Savage Bayou (Things that go Bump in the Bayou Book 2)

by Alizabeth Lynn

  A gentle hand smoothed the long red braid that fell down her back. “Honey, you can’t keep sweeping this under the rug. It’s going to keep eating at you until you give in. Your drive to figure things out won’t leave this alone.”

  Ophelia heaved a sigh, pushing her food across her plate with the tines of her fork. “I know his name, now, Aunt Jan,” she said softly.

  The older woman settled into the chair across from her, steepling her fingers under her chin. “And now you’re wondering how this is going to change things—and just how long you can go before you have to know.”

  “Yeah.” She sat back, her fork dropping to the plate with a clatter. “I still don’t want to talk about it–” she broke off with a shrug, and pinned her aunt with a long stare– “but last night’s dream was different. He’s not dead.”

  Janice placed her hands on the tabletop, linking her fingers together. “So...you told me the clothing placed them sometime in the early 1700’s, if I’m remembering correctly. This means that if he’s not dead, he’s probably either a shifter, vampire, or evil sorcerer.”

  “I don’t know, but last night I was watching him find the bodies from the sidelines—while he stood across the room in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt.” She sat forward and rolled her shoulders, frowning. “I highly doubt they had those in the 1700’s, but I also don't like the other options.”

  Tongue in her cheek, Janice grinned. “No one said you had to. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I thought about trying to talk to him within one of the dreams—using my power—but I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet, or if it’s even a possibility.” She took a bite of her lukewarm eggs and gestured with her fork. “It’s past time I asked…what were dad’s powers?”

  Janice leaned back. “He could manipulate fire and enter people’s dreams. I don’t think he could talk to them, though. The only person I know with the same kind of power as you is Eleanor, but speaking to should-be-long-dead people might be more than she can do. You may have to visit the dreaded internet for your answers, Phia.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “So...what’s his name?”

  “Daniel—no last name, yet, but I got a better look at the shack, so I might have something else to go on.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know they were Catholic—a large crucifix on the wall, and his wife was clutching a rosary in one bloody hand. Then, beside the crucifix was a warped wooden fleur-de-lis.”

  “Which means the dreams take place in New Orleans, circa at least 1718.”

  “I think so. It’s not much to go on, but it’s more than I’ve had, and I’ve been having these dreams for a while, now.” Ophelia polished off the rest of her eggs and gestured again with her fork. “That still doesn’t explain the modern t-shirt, unless I go with one of your crappy options.”

  “Not crappy; logical,” Janice told her with a smirk.

  “Yeah, well, your logic sucks, Aunt Jan.” Ophelia sighed. “As morbid as it sounds, I wish I could see the bodies clearer, but they are always hidden in the dark.”

  “Hoping to disprove my logic?”

  “Exactly.”

  Janice chuckled. “So, all the time the dream was first-person, you didn’t know what he was thinking?”

  Ophelia shook her head, and took a bite of her bacon, waving the uneaten end at her aunt. “Not really. Mostly just vague impressions, but no concrete thoughts. God knows it couldn’t be that easy. But what about any of this is normal, anyway?”

  Janice’s big barking laugh filled the kitchen. “Honey, you come from one of Louisiana’s oldest magickal families—normal has never played a part in it.”

  A couple of hours later, Janice’s words still ringing in her ears, Ophelia kicked back on her couch. She stared across the room, her mind wandering away from the blood, terror, and mayhem on the written pages of the open book in her lap—a paranormal thriller. Whatever had possessed her to try replacing dream-blood with written-blood, she didn’t know. It wasn’t helping. She couldn’t get the grief-stricken look of her dream-man out of her mind. She’d never seen anyone look so devastated.

  Her gut told her he was a man to be trusted, but her mind, a bit more logical in the scheme of things, insisted there was something wrong with the fact that he was still alive, over three hundred years after his family died. She squeezed her eyes shut as her aunt's words whispered over and over in the back of her mind:

  Shifter, vampire, or sorcerer.

