Trust Me

by Lori Devoti

  “Yes. I trust you.” She climbed into his car, and he knew he had her.

  God save her. He had her.

  Chapter Six

  Marie Jean

  St. Louis

  April 14, 1835

  Marie Jean was frustrated. Her family, damn them, were dying out. Rodrigue had warned her this would happen, but she hadn’t believed him. One sister’s line had completely disappeared. The last round of fevers to hit the area had finished them off.

  Another sister had joined a convent, of all things, and now she hid safe behind those blessed doors each night. No way for Marie Jean to get to her and no hope of her producing any offspring.

  But Marie Jean had not survived her bastard husband’s treatment for no reason. She was resourceful. When she had need of something, she got it.

  And what Marie Jean needed was power. Real power. Her own power.

  At first, being on Rodrigue’s arm had been enough. As the oldest and most powerful vampire in the Louisiana Territory, he was treated like a royal. Some had even begun to call him prince.

  But Marie Jean wasn’t stupid. She knew other females plotted to take her place. She knew none feared or respected her, not as they did Rodrigue.

  And while she was confident her hold on the vampire was unshakable, it wasn’t enough.

  Marie Jean needed power of her own. She needed other vampires vying for her attention and good graces—stealing, killing, groveling…anything and everything for her.

  And so she had devised a plan. She would do the one thing Rodrigue refused to do, at least since creating her. She would build her own brood. She would build an army tied to her, beholden to her, willing to die for her. Willing to overthrow the vampire no one thought could be overpowered.

  She would bring down Rodrigue, and she would be queen of her own making.

  The door to the tavern creaked open. She adjusted her hair and pulled at her bodice so it tugged against her breasts. Then she positioned herself in front of the fire, silhouetting her curves, and smiled.

  “Marie Jean, you are here. I was afraid…” Stepping inside, the man looked around, checking to see if they were alone.

  Marie Jean raised her hands as if distraught. “Henry, I could not stay away. I know it is wrong of me to meet you, but I am so desperate.” She let her knees bend so she crumpled to the ground; then she sobbed into her hands. “The worst has happened.”

  “The worst?” He rushed forward, kneeling beside her. “No, you are wrong. Things are never as bad as that.”

  “But they are. You will never understand. You will never forgive me.”

  “Forgive? For what? You are too innocent to do wrong. I am the one to seek forgiveness, luring you to these places night after night.”

  “Your wife…?” Widening her eyes, Marie Jean rose slightly, as if Henry’s wife might be hiding behind the coatrack.

  “No, she does not know.”

  “And she can’t. I know that, but…” Marie Jean let tears trail down her cheeks.

  “But?”

  “I can’t face eternity alone. I am weak.” A confession. She dropped her gaze.

  “You’ve gone back to him. The demon. You’ve gone back.” Henry stood, but he didn’t move far. His back to her, he began to pace.

  “I know it is wrong, but what choice do I have? You are bound to your wife for the duration of your human life, and I will live on…alone.”

  Henry stopped. His hands fisted at his sides.

  “If only…”

  He turned. “What? If only what?”

  “I can’t…” She shook her head.

  “What, Marie Jean? You can tell me anything. Ask me anything. You know I would sacrifice my very life to keep you from that monster’s bed.”

  And his life was exactly what Marie Jean needed.

  She lifted her tearstained face. “Would you…be with me…after?”

  “After?” Henry’s fingers tightened around Marie Jean’s.

  “After Beatrice’s death? Would you be with me then?”

  “You know I will.”

  She smiled and squeezed his fingers back. “It will have to be enough, I suppose. If only she wasn’t so…”

  Henry looked away. “Young. I know. I thought I was being wise marrying a woman twenty years my junior, thought she would bear me strong children. I never dreamed I would meet someone like you.” He grabbed Marie Jean by the upper arms and pulled her to his chest. “I would do anything to go back in time and change that.”

  “Or perhaps…perhaps we can add time.”

