Behind her the ounsi gasped. “What’s wrong? Is it serious?”
The power inside of her flickered, danced, and stretched impossibly high, radiating out in a rare show of raw power. Dominique gritted her teeth, hands biting into the shattered relic. She hadn’t lost control like this since she was an inexperienced youth, still dreaming of her initiation. To struggle like this now, all because of…of him. It was insufferable. And completely unacceptable.
“Everything will be fine, Virgine. Stay here and warm up your voice. I can’t have my most gifted ounsi warbling like a nervous baby bird on one of the greatest nights of the year, now can I?”
She offered a reassuring smile over her shoulder, hoping it wasn’t as tense as it felt. Virgine hesitated, her brow wrinkled like she wasn’t entirely convinced. Dominique held her ground until the look of concern melted away into a smile. “I will strive to be at my best tonight.”
“Good.”
Batting the tent flap out of her way, Dominique emerged into a buzzing hive of activity, the scents and sights of Midsummer preparations a veritable feast for the senses. The mouth-watering aroma of fresh baked bread reminded her that she hadn’t eaten yet, and the tempting hint of bourbon and wine whispered seductively that food was optional and there were finer pleasures to be had tonight. Her people scurried to and fro like sugar-fueled children, laughing and exclaiming over one another’s food and costumes, everyone excited about the festivities darkness would bring.
And every one of them wanted to pay their respects to Dominique.
Smile, nod, say hello.
Her cheeks ached with the effort it took to keep the serene expression on her face and her skin stretched so tight she was certain it would split right down the center if she didn’t vent her frustration soon. The power inside her licked at her insides, flaring outward from her skin despite her attempts to keep it under control. Unacceptable.
Relief seemed so near as she plunged into the swampland that marked the very edge of the village’s southern border, she nearly lost her footing on the root-sewn ground. The second she was hidden by a thick band of cypress trees, her shoulders drooped and her fury twisted her face into a snarl.
Julien Marcon.
The broken ason bit into her hand as she closed her grip, reminding her of its presence. A flicker of guilt twisted her gut, shaming her for allowing her emotions to wreak such destruction upon a holy object. She fell to her knees and dug into a path of soft earth, whispering a prayer as she buried the ason, returning it to the loa.
Such a powerful item, yet so fragile, so easily broken. Like a promise.
Temper flaring anew, Dominique surged to her feet and stomped through the shallow water of a particularly marshy area between two of the thickest trees, slamming her feet into the murky liquid with unnecessary force. The water sloshed against her worn leather boots, a few trickles managing to reach high enough to splash her knees and run down her leg into the high collars. The sensation was uncomfortable, and it only made her stomp all the harder.
Ripples rose and bobbed wildly in ever broadening circles, licking the trunks of the surrounding foliage. Some of the ripples broke from the circle, halted by a large shape half-hidden under the water. Sickly green eyes blinked once, slowly, black slits thinning in Dominique’s direction. A snout as thick as her thigh rose from the water, offering a glimpse of yellowed teeth tinged with pink.
As Dominique put her foot back on relatively dry land, the creature broke free of the water’s surface, gaping mouth revealing a blood-stained tongue. Its body was enormous, wider than two men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and nearly twice her height. Its arms and legs were humanoid, but still covered in thick, leathery scales and ending in webbed hands and feet tipped with wickedly curved black claws.
“Such a dour expression on your beautiful face. What has you so troubled?”
Parlangua’s voice was so hoarse, Dominique felt the need to clear her own throat. The beast fell into step beside her, its lumbering gait adjusted so as not to outpace her.
“Julien is back.” Dominique’s tone was clipped, controlled, but there was no mistaking the heat in her voice. Fortunately, Parlangua was an old friend of the family, one of the few souls in the kingdom she did not have to put on airs for. Didn’t have to, but often did. Old habits were hard to break.
Parlangua snorted. “Ah. That explains it then.”
“Oh, but that is not all.” Dominique grabbed her skirts to stop her hands’ trembling. “He has been spreading the rumor that…” She halted, barely able to get the words out. “That we are to be…married.”
“M…”
She covered another ten yards before Parlangua recovered from its shock enough to catch up to her. Sharp claws that gave it purchase even in as slippery a terrain as the swamp, it was by her side again in no time, muddy water sloshing up its legs and filling the space between them with the peat-rich scent of the bayou.
Pain radiated from Dominique’s jaw as she ground her teeth. Magic pulsed out from her soul, through her skin and into the air around her.
Parlangua’s steps faltered. “You did not give him permission for such claims.”
“I most certainly did not!” Dominique seethed. “That…that….pirate will answer for this insult. The damage this could do… My reputation… I will kill him for this! He will learn what it means to offend a priestess of the loa.”
“So you will take the route of the bokor then.”
Dominique’s steps faltered, nearly throwing her into the swamp. A bokor. A sorceress. A person with power who used it for dark or light, who did not obey the strict moral code of a priestess, but rather used the power as it suited their needs, whatever those needs might be.
“I am no bokor.” She bit out the word like the curse it was, infusing it with the disdain she held for all practitioners who turned away from the true path to serve the loa with both hands. “I am no dark arts master. Nor would I ever pervert my gifts in such a heinous fashion.”
