary warehouse. Once inside, Desiree was surprised to see how lavishly decorated the building was. The colorful plush furniture, draped in silk, were the rich reds, greens, purples and yellows that were so popular of the Marti Gras. Everything was fresh, clean, and new. The floodwaters from Hurricane Katrina made it necessary to replace everything. She had to give these vampires credit. They did live in style.
Desiree’s eyes grew wide in admiration of the thirty or so vampires lounging around the room. They could all be models, right out of the pages of GQ Magazine. She unconsciously slowed her pace to stare. Sean stopped, turning around to glare at her. “Why did you stop? Is there a problem?”
She shook her head self-consciously, feeling color rise to her cheeks at being caught gawking like a lovesick schoolgirl.
Shaking his head, he turned, pulling on her arm again. “Come on then, Drake’s waiting.”
She followed Sean without protest. What choice did she have? Someone had revealed her secret, and she lacked the confidence in herself to fight it. Drake must have paid handsomely for that tasty morsel of information.
She deduced that the “someone” had to be her landlady. If she managed to get out of this mess, she just might have to turn that woman into a toad, the blabbermouth. When she returned to her apartment a couple of days ago, the crazy woman was screaming that she was the devil incarnate. The foolish woman crossed herself, pointing an accusing finger at her, screaming that she would burn in hell for her sins. The nosy hag rummaged through her things while she was out, discovering that she was a witch. Not just any witch—no that would be too simple—she was a very young-looking old witch. Therefore, she must serve Satan. She shook her head in disgust. Satan indeed; she was insulted—she had been born with her powers, and she did not worship Satan to get them. A day later, she had received an invitation in the mail from Drake. Desiree was not stupid; it was not an invitation at all. It was an order.
As a result, she found herself standing outside a pair of huge, wooden, ornate doors with her arm restrained by a very large vampire. It could have been worse. The daft woman could have blabbed to the witch hunter, Jason Hargrove. If that nosy hag had done that, she might be dead now instead. Intently looking into Sean's eyes, she sighed dramatically. “Let’s get this over with.”
He nodded, reaching up, and knocking three times on the doors. Another secret panel slid back and a pair of eyes stared at them. “Inform Drake the witch is here.” After a slight pause, the wooden doors swung open to admit them.
Sean pulled her inside a very large, elaborately decorated chamber. This room was also decorated in the bright colors of the Mardi Gras. A large, king-sized canopy bed sat in the corner, draped in a colorful silk comforter with sheer, multicolored fabric draping the canopy. A plush red carpet covered the massive expanse of the floor. Large, overstuffed pillows, in a variety of colors, sat scattered about the room for lounging. The well-lit room had no windows to allow in the sunlight.
A slight noise drew her attention to a large sitting area, boasting a huge, regal throne. Touching her shoulder to get her attention, Sean nodded. “Wait here.”
Swallowing hard, she nodded back.
A few seconds later, a gigantic vampire entered the chamber from an adjoining room. Her heart almost stopped as she gawked up at him in awe. He had to be close to seven-foot tall and all muscle, reeking with power. Her eyes were drawn to his strikingly handsome face, comprising of piercing, hypnotic blue eyes, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong, sensual mouth. He wore his raven-black hair long and straight. To her surprise, he dressed very casually, in a pair of tight black leather pants, no shirt, and a loose silk robe. She swallowed hard. More than her freedom might be at stake here.
***
Drake’s eyes flicked over her in amusement. She was not at all what he expected. When he heard she was a hundred and twenty-five years old, he expected to see an old hag, not a young, beautiful woman. She must indeed be a powerful witch.
At only five-foot-six, she could not weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Her thick auburn hair surrounded her heart shaped face, falling past her shoulders. Her large brown eyes, framed in luscious dark lashes, accentuated her high cheekbones and soft, kissable mouth. She wore tight hip-hugger jeans, a close-fitting pink scoop necked sweater, and a black leather jacket, fitting her curves nicely. He smiled, inclining his head toward her. “Desiree, I presume?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes—yes, I’m Desiree.” Her voice broke. “Why am I here?”
Laughter rumbled deep from his chest. “I have need of your witchy services. And from looking at you, I believe you might be just powerful enough to accomplish the task.”
She looked around the room nervously. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She took a quivering breath, continuing. “What witchy services? What kind of powers do you think I have?”
He walked around the chair, taking his seat. Frowning, the amusement was gone from his eyes. “You profess innocence.” His eyes raked over her again. “I know better. I need you to conjure a spell for me.”
Swallowing hard, she raised her eyes to meet his. “You’re already immortal.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “What do you need from me?”
He noted her protective stance, and raised an eyebrow speculatively. “As you know, we are creatures of the night. The sun is harmful to us, and therefore, we can’t go out in the daytime. I want you to conjure a spell or bless an amulet that allows us to go out freely in the day. I have lived over three hundred years in darkness, and I grow tired of the restrictions. I want to walk in the daylight.”
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Her mouth gaped open. “I don’t know of a spell that will accomplish that.”
He propped his fingers under his chin. “You may not know now, but I believe you can be very creative. I believe you will think of something.”
She looked at him a long time, appearing to consider his request. “What’s in it for me? What if I can accomplish what you ask? Will you let me go to live my life with no consequences?”
He sat back in his chair, smiling. “I’m not unreasonable. If you can accomplish this task, you can have anything you want.” He paused. “If it’s within my power to give it.”
Relaxing her stance, her arms dropped to her sides. “Until then?”
“Until then, you stay here, under my protection.”
Her expression was unsure. “Am I supposed to stay in here?”
He laughed. “No, I’ll assign you your own room.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, I still need to go back to my apartment to get my things.” She put her hands on her hips, assessing her surroundings again. “My landlady will sell my stuff.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I can provide you with anything you require.”
She turned her gaze back to his and raised her chin defiantly. “I require my things. I have personal possessions that I use to invoke my craft.” She stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. “If you want my cooperation, then you’ll let me get my tools and personal things.”
He narrowed his eyes, not accustomed to having his orders defied. He was, after all, King. He held the lives of others in his hands. “Very well, you may go back to your apartment and get your ‘tools’ as you put it.” Glaring at her, he allowed his fangs to extend out to get his point across. “But I warn you, if you try to run, I will have you hunted down and brought back in chains. Am I clear?”
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