Worth the Fight (Another Falls Creek Romance Book 1)

by SF Benson

  In the background, the car engine dies. Heavy footsteps, pounding the pavement, come up behind me. Before he touches me, I warn, “For the record, I hear ya heart.” My voice breaks. “I hear ya fear, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Angel.” He closes the distance between us and doesn’t hesitate to put an arm around my shoulder, drawing me against him. His breath fans my face. “I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

  Unable to meet his gaze, I keep my back to him and let the tears fall. “What do ya think it does to me? The first time I overheard a person’s thoughts it crept the shit out of me. As far as you and I go… This is foreign territory for both of us.”

  Hank steps in front of me, casting a shadow. “Look at me, Edwina.”

  “No.” He mustn’t see me cry. I told him I could be strong.

  Biggest lie ever told.

  “Dammit, Angel.” Hank pulls me into a reluctant embrace. “You caught me off guard. I want this to work between us. But how can it if my thoughts don’t belong to me?”

  My posture goes limp as my bones give up their job, leaving my skin to pick up the slack. I don’t want to, but I have to lean into Hank to stay upright. I can’t lose him. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him with me. Then I remember there’s a way to help him.

  “I’ll teach ya to shield ya thoughts,” I mutter.

  “Huh?”

  Glancing up, I read his emotions, which are all over the map. Hank’s love for me is as clear as the sky. We can do this.

  “All vampires learn how to hide their thoughts behind a wall,” I tell him. “I’m sure ya can, too.”

  Hank caresses my cheek. “I don’t want to hide anything from you.”

  “Just ya thoughts, dawlin’,” I counter. “It’s the least I can do for ya.”

  He moves his head from side to side as he purses his lips. “No. I keep nothing from you. Angel, you get all of me. No halfway shit between us.”

  The words Hank needs to hear—the words he deserves to hear—dangle on my tongue, but I’m too scared to say them. My reality has always been that men, both human and supernatural, leave me behind. Once they’re done with me, I get cast aside like trash. Hank could be just another name on the list, but I sure hope to hell he’s not. Instead of speaking, I cling to him tighter. We stand there supporting each other while the world spins by. Our fears too strong to walk away. Our darker sides too overpowering to allow us to move forward.

  Hours later, Hank is sound asleep, and I’m speeding across the state line into Louisiana. The ability to compel got me out of a few tickets but decreased our time. Less than thirty miles, and we’ll be back in Crescent City.

  I’m driving over Lake Pontchartrain, the muddy smell of the Mississippi filtering through the vents, when Hank’s phone buzzes as he turns over in the back seat. I glance at the device lying on the passenger side. It’s Sheila.

  As tempting as it is to ignore the call, I realize it might be important. Picking up the phone, I accept the call. “Hello.”

  “Where’s Hank?” she says curtly.

  “Asleep. What do ya want?” I don’t bother introducing myself.

  Sheila’s cruel words lash out at me. “You must be the she-vamp he’s been keeping time with. I need to speak with Hank. Now.”

  Her disagreeable tone is meant to instigate. She won’t get me to lose my dignity that easy. I throw over my shoulder. “Hank! Ya need to answer ya phone.”

  “Huh? What?” The seat squeaks as he sits up. His hand stretches between the front seats, and I put the phone in it. “Yeah. What’s up?”

  I try to turn my thoughts off to keep from hearing Sheila’s heated words.

  “What do you mean he’s gone?”

  But then again, privacy is overrated. I listen in as Sheila tells Hank that somebody named Michael is missing.

  “Edwina, how far are we from some place called Faubourg Marigny?”

  My old stomping grounds.

  “It’s a neighborhood, Hank. Get her to text ya the address. We can be there in another fifteen minutes.”

  Hank delivers the message and then leans over the seat, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks, Angel. Do you think she’s telling the truth about Michael?”

  “Possibly. Care to tell me who he is?”

  “He’s Sheila’s kit.” Hank exhales loudly and says quietly, “My nephew.”