  “Add time?” For a moment, Marie Jean could see his confusion. She kept her own face blank.

  “Time.” She laid a finger on his neck, gently. She had drunk from him before, enough he thought he was in love with her but not enough that he would submit to being turned easily.

  “I—” His face paled.

  Marie Jean let her own fold in horror. “It’s true. You think I’m a monster. You said you didn’t. You said you understood how I was tricked and trapped, but you don’t. You believe the church—” She collapsed again, covering her head with her arms.

  “No! Marie Jean, no! I could never think that of you. I know you were innocent…are innocent.”

  “Then…?” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Will you do it? Will you join me? It will give us hope for the future. To a vampire, twenty years, a hundred even, is no more than a blink of the eye. You can stay with your wife in name and come to me in secret as we have. Then when she dies, you will still be young and vibrant, and we will have forever together.”

  His grip tightened again. She could see the desperation in his eyes. “You will leave Rodrigue?”

  “Of course.” She sniffed and nodded. “If I know I have you.”

  “Then…”

  She waited, excitement coiling inside her.

  “Yes.” He pulled her face to his. “Yes. I will do this for us.” He placed his lips over hers. She opened her mouth and invited his tongue in. His hands tore at her clothing until her breasts spilled from her bodice.

  But as he kissed and stroked her, murmured words of promise and care, her fangs were descending and her mind was working.

  He was hers, and there would be more. Her plan was in play.

  She jerked what clothing remained on her body down past her shoulders and hips, slithered out of it until she was naked.

  He sat back, his eyes locked on her unclothed form. The fire flickered behind her. With a smile she stood. She was beautiful. She always had been, but years of feasting on her family’s blood had made her more so. Her skin glowed, and her hair was long and luminous. Her curves were ample but firm.

  There was no woman in the territory more desirable than she, and she could see by the expression on Henry’s face he knew it.

  She took a moment to savor his regard; then she shoved him onto his back and crawled up the length of his body. Her arms straight, she held herself over him so just the tips of her breasts brushed his chest.

  He was hard and ready. She didn’t have to touch him to know that. She laughed silently. Men were so predictable, and now that she had figured out how to use her beauty to control them, quite fun to play with.

  She lowered her hand to his breeches and released his erection. It sprang forward. As she stroked, Henry moaned.

  She wiggled her body lower so his sex brushed against hers. Henry moaned louder, but he knew better than to grab her. She was in control of this game, of all their games.

  Slowly, she positioned herself to take his erection inside her. She was tight and ready too.

  Henry was not the lover Rodrigue was, but Rodrigue refused to allow her dominance, and dominance was as much an aphrodisiac as any wine or potion.

  Marie Jean craved the position of power, and Henry, weak lover that he might be otherwise, played the submissive well.

  “Are you ready, Henry?” she asked, though she knew he was.

  “Oui!”


  She slid his sex into position and slammed her body down onto his. He gasped, and his eyes widened. Marie Jean savored the second of control, then raised and lowered her body again—this time to plunge her fangs into his throat.

  The blood was thick and rich and almost too heavy for Marie Jean’s taste, but she would drink her fill and beyond. She would drain Henry until his only hope of surviving would be to drink from her in return.

  She would give him an orgasm, maybe two, and then she would kill him and bring him back to life.

  There would be no ordinary la petite mort for Henry tonight.

  Tonight, he would become a vampire and the first member of Marie Jean’s brood.

  o0o

  The next night, Lindsey sat alone in her apartment’s luxurious living room.

  Alone. Again.

  Harry hadn’t spoken to her since they left Rodrigue’s neighborhood. She’d understood that he might not want to repeat their kiss at the bar, or even let on to Brett and the other employees that something was brewing between them, but after being dropped off in front of the building, she had expected to see him again soon after.

  But Harry had not appeared at the bar that night, and he hadn’t called or left any kind of message—electronic or otherwise.

