“You’re afraid.” The knowledge came from a deep buried knowing, one that told her that her mother’s protection went far deeper than shielding Dominique from the cruelty of others because of her looks.
“You don’t want me to find out who I am. You want to keep me away from finding out who I am, you always have.” She flung the accusations, and the amulet she no longer removed began to warm as though warning her of other unknown threats… She shook her head. Her mother loved her, she would never hurt her. She only wanted to protect her.
“The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do was protect you, Dominique.”
When her mother’s words mirrored her thoughts, a chill ran down Dominique’s spine.
“Protect me, Momma? Or yourself? Who are you really trying to protect?”
Agate drew in a swift, disbelieving breath and Dominique felt the dread that had been pooling in her gut twist and tighten her insides.
“Who am I, Momma?” Dominique paused, took a breath. “It’s time for you to stop with the secrets, the lies…half-truths. It’s time for you to tell me about my father. About who I am, what I am…”
There was a pregnant pause, again, but this time Dominique refused to give in, let her mother off the hook. This time she wanted some answers, answers she damn well knew Agate could provide for her.
Dominique forced herself to remain quiet, forced herself not to impatiently demand answers, and waited.
“Jean-Paul wasn’t your father. He was simply a vessel. Your real father is the reason you have your…differences,” Agate began, in a halting tone. “Who he was, mixed with our ancestry, our blood, our witchery, all was pre-destined. You are not only a descendant of the oldest race of creatures on earth, the Watchers, you are also a descendant of those who sought to destroy them. And I’m afraid for you, Dominique. Going back there…I’m afraid you might unleash something you’re not ready to handle. Something that could destroy you, baby.”
The knot of dread grew to a fiery ball of fear that whipped a trail of liquid fire through her body.
“Please come home,” Agate begged, her voice low, as though she was afraid something…or someone…was listening.
***
Where was she? Where was the damnable witch!
After she’d left, Bacclum had expected to fall back into that wretched state of limbo, aware but not conscious, a state he’d been in since she’d arrived and woken him.
When he’d first been bound to the book, he’d nearly lost his mind. His body, mind and spirit bound in an alternative reality where he could not move, yet his mind stayed active. It had taken a while, but he’d eventually learned how to numb the effects and place himself in a state of animated suspension, a place where he was not as aware of the state he was in, and in doing so, his seclusion had been made tolerable. Eventually he had begun to lose complete awareness of time passing and even to forget who he was.
With only brief times where something in the house had had enough power to bring him to awareness, nothing had brought him this far out. And he’d been pissed off each time some creature had come, tempting him, tormenting him into thinking he could be freed. But, none had had enough power to help him break free.
He didn’t know why the witch had been able to, until he’d touched her. And, he didn’t know what was better, complete oblivion or this…this…
He paced the length of the room in long, angry strides, end to endless end.
The room was much bigger than a normal room size, of that much he’d found out since she’d released him. What appeared as a somewhat large—roughly twenty- by thirty-foot—room, was actually deeper, layered. He could walk to one side in less than the time it took him to say her name, yet when he glanced over his shoulder it was to find that the distance he’d covered had been far greater.
She thought she’d bound him back to where he’d come, Bacclum knew, but he’d linked with her, something he still wasn’t sure how he’d done. And with that linking, the binding hadn’t been as effectual as she thought.
His eyes rested on the door. So simple.
Hesitantly he reached out, grasped the knob and twisted. He drew in a breath and pushed the door
So damn simple. It opened, swinging wide on creaking hinges. A wide, satisfied grin stretched across Bacclum’s mouth
***
“Come back home.” Agate’s last words rang in Dominique’s mind. The fear she’d felt behind her mother’s words rang even louder.
Dominique had gotten off the phone with her mother and, instead of feeling assured, feeling she knew the answers to her long unanswered questions, felt more confused than ever.
She’d always known that women of the Fouche line were direct descendants of the Watchers, angels brought to earth to be the guardians of man, and that there had been few males born into her maternal lineage. Restless, wanting answers to questions she’d had about her family, herself, she began to wander aimlessly though the mansion. She ventured into rooms that, although as neatly kept as the rest of the house, held a musky odor in the air, a certain dank quality that told her the room hadn’t been used by anyone in years. Damned if she even knew what she was looking for.
But, Dominique knew, deep down, that coming here was her only way to find answers to all of her questions. Now, what those answers would reveal about herself, she had no idea…
She was set to pass another room, one she’d seen earlier, and a quick peek inside had revealed it to be yet another study filled with books, much like a few others. She closed the door when the amulet warmed against her skin and paused
She had begun to understand, bond with, in a strange way, the amulet her mother had given her. In the beginning she’d thought it to have a spell of protection woven into the medal. But, the longer she wore it, the more it took on different properties. She’d intended to ask Agate about it, but had been so irritated with her mother that she’d gotten off the phone as soon as she could before doing so.
