Worth the Fight

by SF Benson

  I rush to the parking lot ahead of the pending commotion of the crowd starting to exit. The smell of blood permeates the night air. Among the parked cars, Ryder’s men lie dead. Ace limps past me, followed by some of his other wolves all bloodied and bruised. Pushing past them, I see Hank.

  He sits on the hood of a car with shredded clothing. Blood coats his arms, chest, and even his face. On the ground, leaning against a tire is Elijah’s mutilated body. Hank lifts his tired eyes.

  But he’s alive. It’s all that matters to me. Not caring about his injuries, for the moment, I throw my arms around his neck.

  Hank pulls me close and mumbles near my ear, “It’s over.”

  “I see that.” My heart finally calms and rational thought returns. “Let me help ya.”

  “I was hoping you’d offer.”

  Stepping back, I wave my hand over him. Instantly, Hank’s clothes weave back together. The blood lifts and dissipates into the air. I point a finger at the corpse, creating a virtual container around it, and the body bursts into flames. It’s a short-lived fire. When it dies down, nothing is left but a fine, black ash. A rank stench hangs in the atmosphere.

  Hank places his hands around my waist. “Thank you.”

  “Ya welcome.”

  He leans down and hugs me close. Fatigue surrounds him like a heavy blanket. In Hank’s current state, he can’t take on Damien. Somehow I need to protect this male before my asshole cousin destroys what we’re trying to build.

  “Angel, we should go.”

  “Ya don’t want to see ya brother?”

  “Not right now. I need time alone with you.”

  Police sirens approach the venue. I have to wonder if they’re coming because of Damien or the melee surrounding us. Something tells me we shouldn’t stick around to find out.

  As soon as we arrive at Kragen’s, I climb the stairs and go straight to the bedroom. I’m torn between doing what is right—going against Damien and destroying the PFC—and what is necessary—safeguarding my relationship. It’s something I’ve pondered the entire drive here instead of focusing on the male at my side.

  “Edwina… Angel, talk to me. You’ve been too quiet. I know you’re troubled over something.”

  I look away from the window. “I thought ya wanted time with me.”

  “I do, but that won’t happen if your mind isn’t focused.” Hank takes my hand and sits next to me on the window seat. “Talk.”

  Wetting my lips, I turn away from him. “I met with Damien Duchamp tonight.”

  “Of course you did.” Hank sighs deeply. “What did you talk about?”

  “Common lineage,” I mumble.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I haven’t filled ya in on everything about me.” I lower my head. “My mother wasn’t the only witch on the plantation. There were others, but they were too afraid to practice or show themselves. Collectively, they referred to themselves as the Devereaux Witches—taking Granddaddy’s name and making it their own. One of those witches was a cruel bitch named Seraphine. She hated everything about me, including the color of my skin and the relationship between my parents.”

  Hank squeezes my hand. “What’s that got to do with you and Duchamp?”

  “Tonight I learned that a descendant of Seraphine, Lavinia Devereaux Mercier, gave birth to a son. The child has shifter DNA and claims heritage to the Devereaux Witches.”

  Hank drops his hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Duchamp?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he do?” A low growl rumbles in Hank’s chest.

  A weight presses on my chest, robbing me of my breath. Honesty, however, forces me to summon up an ounce of bravery. The bottom line? In order for Hank to deal with Damien, I have to share everything.

  “Damien showed me his powers. He’s a formidable shapeshifter able to become anything or anyone he chooses.”

  Hank’s face tightens. “What does he want?”

  “To legitimize the PFC and destroy the AFC. Damien wants your brother to fight for him. If I don’t help with Damien’s goals, he’ll use those powers against me.”

  “How?”

  Seeing Hank’s hands fist nearly changes my mind. I’m not telling him these things for him to go out and do something stupid. I just want him to know what we’re up against.

  Slipping off the seat and gliding across the room, I say, “Damien will play tricks with my mind, hoping to drive me insane.” I wish I could get farther away from Hank. Right now being close to him is unbearable. “My wonderful kin will make sure that no one will want me around. Not the BlackGuard and definitely not ya. I’ll be alone again.”

