Risen Lovers: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 4)

by Jamie Magee

  “Come on, let’s go,” Adair said, loading the saddle bag with her cross body bag.

  “Um,” Gwinn said, stepping back.

  Adair was already on, gliding her hands across the bike not believing it was hers.

  In all truth if Adair were not spilling exaltation all over Gwinn, Gwinn would have not come as close to the bike as she was in the first place.

  “What?” Adair asked, looking up.

  “My deal, like the trauma, a bike moved me from one place to another.”

  Adair’s mood crashed, a protective anger rearing up. “A Son hurt you.”

  Gwinn shook her head. “A lone wolf.”

  “Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter, he’s dead.”

  “You, you killed someone?” Adair asked, doubting it. She knew Gwinn had an aversion to guns, hated that Adair had so many.

  “Kind of.”

  “Get on,” Adair said. She was sure as soon as she got Gwinn to their place she would start acting like herself and not this scared girl she was portraying now.

  Gwinn stepped back. “It messes with my head.”

  “And you’re not a fucking coward.” She looked over her. “Not my Gwinn.”

  Gwinn stared at the bike, fought with the flashbacks that were popping in her head, the ones that were making her sick to her stomach all over again.

  “Gwinn, get on the fucking bike.”

  Gwinn’s eyes went wide. No one had talked to her like that since she had been at the Boneyard. They all treated her like she was fragile, breakable. It was somewhat refreshing to hear the opposite.

  “I haven’t left here since it all happened.”

  “No time like the present,” Adair said, firing the bike to life and feeling a rush of pure joy soar through her as she felt it vibrate between her legs.

  It was Adair’s jolt of energy that calmed Gwinn enough so she could step forward. She was devouring all that Adair was, much like she did when they were friends before. Adair always calmed Gwinn, had helped her figure out who she was not long after she showed up in New Orleans.

  Gwinn glanced around looking for Shade and saw his bike was gone. She was sure that he would be proud she was even this close to a rumbling bike. If she managed to ride it and not freak out, then that could only make things easier on them down the road. He was the worst when it came to treating her like she was breakable.

  After one deep breath she moved herself on the bike.

  “See? The world didn’t end,” Adair teased as she looked over her shoulder.

  “I might puke.” Gwinn admitted as she braced her hands behind her.

  “You puke on me or this bike and I’m kicking your ass. I’m already pissed at you for vanishing.”

  “Like I fucking knew who I was,” Gwinn snapped back, then slapped her hand over her mouth, not believing she retorted like that.

  Adair laughed. “There’s my Gwinn,” she said, just before she turned and drove Gwinn off that lot.

  Everyone outside stared as they left, not exactly sure why Shade’s Ol’ lady just left on King’s bike, but most assuredly knowing that would not fly over well when the Sons came back.

  Chapter Three

  Recently, the time that Reveca had spent in her Edge had been brief, more so than in the past. She did have the foresight to make it a point to disclose the list of souls Crass requested to Erio before the last showdown ever occurred. She wanted to make sure if anyone on the list died in a fashion outside of her or the Sons, Erio was able to seize them. There was not a doubt in her mind that once any of those souls did perish, the Unclaimed would take them. Which would make her life a living hell.

  Crass, like all figures of his status, had never been in the Edge and surely would not understand how any part of it was not readily available to Reveca.

  When Reveca had taken Cashton back to the Veil she’d seen that Erio had managed to catch two souls, both from the Devil’s Den who were low on the list Crass had made. Alone they would not impress him, so for now, they were caged until Reveca found a soul that resided a bit higher on his list.

  Doriane Latour was the big fish Reveca had her eye on. Reveca had planned to go after him once the dust from Blackwater’s shit settled, but she had intended to be calculated about her strike. She needed him to lead her to this Black guy. All Reveca had on him was a name; basically he was still a ghost to her.