“Like your mother.”
“My mother…” The fury in Dominique’s voice faltered, pain overwhelming her as the memory of her parents rose like ghosts in her mind. They’d been dead for over four years, killed during a mission of mercy to Ville au Camp. Their loss was as painful today as it had been the moment she’d first received the news. And even after four years, the suspicion that it had been no accident, that the ship had been sabotaged by those who hated her mother, who’d believed her to be evil—an immoral bokor—still weighed heavily on Dominique’s soul.
She pushed away the pain and jabbed a finger in Parlangua’s direction. “My mother would still be alive today if she hadn’t strayed from the true path. I will not make the same mistake.”
“Strong words for someone who talks of killing to protect her reputation.”
“Who better to understand the importance of reputation than you?” Dominique fired back. “What would you do if people didn’t fear you too much to venture into your territory? If you actually had to fight to maintain your solitude?”
Something flickered behind Parlangua’s eyes, a shadow that darkened the chartreuse of its irises, made them more alien. Its posture didn’t change, it offered no threat, and yet the hair on the back of her neck stood up, nerve endings dancing in a sudden gust of trepidation.
“You have grown very comfortable with me.” Parlangua’s voice was roughened as it shredded itself on the monster’s teeth. “I have been an ally to your family for many, many generations. Perhaps it has allowed you to forget what I am.” That same shadow passed through its eyes again, not quite sadness, but a shade of…regret? “I will be very sorry if some day it should become necessary for me to remind you.”
The chill that slid down Dominique’s spine did more to cool her temper than even the threat of becoming a bokor. She peered into a gaze as familiar to her as her own, and yet found nothing she knew there. Nothing but the eyes of a predator, calm and cold.
It took more effort t
han she would ever admit not to back away from the creature she’d known since she’d left her cradle, the creature her parents had treated as a friend away from the prying eyes of the village. The creature who had seen her cry during the most shameful moment of her life—witnessed her at her most vulnerable.
“I don’t want him here.” She hated the weakness that made her voice sound so small, hated that it came from her. Hated that there was someone here to witness it, whatever their history.
“Understandable.” Parlangua met her eyes, and this time there was no shadow. “You were a child, barely old enough to understand your place in your community, let alone the world. You are not that girl anymore. Do not let him rob you of all you have worked for.”
Unable to hold Parlangua’s gaze any longer, Dominique marched through the sludge of the swamp, heading with determination for the small cottage that was just now visible in the distance. Her safe haven, warded and far away from prying eyes. A place to be herself.
Parlangua didn’t follow her. There was the sound of water swallowing a large form, wave after wave of ripples and then all was silent. Dominique rubbed her arms, unable to rid herself of the disturbing feeling that had been haunting her since news of Julien’s arrival had reached her. Change was on the horizon. And there was no certainty that she would come through it the same woman she was now.
“Hello, chere.”
It wasn’t just a voice. It was a memory, a living thing, supple, sinewy, and decadent. Two words and Dominique hurtled back in time to a night when the moon had been the only light to threaten the darkness, the heat had rendered clothing a curse, and the most beautiful man she’d ever seen had had eyes only for her.
The same warm, strong arms that taunted her from the memory wrapped around her, a solid weight pressing against her back. Hot breath caressed her neck, bringing a faint hint of rum, and she could practically feel his smile on her skin.
She spun in his embrace, fury giving her the strength to break his hold. She caught a glimpse of laughing brown eyes and sinfully full lips and then the cracking sound of flesh striking flesh broke silence.
Smack!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t her hand against his face as she’d intended. The miserable wretch had blocked her strike with his forearm, as though he’d anticipated the blow—which he certainly should have.
“Now, now, chere. That’s no way to greet an old friend.” He slid his arms around her waist again, dragging her against his body as something wicked slid past his eyes. “How about a kiss hello?”
Pressure built in her head, threatening to explode. “Let me go or it won’t be your beard I lay an enchantment on this time.”
Julien tsked at her. “Such venom, chere. And I was so good to you when last we met.”
His voice permeated her skirts like a physical caress, the whisky-smooth tone twisting things low in her body. Ignoring it, she focused on his beard, the cobalt blue strands reminding her of the curse she’d laid on him—her reasons for laying the curse on him. She could still taste the words as she flung them out over the sea, one of the few times in her life that her will had been all she needed to carry her magic.
“So good to me…ha! And to every woman you’ve met since.” She maneuvered in his arms to put a finger to her lips. “Or have you? Tell me, do the women you meet find your beard as off-putting as your personality?”
A shadow passed over Julien’s face, brown eyes drowning in black as his grip worsened around her hips. “Yes, chere, you’ve had your fun. But the joke has run its course, eh?”
She smirked at his scowl. “Still funny to me.”
My voice. She stiffened. There was a lilt to it, something…playful. Flirtatious. This was how it had started so many years ago, light taunting, insults traded for his bold physical advances. The path traveled that night had done her no favors.