  Out of the three, she’d rather deal with the sorcerer, even if he was into dark magick—it’s not like she was lacking experience in that department. Shaking her head, Ophelia placed the book on her coffee table. If her imagination was going to be a bitch, she didn’t need to fuel it any further. She laid her head on the back of the couch, and closed her eyes. Rubbing her temples, she tried to make her mind focus on anything else, but it was no use. Within moments, she was back within the blood-washed walls of the dream.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ophelia came to with a crick in her neck, and the nausea once again churning in her belly. “Son of a bitch!” she cursed quietly.

  The damn dream was more vivid than ever before, leaving her with pounding temples and an aching heart. Headaches were the one pain she couldn’t deal with, so she grabbed some Tylenol from the end table beside her couch and headed to the kitchen. Glaring at the cabinets, she downed the medication with a glass of water. She really hated feeling weak.

  Ophelia leaned against her counter, giving the medicine a chance to kick in. It took twenty minutes for the pain to ease. She tilted her head up and gazed at the ceiling. She was curious to know more about the family—she was certain they were related somehow—in her dreams. The sight of the dead woman and children broke Ophelia’s heart. The problem was that although she felt for the family, the scenes had happened far in the past, and it would be nearly impossible to find out more without better clues.

  Shaking her head, Ophelia stepped away from the counter and stalked to her bathroom to take a shower. She had work today, which was made even more important by the fact that she’d just got back from an almost month-long vacation. The timing sucked, but it was what it was, and Eleanor would be expecting her to give her all to the store, like she always did. No more memories of odd dreams, and definitely no more thinking about the time she’d taken off. It was all water under the bridge, now, and if everything went well, there would be absolutely nothing to worry about.

  Except the night, but some things couldn’t be helped.

  Half an hour later, dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a simple violet blouse, Ophelia headed to Baby Steps to cover the mid-morning shift. At some point during her absence, her best friend and Baby Steps almost-owner, Carissa, took a few unexplained weeks for herself, as well. Now that Ophelia was back, she would take up Carissa’s slack, closely watched by Eleanor, the founder of the little second hand store.

  Ophelia entered the office ten minutes before the beginning of her shift. As she stored her purse, she texted her friend, even though they hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks. Enough was enough. If she didn’t hear from Carissa before Eleanor arrived, Ophelia would be pumping her friend’s grandmother for information by lunchtime.

  Eleanor walked through the front doors at two minutes until noon, and Ophelia still hadn’t heard from her friend.

  "How are you today, Ms. Eleanor?”

  "As well as can be expected under the circumstances." The older woman replied with a wan smile as they walked back toward the office.

  “The circumstances?” Ophelia inquired as she picked up the stack of the morning paperwork. It would be left for the other assistant manager, Sadie, to fill out after the evening’s shift was complete.

  Eleanor held her gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you know: Vampires, werewolves, big, bad, undead killing force descending on our little town. The usual.”

  Ophelia dropped the stack of files onto her desk
and heaved a frustrated sigh. “Why couldn’t the issue in Chicken Park be an isolated thing? All of this drama needs to leave our town alone—it’s like a freaking supernatural soap opera!”

  Eleanor laughed wryly as one corner of her mouth twisted up. “That would be ideal, wouldn’t it? There’s quite a bit more to that than anyone realizes. Maybe even more than you realize.” She paused and shook her head. “We’ll worry about that later.” She narrowed her eyes at Ophelia. “What’s going on with your dreams, child?”

  Ophelia’s legs went numb, and she sat down in her chair with a thud. “Seriously. Is nothing a secret around you?”

  Eleanor pulled one of the other chairs over, and sat down beside her. Without saying a word, the older woman held out her right hand, palm up. For a moment, nothing happened, but then a faint blue glow appeared. It grew to about the size of a baseball before solidifying into a perfect sphere of ice. Eleanor’s eyes crinkled when she smiled at Ophelia.

