Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  He put her down, half mad with the rage storming inside him with no way to let it out. The fury rose up inside him, higher and higher, burning away his fatigue. The echo of thunder rolled over his ears, followed by the distant sound of a bird’s scream. The promise of his own power. Ready inside him.

  It was a fight to keep his triumph from his face. He was ready to shift. He could do it now. He put Dominique on her feet, following her easily now. After they got inside the manor, the three would likely lock him up while they had their celebration, or argued about which of them would bond with him. He shook off a shiver and clenched his teeth. When he was alone, he would shift.

  And then he would kill them all.

  He found the strength he needed to keep going, to look at Dominique without feeling his soul shrivel up inside him. As he’d expected, the three led him to a room on the uppermost level of his house. They all gestured for him to enter, shooing Dominique in as well. Fabienne met Julien’s gaze, looking from Dominique to him and then miming scratching out her eyes. Julien treated himself to a fantasy of listening to her scream as lightning reduced her mocking face to ashy ruins, smote by one of the oldest powers of the known world.

  After they left, Julien wasted no time. He held his arms out to the sides and tilted his head up, calling his other form.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried again, harder this time, feeding his rage to his other half, taunting it, screaming at it to come to his call so they could have their revenge. Pain exploded around him, the sensation of metal wrapped around him, squeezing and choking. His skin buzzed painfully as though hot embers had been cast over him like fairy dust.

  Bound. They had bound him to this form. And he hadn’t felt it.

  The world spun and Julien collapsed to his knees. He stared at the floor, unable to raise his eyes, let alone his head. If they had that kind of power… If they could bind his form without him feeling it, without him knowing… What chance did he have?

  None.

  Dominique’s feet caught his peripheral vision and he forced himself to look at her, to see the damage he’d done. It was his fault she was like this, his fault her beautiful brown eyes were empty, her sienna face expressionless. He had led the three to her. And now her body was empty, a lifeless shell. Vacant.

  Available.

  The thought came to him suddenly, startling in its simplicity. Dominique was a vessel for the loa’s power, that’s what she’d always preached to him. What if…

  The plan formed in his mind and Julien moved with it as it took on a life of its own. There was no time to think, indeed it would be better if he didn’t. Dominique would think nothing of allowing the loa to possess her, even if the situation weren’t so dire, but still. Even though it wasn’t him being possessed, the idea still turned his stomach. Possessed. It was a fate worse than being bonded, and the gods knew being bonded was bad enough.

  Julien shifted uncomfortably, gaze darting around, up. He finally knelt on the ground, wincing as Dominique fell down beside him—guarding him. He tried to calm his racing heart as he fixed his eyes on the ground, willing himself to be a picture of respect.

  “Loa,” he started hesitantly. The word tasted strange on his tongue and he wished he’d been a more pious man before tonight. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel like such a charlatan now. “I ask for your help. Not for me, but for your loyal servant, Dominique.” He looked at his wife, saw her beautiful face slack, her eyes empty of all awareness. “I ask that you possess her, make her your vessel so that she may fight to get her life back.”

  Laughter. Laughter around him, inside him. Amusement.

  Suddenly Tenoch stood in front of him. The laughter continued, a mocking echo, but it wasn’t coming from the native of Mu. He appeared as he always did, an apparition of some red-skinned hunter with bottomless black eyes.

  “You would offer her body to the loa, but not yours?”

  “Where did you come from?” Julien scrabbled off the ground, adrenaline flooding his veins with renewed hope. “You have to help me get Dominique out of here. Take her—”

  “I am not here,” Tenoch broke in gently. “What you see is an astral projection.”

  The native stopped speaking as Julien thrust a hand into his chest. His fingers passed through the other man’s form as though it had no more substance than smoke. Julien’s heart clenched, his throat tightening. The brief flare of hope he’d had snuffed out in a second.

  “You offer the loa your wife’s body, but not your own,” Tenoch reminded him.