I am not that girl anymore. Flirting and flattery will not sway me, nor will…physical attraction. I am stronger than that, my priorities are deeply rooted elsewhere. It is time he sees that.
His hands vanished from her hips so suddenly, she swayed before recovering her balance.
“And is it funny that your temper tantrum has put my men in danger?”
“What?” Dominique dropped her hand, her smirk shriveling into nonexistence. “What do you mean? Who is in danger?”
“You don’t think I run my ship all on my own, do you?” Julien shoved a hand through his hair so hard it pulled the skin of his forehead up, raising his eyebrows. “I have a crew, Dominique. A crew that depends on me, on my ability to lead them, to make sure they have the means to provide for their families.”
He threw himself into a quick pace, feet landing with wet thuds as he stalked back and forth, working off the nervous energy that seemed to be consuming him. Dominique stumbled back to avoid being run over. Her gaze tracked his movements as her mind struggled to process the abrupt change in conversation.
“Many of these men came to be before I met you, back when to be part of my crew was as good as a guarantee that your family would never want for anything, that you could retire after but a few years time. Thanks to you, our brushes with the law have increased steadily every year, with too many close calls, too many contacts afraid to be seen with me, let alone do business with me. I’ve had to delegate more and more duties until I’m all but a prisoner on my own ship. And despite considerable training, none of my men have what it takes to negotiate the same deals I can, haggle with the same shrewdness.”
“Negotiation is a skill that is hard to teach, and it relies a great deal on reputation, so it’s hard for newcomers to learn.”
Julien’s brown eyes glittered. She bit the inside of her cheek, cursing her mouth for speaking without her brain’s permission.
“Then you see why you must lift this curse.” He stepped closer to her, the weight of his stare almost pressing her to step back. “You acted rashly. Let’s be adults about this now. It’s time to make things right.”
“And it’s all up to me to make things right, is it?” Dominique flexed her fingers, her hands itching to wrap themselves around the insufferable pirate’s neck. “The blame is all on me, you’re just an innocent victim?”
“Dominique…”
“I suppose I lured you into my bed, then? Bewitched you?”
Julien was suddenly at her side, inches away and she hadn’t seen him move. His arms banded tightly around her waist, dragging her against his body.
“I was only too willing to share a bed with you.” His breath caressed her cheeks, warm and familiar. “And I will share a bed with you again—as your husband. Can’t you see how perfect this solution is, Dominique?” He leaned closer, his lips almost close enough to kiss her throat. “For both of us?”
Dominique arched her back, leaning away from him and smoothing a few errant brown curls back under her head wrap. “More for you, I think. Perhaps you’re right though.” She politely pushed his biceps, slowly forcing him away from her. The male muscle beneath her fingers plucked more memories from the hidden recesses of her mind, reminding her of the strength in those arms, the passionate embrace that had felt like being sealed into another world…
His expression was watchful, suspicious, but he released her. She dropped her hands to her skirts, brushing her palms on the material to rid herself of the sensation of his all too familiar body under the guise of fixing her clothes. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. I will make you a deal. I will lift the magic from your pretty face if you will serve me for the week of the festival. There is something—”
Julien’s arms hardened to iron bands, closing around her waist in an unforgiving, vice-like grip that held none of the sensuality of moments ago. The hint of shadow in his gaze hardened, sharpened the flecks of black into shards of obsidian. “Serve you? I serve no one. Certainly not a witch.”
“Witch?”
Pain threaded her ribs, but it was hardly felt compared to the warm power pulsing at her core. She touched he
r hand to his chest, and the sheer force of her wrath shoved him back. He released her and gained his balance a little too quickly for her tastes. He glared at her hand, his sensual lips flattened into a harsh line.
“I am no witch.” Dominique jutted out her chin. “I am a priestess of the loa, gifted with power beyond your wildest dreams. You would do well to remain on my good side.”
“Remove your petty, scorned-woman curse and I will lie on whatever side you like.” Julien stepped closer, the fury vibrating from every graceful movement belying his velvety tone. “But know this, priestess. I am no one’s servant. And you would do well to remember that.”
Dominique put her free hand in her pocket, fisting the small bag she kept there. The powdered herbs shifted under her touch, ready to do her bidding. “If you will not serve me, get back on your ship and leave. You are not welcome here.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you remove the magic you laid on me.” Julien’s gaze flicked to her pocket as if sensing her intentions. “Save your magic. You do not want this to become a true fight.”
“If this does become a true fight,” Dominique leaned closer, “you will lose.”
Something passed through Julien’s eyes again, but this time it wasn’t a shadow. Quite the contrary, it was a light. A brilliant, white-blue flash of light that lit Dominique’s mind with images of storms, of lightning splitting the skies. The scent of burning ozone tickled her nose and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
“What are you?”
A long snout full of sharp teeth flashed through Dominique’s peripheral vision. Something hit her hard in her side, sending her flying away from Julien to land with a splash in the cloudy water of the swamp. Slick silt met her hands, making it hard to find purchase and she fumbled to right herself. A screech echoed around her, the sound of a large bird, but none that she had ever heard before. Doubling up from the water, Dominique gasped and blinked, swiping the moisture out of her eyes.
Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) Page 3