Her hand went back to the faux crystal knob of the door. The first time she’d passed, before speaking to her mother, nothing like that had happened. No warming of the amulet to suggest anything out of the ordinary, no answering pull deep inside her to coincide with the warming.
She drew in a breath and opened the door. Advancing inside, Dominique’s spirit was instantly on guard, her body nearly vibrated in response to the energy in the room, an energy that pulled her in. She cocked her head to the side. This…feeling…was different than the energy she’d felt when she encountered the room where Bacclum resided. The very thought of him, what they’d done together…she determinedly put him out of her mind. No easy task.
Walking further inside, she glanced around at the end-to-end shelves, lined neatly with hundreds of books. Unerringly she went to one shelf, her fingers running over the dust-free spines of the tomes.
“There are so many,” she said aloud. She removed several of them, filling her arms with as many as she could hold, and sank down on the cold wood floor, placing the books in front of her.
She lifted one onto her lap and quickly ran a glance over the contents. Surprise widened her eyes when several old photos fell from the inside cover to flutter into her lap. She picked them up when she saw her own face staring up at her. “What in the hell?” she mumbled, picking up the photo.
It was one of few pictures taken of her, less than two years ago when she and one of her coven sisters had gone on a trip to New Orleans. It was one of the rare times she’d had her mother’s blessing in leaving her small parish or her community. They’d gone on a mission to retrieve an old artifact that belonged to the coven, and Dominique remembered how excited she’d been that her mother had loosened up enough to allow her the small excursion.
The picture had been taken outside the bistro she and Aleksandra had gone to when, after successfully finishing the job, for the first time in longer than she remembered, Dominique had felt a real sense of belonging to her coven. She’d felt useful.
She ran her
finger over the picture, a small smile of remembrance on her face. But, who had taken the picture? A frown replaced her smile of reminiscence.
She picked up the other two pictures and drew in a deep, long breath.
She brought the pictures close.
Although both women were as different in appearance to her as they were to each other, there was no mistaking who they were.
Her sisters.
She felt tears prick the back of her eyes, and quickly batted them away as she stared down at each woman’s picture.
One was pale with long blonde hair and sharp features. One side of her hair covered her face, yet she defiantly stared up into the camera, as though she knew someone was watching her.
And didn’t give a damn.
Like Dominique she had an elliptical eye, yet on the woman…her sister, it seemed…fitting. A small grin lifted one corner of her lip as she stared into the camera. Fascinated with not only the woman, but the energy that vibrated from the picture alone, Dominique’s fingers tightened on the picture.
Besides the shared deformity, there was a sense of familiarity about the woman, the cast to her features Dominique recognized as similar to her own. As soon as she thought the word deformity in reference to their eyes, something inside her rebelled.
This one was Kiara. The gypsy. The knowledge flooded her, enveloped her in a strangely comforting way.
She turned her attention to the other photo. This sister was as dark as the other was fair. One bright blue eye blazed, seemed so vibrant that the picture seemed alive.
With reluctance Dominique reverently placed the pictures back inside the cover flap and began to read the contents of the small journal.
In the beginning the words were written in a strong, bold, distinct, flowing script. The journalist began, with excitement, to tell of his life as a young man living in New Orleans, his plans to gain wealth, his desire to be someone men feared and women lusted after.
Jean-Paul wrote of his incredible successes with enough energy that his words leaped from the pages of the journal, , in riveting detail. Dominique saw that although his successes were heady, exhilarating, with more success came more hunger, and he grew restless, wanting more and more until he wasn’t satisfied. He began to turn to alternative ways to fulfill his relentless desire, need, for higher success.
I’ve found him. I’ve found the Vaudou priest, the one who I’m sure will be able to help me reach what I want, the one who has eluded me. He’s promised to fulfill my desire, promised me that in return I only have one small thing he requires. I’ve no intention of giving him what he wants; after he gives me my desire, what can he do to me? I will have everything I want!
Dominique felt the excitement and pompous arrogance in Jean-Paul’s written word. In his arrogance, he disregarded what Dominique saw coming.
As she continued to read, a sense of dread and odd déjà vu grew, as though she had lived through this along with him. The amulet grew red hot against her skin, until she hissed in pain when it became unbearable.
She grasped it and pulled it and all but snatched it away from her neck, but the powerful reaction…warning…or whatever it was from the amulet made her pause as she glanced down at the journal in her lap.
“Shit…” She murmured the expletive even as she set the book to the side after earmarking her place.
She lifted one of the heavy, large books she’d withdrawn from the shelf instead, and opened the first page.
“Thank goodness it’s written in Latin.” She scanned the first few pages. Latin was one of many languages she was fairly adept at reading, thanks to the teachings in her coven. As she read, she realized it was a text of ancient lore, filled with a plethora of information on a variety of mythical creatures that far preceded Christianity.
Dominique settled back against the bookshelf more comfortably, fascinated with the very detailed cataloging of various creatures, some she knew of, others she hadn’t.
So engrossed in the ancient book, Dominique didn’t feel the difference in the air, the shift of energy…
Chapter Seven
Bacclum felt her before he saw her.
