“It’s an angel!” one of them said. “A real angel from Heaven.”
“Not quite, but you’re in the right ballpark,” Kara said. “I came to warn this man,” she pointed to Cockroach slumped on the ground, gibbering to himself, “to stay away from his wife and son. They are under my protection. And that goes for any of you who think beating your wife and kids makes you a man. You want to get on my good side, stop drinking, stay home, and take care of your families. You have been warned!”
Thunder crashed as she finished, lighting up the night behind her, haloing her in a nimbus of light that made the men prostrate themselves on the ground. Cockroach passed out.
Figuring her work was done, Kara stalked away, not looking behind her.
She got to her truck, smiling to herself, looked at the sky, and said, “Thanks, Thor. Appreciate the assist.” A rumbling roll of thunder laughed its way by.
10
While Kara was taking care of business, Gaspard was finishing paperwork like any normal businessman when the guard house radioed in that a big man was at the gate with Lisette in the car. “Something is wrong with her, Mr. Bessette. She looks sick.”
“Send them in.”
The butler opened the door a crack. “May I…”
“No, you may not, but your master can,” thundered a big, burly man, pushing right past the butler and into the foyer. The man was six-two-ish, wearing workman’s boots and painter’s pants in size huge. He had a bushy beard and could have passed for a lumberjack. Or a tree.
Gaspard came out to see what the disturbance was and stopped cold. It wasn’t the size of the man. It was what he held—a limp, lifeless Lisette, dressed in a T-shirt and panties.
“You did this to her!” the man accused. “You have to fix her!”
Gaspard blinked once and then said, “In here, hurry.”
He led the man to his study and motioned for the man to place Lisette on a couch. The man lowered her flaccid body, and Gaspard checked for a pulse.
“She’s breathing and her heart is beating, but it is very fast and she won’t wake up. This started after you sent her away,” the man said, staring at Gaspard’s back. Gaspard was on one knee next to Lisette.
“What’s your name?” Gaspard asked, unbuttoning his shirt at the wrist.
“Ned. I’m Lisette’s brother. People call me Tiny.” The man was pacing, and the tension danced around his body in flashing sparks. You didn’t need to be a vampire to sense it.
“You may want to leave, Ned. I think she is suffering withdrawal, and I’m going to have to feed her blood. My blood.”
“I’m not leaving, so do what you can, but if she dies, so help me, you will answer for it. I might not have mentioned this, but I’m the smallest of her four brothers.”
“I shall endeavor to save her, so I do not have to face that particular threat,” replied Gaspard, who rose to fetch a letter opener.
This could be done with teeth, but it was so uncouth, and why do that when a sharp letter opener was available?
Gaspard knelt next to Lisette’s head and sliced his wrist with the letter opener. He held the dripping appendage over her mouth and encouraged her to drink it.
“Come on, sweetheart, you can do this,” he murmured. Lisette didn’t move to drink, and her breathing became more labored.
“It’s not working!” raged her brother, already making a fist. Marc, who had been watching from the doorway, slipped in and covered the man’s raised fist with his own. He pushed downward, and Ned’s arm collapsed to the side. Ned’s eyes were wide and his mouth open.
“Gaspard is doing what he can,” Marc hissed showing some fang. “You will not threaten him again.”
Gaspard ignored it all. With a vicious move, he picked up the letter opener and slashed the tip of his own tongue. The blood spurted on his shirt, the couch, and Lisette’s face as he crushed his lips to hers, forcing the blood deep into her mouth, making her swallow. It was a savage taking that was nothing like the joyous love-making of before. This was hungry, feral, and fierce. This was life and death on the edge of a knife, and the next two minutes would show which prevailed.
Lisette moved her own head and answered his kiss with equal ferocity. The blood pumped between them, his death blood giving her life while she grabbed at his hips pushing up in a desperate move to deepen the joining.