  This visit she was about to make was one the Sons were going to be furious at her for embarking on alone, but right then she didn’t care. She knew her boys well enough to know they just wanted this mess to go away, wanted Talley back in the grave and Adair blind. Reveca wasn’t going to stand for either. If Talley was back she wanted to fix him. She saw this hell as a second chance.

  The whole deal Rush had said years back about how Talley wouldn’t want to live even if he was relieved of the curse upon him was bullshit in her mind. She was sure Talley would feel distraught, expected him to, but by her own personal experience she knew you could grow to live with the pain of loss, and once you did you found a way to impact the world around you. And now she could testify that no matter how lost the cause may seem, old lovers do return. She wasn’t prepared to affirm if that was a good or bad thing, but still, she was a living witness of the possibility.

  Her plan was to save Talley, then find Finley. Both Dagen and King could roam the Veil; she had no qualms about asking them to do so. She wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to anyone, ever. In Reveca’s mind right then she had a chance to rectify two of the hardest goodbyes she’d ever said.

  Doriane Latour made Crass look like the boy next door, so did all of his inbred followers. Two decades ago he was incarcerated for rape. Served fourteen years. Apparently the DNA evidence against him had been proven to be inconclusive during one of his many appeals.

  Latour found religion in prison, apparently. Or at least he wanted everyone to think he had.

  He’d stepped down from his throne at the head of the Devil’s Den, handing it over to one of his sons. The Devil’s Den were not a issue that had to be dealt with for a few years whilst they gathered themselves, and once they rose again the Sons wasted no time putting them in their place—cutting them out of the wards they were dealing drugs in.

  The patch of land Latour lived on was in the middle of nowhere, all swamp. As Reveca turned her bike off on the muddy path that led to him, the first thing she saw was a pentagram etched on a tree. The one right behind it had a cross.

  A few trees later there were baby dolls that had no hair and most were without eyes, stained in mud and nailed to the tree with stakes. Rusted out trucks and cars were along the path, too. No trespassing signs, beware of dog, owner is armed—they were posted everywhere.

  Reveca furrowed her brow halfway down the path, not because the scene mimicked a horror story waiting to happen, but because she sensed an immortal, one she had not crossed in years. She assumed he was hunkered down in a distant land with monks or something.

  All at once understanding why Latour had shifted his beliefs made more sense to Reveca...he’d met an ‘angel.’

  Chalice was the immortal’s name. He was one of the early immortals Reveca had brought back. He was a man of God who was testifying on a battlefield, crying over the tragic loss. In all truth him coming back was an accident. At that time Reveca was drunk on power, entranced with how easy it was for her to bring back the fallen who were fighting a war they didn’t start.

  Reveca had intended to bring back the warrior Chalice was praying over, but Chalice was deep in prayer and heard her call, thought her voice was the voice of angels. He misunderstood her and took his own life so he could rise.

  Once he discovered what he was, what had brought him back, that he was a first generation vampire, he called his gift of life damnation and swore his purpose was to kill the evil Reveca and the other immortals.

  Zale imprisoned him, tormented him daily by arguing text, causing him to see visions, feeding him energy that Chalice claimed to
be stained with sin. After some time Chalice’s will broke. He began to act like the other immortals. He kept his dignity for the most part, would preach salvation to everyone that would listen to him. He stood before warriors on the fields defending them.

  When Reveca and Talon left Zale ages ago he had stayed behind with the ‘fallen’ as he called them. Reveca did inquire about him years later, and Zale had said he went about his way. Not long after, then Chalice had threatened the Pentacle Sons by trying to take Talley down on a battlefield. The Sons demanded that Reveca destroy him, but she refused—which didn’t end so well.

  Chalice murdered every living family member of the Sons he could find. Judge’s family was hit the hardest. After the loss of ten lives, Reveca did seek to take Chalice down, but he’d vanished.

  There were rumors he had run back to Zale, but that was never confirmed. And until now, he had not been seen, sensed, or heard of.

  This was not good. The second Judge heard Chalice was close there would be no stopping his vengeance, which would only make the standing war with the Devil’s Den all the harder. Reveca needed him focused on Adair right about now, not this shit—it would give him every reason to push her away.