  Unease rolled through Julien like an oily tide and he leaned back as if Tenoch would somehow reach out for him, try to force him into the bargain he was suggesting. “My soul is quite comfortable in my body, and I am not the one who needs—”

  “You are asking for help and offering no sacrifice. What chance do you think you have of gaining such help?”

  “Sacrifice… ” Julien raised empty hands. “I have nothing to sacrifice. Let them ask for something, I will get it.”

  Tenoch absentmindedly touched his fingers to the scars on his chest. “That is not the sacrifice they want. And I think you know that.”

  The hairs rose on the back of Julien’s neck. “What is this? You’re a servant to a god and you seek to make me one as well?”

  Pity softened Tenoch’s features. “No one will force you to do this. But you know what must be done. Deep down, you know.”

  “I am not a man of faith.” Julien blurted the words out, his desperation glaringly obvious even to him. “I never have been. I am…out of my depth here. This,” Julien gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, “is the act of a desperate man. I have no idea how to ask the gods for help.”

  “The loa,” Tenoch supplied.

  “Yes, that’s the word Dominique always used. The loa.” He pressed his knuckles into his thighs as he leaned forward. “She’s served them for so long, surely they’ll help her?”

  “The loa get involved when they are invited to do so. And you are the one asking for help, not Dominique.”

  “But she is the one who needs help!”

  “Be that as it may, you have never served the loa, have shown very little respect for them even at the best of times. If you want their help, they will want something from you. Something significant. Something harder for you to give than a sacrifice of blood and flesh.”

  He forced the question past the sudden lump of dread threatening to choke him. “What do they want?”

  “What all gods want—loyalty, service, and a demonstration of faith.”

  Julien’s mouth went dry and it took him two tries to swallow. All of his nightmares seemed doomed to come true this night. “You’re saying I should offer my body for them to use to save Dominique.”

  “It was your refusal to bond with Dominique—to stay bonded with Dominique—that led to this chaos,” Tenoch pointed out. “If you and she were bonded, the three could not have taken her soul so easily. It is also your greatest fear, and so allowing yourself to be possessed would be a great sign of faith. And a pledge of service… That is payment.”

  “Serve you? I serve no one.”

  His own words came back to haunt him. Against his will, Julien’s attention was drawn to Dominique. Beautiful, strong Dominique, the woman who riled him like no other, the woman who was the biggest thorn in his side and without a doubt the most unforgettable female—the most unforgettable person—he’d ever met. If he left her now, if he didn’t do everything in his power to save her, then those empty eyes would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  “I will fix this, Dominique.” Before he could think too closely on what he was about to do, he lifted his chin and met Tenoch’s gaze. “What do I do?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Narcisse!”

  Gaelle’s squeal was the only warning Narcisse had. He turned in a smooth pivot as she launched herself at him, catching his enthusiastic bride to be and continuing the spin, holding her up in the air. As he remembered, s
he was the most gorgeous of the three sisters. Even covered in blood and soiled in soot, she’d been beautiful. Now that she’d bathed and dressed for the festivities, she was to die for. The fine dress was imported from her favorite dressmaker, pristine white taffeta Bordeaux and bell-sleeves lined with gold trimming. He clung to the vivacious hips outlined in the formfitting garment, her beautiful doe-eyes shining with an appetite for all of life’s pleasures. “My beautiful Gaelle, it has been an eternity.”

  She pushed back a wavy ocean of damp, lavender-scented black hair and stuck out her ripe bottom lip. “You left so quickly, I didn’t even get to greet you properly.”

  Narcisse chuckled. “I had so much to do to get ready for you. After all, it isn’t every day a woman as beautiful as yourself becomes a queen. I wouldn’t have your initiation celebration be anything short of perfection.”

  He pointedly swept his eyes over the ballroom he’d spent the better part of the evening setting up. Well, helping set up. Thanks to a little white lie about being sent by Dominique, he’d managed to get most of the servants to help him before sending them on to the Midsummer Celebration. The fact that many of the decorations were painted with verves and very clearly held ritual significance had given weight to the lie, and none of the servants had been overly keen to ask questions. Even the family with the injured boy had been easily dismissed, the child oddly excited to get into the village and show off his peg leg.

