Worth the Fight

by SF Benson

  Damien, pretending to be the perfect gentleman in a tailored suit and tie, ambles forward with his hand out.“Miss Devereaux, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  His Southern drawl isn’t as thick as I would have expected, but it’s there. I grasp his hand. No latent images come to mind. Something disturbingly sinister, however, grabs my attention. Dark tendrils of magic, like wisps of smoke, snake between us. A gnarled finger creeps out of the haze and taps my flesh, looking for an entry point—a point of weakness. The deathly presence finds none and slithers back beneath Damien’s skin. The hybrid isn’t responsible for snatching Hank. He’s just guilty of being a twisted asshole who likes to dabble in the dark arts. Someone to keep a wide berth around, for sure.

  Forcing politeness into my voice, I say, “I assure ya the pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Duchamp.”

  He flashes a bright white smile. “Please, call me Damien. May I introduce my associate Elijah Ryder?”

  The older man, dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, eagerly takes my hand and my heart stops. Images rush through my mind, all of them of Hank. Like the pages of a book, the pictures unfold in front of me. Chains hold Hank to a wall. Two muscular assholes pummel him, breaking his ribs. Elijah delivers a blow that knocks Hank out. A shiny collar, glowing with dark magic, sits around Hank’s throat. My eyes lift to meet Elijah’s. A satisfying smirk crosses his ugly face.

  He knows what I saw.

  I slip my hand from his, doing my best to keep my anger in check, and lie. “Nice to meet ya, Mr. Ryder.”

  His chapped lips curl upward into a cold grin. “You can call me Elijah, Edwina.”

  “Trust me.” My fangs descend while my spine stiffens. “There are things I’d like to call ya, but none of them would be ya first name.”

  “I seem to have struck a nerve.” His beast grumbles. “Guess that asshole Richards means more to you than I assumed.”

  I hiss, and Ace walks toward us.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Edwina,” Elijah warns. “My issue with Richards doesn’t concern you. Walk away while you can.”

  In one move my hand goes to his neck, and his back hits a porch column. “Don’t. Test. Me. I’ll gladly rip ya damned throat out.”

  He laughs as he raises a hand and easily extricates himself from my grip. “Do you really think you can threaten me? I hold all the cards here.”

  Ace comes to my side before Elijah can invade my space. “Ryder, I suggest ya walk away. Touch the lady, and I’ll take ya fucking arms off.”

  Elijah raises his hands in an act of surrender. “This isn’t over. Hank and his brother will fight tomorrow night. Whoever’s left standing will pay for my son’s death. And then, Edwina, we’ll finish this. I suggest you settle your affairs. Your time on this Earth is about over.”

  He jerks his head toward Damien.

  “This has been most entertaining, Miss Devereaux,” Damien says. “I promise you, though, nothing will happen to you as long as you are with me.” He winks and follows behind Elijah.

  The blood in my veins curdles with Damien’s implied message. Hell is in for a blizzard if Damien thinks I’ll hook up with him.

  Ace pulls out his phone and taps out a message. Seconds later, his device chimes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Hank and his brother are with the pack. My wolves are following Ryder and Duchamp.”

  I nod. The weight on my shoulders eases a smidge. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 21

  Hank

  As soon as the door opens, we’re ready to fight. I sniff the air and pick up a strong, slightly familiar musky scent. Entering the room, though, ain’t Ryder’s goons though. Last time I checked, the asshole doesn’t associate with wolves. My beast, however, stays on alert just in case.

  A light flickers overhead, casting us in a yellow glow. A group dressed in various pieces of camo gear—three brawny males and a female who may have spent too much time in the weight room—stare at my brother and me. Definitely wolves.

  “Are ya Hank and Tyson Richards?” asks a red-headed male with tribal tattoos on his exposed arm.

  I rise to my feet and yank off the damaged collar. “Yeah. And you are?”

  “Name’s not important. We’re under orders to get ya out of here.” He turns to the others with him. “Make sure the place is all clear, and then torch it.”

