“You feed from humans all the time. Press that hot body of yours against strange men, and yet you won’t drink from me.”
Ana heard the accusation in his words and though she didn’t trust herself to speak, she managed to blurt, “That’s different.”
He turned then, his anger palpable. Vibrations rippled along the floor. They crept up the bedposts and rattled the shutters that covered her windows.
“Why is it different?”
“I need blood to live, Declan. They’re a food source. Nothing more.”
He arched a brow. “Did you take from Diego?”
Ana’s belly dropped and she felt faint. Diego was a name that would haunt her forever it seemed. Diego Castille, her former lover and the man she’d fancied herself in love with when she’d worked at PATU.
“When you had sex with him . . . did you feed from Diego?” Bitterness hung in the air and she swallowed heavily. She couldn’t lie.
“Yes.” But I didn’t bond with him. I didn’t give him my blood. There was no fear of consequence. I never wanted him the way I want you.
Declan stared down at her, his dark eyes fathomless and cold. His chest rose and fell as he fought for control, yet he remained silent. Slowly he pulled on his jeans and left without another word.
Sadness welled in her heart and Ana fought the tears that stung the corner of her eyes. She slipped from the bed and grabbed his T-shirt. It still held his warmth and she hugged it close to her body. Eventually she pulled the shirt over her head and fell back onto the mattress. His scent was all around her—on her body, his shirt, and her sheets. She inhaled it and closed her eyes as she savored his unique signature.
Ana didn’t regret one moment she’d shared with Declan. She was selfish enough to admit that, though the hunger he’d awakened would curse her until the end of days.
Outside the sun was nearly full in the sky. A new day dawned for the residents of New Orleans. Ana snuggled deeper into the bed, hating the emptiness that sat in her gut. There would be no promise of new beginnings for her.
They’d died the minute Declan had claimed her heart.
Chapter 15
“You want another?”
The question turned his head and Declan nodded. Sarah grabbed a bottle of whiskey and freely poured him a triple. The liquid burned as it went down but he savored the sensation and glanced around the room.
It was late afternoon and the Voodoo Lounge was quiet. His ass had been parked at the bar for a few hours and the landscape hadn’t changed much. Ransome wasn’t in yet. Apparently he’d taken a drive out to Bon Terre, the town where he came from, to attend to some pack business.
“You got woman troubles?”
Declan downed the remaining liquid and set his glass on the bar. “Excuse me?”
Sarah wiped the counter with careful precision. Her hair was held tight in two ponytails, the faded blond shot through with gray. Though the bar was supposed to be smoke-free, a cigarette dangled from her lips. She took a long drag and blew out a fine line of gray.
“The only thing that drives a man like you to my bar on a perfectly beautiful afternoon”—her eyes narrowed—“is woman troubles.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I like the ambience.”
“The what?” Sarah poured herself a drink and leaned toward him. Apparently the bartenders Ransome hired had free rein with his stock.
“I don’t much care for big words.”
There was something about her that he liked; her simple attitude and no-bullshit way of speaking, for one. Declan smiled at the woman. “I had nowhere else to go.”
“Ah, I see.” Sarah butted her cigarette and threw a towel over her shoulder. “The lady you were with last night, she part of your troubles?”
Declan’s face immediately darkened.
Sarah nodded. “I knew it.” She leaned forward. “A piece of advice?”
Declan stared at her but remained silent. Down the way, the only other occupant of the bar shouted for a beer. Sarah turned and yelled at him, “Hold up, I’ll be there in a second.”
“Not the best way to garner tips,” Declan murmured.
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “He’s a regular. A two-bit shifter from Florida who only tips the first hour his butt is at my bar.” She glanced toward the glowering male. “He’s been here longer than you, so trust me, he can wait.”
Declan indicated he wanted another drink. Sarah dutifully filled his glass and then narrowed her gaze on him. “She’s a vampire.”
He eyed the amber liquid. What the hell was the woman getting at?
“Your lady friend.”