  He had disappeared, completely.

  Which made trusting him, as he had made her promise to do, a tad tough.

  She walked to the french doors and stared out. She had the night off and had thought she would share it with Harry.

  But it appeared that she had been wrong. Her hand moved to the necklace he’d given her. In a fit of annoyance, she undid the chain and laid it on a table next to the couch.

  o0o

  Harry picked up the heavy lead crystal glass in front of him and drained it.

  With a clunk, he set it back on the bar.

  “You’re pathetic.” Brett sloshed another inch of whiskey into Harry’s glass and watched with bored disapproval as the dhamphir slammed back the liquid.

  “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” Harry motioned for the bartender to pour again.

  “You won’t get drunk.”

  “Not if you don’t keep pouring.” The latest refill moved past his teeth and down his throat. The two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle scotch had lost all taste.

  He pointed at the bottle. “Just leave it.”

  Brett raised his brows and placed the scotch back under the bar.

  “I can’t reach it there,” Harry growled.

  Brett turned on a faucet and held a rag under the stream of water for a second. “Are you going to share what happened to bring on this determined binge?”

  “Cliché, don’t you think? Unloading my problems to a bartender?”

  Brett slapped the rag onto the already clean bar top. “I don’t have the time or energy for all of your problems. Those of the last twenty-four hours will do.”

  Harry stared at him for a moment. The bartender shrugged and turned to leave.

  “I kissed her.”

  Brett turned back, one brow cocked. “Really? A bit twisted, that, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t see how.” Harry stood to reach over the bar and grabbed the only bottle he could reach, cheap rum he kept stocked for the occasional tropical drink request. He refilled his glass and set the bottle down, holding Brett’s gaze as he did.

  Brett raised a brow but made no comment on Harry’s liquor choice. Instead he went back to the topic Harry wanted to discuss even less. “Having the hots for the woman you mean to kill?”

  Harry scowled. “I don’t mean to kill her. You know that.”

  “Yes, well, might as well, but Lindsey isn’t who I meant.”

  “I do not have the ‘hots’ or anything resembling desire for Marie Jean Lauzier.” The thought of Marie Jean made Harry’s stomach contract; Brett knew that.

  “Best not. My guess is Rodrigue would not approve.” Brett pushed the rag over the black marble top of the bar. “You saw him last evening, didn’t you? What did he say?”

  “Nothing. He was a mess.”

  “Really? Imagine that.” Brett flipped the towel over. The wet cloth made a slapping noise as it hit the stone.

  Harry grunted. He hadn’t missed the bartender’s less than subtle hint that Harry was in much the same position himself.

  “So you kissed her. What’s the big deal? It isn’t like she was your first. She’s a couple of centuries late for that is my guess.”

  “Closer to one,” Harry muttered.

  Again, Brett raised a brow.

  “One and a half,” Harry conceded.

  “If it’s bothering you, kiss someone else. I’m sure Emilie would be willing to step into the role.”

  “Emilie.” Harry cursed. The female vampire had kept herself scarce since taking Lindsey to Rodrigue’s.

  “Oh. Not happy with Emilie either? You are in a piss, aren’t you?” Brett moved the towel around a bit more. “Funny considering how close you are to getting everything you ever wanted.”

  Harry tightened his jaw. He didn’t need the vampire telling him what he wanted or how long and hard he had been fighting to get it.

  “What did you have planned? A beheading? Or the standard stake to the heart? Did Rodrigue have a preference? Did he offer to hold his beloved down while you tore her still-beating heart from her chest?”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. He’d dealt with the bartender long enough to know he was prodding Harry and that eventually he would grow bored and move on.

  “How about guests? How many should I plan for? Should I order in more liquor? Get decorations? Perhaps party favors? Hats are always nice.”

  Harry would have flashed fangs if he’d had them. “This isn’t an excuse for a par—” Then he realized it was. Not a party, actually, but an organized gathering of sorts.