  She followed his cue, surveying the space. It wasn’t exactly what they’d hoped for, as there were no windows in the room to allow in natural moonlight. But the gilded ceilings were high; the paneled walls emblazoned with gold adornments in the shape of what looked like some kind of phoenix. After he and the servants had cleared the space of old furniture and dust, it almost looked like some kind of ceremonial hall. Not a perfect venue, but definitely a fine compromise.

  Gaelle braced herself on his shoulders, and extended herself like a child trying to see over a crowd. “Would you look at the mantle? It practically takes up the back wall. Can we stand next to the fire, I’m dreadfully chil—“ Her breath caught as Narcisse let her slide slowly down his body, their chests, bellies, and hips aligned. Her eyelashes fanned low over her cheeks, as she lazily trailed fingers over his lips. “Well, maybe I won’t need the fire.”

  Fabienne, the most formidable of the sisters, glided into the room clad in a regal, medieval gown that was the same blinding white as her sister’s, but with soft velvet panels and ornate rubies sown along the modest collar. She cast an assessing gaze around the room, taking in the silver and gold candles, the fire roaring in the hearth, and the sacred statues placed on the mantle to bear witness to their glorious return. Nothing on her face betrayed her thoughts, making it difficult to determine if she was pleased with his arrangements.

  “I see you found my trail of rose petals and the hot baths. I hope my preparations met with your…satisfaction?”

  Fabienne smoothed a hand over the top of her damp hair, toying with a small rosebud she’d tucked into her precise bun. “The bath was sufficient. I had hoped you would remember the rosemary, but the roses were a considerate touch.”

  He nodded politely. Damn it, I forgot the rosemary.

  A large thick braid swayed at Esther’s back like a pendulum as she trailed into the room after her sisters in a gown that looked like it had been stolen from the Ville au Camp country side. Wing sleeves and reeds of organdy and silk hung off her dainty frame in striped waves of silver and white, a satin sash drawn tight under the empire waist, elegantly accentuating breasts that were entirely obscured behind the high-neckline and a sweet, lace bib. She took her spot at her eldest sister’s left shoulder with grace, and offered Narcisse a small, blushing smile.

  “Don’t worry about the rosemary.”

  “I loved the trail of rose petals,” Gaelle cradled his face, lifted on her tip toes to touch her nose to his. “It was such a romantic and mysterious touch.”

  Narcisse ducked his head, brushing his lips against her ear. “I cannot wait for tonight. It is good that you are well-rested.”

  “And are you well-rested too, my love?” She pressed her cheek to his, tickling the curl of his ear with a whisper. “I know we gave you free rein to take whatever lover you may choose—and we will of course honor our word to let you continue to do so even after our marriage. But I do hope you will always be certain to save the…bulk of your energy for us?”

  Narcisse relished the flood of arousal that infused his blood at the reminder of the future. Three gorgeous, powerful, rich wives, a life of luxury, and the freedom to take as many lovers as he liked. He didn’t care that he had to share them with two other husbands—though the idea that one of those husbands would be a tikoloshe did turn his stomach. It was still a life that most men would give their right arm for.

  “I will always prioritize you over any other women,” he promised, keeping his voice a low rasp. “I am yours to use until you are sated—until we are sated.” He dropped his voice even further. “It will be a wonder if I ever leave your bed.”

  Before Gaelle could respond, Narcisse winked at her and swept across the room to where Fabienne stood, sharp eyes cutting over him in assessment. She had always been the leader, the last to succumb to his charms, the one who needed the most careful attention. Gaelle and her shameless passion were a pleasure, and Esther’s shy desire was a treat, but Fabienne was his challenge. And Narcisse loved a challenge.

  He bowed his head to Fabienne. “I hope I have pleased you.”