No shit.
“I’d rather not discuss Ana.” A muscle tightened along his jaw as he held the glass between his fingers.
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “They’re bad news is all I’m saying.”
“You don’t sound like a fan.”
“I’m not,” she retorted. Sarah turned and grabbed a cold beer from the cooler. She glanced back at him before heading toward the shifter at the end of the bar. “Trust me.” She arched a brow. “You stay away from her and you’ll be a happier man.”
It’s too late for that.
Declan remained silent and stared down into his drink. Way too fucking late. He was still angry, frustrated, and if he wanted to be brutally honest, he’d admit that a whole lotta hurt was mixed into the equation as well.
He’d fantasized for so long about what it would be like to have her. To hold her sweet body in his hands and make her sigh with pleasure. He wanted to connect with the woman on a level that was sacred. He wanted to be that guy who stood above all the others. The one she wanted for keeps.
Declan clenched his teeth and turned away from the bar. The connection he’d craved hadn’t happened.
He felt empty, cheated, and pissed off.
Why couldn’t she be like any other lay? A quick fuck, no need for conversation, and move on to the next. He’d thought that if he could have her, even just once, maybe the raw need he felt every time he looked at her or thought about her would go away. Instead, it burned hotter, meaner, and Declan knew it would never abate.
He ran his hand through his hair as his gaze traveled the room. Tonight he was heading back to Hell. Back to Lilith. He needed to focus and yet all he could think about was Ana.
A sliver of energy rippled along the air, a soft whisper of darkness. He turned toward the door. Benny stood aside as Cale strode in, followed by Samael. They were early.
Declan squared his shoulders. He was fucked. There was no way around it.
He watched the two men as they advanced through the crowd. The demon’s eyes were hidden once more behind large aviators, while Cale’s piercing gaze zoomed in on Declan immediately. Cale said something to Samael and the demon nodded; a flash of white cutting through the dim as he smiled.
It was odd, the way the two men were so comfortable together considering they were in effect sworn enemies. Declan settled back onto the bar stool. It was only another layer to an already bizarre set of circumstance.
“I’m impressed with your enthusiasm.” Samael grabbed the stool to Declan’s left and sat. “I didn’t think you’d show until midnight.” The demon twirled around until he faced the room and he leaned back, elbows on the bar. Samael looked totally relaxed. Declan glanced at Cale. The Seraph’s face was blank, his eyes flat.
The demon ordered three shots of tequila and remained silent as Sarah quickly grabbed the glasses. Her eyes were shooting bullets at Samael. She was no doubt still pissed over his treatment of her the night before. Yet money talked in the Big Easy and she quickly pocketed the fifty spot he threw on the bar.
She handed them each their glass and leaned toward Declan. “I hate to tell you this but you’re challenged when it comes to choosing women”—she nodded toward Samael—“and the company you keep. He makes your vampire look like a pussycat.”
She didn’t know shit about Ana, but Declan smiled. “Agreed.”
; “Just leave the bottle, darling.” Samael tossed an additional wad of cash onto the bar and Sarah grabbed it quick. She left the bottle where it stood, threw a disgusted look at the demon, and moved away.
The shifter at the end of the bar nearly toppled his bar stool in a mad effort to leave. Declan watched him go. He might be a shitty tipper but he sure as hell had some smarts.
“Is the boy with Ana?” Cale asked as he sat down on the other side of Declan.
Declan nodded. Nico was privy to the situation, and though he didn’t like what was going down, the jaguar’s first priority was Kaden. Declan trusted that the boy would be safe. He’d strengthened his wards around the mansion tenfold and had a long conversation with Kaden. He was confident the teen knew how precarious, how dangerous, his situation was.
As for Ana, he’d woven a little extra charm into the protection spells. It wasn’t foolproof, but hopefully was enough to contain the vampire for the evening. Before he took the trip down below he’d make sure Ransome was in the loop. He wanted the wolf patrols doubled.