Marc tugged on Ned’s sleeve and said, “She will live, but now, it is time to go.”
Ned nodded and lumbered out of the room, following Marc.
Gaspard grabbed at his pants, using one hand to push them down. He yanked his underwear down, and his erection sprung free, thickening and lengthening with every second. Lisette’s tiny panties mattered not. He tore them off her and still kissing, plunged into her, forgetting to be gentle, wild with want. She met him with equal desperation. Animal, rough, and running along a tidal wave of desire, they both orgasmed in an explosion of heat. He once again saw from her eyes and looked at his own face, a mask of blood and violence, and was surprised how much she liked it. He felt her anxiety and pain began to fade, and as he left her mind, the last of it ebbed away.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her. She lay there covered in blood, a smile on her lips, eyes half-closed.
“Much better,” she murmured. Then…
Her eyes flew open, and she shot up on the couch, pushing him to the floor.
“You did this to me! You sent me away knowing I wanted to stay, knowing I was hooked on your blood like some street corner junkie, and you let me suffer!”
“I didn’t understand the extent of the addiction. I’ve never thought about it before. In the old days, food didn’t leave. They just stayed until they died. Addiction wasn’t a part of the problem.”
“Food? Food! You arrogant French asshole! Is that what I am to you, food?” Her voice increased in both volume and pitch.
Gaspard winced at his choice of words. He hadn’t called sanguineers food in a long time. It was an old-fashioned, provincial, and insulting term, and he’d used it without thinking.
“I’m so sorry, my darling. It was a stupid phrase.” He reached out to hold her, and she pushed him away, getting to her feet, back ramrod straight as she whirled on him.
“Tell me how to break this addiction. I do not want to be connected to you for the rest of my life. In fact, I am going to leave New Orleans and get as far away from you as possible!” Her cheeks were flushed red from blood and anger. Her eyes flashed in fury, but also pain. The guilt just about overwhelmed him.
“Lisette! I am very sorry. I didn’t understand. That is why I had the doctor check on you. You are very special to me. I pushed you away in order to avoid this very thing, but it was too late.”
“I told the doctor to go away. I said I was fine. In reality, I was throwing up on the bathroom floor, shaking like a leaf. I thought I could quit cold turkey, leave, and never see you again. You hurt me!”
“I know! I’m sorry! I didn’t know this would happen. Please, Lisette, calm down and let’s go shower. We’re a mess,” he said, gesturing to the blood and torn clothing.
“I will shower. Alone. Have someone bring me some clothes. How did I get here anyway?”
“Your brother Ned brought you.”
“Ah, Tiny. Always looking out for me. Please tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes so he can take me home. And, Gaspard…”
“Yes?”
“I never want to see you again. This is your fault.” She turned toward the bathroom, and he heard her whisper, “But I’m trapped. I’m a lifetime junkie. God help me.”
Gaspard showered in the hall bath, dressed in jeans and a Tulane sweatshirt. He descended the stairs and raised his eyebrows at Marc, who gestured toward the sitting room.
Ned sat on an overstuffed chair, head in hands. His enormous feet splayed out to the sides. His beard was quivering, and Gaspard realized the big galoot was crying.
“Your sister is going to be fine,” he said.
Ned li
fted his head, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks stained with tears.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Gaspard. He crossed his arms and sat across from Lisette’s brother, a brother who loved her so much he risked entering a vampire’s lair without invitation to save her. A man who threatened and begged for her and would sit here for as long as it took to ensure she was well. Gaspard thought of Henri, killed in a landslide while on a hunting expedition with friends. His body had been buried under a mountain of rock, and they had left him to rest where he fell. Gaspard deserted the estate the following week breaking generations of tradition by establishing one of the Baron’s granddaughters as its mistress.
“You might not thank me when I tell you what must happen next.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lisette is addicted to my bite and my blood. She no longer wants to see me, which is understandable. But she will get sick again without regular infusions.”