  “You have served your purpose well. The women at our grave—the ones who broke Dominique’s power circle. Friends of yours?”

  Narcisse risked a peek at her through the fall of his golden hair. “Julien and Dominique grew closer than I expected. I decided it would be wise to use Dominique’s sense of duty to encourage her to perform the ritual.”

  “You decided?” shrieked a voice.

  Narcisse gritted his teeth as the unfortunately familiar hacking sound preceded the thunk of a pebble onto the floor. A second later, the tikoloshe popped into view, as swarthy and unkempt as ever. It glared at Narcisse, beady red eyes glowing from a nest of tangled black hair.

  “It was my idea!”

  Fabienne pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t care whose idea it was. Fortunately for both of you, she did perform the ritual.”

  Ignoring the troublesome fey, Narcisse slunk behind Fabienne and carefully laid his hands on her shoulders. She tensed briefly, but as he kneaded her muscles, she relaxed. Taking a moment to admire the way the dress he’d bought for her fit her beautiful curves and flattered her mahogany skin, Narcisse tenderly worked the knots from her muscles, the stiffness vanishing from her body under his ministrations.

  She dropped her chin, offering more of her back. “Oh, Narcisse, I did miss you.” Congratulating himself, he laid a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “I live to serve you, my love.”

  “Speaking of servants.” She slid from under his hands, pacing the room with quick steps. “The bond to the impundulu must be completed tonight. His affection for that woman is greater than we anticipated and we must cement our control over him before he does something foolish.”

  Gaelle fisted her skirts and practically ran to her sister’s side. “I will bond with him!”.

  “You don’t have the concentration to bond with him.” Esther’s mouth was a red slash of disapproval. “Let me bond with him.”

  “Do you think your concentration is so much better, Esther?” Fabienne narrowed her eyes. “I recall that it was your bond the impundulu broke first.”

  “We let him break those bonds,” Esther protested, her cheeks taking on a hint of red. “You said we had to let him think he’d truly killed us.”

  “I also said we had to make it difficult enough that he would believe his escape was genuine. You broke like a dry twig!”

  Narcisse studied the exchange carefully, analyzing each woman’s face in turn. Getting in the middle of a fight b
etween women was never a good idea—getting between sisters was suicide. He glanced at the tikoloshe.

  “Watch and learn,” he said under his breath. “I’ll show you how a real man settles a quarrel between his women.”

  The tikoloshe bristled immediately, eyes glowing crimson as he glared at Narcisse. In a flash, the fey darted out to stand between the sisters, hands raised as if to hold them back. “Fight not amongst yourselves. Surely it doesn’t matter who bonds with the lowly bird-man? Not when there are more important matters to discuss.”

  All three women focused their attention on the fey, bodies going so still that they appeared as ebony statues. The atmosphere in the room changed, became charged with magic and the potential for violence. The fire in the hearth flared, then grew smaller, as if the sudden frost in the room had laid a heavy hand over its warmth.

  “Sisters, truly we should be grateful for the presence of this tikoloshe.” Fabienne curled her lip in a snarl. “How else would we know what was important?”

  “How lost we would be without him,” Esther hissed.

  “And to think,” Gaelle’s eyes narrowed, “some men would have been afraid to speak to us in such a way.”

  The tikoloshe’s brow furrowed, though it was hard to tell given the sheer amount of hair covering his face. He hunched over, his instincts obviously catching on to the danger he was in even if his brain hadn’t.

  Goodbye, you miserable hairball.

  “I did not mean any offense,” the tikoloshe insisted. His gaze flicked nervously amongst the three women. “I only meant that there is no reason to fight with one another.”

  “We were not fighting,” Esther growled.

  “We do not fight,” Gaelle asserted.

  “We were discussing our options.” Fabienne took yet another step, towering over the tikoloshe. “And I do not recall inviting you into the conversation.”

  “Is this to be the norm then?” Esther wondered aloud. “Will you be chastising us, treating us like squabbling children?”