“He’s good.” Declan glanced at the Seraph. “I’ve got everything covered.”
“What of my necromancer?” Samael asked.
“She’s not yours anymore,” Declan answered. Francesca was locked away in Ana’s mansion. She’d been near catatonic and hadn’t said a word since the night before.
Declan glared at the demon and allowed a surge of power to exit his hands. The glasses on the bar shook slightly as an invisible conduit of energy erupted across the surface. It narrowly missed the demon’s elbows as he rested them there, though his bottle of tequila wasn’t so fortunate. The bottle toppled over and crashed to the ground.
“Your parlor shenanigans are growing tiresome, sorcerer. I suggest you stop.” Samael looked straight ahead but the tightness of his mouth indicated he was not impressed.
Declan’s hands burned hot. He clenched them tightly and considered smashing them into Samael’s face. “You’re right,” Declan said, his tone conversational. “Parlor tricks are for amateurs and that’s something I haven’t been for decades. You should tread lightly, demon, because Lilith taught me well”—his voice lowered—“and it was from her fountain of depravity that I fed for months.”
Samael laughed. “I hope you’re thirsty, because a steady diet of Lilith is what you’ll be surviving on if you fail.”
“Enough!”
Both Declan and Samael glanced at Cale in surprise. The Seraph stood with legs spread and arms across his chest. He was decked out in requisite black, his face tense, his manner grave. A tall, skinny human sidled up to the bar, totally unaware of the company that surrounded him.
“Dude.” His voice was raspy as if ill used, and his dead, watery eyes told a tale of illicit substances. “You know where I can score some—”
“Leave at once,” Cale ordered. The stranger froze and gave his head a shake before turning around without another word.
“Hey, buddy,” Sarah inserted, “this is a bar and we make money selling alcohol.”
Declan was impressed. The bartender had balls.
Cale tossed a look her way. “He was not looking for a drink and you will give us privacy.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed but Declan nodded. “Just a couple of minutes,” he said quietly.
“I gotta grab some bottles from the stockroom.” Sarah glanced at the massive bouncer whose eyes were trained on the three of them from across the room. “Benny is a mean son of a bitch, just so you know.” She slipped under the bar. “I hope you’re gone when I get back.”
As soon as Sarah was out of earshot Declan jumped from his stool, stretched his long limbs, and faced Samael. “Why are you really here?” he asked pointedly. This was all wrong. He was the fucking demon of chaos, yet not an ounce of his madness could be felt.
He was behaving. Hell, his brand of nastiness had been stronger in the preceding days.
The demon studied him for several seconds before removing his glasses. The strange eyes that looked at him were focused, serious. “I will not let Lilith gather the mark of seven.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He glanced at Cale. “I’m willing to lay my ass on the line because I think it’s the right thing to do. The mark of seven is not written in stone. These kids should have a chance to prove their worth without being manipulated by either the underworld or the Seraphim.” He arched a brow. “You two, on the other hand, confuse me. Why is a demon lord holding hands with the Seraph?”
Declan watched Cale closely. The Seraph’s features remained stony, though he saw worry in his eyes.
“Answer me,” Declan said, “or I walk away and do this myself.” A whisper of darkness slithered along his body. It was a caress of power and Declan loved the feel of it. He kept his hands loose at his side and glared at the demon.
“Look at you,” Samael whispered as he twirled his empty glass along the bar top. “All take charge and no bullshit.” He cocked his head to the side. “I see why Lilith took a fondness to you. You’re so like your father, and according to my sources, she had her fill of him as well.”
The fuse that had been burning the edge of his brain all day erupted and Declan flew at the demon. His hand went around Samael’s neck before the demon had time to react.
In Declan’s mind, words flew forth—black words, charmed words—that threatened to unleash a fury upon the demon that would hurt. Samael said nothing, though the light that shone from behind his eyes warned of retaliation.
Declan grunted and pressed his fingers into the demon’s neck, hissing as a burn shot up his forearm. Skin moved beneath his fingers and he faltered.