  An impatient snort springs from Hank. “You’re doing it again, Angel.”

  “Doing what?”

  Hank comes up behind me and slides his muscular arms around my waist, pulling me against him. “You’re giving away your power. We talked about this before. Damien Duchamp can only torment you if you let him. Please, Angel. Stop letting others inflict pain on you. They are only words.”

  Words.

  Something witches are familiar with. We’re experts at manipulating words to do our bidding. We know the power they have over humans and supernaturals alike. A few well-thought utterances can shape, torment, and destroy. Witches have always chosen which words to value and which ones to ignore. That knowledge keeps us strong. I now realize I’m guilty of focusing on the wrong words, letting them weaken me. Somehow, I need to see them for what they really are—just vowels and consonants strung together in recognizable patterns—and break free from any hold they may possess over me.

  If it weren’t for Hank, I wouldn’t have made this connection. This male keeps me grounded. Reminds me of my strengths when I feel weak. He guides me. Molds me into a better individual. If only every female, could be so lucky to have someone like him. But. He. Is. Mine.

  Damien’s threats only have value because he knows what I hold dear—my tenuous relationships with others. Embracing any remaining shred of humanity matters so much to me, but I have to stop doing this. Hank isn’t with me because of who I was. It’s only what I am now that matters to him.

  As it should be.

  I turn in Hank’s arms. “What would I ever do without ya?”

  “You won’t ever know.” He fingers a curly strand of my hair. “My beast is ready to claim you, now and forever. When he does, know that nothing or no one will ever come between us. We’ll be bonded for life.”

  “Death will part us,” I mutter the chilly reminder into his chest.

  Hank lifts my chin up. “No. Not even death will separate us. You are the best female to enter my life. I’m never letting you go.”

  “Oh, just great. I’m going to end up with a wrinkled old cat?”

  He chuckles. “Angel, shifters in my family age exceedingly slow. Most of us die before that happens. I’ve got at least a hundred years before I even show signs of old age. Tell you what. When I get the first sign of gray hair, I’ll accept your gift of immortality.”

  My gaze blurs, but these aren’t tears of sadness welling up. No way. This is pure joy. Something that has never defined my life as a human. I certainly haven’t known it as a vampire until now. With Hank.

  “So how do we do this?”

  His fingers caress my cheek. “There are words…”

  “Say them. Tell me what to say.”

  He angles a penetrating gaze down at me. “I, Henry Jerome Richards, claim you as my forever mate. The one I shall love, cherish, and protect for all the days I walk this Earth… You say the same thing, Angel.”

  “I, Edwina Marie Devereaux, claim ya as my forever mate. The one I shall love, cherish, and protect for all the days I walk this Earth. And when the time comes, I shall gladly bestow upon ya the gift of immortality so that we can share eternity together.”

  Hank leans in and kisses my cheek. Against my ear, he says, “Angel.”

  I giggle like a school girl and ask, “Now what?”

 
“Claiming is normally done when we’re in beast form, but since—”

  “Dawlin’, I am a witch. Ya let me know what pleases ya.” I step back and concentrate on the image of a sleek female panther with shiny black fur. She’s graceful, exotic, and in heat.

  “Damn, Angel. That works for me.” Hank undresses with speedy efficiency.

  My beast has an advantage. I’m fully aware of everything happening. I sit back on my haunches and watch Hank’s transformation begin.

  I’m in awe as his bones break and reconstruct, his back lengthening and black fur sprouting. His beast is beautiful. A deep rumble comes from within his chest as he circles around me. Hank nudges me with his neck. I know what he wants, and it’s the only time, in this form, I will ever submit to him. I lower myself to the floor and allow the animal in him to take over.

  His rough tongue laps at my neck right before his fangs sink into my flesh. I yelp. We move together as the beast bonds with me, leaving his imprint behind. I’m unsure if panthers are supposed to purr, but I do.

  And I plan on purring over and over again tonight.

  Chapter 30

  Hank

  “Are ya sure this is the best course of action?” Kragen asks, his voice strained. “It feels like giving up.”