  “Oh.” It’s obvious from Hank’s tone that talking about the child isn’t easy for him. “Unfortunately, I suspect whoever has Michael is using him to draw ya out.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Duchamp and Elijah are in contact with each other. If Elijah wanted to know exactly where ya at, he’d do something to force ya out of hiding.”

  “You really believe Sheila is that low? Letting Duchamp use her son as bait?”

  “Parents aren’t always our best saviors.” Mine couldn’t be.

  Hank’s phone chimes with a text message. “She wants to meet me at 2381 St. Claude Avenue.”

  I stay on the interstate and pick up my pace. “It’s a marketplace with eateries and a coffee house. Do ya want me with ya? If not, I could pass by Kragen’s house.”

  “I don’t like the idea of us splitting up,” Hank admits.

  “Dawlin’, ya forget this is home. Let me handle my business with Kragen, and I’ll meet ya back at St. Roch Market.”

  Chapter 16

  Hank

  The weather is bright and sunny for March. Nothing like Falls Creek this time of year. Here, my leather jacket seems out of place. I glance up at the blue sky and take a deep breath before pushing open the wood and glass door to St. Roch Market. The sooner I see Sheila, the sooner I can get back to my angel.

  I almost screwed things up earlier. The idea of someone, even Edwina, filtering through my mind unsettled me. I jumped to conclusions. Hurt her feelings unnecessarily. After I took a moment and thought about her words, it occurred to me I was being one of those judgmental jerks from Council. Getting upset with Edwina for embracing her talents was wrong. Not once has she ever found fault with my beast.

  Angel can’t help what she is. Being born at a low point in this country’s history and the actions of a selfish asshole made Edwina. If given the option, she’d probably erase facets of her past, thinking it would make a difference. It wouldn’t though. Her imperfections drew me in, and I love everything about her.

  So tell her.

  Once this shit with Tyson is done, I’ll show Edwina what she honestly means to me. My beast has already set his sights on her. I just need to claim her as mine.

  A wide variety of food smells hit my nose. Curling on a backdrop of smoky oil is the pungent brininess of seafood, the vibrant aroma of freshly ground coffee, the lush fragrance of different spices, and the delicious scents of baked goods—yeast, butter, and sugar. Inhaling the delicacies fried to perfection almost makes me forget why I’m here.

  People walk to and fro, bustling past me. It’s a mostly human crowd full of students, stay-at-home mothers dragging miniature versions of themselves behind them, and the occasional person pretending to be hard at work on a laptop.

  Inhaling deeply, I pick up traces of something supernatural. The brother with dreadlocks taking an order for a vendor called Fritai is a shifter. Fire and brimstone waft off him, letting me know he’s a dragon. On the other side of the counter is an elemental witch. I’m surveying the rest of the customers and staff a little closer when sweet musk tickles my nose.

  “Hank.” Her voice separates the cacophony of noise and curls around me like a caress.

  Swinging around, my heart skitters. The sight of Sheila calls my body to attention. Her long limbs are covered in jeans so tight they must be painted on. A sheer blouse shows off her ample assets. My gaze settles on her full lips, warm brown eyes, waist-length wavy, brown hair, and creamy skin. Memories rewind, and I’m recalling the good times between us.

  I am officially fucked.

  “Took you long enough.” Her caustic tone yanks
me out of my head, spoiling the moment. Repulsion replaces the happy thoughts as I recall how she cheated on me with Tyson and every other cat in Falls Creek. My beast extends his claws, ready to strike. Realization settles like leaves falling.

  She doesn’t hold my heart anymore.

  “You’re lucky I’m here,” I grumble. If I had put my foot down, the one who owns my heart would be at my side. “If it weren’t for the oath, I wouldn’t be.”

  “Lucky for Tyson,” Sheila quips. She has always hated the blood oath my brother and I took. She especially hated how I tried to uphold it where he was willing to bend the rules for her. Her top lip curls as she snorts and looks beyond me. “Where’s your new toy? Too ashamed to bring her around?”