  No one has to tell me twice. I gesture to Tyson, and we follow the ginger down the stairs, through a metal door, and out into the night air. Squealing tires catch my attention. My car screeches to a stop at the curb, and Edwina and a bald-headed wolf jump out.

  My heart pounds too hard while my mind turns to mush. No matter how fast we move, it’s not quick enough. I can finally breathe when Edwina comes to a halt in front of me. Pulling her into an embrace, I inhale, knowing she’s all right. She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes tightly.

  “Angel, how did you find me?”

  “Sheila,” she says flatly.

  The smell of smoke starts to fill the air. Howling wolves rush past us. Someone’s set the building on fire. Within minutes the squeal of sirens surges in the distance. I tug Edwina away from the mounting chaos.

  “What did you do, Angel?”

  “I convinced Sheila to give up the address.” A sly smile crosses Edwina’s beautiful mouth. “Ya also had a little payback, thanks to me.”

  Whatever did I do to deserve this female? Anyone else would have been fuming with jealousy, but not my angel. I tilt my head to the side. “Do I even want to know what you did to Sheila?”

  “I just helped her with her hormonal problem. There was a dragon shifter—”

  I put my hand up, not wanting to hear the particulars. Sheila is no longer my concern. “Thanks.”

  “Any time,” Edwina says. “We need to get out of here before the fire department shows up. I’ll drive.”

  My angel steers my car through the dark streets of New Orleans like she still lives here. Tyson sits quietly in the back seat. He has yet to tell me the full story of his involvement with the PFC.

  “Where are we headed?” I ask Edwina.

  “For now we’re going back to Kragen’s. Ace and Morgan, the heads of the BlackGuard, are waiting for us. Ace was the wolf who showed up with me to the gym. We have to come up with a plan to get rid of the PFC permanently.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Tyson mutters.

  Before I can speak, Edwina responds, “If ya have something to say, be out with it.”

  “I’m just telling you getting rid of the PFC won’t be easy,” he offers.

  “No shit,” I counter.

  “Stop it! The two of ya arguing won’t solve anything. We already know dismantling the organization won’t be easy. It don’t mean we don’t try. Besides, Tyson, I’m not too sold on ya. How do I know ya weren’t part of the trap?”

  “I promise you I wasn’t,” Tyson says in a strong voice. “Any tricks done were courtesy of Sheila. And before either of you jump to conclusions, Sheila and I haven’t been together for about a month. I don’t know where she’s been or who she’s been with. Fortunately, she left Michael with me.”

  Hank cuts in. “The kid’s with Duchamp now.”

  Tyson exhales loudly. “Not my choice of caretaker, but at least he’s not Sheila.”

  No truer words have ever been spoken. From the behavior I saw earlier, it’s obvious Sheila was never meant to raise children. I reach for Edwina’s hand and lace our fingers together. But this female… She would be a great mother—loving and protective. Everyone isn’t meant to be parents, but if my angel wants kids, I’ll find a way to give them to her. She’s worth the effort.

  Edwina continues without commenting on my ex. “So ya think it’s impossible to get rid of the PFC?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Tyson admits. “Duchamp is powerful, and the PFC has a lot of backers with deep pockets.”

  “Well, I don’t care about his supporters or him. I’m affiliated with something
a helluva lot stronger than Duchamp and his minions.”

  The three of us continue the ride in silence. Every now and then, I glance over at Edwina. I need some time alone with her. She doesn’t have to tell me she ignored my advice and saw the incubus on her own. I’m feeling her pain, but she’s handling it better than I thought she would. I smile to myself. Maybe I’ve done my job and fucked away my angel’s taste for Cash Martin.

  Sirens and honking cars hang in the background for the rest of the drive. In a few miles, Edwina steers the car into a neighborhood of old mansions. She slows down and parks in front of one with a decorative wrought-iron fence.

  Edwina kills the motor and faces me. “Let me do the talking, Hank. N’awlins is run by two vampires—Kragen, my former coven leader, and Julien Vladislav, an Ancestor and Morgan’s sire. This house belongs to Kragen. Ya don’t want to fuck with him. He makes Luc Duquette seem like a kitten.”