One moment he was standing in the doorway of his prison, one foot poised to try and step outside the room, the next moment fiery pain arced through his entire body as he made the attempt. Within moments the gasping pain left, and he opened his eyes to see her sitting cross-legged on the floor. Unaware of him, she sat engrossed in her book, a frown marring her otherwise smooth forehead.
She’s mine.
As soon as he thought the words, he hesitated. He reached for his magic, relief washing over him when he realized that although greatly limited, he had access to some small bit of his abilities as he shrouded himself from her, wanting the time to observe her without her knowledge.
Her uncommon beauty, her aura, tugged at him, drew him in, in ways he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. His eyes trained on the two small top teeth that gnawed at her bottom lip as she read.
When he’d been in her mind, Bacclum had been startled when he discovered their shared ancestry, thinking there were no more of his kind left on earth. Although diluted, the blood of the Watchers was strong in her, calling out to him. He also knew, because of that reason, she had been able to awaken him.
The lure of tapping into her well of power was something he couldn’t resist.
He would get what he needed from her, take her magic and not only free himself from the enchantment, her magic would be what he needed to find his family as well. He’d siphon from her the wild, untamed magic she seemed unaware of. She nearly vibrated with power. All that untapped power just waiting to be unleashed, his for the taking.
The thought of the method in which he’d extract her power was heady. His cock thickened against the loose pants he’d manufactured when he’d awakened and strained painfully against the zipper.
He made a move toward her.
Dominique’s mouth gaped, her heartbeat thrummed when she looked up to see the creature towering over her, his long, thick thighs braced far apart, his arms crossed over his massive chest, less than a foot in front of her. Her gaze traveled over the stern expression on his beautiful face, then down his body, and hesitated at the large bulge that strained against the front of his pants.
She threw the book she’d been reading to the side and swiftly scrambled to her feet, then spun around, looking for the nearest exit.
Dear God, she thought she’d bound him back to wherever he came from, thought she’d never see him again! Still, she’d gone so far as to relocate her things to one of the downstairs bedrooms just for safe measure.
After a full twenty-four hours of not seeing him, she’d convinced herself that whoever, whatever, he was, he was firmly back where he belonged.
Even as the ridiculous thought filtered into her brain, Dominique heard her own inner voice mock her and call her all kinds of liars.
She’d known it was only a matter of time before she’d see him again. And she knew it was something she wanted to happen.
Well, now was her time of reckoning.
“Is there nothing you don’t run away from, Dominique? Are you so spineless that everything frightens you, little mouse?”
The mocking words delivered in his deep, rumbling growl of a voice stopped Dominique in her tracks, made the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stand up on end.
Pissed off, angry on a level that went beyond the simple words he threw at her, she spun back around to face him.
Despite the fact that, hell yes she was scared—who the hell wouldn’t be, witch or mortal confronted with over seven feet of angry…whatever the hell he was, angel, god, demon, whatever—there was no way in hell she was going to allow anyone else to manipulate her again. Ever.
“I don’t know who…what you are,” she began, ignoring the fact that she knew good and damn well who he was after their exchange of the day before. She also ignored that she knew him in ways she didn’t understand, knew him better on m
any levels than she did those whom she’d known her entire life. “But, whatever you are, this is over.”
He stayed where he was, big arms crossed over his broad chest, and stared at her, one dark blond brow raised. The lazy half-smile across his face belied the predatory gleam in his eyes.
“No, this is far from over, Dominique. This is over when you release me.”
“Release you from what?” she demanded. Again, the knowledge they’d shared during the otherworldly exchange hovered in the recesses of her mind.
Without another word he advanced toward her. This time she didn’t move, didn’t turn to run. He placed a hand over her heart, easing his thick fingers over the amulet she wore.
After a pause, Dominique placed her hand over his and their fingers intertwined.
Dominique felt their combined energy, heat, instantly, but this time she accepted it, welcomed it.
She felt the shift in him, the surprise he felt at the connection. Their awareness of each other, of who they were, escalated, surrounded them, blanketing them so that they stood outside of time, yet linked.
He broke the connection, his breathing harsh. Keeping his eyes on her, Bacclum quickly divested himself of his clothing with a thought, but before Dominique could marvel at how he’d done that, he’d pulled her unresisting body close, and lowered them both to the floor, his big body pressing intimately against hers.
He captured her mouth and shoved the short dress she wore up the length of her body, his hands warming her when Dominique felt the cool wood floor on her naked backside after he tore her panties away from her body in one quick pull.
He levered himself away from her, braced his arms on either side of her body, bracketing her. Unable to look away from him, her gazed locked with his. Her eyes trailed over his face, the stern expression, yet the softening at his mouth made her reach up and run a finger over his full, sensual lips.
He clenched his jaw and pushed his hand between them, grasping his cock and running the bulbous tip of his knob between her slick crease before wrapping her legs around his hips and sinking deep inside her.
Dominique's Release: A Captive Souls story Page 5