  I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from fisting. I’m not the type of cat to strike a female, but if Sheila keeps dissing my lady, I might put aside my beliefs. “Edwina’s not my toy. You might as well know we’re together now, so watch what you say about her.”

  “You’re fucking a vampire?” Sheila’s voice rises in either disbelief or shock. “Either you’re desperate or bored. With me—”

  I spear Sheila with a glance, and she swallows the rest of her comment. Instead, she rolls her eyes and says, “Let’s sit outside. We need to talk.”

  With me in tow, I notice how Sheila interacts with every male in the room. Some merely smile and nod as she walks by. Others completely ignore the female they’re with in order to grab Sheila’s attention. Yet others appear ready to enter a pissing contest just so she’ll notice them. My ex moves like a bitch in heat. Did she behave this way while we were together? How did I miss it?

  Because I loved her too much. Love makes a cat blind.

  We sit at a table near a low wall. I should have insisted we stay indoors. Sheila’s attracting males like a flower garden enticing a swarm of bees. Another man wearing a bright orange suit passes by, stops in his tracks, and doubles back. This one is bolder than all the rest. He ignores my presence and comes over to Sheila. Too strong, cheap cologne assaults my senses—a fucking jackal.

  He rests an arm over her shoulders and leans in. “Charmer, can I take ya ta lunch?”

  Glancing up, I see my guess is correct. The flashy male with shocking blue eyes, pale and pock-mocked skin, and bad teeth is the epitome of what I hate. Every jackal I’ve encountered is short on taste in clothing and even females. For some damned reason, they all think they’re the most important creature in a room. Most of them either dabble in the drug trade or find employment as comedians.

  This fool has no idea that he’s not even worthy to take out Sheila’s trash. She’s a lot of things, but I don’t think she’s ever stooped to his level. Hell, I’d stay abstinent if the only being I could fuck was a jackal.

  Sheila poises her shapely mouth to respond, but I jump in with a growl. “If you don’t take your trifling ass up out of here, I’m gonna hit you so hard your spots will change colors.”

  A loud hee-hee-hee comes from his too wide mouth, and he slinks away.

  Sheila crosses her legs and leans back in the chair. Her gaze snaps to me. “Was that necessary?”

  “Maybe you should dial it down a bit? Try acting like a concerned parent for a moment.” It’s almost embarrassing to be in her presence.

  Sheila licks her lips and shifts in her seat again, crossing and uncrossing her legs. I get a whiff of her arousal. Damn. She is in heat, no doubt on the prowl for another victim. If I recall, we met when she was in heat. Some of the best memories I have of her happened during her season. Problem was Sheila seemed to always be in heat. She claimed her line was a very fertile one. Perhaps that’s why she would conveniently be gone when I’d wake up after sex. I actually feel bad for Tyson if he’s been dealing with her shit. No cat should have to endure Sheila Montgomery.

  She reaches across the table, but I yank my hand away before she touches me. There was a time when I would have fallen for Sheila. I would have surrendered to her seduction like all the other males in this place. Thanks to Edwina, the jaguar ain’t even registering. Okay, I admit to having a weak moment, but it passed like a cloud covering the sun. I have someone much better waiting for me.

  “You said we needed to talk. Out with it,” I snap.

  “Aren’t you concerned about your brother?” She exhales and withdraws her hand. “I haven’t heard from him for quite some time.”

  Her voice is cold, like she’s talking about the fucking stock exchange. When I find Tyson, I need to clue him in about her. He can do better than Sheila. I did.

  “What about Michael?” My nephew is innocent in her little game. I’m guessing Tyson is the real parent in this situation. “Have you heard from the person who has him?”

  Sheila lifts her hand loosely with her palm up. Her voice is flat as she says, “Michael’s fine. Damien won’t hurt him.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. What kind of game is she playing? I can hear the blood rushing to my head. My hands tighten into fists as the first threads of reality unravel. “And why is that, Sheila? You got something going with him, too?”