  I squeeze her hand. “No one intimidates me. If you’re asking me to respect him, I can do that.”

  She glances over her shoulder. “There’s something else ya should know.”

  My brother takes the hint. “Why don’t you let me out? I can make my own introductions. I’ll let them know you’ll be in soon.”

  “Thanks.” I exit and let him out of the back seat. I watch him swagger up to the front door before I re-enter the vehicle. “What is it, Angel?”

  A thin smile appears on her face and quickly fades away. “I went to see Cash.”

  “I figured you did. We’ll talk about it later if you want. What else is on your mind?”

  “Ya have to meet Ace. The two of us…” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “We used to be close. Nothing intimate ever happened between us though.”

  “If nothing happened, why tell me?”

  “One, I don’t want any secrets between us. Two, ya also will meet his mate. The two of us have never liked one another. I like to let Morgan think something did happen with Ace though,” she admits.

  “How about this, Angel? No more games.” I stroke Edwina’s cheek. “If this Morgan asks directly, be honest with her. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, not even me.”

  She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Thanks. Let’s get this over with. I want to take ya some place afterward.”

  Edwina and I join the others in a living room filled with antique furniture. A tall, angular vampire sits on a wingback chair near a fireplace. Another vampire and a young female sit on a small, uncomfortable-looking sofa. She must be the one called Morgan. The male beside her must be her sire. Reclining on a chair near Morgan is the muscular wolf from earlier. My brother stands before the fireplace. His hands rest on the mantel with his head down, staring into the roaring flames.

  The tall vamp scowls in my direction when we get closer. “Edwina, I thought ya might’ve run off.”

  “Not hardly.” She tugs on my hand. “Kragen, meet Hank. This is Tyson’s brother.”

  “Amongst other things.” Kragen narrows his eyes. “Nice ta meet ya, Detective Richards.”

  I shake my head. “I’m nobody’s detective. Gave it up when I left Falls Creek.”

  “I understand some trouble has followed ya here.” Kragen steeples his fingers in front of his chest. “Not the kinda welcome I like ta extend ta visitors. Before ya arrived, we were discussing the matter.” The vampire’s voice reminds me of molasses in winter—slow and rich.

  The other vamp chimes in. “Let me introduce myself. I am Julien Vladislav, owner of the Bloody Bastard. Kragen and I run this town. Rest assured this problem with the PFC will not continue.”

  My eyes dart between the two males. They are like night and day—one the quintessential Southern gentleman and the other an obvious foreigner. I wonder which old country he considers home.

  “Romania, Mr. Richards,” Julien says. “I am a direct descendant of the original vampire.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I glance around for a chair but don’t see an available one. “I hope this won’t be a long session.”

  Dracula’s relative examines me briefly. His gaze goes beyond the arches separating the area from the rest of the room. I turn and see a freakishly tall brother approaching with two chairs. He places them to the side and walks away. Edwina nudges me toward the vacant seats.

  The young female speaks up. “I’m Morgan, and this is Ace. We run the BlackGuard. We’re responsible for freeing you and your brother.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Words mean nothing to us.” She points a finger at my lady. “Edwina will be helping us out for a time. The rogue problem has gotten out of hand in Crescent City. We could use your skills as well.” The vamp’s gaze lands on me. “We’d consider it an act of gratitude in light of your rescue.”

  The young hybrid doesn’t have to say it. The meaning is clear to everyone in the room. I glance over at Tyson. Well, he might be the only one who doesn’t get it.

  “What’s the plan for dealing with the PFC?” Edwina starts. “There’s a fight tomorrow.”

  “My pack will put a stop to it. I’ve got a few wolves tailing Ryder and Duchamp. They’ll report the location of the fight to us,” Ace says.

  “It’s going to take more than a few wolves to stop Ryder,” I tell him.

  “My men can be quite persuasive,” the alpha adds.

  Kragen snaps his fingers, and the tall brother appears again. “Baldovino, please show young Mr. Richards ta his quarters. Edwina, ya should remember how ta get ta ya room.”