  He set his still-full glass onto the bar. “How long has it been since you’ve talked with Randall?”

  “Not long enough.” Brett’s fist closed over the towel, wadding it into a ball. “He’s been circling again.”

  “Spying for Marie Jean.” Harry ran his finger down the side of his glass.

  “Randall’s an untrustworthy bastard.”

  “He’s a vampire.”

  Brett lifted his upper lip, giving Harry a rare glimpse at his fangs.

  Harry waved his hand in apology. Now was not the time to antagonize Brett further. “The question is, would he trust information coming from you?”

  Brett’s eyes hardened. “What are you planning?”

  Harry let out a strained breath. “You want to keep Lindsey safe. We need to flush Marie Jean out, end this before May first.”

  “I had it wrong. You aren’t going to stake Marie Jean. You’re going to stake Lindsey—out in the open where the hawks can swoop down and claim her.”

  Harry’s nostrils flared. “It’s the only way. It’s the safest way.”

  Brett picked up the towel. “You know for a moment, Bisson, I thought you were more than your monster half.”

  “Don’t play superior to me, Brett. You may hide it better than most, but we both know who the monster is here.”

  Brett dropped the dirty rag into a plastic bin and looked back up. “Yes, dhamphir, I think we do.” With the bin tucked under one arm, he disappeared into the cooler.

  Harry stared after him, his mind still moving. If Brett wouldn’t help him, he knew someone who would.

  Emilie might be flighty and undependable, but one thing she couldn’t resist was stirring up trouble.

  She was, for this, the best ally Harry could have hoped for. He pulled out his phone and started dialing.

  o0o

  Tired of moping inside. Lindsey poured herself a glass of wine and went to sit on the balcony.

  The line for Bloody Harry’s was already forming. She stood at the railing and looked down at women in short skirts and men in deceptively casual but obviously expensive denim jeans. She wished she had the courage to go down alone and ask each perso
n if they knew Karin.

  But not only did the crowd intimidate Lindsey, who had never been bold, but she also sensed Harry wouldn’t approve.

  And despite the fact that he hadn’t called her since their kiss, she did care what Harry thought. So instead of doing what she should do to learn more about Karin, she stood twenty feet overhead, drinking wine to suppress the growing gnaw of guilt.

  One of the men looked up, and Lindsey’s gut clenched. It was the man from the first night, the one who had sent her racing down the stairs to Bloody Harry’s and into the bar owner’s arms. He met and held her gaze, studying her as if memorizing every aspect of her appearance.

  The wine turned brackish. She swallowed hard, almost choking. Her hand moved to her throat, and she looked away. After a second, she glanced back.

  He was still there, and he was still staring.

  She twisted to the side, pretending interest in the shop across the street, but she could still feel his gaze on her. Unable to stand the discomfort any longer, she turned to go back inside.

  As she did, a body dropped onto the balcony beside her. She staggered backward into the apartment. She instantly realized it was the worst thing she could have done. Outside on the balcony, the man and others would have seen her, would have heard her scream, but here, inside, she was alone.

  She lunged forward, trying to shut the french doors before whoever had invaded her balcony made his way into the apartment too, but she was too slow.

  A boy, no more than sixteen, stood between the two open doors, a hand on each and a grim expression on his face.

  o0o

  Harry stood next to the bar watching his clientele file inside. The mix of scotch and rum had done its job, dulled the pain at least enough he could stand here with the look of bored arrogance on his face that this mix of vampires and humans expected.

  “Harry!” Emilie floated in past two human couples who were obviously ignorant of the fact that the bar’s name had truth in its title. He glanced at her but continued with what he’d been doing, waving at one of the waitresses to seat the humans in the usual area.

  Emilie, however, wasn’t deterred. She plucked a full martini glass off the waitress’s tray and held it to her lips.

  The waitress glanced at her, annoyed, but Emilie stared her down, popping the drink’s olive into her mouth.