Christ.
Too late he remembered the tattoo that marked the demon as lord and he cursed as intense pain ripped into his hand. The tattoo moved and Declan growled, spewing a torrent of foul words, his thoughts wild with the need to hurt.
He gathered as much strength as he could and just when he would have blasted Samael, he was pulled back and Cale stepped between the two of them.
The Seraph was furious. Beneath them the floor rumbled and a few screams echoed into the near-empty room. Declan turned away, his chest heaving, full of repressed rage.
“Pull yourself together.” Cale’s words were harsh. “Or I will end this now.”
Declan turned to Cale. “What is your connection to him?” He pointed to Samael and snarled, “I will not go back to that shithole until I know the truth.”
Samael growled and put his glasses back in place. He kinked his neck and let the tattoo settle once more upon his flesh. Long seconds of silence followed.
Declan was aware that many eyes rested upon them and he forced himself to be calm. He saw Asher leaning over the mezzanine, Benny near the door, and Sarah as she slowly made her way back.
Samael nodded to the woman as she slid behind the bar, her eyes wary and hands full. He helped himself to one of the bottles that she clutched, threw some more bills onto the bar, and turned to Declan and Cale.
A blond woman approached them, a werewolf, one of Ransome’s. She was all wild hair and large breasts, and sported an ass that was barely covered by the black leather skirt she wore.
She paid no attention to Cale or Declan and melted into Samael’s side, her hand immediately disappearing beneath his jacket.
“I suggest you adjust the sorcerer’s attitude. I’ll meet you at the Gate before midnight.” The demon shot a look of disgust his way before continuing in the ancient dialect of the Seraphim.
Declan glowered at them, hating that he had no clue what they were saying. The conversation was abrupt and he watched the demon melt into the darkness that clung to the edges of the club. The gawkers, mostly otherworld by this point, carried about their business as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“You care to explain the mumbo-jumbo?” Declan asked, his frustration evident in the tone of his words. “And maybe tell me why you’re getting into bed with the likes of him?”
Cale stared a
t Declan long and hard and then, decision made, spoke. “He is my brother.”
“Pardon me?” Declan was incredulous—no—more like confused as all hell.
Cale turned. “Come. Let’s take a walk. There’s much you don’t know.”
As Declan followed the Seraph out of the Lounge, he had a feeling his life was once more taking a major turn. To the left.
Fuck.
Just when he’d learned to navigate the straight and narrow.
Chapter 16
Decatur was busy. It was early evening now, the air was crisp. Declan followed Cale in silence. There were many words inside him; he just didn’t know what the hell to ask first.
The two men slipped through the throngs of tourists and a few minutes later ended up in front of Café du Monde. “I need a fix.” The Seraph glanced his way. “You want one?”
Declan shook his head. “Not unless they’ve got Bailey’s.”
Cale winced. “You’d ruin such a delight with a cheap Irish cream?” He looked horrified at the idea and promptly ordered himself a large café au lait and a plate of beignets. Declan smelled the sweet chicory used to flavor the coffee, and the beignets were deep-fried and smothered in powdered sugar.
His stomach revolted at the sweet overkill and he moved away, back onto the sidewalk.
“Let’s walk.” Cale proceeded to down three large beignets as they headed toward the water and by the time they reached the edge of the Mississippi, the Seraph had finished every last crumb.
Cale took a long draw from his coffee cup and then spoke.
“Samael is my brother but not in the literal term. We’re both part of a select group of warriors, from every class of being. Demon, Seraphim, nephilim, vampire, shifter, magick . . . even humans.” Cale blew at the steam that hovered above his cup. “You name it, we’ve got it.”
“And the purpose for this, ah, group is what exactly?” Declan watched several seagulls fly overhead, their sad cries riding the wind as they dipped and dove toward the muddy water.
“We’re the last line of protection. We keep things in order.” He paused. “We are Guardians . . . a League of Guardians.”
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