“So how do we do that?” Ned’s voice now dripped with sarcasm.
“I will fill seven vials with my blood every week and have it delivered to her house every Sunday. She will need to take one every day of the week, at least for a while. Perhaps she will be able to wean herself off. I hope so.”
“So, you made her into a vampire crackhead.”
“No, she’ll be in control of her mind, and her life will continue at her firm, with no negative side effects. Think of it as taking a pill a day to control cholesterol.”
Lisette walked in at that moment wearing some borrowed clothes.
“I heard what you said, Gaspard. Fine. As long as I don’t have to be near you, I’ll take your blood. Ned, let’s go.”
They walked out, Lisette slamming the door behind them before anyone could catch it, so angry that neither she nor Ned noticed the shadow of a figure leaning against an old cypress tree situated opposite the house, beyond the fences, hidden from the cameras.
Inside, Marc stared at his boss in disbelief.
“How are you going to send her vials of blood every week?” he asked.
“I am going to cut my wrist, fill seven test tubes, and have someone take them to her every Sunday.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“It won’t be as good as having the actual bite, but the blood itself should keep the worst of the symptoms at bay.”
“You will need to feed after losing that much blood,” worried Marc.
“That is why we have sanguineers, my friend. Now, let’s switch topics.” Gaspard strolled to the window to stare out into the night. Then he turned, leaning against the sill, a picture of elegance. His jeans draped low on his hips; his hair was loose and hung to his shoulders. The only sign that he was concerned about the evening’s events was a slight tapping of his index finger on the wall behind him.
“What is happening with the construction?” Gaspard asked. “Are we still having trouble nailing boards together?”
Marc squirmed a little, and said, “Ah…actually, yes. The gazebo will not stand.”
Gaspard’s gaze sharpened. “Is there magic afoot? What would explain this? Have you consulted with the local fae?”
“The fae swear they have nothing to do with it, the contractors cannot explain it, and Marie is tearing her hair out trying to make the deadline.”
Gaspard rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we should see how Madame Beauchamp’s construction is doing. I wonder if she has the same problem.”
11
Kara’s clothes were soaked in sweat and clung to her body in the hot, late afternoon. The stickiness was irritating but no more so than the damned vampire she served, through no fault of her own. Okay, maybe a little fault of her own. In fact, one could say she was at least fifty-percent responsible, but that wasn’t the point. She couldn’t return to Valhalla until her service was done. At least she’d been allowed to bring her horse. They couldn’t deny her that. Rikassa was a part of her.
She reached down and smoothed the white horse’s mane. Rikassa was a Wild One, a breed created for Valkyries and for Valkyries alone. She was loyal to Kara and no one else. Right now, she was breathing hard from their run through the estate so they could both burn off some energy. Now at the farthest corner of Gaspard’s land, Kara dismounted and fed her beloved Rikassa some apples. Anyone watching would have been surprised because there were no apple trees around and Kara carried no pack. Kara opened her palm, and the apples were there. Rikassa didn’t care about magic. She was magic and was used to getting treats from Kara’s hands. She nuzzled Kara and then concentrated on eating her sweets.
Kara sat on a stump and thought about Gaspard. The man was exasperating. He had caressed her face, a liberty she allowed no one, except the greatest of heroes rescued from fields of battle. And even then, she chose them. They did not choose her, particularly after the battle that landed her here. This latest affront was infuriating.
She wasn’t even sorry about the rug.
She slapped at a mosquito and noticed the sun. She had let her mind wander a long time. It was almost dusk. Time to go back.
She meandered back, giving Rikassa time to rest and ensuring she herself had enough time to calm her mind. When she arrived at the house, she dismounted, gave Rikassa a caress, and whispered, “Run, Wild One, run,” into the mare’s ear. The horse took off, freedom on four hooves, tail flying. No barn for a Wild One. None could hold her and Kara wouldn’t have wanted to pen her in anyway. Kara watched the horse glide away and envied her.