  “It’s not giving up. Think of it as playing smart. What does it hurt for the BlackGuard not to act?” I say. “You can still keep a discreet eye on Duchamp’s actions.”

  Ace weighs in his opinion. “He has a valid point. One of my wolves trains in MMA. He’s supposedly a decent fighter. I can plant him at the gym. Let him be our eyes on the inside. If Duchamp does anything wrong, we’ll find out right away and shut him down.”

  Kragen’s gaze drifts between Ace and me. “Perhaps we can use the PFC ta our advantage.”

  “How so?” Ace and I say in unison.

  “I doubt Duchamp will keep the organization clean. We can insist any targets for death be the rogues we’re trying ta extinguish.”

  The alpha wolf twists his head left and right. Either he’s disagreeing or he’s stretching his neck. His silence doesn’t give us a clue.

  “Let’s address how the PFC might serve the BGS at a later date,” I offer. “Right now, I want to make sure the little shit understands he’s not to mess with Edwina.”

  Kragen inclines his head toward me. “Understood. I suggest we keep this meeting from her for now.” He walks toward the patio door. “I should go if I’m going to keep my end of the deal.”

  The vampire promises to keep Edwina occupied until we’re done with Duchamp.

  As soon as the door closes, Baldovino shows the upstart into the living room.

  “Have a seat, Duchamp,” I instruct.

  “Care to explain the necessity of this little gathering?” Duchamp asks, straightening his back. His gaze pushes and pulls at the uncaring faces surrounding him. “Surely this could have been handled with a phone call.”

  Ace growls. “Not this. We needed to make sure ya have no misunderstandings.”

  “About what?” Duchamp asks with caution.

  “First, you are not to threaten my mate again.” I spit out the words through gritted teeth. Kragen asked us to keep his house clean. It’s taking everything in me not to punch the shit out of Duchamp.

  His eyebrow shoots up. “Since when did you and my cousin become mates?”

  My fists clench, but Ace jumps in before I can do or say anything. “Not the point of the meeting, motherfucker. I have a message for ya from the BlackGuard Society.”

  Duchamp’s anxiety is quickly replaced by arrogance. He settles back in the chair and crosses an ankle over a knee. “Ah…and what does the BlackGuard have for me?”

  Ace and I exchange a meaningful look. We discussed this at great length last night.

  “The BlackGuard will let ya continue running the PFC. No more killings though.” Ace’s expression becomes turbulent. “No underhanded shit either, or the BGS will shut ya down.”

  “They or you?” Duchamp smirks. “Seems like the BlackGuard has hired you as their trusted watchdog.”

  Ace lunges forward, and his wolves jump to their feet. A hard smile crosses Duchamp’s face, but the asshole doesn’t even flinch.

  “Sit down, Ace,” I advise. “Our only concern here, Duchamp, is reaching an understanding. Run a clean organization, and you won’t be bothered.”

  “And Tyson?” Duchamp asks.

  “He’s a grown ass man. If my brother wants to fight for you, that’s his decision. I’m sure if you’re running sanctioned fights, he’ll listen to what you’re offering.”

  Duchamp’s upper lip twitches.

  “Don’t even think about harming Edwina. If she even worries about you for one minute, your ass is mine. Share the warning with Sheila.” I warn and push to my feet. “Ace, he’s all yours. I’ve got some place to be.”

  Probably isn’t my best decision, but I can’t be late. I have papers to sign.

  Making Edwina my mate has made me immensely happy. I’m pretty sure she shares the sentiment. Never again will she be alone in the world. We’ve been through a lot of shit to get to this point, and I’m not letting anyone spoil it for us. My beast is willing to attack and kill anyone who tries, including Damien Duchamp. Taking care of him is just another way of satisfying my angel and keeping her safe.

  The realtor, a petite fae who helped Qadira find a location for Wicked Ink New Orleans, shakes my hand. I’m pleased with the property the female found for me. My gaze surveys the two acres I just purchased. I can already envision the house I’m having built. Now it’s time to contact the architect, another supernatural the realtor knows, and start designing paradise for my angel.