  As Reveca went further down the mud drive she found the path she was on blocked with wide barrels. Spray painted signs were leaning against each that said: u been worned will shut to kill.

  Reveca shook her head, wondering if any one of Latour’s people made it beyond the third grade.

  She revved her motor as she moved around the barrier and pushed forward, grinning when she heard the sound echo through the swamp sounding like a ferocious beast.

  When she passed the shacks on her path more than one grimy, toothless, head shaved man in overalls stepped out—each holding a sawed-off shotgun. Instead of aiming them at Reveca, a sick smile came to each of them.

  At the end of her path she found a thick ring of salt surrounding a trailer, or rather, three trailers that had been connected together with two by fours. Beyond the ring of salt there were barrels, each with a blazing fire in them, pentagrams spray painted on them. Just before the screened porch that was attached to the trailers there was a cross, which stood eight feet in the air.

  Reveca let her bike idle for a moment as she took in the scene before her. She was certain Chalice was there. She sensed him trying to hide his energy. He was a bloody fool—she could hear him praying. Apparently, he was doing so before small children, at least that’s what the whimpers around him sounded like.

  Knowing there were children there was sickening enough. Seeing the underfed pit bulls in the yard, the trees that had been used for target practice and the beer cans that were littering the ground, it was criminal in Reveca’s mindset.

  The second she saw Latour she turned her bike off and seductively dismounted, knowing this bastard had a one-track mind.

  To humor him, add to his belief that she was the devil in disguise, she didn’t cross the salt or fire line he had in place.

  In the windows Reveca saw a host of girls who were far too young to be around these men staring out at her.

  There was one boy, too. He couldn’t have been more than ten. The resemblance between him and Latour was undeniable.

  Latour slowly pushed the screen door open, then stepped down, holding Reveca’s stare, surely thinking he had Reveca’s full attention, but Reveca was taking in her environment. She smelled blood and death lingering. She sensed sage burning, and a host of other swamp remedies brewing. She was also counting. In her reach right then were four souls on Crass’s list.

  “Youins must be lost,” Latour said in a deep gravelly voice as he reached up to scratch the gray stubble on his face which was rich in deep wrinkles, red from the years and years of abuse from the sun.

  “I hear you’re the one that’s lost, Latour,” Reveca said, glancing over the Lucifer tattoo he had on his chest which had been marked over in ink. She could see the burn of a cross in his flesh peeking out from his low hanging overalls. It matched his trucker hat which said, “I have been saved,” and the large cross hanging from his neck.

  “I vowed to you that you would be cursed if you stepped foot in the Quarter once more.”

  Latour let his gaze travel down Reveca and then up again. “I’ll tell yous like I told the law, my truck was took.”

  “Right,” Reveca said, noticing she was completely surrounded at this point. Behind several trees there were men of Latour’s, some only boys. “And who commandeered said vehicle, pray tell?”

  Latour narrowed his stare on her. “Best be moving on now.”

  “I think not. We have a debt to settle.”

  Rage came to Latour’s eyes. “Youins ready to fess up to taking my men, my way of life, ready to pay fer yer sins?”

  “My sins?” Reveca repeated, looking up at the cross he was using as a shield, refusing to pass. “I’ve been told you’ve been naughty.”

  A slow smile slithered across his face. “I’ll bes naughty with you any time. Where be that bon rein man of yours any hows?”

  Latour hated Talon with a passion. Talon was responsible for most of the scars on Latour, the cuts on his arm, and his crooked nose. Reveca never let Talon kill him though. Her gut told her there was something about the man that would prove profitable down the road, though she never said so to Talon. She just told him he would be bored without a menace, and that was true. Talon always needed someone to fight, to be clever with, and Latour rose to the call. It was just too easy to push his buttons, trap him. At the same time, once in a while the Devil’s Den would surprise the Sons much like they had recently.

  “You summoned a Lord of Death, Latour.”