  “This is how I see. It’s not as simple as Janice and her bowls of water, but the power is the same.”

  It took Ophelia a moment to find her voice. She’d known for years that Eleanor was a sorceress—that she had power most could only dream about—yet the older woman never failed to surprise her. Ophelia stared at the unmelting ball of ice the sorceress sat on the desk. Its clear blue surface sparkled in the overhead light, beckoning her to move closer.

  As she looked deeper, the inner crystals seemed to churn, swirling and glistening, to form a smoky picture. Without conscious thought, she willed it to clear, already certain of what she would see. Time eked on, seconds turning to minutes, as the smoke coalesced into the figure of a man on a bed. Daniel.

  The light around him was dim, but was sufficient enough to show his figure clearly. Blond hair framed an angular face with a slightly crooked nose, and full, sculpted lips. His lanky body hung past the end of the bed, placing him at least two or three inches over six feet.

  Daniel was fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and although he slept, he looked to be in great pain. Every so often, his body would grow taut, a grimace creasing the smooth planes of his face. Moaning, he thrashed about the bed, the sound of his voice full of so much agony it brought tears to Ophelia’s eyes.

  Instinctively, she gazed deeper, into Daniel’s mind, and to her surprise, she saw her dream reflected in his thoughts. With her breath heaving, Ophelia slapped a hand over her mouth and uttered a startled cry. Blinking rapidly, she pulled out of both visions. Sitting back in her chair, she pressed a hand over her racing heart. Her mind questing back to the conversation she’d had with her aunt and the timeframe inside the dream. The shock faded as she mentally rolled her eyes. Why can’t I just dream about a normal guy?

  "What is he?” she asked, frustrated.

  Eleanor passed her hand over the ice. The ball shrunk into itself, the blue color swirling with pinks and greens. Once it became the size of a marble, the ball rose into the air, spinning faster and faster, until, with a small POP it disappeared completely. Ophelia watched Eleanor’s serene movements with burgeoning impatience. The older woman’s hand glowed blue as the power was reabsorbed into her skin, and Ophelia had to bite down the urge to ask her question again.

  Eleanor smiled, her eyes guarded, but kind. She reached out and laid one wrinkled hand over Ophelia’s.

  "Daniel is a vampire, and his is the heart that will complete your own."

  Chapter Three

  Across town as soon as the sun set that evening, Daniel stood up and kicked the side of the motel bed. It wasn’t the fault of an inanimate object that he’d had the dream again, but it was either hit it, or find a face to smash, and he wasn’t that type of person. If he ever pinpointed the source of the magick that crackled in the air around him – or the woman he kept seeing in his dreams – he might feel differently. He didn’t care for the sensation of being watched when he couldn’t always see the culprit.

  Heaving a sigh, and dragging his hand through his already tousled hair, Daniel left the motel room in search of food, noticing that his friend had received his text. He didn’t have to pick up the sticky-backed yellow paper on the ground to read what it said. He chuckled at the one word note:

  Asshole.

  It would have been easier for Sean to text him, but that wasn't his friend's style. That was too easy. Shaking his head, he returned his focus to securing breakfast. Lucky for him, there was a man exiting a pickup truck not far from where he stood. The vampire walked over, put the man into a trance, and proceeded to feed as quickly as possible.

  The moment the stranger stumbled away, Daniel made use of his speed, arriving at Aden’s new home within the hour. He knocked on the door and prayed for a warm reception.

  Although he left on trusting terms with Aden, he knew that didn't overshadow the events of the months before. First, he’d nearly caused Aden’s death, then, in failing to kill the werewolf, Ryker, the first time around, nearly ended the life of both Aden and his mate, Carissa...all in one night. It was a lot for anyone to forgive.

  However, when the door finally opened, Daniel’s fears were laid to rest. Carissa immediately pulled him into a crushing hug. He smiled, returning her hug, taking care not to squeeze too hard. Carissa was pregnant with Aden’s child.

