Love is the most dangerous enchantment…
A Captive Souls story.
All her life Dominique Fouche has chafed under her coven’s “protection”. It’s time she found out why she has never been allowed to explore the darker side of her nature. She ventures forth to get answers from the father she has never known, only to learn he is dead and she’s the new owner of his mansion.
The house is as mysterious as her past, where just opening an ancient book releases the pent-up fury and lust of a handsome, larger-than-life creature. Her strange new lover leaves her weak, satiated—and deathly afraid.
Bacclum, a mixed-blood angel, will not allow a mere witch stop him from finding his family and claiming his rightful heritage. Even if it means using every means at his disposal to siphon off Dominique’s power. Yet once deep inside her sinfully sweet body, he finds himself bound by a magic far stronger than any spell.
There’s a reason her blood calls out to his—and it’s made her an unwitting target of the same deadly forces bent on denying Bacclum his birthright…
Warning: Contains angel lovin’ hot enough to send you to confession for a month of Sundays—even if you’re not Catholic.
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They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Dominique’s Release
Copyright © 2009 by Kimberly Kaye Terry
ISBN: 978-1-60504-588-7
Edited by Angela James
Cover by Natalie Winters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com
Dominique’s Release
A Captive Souls Book
Kimberly Kaye Terry
Dedication
To my BFF, the notorious one, Vivi Anna, and my gal pal, Delilah Devlin… I love you, chicas, thanks for the encouragement. ;).
Prologue
Jean-Paul was a lusty, sinful man, and he knew it.
Living in an old, supposedly possessed mansion in a Louisiana parish only fueled his passions. With the whispering of great power to be had, he found himself driven to enhance his power and was willing to sacrifice his honor to accumulate more money, more land, and more women.
To that end, he visited a Haitian Vaudou priest in search of a potion or spell to increase his success. Before he gave the potion to Jean-Paul, the priest demanded a boon from the lustful man. The priest insisted he impregnate his disfigured daughter in order to ensure the continuation of his line. Repelled by the girl’s appearance, Jean-Paul refused.
The priest cursed him, promising that Jean-Paul would never again know success and that he would only sire female children. Further, each child would carry the same mark the priest bore—a symbol that would brand the girls as unmistakably his. Jean-Paul discounted the curse, and failing to acquire the potion, he returned to his quest for power.
Soon, the Haitian’s curse bore fruit.
Jean-Paul lost everything, except the plot with the old antebellum house that was his most prideful acquisition.
He fathered a child with a local Creole witch. When the child was born female and possessed the same mark as the priest—an elliptical pupil, the goat-like eye of a demon—Jean-Paul fled, afraid. Aimlessly, he roamed the world, searching for a way to break the curse.
He found himself far away from home in a small Norwegian village, lusting after a country healer. Again, he stayed to witness the birth of his child, praying the healer’s powers would protect her child and break his curse. His hopes were dashed when his second daughter was born with a demon’s evil eye. Chilled, Jean-Paul ran again, unsure where to seek redemption next.
His wanderings brought him to Ireland where he encountered a band of Irish Tinkers, the Gypsies of Ireland. Hoping their claims of magical gifts would be the key to his salvation he stayed for a time and enjoyed a carnal encounter with their leader’s daughter who was a seer. When she found out she was pregnant, she read the tea leaves only to discover her child would be marked. Jean-Paul abandoned her before the child was born.
In one last desperate attempt to break the curse that had ruined his life, Jean-Paul contacted his adult daughters, asking them to come to Louisiana. He’d planned to take them to the ancient priest and beg for release from his curse. Before his daughters could arrive, he took his own life to end his torment.
Upon his death, the house awakened and now waits for the children bearing the mark of the demon.
Chapter One
“Pontou et pe, q’iye an dou, v’eta!” Bacclum grunted the enchantment from behind clenched teeth. He clamped his thighs around the demon’s head and wrapped his hands around his throat.
His entire body was on fire, every muscle painfully strained as sweat poured from him and dripped onto the body of the massive creature he straddled.
“Pontou et pe, q’iye an dou, v’eta!” With the ancient words, the demon’s power flooded his body. Bloodied tears fell from the corners of the demon’s closed eyes. Bacclum ignored the sympathy hovering in the recesses of his mind. All that was important was that he find Azrael and for Azrael to lead him to Arakeil, Azrael’s father. To do so he needed the demon’s power added to his own.
The end was near; the Fallen One’s life source began to fade.
“Let him go, Bacclum!” the rumbling growl demanded close behind him. “It is enough!”
“Not until he gives me what I want.” Bacclum grunted. “I want all of it.” He held on to the demon’s neck, his strength increasing as the creature weakened.
Octavius’s leathery wing brushed against one of the many cuts on Bacclum’s naked back at the same time the demon opened his eyes. The whites were eclipsed blood red, and his gaze locked with Bacclum’s.