Straightening her strong shoulders, she strode into the house, blowing by the guards who greeted her and the day keeper, Marie. Marie was most anxious about something, but Kara waved her off with a curt, “Not until after I shower.”
She stripped naked, waiting for the water to run hot. She looked in the mirror. She carried several scars, most of which could be healed by the water baths at her home, but she liked them. Her body was muscled and sinewy. She heard one of the guards call her “ripped.” She wasn’t sure what it meant, but he said it in a complimentary manner, so she knew it wasn’t an insult.
She stared at the one long scar on her stomach. It was a slash across her mid-section, higher on the left and angling down to her right hip. That was a scar she would always keep. She’d lost her freedom for it.
An efficient fifteen minutes later, dressed and armed, she went downstairs and met Marie. The minute woman was fluttering with anxiety.
“Miss Kara! Monsieur Gaspard told me to give you this message, but I have been unable to find you all day. You weren’t in your quarters.”
“I sleep as much as possible during the day as my employment requires me to be up all night.”
“But you weren’t in your room!”
“I slept outside. I prefer the open sky.”
Marie flapped her hand at Kara. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You are here now. The message is a simple one. He wants you to go check on Madame Beauchamp and find out how the construction is going. As you know, we are experiencing some difficulty getting the backyard building done, and Gaspard believes there may be foul magic about. He wonders if it is affecting her, too.”
Kara sighed, whipped out her cell phone, and dialed Adelaide’s home. She didn’t know if Adelaide owned a cell phone, but she doubted it. An unfamiliar man’s voice answered.
“Beauchamp residence.”
“Where is Adelaide?”
“Excuse me, but who is asking?”
Tapping her foot, Kara snapped, “This is Kara Svarstal, Adelaide’s friend and Gaspard Bessette’s employee.”
“If you are her friend, then I am sorry to tell you that Mrs. Beauchamp has been injured. I am her personal physician and made a house call on her behalf.”
Kara was already rushing to her truck. “What happened?” she demanded.
“I am unable to tell, and Mrs. Beauchamp won’t tell me. She appears to have been whipped.”
Kara stopped with one foot in the truck.
“Whipped?”
/>
“Yes. Someone beat her, and she won’t tell me who.” The physician’s voice was grim. “Someone hurt this frail woman, and I’d like to make a report so the police can arrest whomever is responsible, but she is stubborn and says that I wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t understand! What is there not to understand about being lashed? Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
“I’m on my way. Oh, and one thing. I wouldn’t say the word frail in front of her face.”
Despite his frustration, the doctor chuckled. “True, true. I shall be more discreet.”
Kara jumped the rest of the way into the truck and drove as fast as she dared to the Beauchamp estate. As she reeled into the drive, she noticed that the house was ready to be lifted. She ran into the main house, passing plastic-covered furniture, her long legs moving at not quite human speed.
A man with a white beard and wire-rimmed glasses greeted her.
“Miss Kara, I presume.”
“Yes. You are her doctor?”
He held out his hand to shake. “Yes, at your service.” He grabbed a bag that was lying on the floor and said, “I will be back tomorrow to check on her. She’s in the sitting room on the couch. Let me know if you find out what happened. I am anxious to have the perpetrator behind bars.”
“I will.”
He headed out the door, stopping for a moment to turn and say, “And make sure she takes her medication. I don’t want those welts to get infected.”
He left, and Kara walked into the sitting room ready to give Adelaide hell for not having called her when she was hurt. She halted when she saw the once indomitable woman, whose spirit and energy were enough to stare down a master vampire in his own lair, lying on the couch swaddled in blankets despite the warm temperatures. There were red swellings on the woman’s face and she looked…diminished.
“Adelaide.”
“Hello, Kara. I’m glad you are here. You’re the only one who’ll believe me.”
Souls Collide: Book 1 of The Soul Wars Page 6