  “Daniel!” she exclaimed. “You’re blond!”

  He laughed. “I am. Decided to go back to my natural color.”

  “Well, it looks good. We had no idea you’d be home so soon, though. How’d everything go?”

  “Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you.” He looked past her into the darkened house. “Where’s Aden?”

  Carissa didn’t answer until the door shut behind them. “He’s with my father doing wolf stuff.” She flashed him a grin. “Since Aden can shift at will, he’s schooling the Pack Master.”

  Daniel heard the nerves beneath the humor. “I take it your dad isn’t as accepting as you would like?”

  Carissa sighed, placing a hand over her belly. “You’re right. He’s used to being in control, but with the impending war, he knows he’s losing ground. After the fiasco the night Aden and I were mated, some of the older members of the pack are refusing to follow orders.” Daniel raised his eyebrows at her words, and she smiled wryly. “Oh, they’re all still on the same side, they just don’t think Garrett is the best choice in leader. They want Aden.”

  Daniel sat down on the nearest chair. “Aden? The wolves want a half-vampire leader?”

  Carissa perched on the coffee table in front of him. “Apparently so.”

  Daniel scratched his chin. "Are they desperate? Isn't there someone else who can take Garrett's position? Anyone else?"

  Carissa pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing as she tilted her head to the side and considered his question. Minutes passed before she answered, her voice low. "There probably is, but they don't know the vampires like Aden does, and they see his insight as an advantage. He also doesn’t shift like the rest of us. His wolf is as large as ours, but unlike us, his eyes retain their human color. Some of the more superstitious pack members believe that he may have powers none of us have seen, yet."

  Daniel leaned back and stroked his chin. “I see. I suppose that does make sense, but what does Aden have to say about what the pack wants?”

  “Nothing, yet. It’s only been a few weeks since he went up against my father for me. I’m sure he doesn’t want to go up against him for the pack; at least not right now.” Sighing, Carissa stood up, pacing a half-circle across the room from him. “He won’t tell me, and I doubt he’ll tell you, but this war has him worried. I don’t think he believes he can handle both the war and the pack simultaneously. He’s just not a violent man; and with a new baby to think about?” She stopped talking and sighed again.

  “But what do you think?”

  Carissa halted. The edges of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “I think he needs to take over the pack. With Aden in control, the were-s would be united, stronger and more powerful tha
n they ever were.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “When I was held here, I discovered there were perks to being me, and then when Aden came into his were-power, he discovered some additional abilities, as well. Some of them are teachable. At least to elder members of the pack, and those descended from the original bloodline.”

  Daniel leaned forward, intrigued. “What abilities?”

  “Woodland magick.”

  “Magick?”

  The smile Carissa shot him was smug and full of humor. “Follow me outside, and I’ll show you.”

  Carissa left him standing by the front door while she walked to stand in the middle of the front yard. She positioned herself a few feet away and raised her arms toward the sky. The air shimmered with a faint white light as she pursed her lips and whistled.

  The tune flowed around them and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. The trees rustled as the wind picked up, swirling and sighing through the branches, and he caught the sound of wings. Soon the yard was full of birds. They perched on the lawn and stared at Carissa with rapt attention.

  She lowered her arms, the light still pulsing, and she whistled again. Two short bursts, one long, and suddenly Daniel had twenty birds flapping around his head. He laughed as they tweeted, ruffling his hair before they flew off into the night, gradually followed by the rest of the flock.

  Daniel rushed to her side. “You can talk to birds! That’s amazing!”

  Carissa laughed. “Not just birds, Daniel. All animals. Well, I can talk to them all, and so can Aden. Most of the pack can only speak to one or two types, but the older we get, the more we can do.”

  Daniel scratched his chin again, an old habit. “That doesn’t explain how you, being so young to the were-world, can talk to them all.” Then it dawned on him. “You’re a direct descendant, aren’t you?”

  She grinned at him. “Yep. My father is the great-grandson of the first were- ever created in our line.”