The demon reached his hand up and slashed a claw deep into the side of Bacclum’s face, scoring his flesh. The pain was intense, unlike any Bacclum had felt throughout the long battle.
He bellowed and his grip loosened. His head swam and bile churned within his gut and filled his mouth.
The demon’s mouth opened and moved without sound.
“Let go, Bacclum!” Octavius’s roar was deafening, the tinge of fear one Bacclum had never heard from the gargoyle in all their years bound together.
Bacclum desperately tried to release the demon, watching in surprised horror as the demon’s chanting somehow became audible, louder, picking up in intensity, until it was deafening, despite his hold on his throat.
The air around them grew hot, humid and sticky. The windows began to tremble and the furniture started to wobble before sliding across the floor. A chair slammed into Bacclum’s side, but didn’t dislodge him from his position on top of the demon.
Bacclum watched as though from a distance, as the demon’s voice became a whirlwind, sucking everything in the room into its ferociously spinning column. The windows’ quaking increased violently until they exploded, the glass splintering into a thousand fragments and shards of glass falling like icy rain on Bacclum’s naked body.
The floor beneath them rumbled, cracked and split, creating a large chasm.
Bacclum’s hands were torn from the demon’s neck and he was dragged away by unseeing hands. He glanced up in time to see a shadow throw Octavius as though he were of no more significance than a child’s toy—and not a six-and-a-half-foot, massive gargoyle—into the remaining intact window, glass exploding as he was hurled through.
Bacclum had no time to think of Octavius’s fate as he was dragged along the floor, away from the demon’s body, his fingers clamped down, digging deep grooves into the hard wood.
A large tome appeared from thin air, slowly making its way toward him, spinning in wild arcs until it stopped near his body, suspended in mid-air, pages flipping until the book was wide open.
“No!” he roared, fighting like hell to escape, even as his body and spirit were sucked into the glowing amber pages whose beckoning he could not resist.
***
“Domi, please, baby, reconsider this… I don’t feel good about it.”
With a definitive snap, Dominique closed the top of her last suitcase. She turned to face her mother, trying to keep her irritation in check.
“He was un tonnerre a la voile—he was no good, Dominique.”
A dark shadow fell across her mother’s features. Agate glanced away briefly, but not before Dominique saw her mother make the sign of the cross, reminding her that her mother had once led a different life, held a different belief, long ago.
“Momma? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Agate turned back to face her, a grim cast to her features that belied the determined smile firmly in place. She walked toward Dominique, and framed her face with her hands.
She eyed Dominique, worry reflected in her dark brown eyes. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Domi—”
“Look, Momma, I’m going. There isn’t anything you can say or do to change that. It’s my right, he is…was,” she instantly corrected herself, “my father.”
She placed her hands over her mother’s for a brief moment and squeezed, before gently removing Agate’s hands from her face. “This is something I have to do. I don’t want to hurt you…I just want you to at least try and understand.” She said it as gently as she could before turning back to her suitcases.
“No. He wasn’t. Not really.”
“Wasn’t what?” Dominique spun back around, brow wrinkled as she stared at her mother, confused.
Often, Dominique felt insignificant next to her mother. Agate was powerful, secure in her skills as a witch and her ability as the leader of their coven. She was confident in who and what she was. Traits Dominique felt she pitifully lacked.
But as she looked at her mother, the worry and fear etched deeply into her face reached out and nearly strangled Dominique.
Both women were tall, thin, angular, with a sinewy type of muscled build that had nothing to do with working out in any gym, and everything to do with simple genetics. Although Dominique worked out regularly with one of her coven sisters in the Brazilian martial art capoeira, she didn’t need the exercise to maintain the perfect physique she’d inherited from her mother’s line.
Their features were also markedly similar; Both had sharply cut cheekbones, full lips and slim noses that were just shy of being overly long. They were often called striking women, rather than beautiful, their looks not classified so simply.
But there were differences in the two women. Whereas Dominique’s complexion was a light brown, caramel color, Agate’s was the color of dark, smooth milk chocolate. Of course, beyond their skin color, there were other variations between the two women, some visible, others…not.
Unlike her mother’s dark, soulful brown eyes, Dominique’s eyes were different. Painfully so. That difference had marked her from the beginning and was a sign of other variations, traits that slowly began to manifest as Dominique grew into her maturity.
That very difference that marked her was the sole reason she was determined to find out who—what she mentally clarified—she was.
“That house…that man…no, you should stay away, Domi. Stay with me,” her mother part demanded and part pleaded.
But Dominique was resolute in her determination, despite the pull on her heart, knowing how badly Agate wished for her to stay with her. She couldn’t get sucked into her mother’s overprotectiveness. The time for that was over.