  Four months later…

  “Ya not going to tell me where we’re headed?” Edwina says. She folds her arms over her chest and pouts.

  I love it when she does that. The small gesture, reserved for me, is something new for her. Since our mating, Angel has learned to relax more. When she does, small traces of her humanity—like the pout—shine through.

  “Nope. I told you it’s a surprise.” I continue speeding up I-55. Lake Maurepas is on my left, and Lake Pontchartrain sits on the right. I’ve made this trip so many times in the past few months I can probably drive it with my eyes closed. Everything is finally ready for us. Honestly, I’ve run out of excuses, and Kragen is tired of covering for me.

  Kragen has proven to be a vampire full of surprises.

  “Hank, a word please,” Kragen asked before I left to check on the construction.

  “Sure. I have a minute.”

  We crossed the veranda in the rear of his house. I thought of this design when I first met with the architect. Our house needed to scream old-school New Orleans without looking like a fucking plantation.

  Kragen clasped his hands behind his back. “I never thanked ya for how ya handled that whole mess with Elijah Ryder. Ya kept my people safe, especially Edwina.”

  “There was no need to involve anyone else. Ryder’s issue was with me.”

  Kragen nodded. “I also appreciate how ya worked alongside Ace. He told me ya respected his authority while not giving up ya own. That’s admirable, and something we wish ta reward.”

  My eyebrow shot up as we stopped walking and faced one another.

  “We’d like ya ta join the BlackGuard. I think ya diplomacy and detective skills could be useful ta us. Besides, it would be easier ta have Edwina’s mate working with us. Take ya time and think it over.”

  “No need to think about it. I’m on board. Thanks for asking me.”

  A year ago, I wouldn’t have imagined leaving the police force to work with anyone else, especially the BlackGuard. Hell, a year ago, I wouldn’t have thought I’d have a mate and a custom home built for her.

  “I told ya I don’t do surprises,” Edwina whines.

  “Angel, you’ll like this one.” I reach across the console and squeeze her hand. “I promise.”

  We continue on in silence un
til I exit the interstate. Edwina’s eyes widen. “Tell me where we’re going, Hank.”

  “Almost there.” The road cuts through a neighborhood with a scattering of homes on one side. We pass a school, and then it’s open land for another few miles before I turn right. The road gets rough, and then I veer right again. Once we cross under the tree limbs covering the lane, our new house is visible on the left. “I hope you like it.”

  I pull through the wrought-iron gates, go around the circular driveway, and then cut the motor as we stop in front of the porch. “Welcome home, Angel.”

  She’s speechless as she exits the car.

  “Don’t be upset with me. I contacted Cash and found out the name of the realtor who helped them. She help—”

  “Upset?” Her mouth falls open as she takes in the two-story brick mansion I had built for her. “Ya did this for me? What about my Granddaddy’s land?”

  “Do what you want with it. We deserve a fresh start. Angel, I want to make new memories with you. No resurrecting any ghosts.”

  She nods blankly and steps away from the car, leaving the door open.

  I have to admit the place looks damned good with its double, wrought-iron verandas and tall, louvered shutters. The property includes a half-acre of wooded land—enough for my beast to run free. A seven-foot brick wall circles the perimeter to keep nosy neighbors out. Security cameras are stationed every few feet to alert us of any intruders.

  “Can we go in?” she asks. The wide smile on Edwina’s beautiful face is priceless.

  “Come on.” I unlock the door and swing her into my arms.

  “Put me down,” Edwina shouts.

  “Once we’re over the threshold,” I tell her.

  Inside, I place her high-heeled feet on the polished oak wood floor. The interior is as normal as I could make it—casual, comfortable furniture, a high-end gourmet kitchen, and even deep showers to accommodate the two of us together. Every inch of the space has multiple lighting that can be dimmed. The huge windows all feature heavy, room darkening drapes. I even had a wine cellar installed for Edwina to keep a ready supply of crimson on hand. Kragen shipped in a top-of-the-line case for us—a housewarming gift.