  Latour stepped forward and leaned against the cross that was now beside him. “And yous knows this cuz your wrapped in sin with ‘em.”

  “Who else have you summoned Latour? Are you raising the dead ‘round here?”

  Reveca felt fear assault the air, and knew these men had seen something that had them more bothered than usual.

  “God fearing people, Mizz Beauregard. The only dead man I’m waiting on is my savior. I walk with angels.”

  An amused grin came to Reveca. That was what Chalice told mortals around him he was. He used his enhancements and his words to shift their beliefs. In the past Reveca thought it was quite clever, and saw no harm in it. People needed to believe in a higher power. What they called the power was their business as far as she was concerned.

  “How many people of yours did Talley kill when you called him back to life? Why did you call him back?”

  She was testing his reaction, reading his energy. The type of fear she sensed would tell her if they meant to call him back, or if this was just Talley’s first stop on his way back from the dead tour.

  Latour shook his head, did his best not to smile. “Fars I know that man’s never died, just went aways.”

  Reveca knew then Latour didn’t do this, but he sure as hell knew who did.

  Back when Talley went off the rails, Reveca instantly blamed Zale, knowing it would take someone as powerful as him to spell one of her immortals. She never thought the Devil’s Den had the sense enough to come out of the rain, much less spell someone. Her opinion of them had changed recently, and only because of this drug Black, and of course her realizing how long Blackwater had been in bed with them.

  And now this Chalice business. Chalice was dangerous because he never picked sides between Zale and Reveca as far as she knew. Standing in the middle of strife gives one a mighty fine view of the plays each side makes. There was no telling what Chalice had learned over the years—if he was trying to stop this Black business like some vigilante or if he had shifted his views over the years, if Zale had brainwashed him in some way, like he was known to do with immortals that were not firmly dedicated to Reveca and Talon.

  For all she knew Zale was working with the Devil’s Den back then, too. Considering how high Latour’s name was on the list, lingering close to Zale’s, led her to find that
truth. What was confusing was Chalice wasn’t on the list, but he was clearly in bed with this clan.

  “Or perhaps you yourself cursed him. Did you expect him to rise again? Did you call him, or did this just blow up in your face, Latour?” Again she was reading him, watching where his stare went, how he tensed—each breath he took told Reveca something.

  “Yous killed Blackwater, and his demon witch.”

  “Don’t be jealous. Your time is coming,” Reveca said as she heard the shotguns all shift into place around her.

  Latour sneered. “Talley is your curse. He was risen cause youins murdered his dark creator.”

  “Last I checked I’m still alive and breathing.”

  Latour laughed, hard, reached in his overalls and held his gut as tears came from the corners of his eyes. “Yous. A woman? You can’t create nonthin. Not without a man’s seed. Non man of god would want your sin.”

  “That a fact.” She glanced to the trailer. “Chalice, have you denied me?” She never elevated her voice. The only mortal that could clearly hear her was Latour. “Come on out now, son, tell these people who brought you forth. Tell them the name of the angel you heard, the one that was so breathtaking that you took your own life—a sin.”

  “Yous don’t knows no angels,” Latour said. “Yours a demon, you and your kin.”

  “Chalice, step forward now or you will be cursed.”

  Chalice called feeding a curse, hated to do so, because each time he did he felt the rush of an immortal life, he felt the need to claim all of his senses, touch, feel, taste—feeding made him sin in his mind. Reveca’s threat meant she was going to expel energy right at him. It meant he was going to be lust crazed before these souls who thought he was something he wasn’t.

  Reveca could hear heavy footsteps moving through the trailer before her. A moment later the door opened and out stepped Chalice.

  Like all immortals he was tall. He’d be built well if he didn’t fast constantly. His frame was lean, his skin pure. His eyes were as dark as night just as his hair which he kept in a short cut. His suit looked as if it were from the eighteen hundreds, and just might be. In his hand was a bible, the same one he always carried with him. The pages were yellow and looked as if they were barely hanging on.