  She stands and pulls me to my feet. “I do, but we’re going out. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “Ace, send a few men—”

  Edwina shakes her head. “No, Kragen. This is something I need to do on my own. Hank is all I need.”

  The tall vamp nods and pushes himself to his feet. “Then allow me ta say good ev’ning.”

  I face the coven leader with my hand extended. He studies it for a moment before accepting the gesture. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m sure ya will repay the kindness,” he says and leaves the room.

  My flesh crawls as my mind constructs the possibilities. None of them desirable.

  Chapter 22

  Edwina

  I’m grateful Hank doesn’t ask about our destination. Instead, he sits back and observes the scenery as I navigate the streets out of the Garden District. Once I cross the Mississippi, I open it up and speed through the night.

  It surprises me that I’m in a hurry to get this over and done with, but it has to be done. Hank wants us to face our demons and bury them. Facing this one, however, isn’t like seeing Cash again. That was like a bad bee sting. What’s coming will feel more like an amputation by comparison.

  Hank’s voice cuts through the quiet and stills my thoughts. “Angel, do you plan on talking to me?”

  The question scares me a little. “I do. It’s just… This is hard for me.”

  “Then let’s start with something not so hard.” He rests his hand on top of mine over the gearshift and rubs his thumb over my flesh. “Tell me how things went with Cash.”

  “Not as bad as I thought it would be.” I inhale deeply, hold onto the breath, and then slowly release it as I think of the proper words. My voice lowers. “It still hurt to see them together. He’s happy, Hank. So fucking happy.”

  The air stalls, and I listen to Hank’s heart stutter as his breathing catches. He sends me a long, pained look and asks, “Why should Cash’s happiness matter to you?”

  I’ve hurt him. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Cash and I were together for five years. Labels don’t matter. Ours was a relationship, albeit twisted and only physical.

  “Hank?”

  “Yeah?” His response is tinged with anger and pain.

  My stomach ties into a knot. “It doesn’t matter to me, not anymore. But remember, Cash and I had five years together. That’s a long time to be with someone. Letting him go was the best thing for the both of us.” I swallow the lump
forming in my throat. “Truth is, Cash never made me happy, but ya do.”

  Hank side-glances at me. “I do?”

  “More than ya know.” I stare at the road. “It’s why I’m sharing this piece of me with ya tonight.”

  “Where are we going, Edwina?” Hank’s question is a mix of curiosity and defiance.

  The damage has been done. I already miss hearing him call me Angel. I’ll fix it. “We’ll be there in half an hour. Just sit back and relax.”

  This trip requires strength. Hank needs to recover it after his ordeal with Elijah. I need to summon it to meet my past head-on.

  We’re a good two hours outside the metro area. The landscape gives way to endless oak trees occasionally broken up by farms and fields. I veer off the interstate and onto the Great River Road skirting the Mississippi. The last time I traveled this route I was a teenager on a dirt path to freedom.

  Up and down this road, plantations still exist, catering to tourists’ fascination with the past. If they knew the atrocities that happened to my people, would they still be mesmerized? How many of them would be captivated by the maiming and murdering of people based on a system of degradation? Or has humanity learned its lesson—enslaving others for prosperity is wrong? Not hardly. Nowadays, money and bodies exchange in a different form of slavery.

  I continue driving through the small, historical town until I reach a back road with cornfields on either side of it. The bypass dead-ends, and I kill the motor. Ghosts from my past descend upon me, and my breath comes in short bursts. Is it possible for a vampire to have a fucking meltdown?

  Concern destroys Hank’s distress with me. “Angel, what’s wrong? What is this place?”

  My shaking hands grip the steering wheel tightly. Centuries later, the horrors of that night bombard me. My mind travels backward and gets trapped in another time. Thick smoke coats the air while piercing screams ring through the night. Metallic warmth covers my teeth like a vile blanket. Bone cracking and shattering in my hands… The memory is so real. I glance down as if the fragments might be in my palms. Shaking the disjointed images from my mind, I say, “This is what’s left of Granddaddy’s plantation.”