She had to find the answers to who she was. Deep inside she knew going to her father’s home was the only way she would find out the truth about herself.
She pulled her mother into her arms. “I’m going to be fine, Momma, don’t worry so much. I’m a big girl now.” For long moments the two women embraced.
Dominique held on to her mother. She pushed aside the anxiety and fear of the changes growing inside her that were escalating since she’d learned of her father and her inheritance.
After a while Agate moved away and nodded. From one of the deep pockets within the flowing, colorful caftan she wore, she withdrew a long, silver chain with an amulet attached.
“Don’t ever take this off while you’re away, baby.” Agate placed the necklace around Dominique’s neck, staring at Dominique, her gaze piercing. “And always keep it close against your skin, against your heart.”
Dominique glanced at her mother, noting the worried frown creasing her otherwise unlined skin.
“What is this, Momma?”
Dominique lifted the charm to inspect it. As she did, her mother closed her hand around Dominique’s, enclosing both their fists around the charm, and shut her eyes. Seconds later, the charm began to warm noticeably. The sudden heat startled her, and Dominique tried to pull her hand away.
“No.”
With the clipped demand, Dominique stilled.
Her heart jackhammered. Images flashed in her mind of a house, a mansion—the outline of what looked like a large…a…creature…something, fighting, his face contorted in pain, blood…
…before melding into images of a man and woman locked in an erotic embrace so intense Dominique felt the heat of their coupling sear her, brand her. Mark her.
Before the image could dissipate, she saw her own face, clearly. Her features were contorted in what could only be described as bliss.
Sheer, unadulterated, carnal bliss. She was the woman held within the creature’s erotic embrace.
She felt her face burn from the intensity of the image. Afraid, she fought against her mother’s hold.
“Momma…wha—what…” she stammered. She squeezed her eyes shut, her head throbbing. Nausea welled until she thought she’d vomit.
Her mother refused to let go. It felt like an eternity passed when suddenly the feeling was gone along with the kaleidoscope images and the heat from the charm receded. Her mother released her. Dominique stumbled back, swiping at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, staring dumfounded at her mother.
“Never take it off, Dominique.” Agate’s voice was firm, yet flat.
Shaken, Dominique could only stare in wonder mixed with fear at Agate.
“Promise me,” she demanded.
Dominique slowly bobbed her head up and down, unable to break her mother’s gaze. “I won’t, Momma, I promise.” The tears burning the back of her throat were as confusing to her as the images she’d just seen.
Chapter Two
“Not too many folks live this far out in the parish, not since round ’bout twenty, thirty years ago, no.” The cabby’s drawling voice broke into Dominique’s thoughts.
Her fingers were stroking the amulet around her neck subconsciously, smoothing over the raised characters etched into the charm.
She readjusted her body and sank back against the cracked, chipped leather seat in the raggedy cab, half listening to the cabby’s verbal “guide” as the car rattled and clucked its way along the deserted, narrow country lane.
Nervous excitement had kept her from getting much sleep the night before. With restless energy she’d tossed and turned, drea
ms of what she’d seen when she and her mother had clasped the amulet together flitting in and out of her dreams, until she’d finally given up on sleep. At dawn she’d dressed and sat outside on the terrace of their home, sipping herbal tea and trying to calm the jitters turning her gut inside out.
“Then oh, aroun’ oh, I don’ know, ’bout, forty, fifty years ago or so,” he drawled on, in a thick accent, “when all that strange mess goin’ on, folks started movin’out.”
“What happened?” she asked, her interest piqued.
“Folks started talkin’ ’bout the old mansion, seein’ stuff, ghosts and shit. Then they started sayin’ how they couldn’t pass that old bridge up ’head.” He pointed a bony finger toward the cracked windshield indicating a bridge Dominique could barely make out. “Hell, you couldn’t even get into this area if you was to come at the wrong time. Folks with good sense didn’t even try. Not after dark anyways.”
The uneasy feeling she’d been fighting grew stronger. At first she put it down to nerves and uncertainty about her trip, but the more the old man talked, the closer they came to the mansion, the stronger the feeling became.
“It got stirred up again when ol’ Jean-Paul bought the place and moved in. And now, since the old man died, ah been hearin’ ’bout how it done started up again. We all thought it’d get better once the old man died. But it ain’t,” he said and from the backseat Dominique could hear the fear in the old man’s voice.
“Tourists ain’t got no damn sense. They the very ones who hear the rumors and that’s the first place they wanna visit when they come to the parish! Damn fools.” He shook his head. Realizing what he said, he quickly tried to make amends. “Not that you a fool, miss! Uh, didn’t mean to offend—”
Dominique gave the old man a half-smile and shook her head. “No offense taken.” It was easier than telling him she had no plans on being a simple “tourist”, that she had every intention of staying.
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