  Her mouth twists like she’s sucking on a lemon. “Do you always have to be an ass? Damien only took Michael to see his father. He’ll bring him back in a few hours.”

  “Bring him back?” I slam my hand on the table, and she flinches. “What the hell is going on, Sheila?”

  She draws in a long breath, and her face twitches. I may have touched on a nerve. But the moment dissipates like morning dew. “You really need to calm down, Hank. Everything is going according to plan.”

  “What fucking plan?” I scrub a hand over my face. “Is this some type of joke? I don’t have time for this.” I push to my feet, and my phone chimes with a text. It can wait. I start to say something when Sheila cuts me off.

  “This isn’t a joke, Hank. We needed to get you to New Orleans.”

  “We? Did you and Tyson—” The sickeningly sweet smell of Hai Karate destroys my thoughts. I haven’t encountered that scent in a long ass time. Not since Jackson…

  A sardonic smile creeps across Sheila’s gorgeous mouth. “Not Tyson. Say hi to someone you might know.”

  I pivot on my heel.

  Wrong move.

  Elijah’s massive fist meets my jaw, and it’s lights out for me.

  Chapter 17

  Edwina

  The last time I was in the Garden District, Woodrow Wilson was president, the first Pulitzer prizes were awarded, rioting happened in East St. Louis and Houston, and women could finally vote in New York state. Later that year, Kragen and the BlackGuard ran me out of N’awlins. I hitched up my big-girl panties and got the hell out of dodge—never to return.

  Granddaddy’s fortune got me out of the states and onto a steamer bound for Europe. There I mingled with the likes of DuPont and Carnegie—industrious men who eventually introduced me to Rockefeller. They taught me how to increase my riches. It was witchcraft, however, that secured my money when the Great Depression destroyed so many fortunes.

  In those days my only interest was taking lives. The complexities of being a hybrid eluded me. I learned on the fly—forgive the pun. My vampire education began in obscurity on the Isle of Man. The creatures of the night I met there led me to Morgan Le Fay, a great sorceress who helped me explore my powers. Under her tutelage, I grew stronger.

  I survived without Kragen and the BlackGuard. After all this time, I’m not about to beg for their help. They’ll kiss my magical, black ass before that happens. Kragen summoned me, but I don’t answer to him anymore. Hank was right. I’m strong and no one is tearing me down again. I pity the fool who tries.

  The glass and wrought-iron door swings open, and one of Kragen’s associates, Baldovino, is on the other side. The lofty, chocolate-colored vampire looks down at me. His voice booms off the walls. “Miss Devereaux, what a pleasure to see ya ‘gain.”

  “It’s good to see ya as well. Vin, is the master around?”

  “Isn’t he always?” Baldo
vino shuts the door behind me and leads the short way down the hall. He stops before a set of closed double doors, opens them, and steps to the side.

  Permeating the air is a lingering mustiness. The smell has existed nearly as long as the room’s furnishings. The large, crystal chandelier, hanging over the antique Davenport, was a gift from an old girlfriend of Kragen’s—some Austrian countess whose name I’ve forgotten. The gold damask-covered French-style chairs come straight from the court of Louis XIV. But the oldest object in the room isn’t visible from the door.

  Entering the room, I find him sitting on the other side of an archway. The emperor, dressed in black jeans and a black button-down shirt, sits on his throne near a marble fireplace. He stretches his long limbs and runs a hand over his trim black mustache.

  “Edwina, come sit with me.”

  I glide across the floor and take a seat, much smaller than the oversized wing-back chair he occupies, across from him. “It’s been a long time, Kragen.”

  “It has, but ya look happy.”

  “I am. Ya look well.” It’s not a lie or exaggeration. The coven leader always prided himself on his appearance. His perfect gold skin color and silky black hair is a testament to his cultivated belief—feed well and often. According to Kragen, it’s the only way to feign a believable semblance of humanity. It has worked for hundreds of years. The humans in New Orleans think Kragen’s just another eccentric man with more money than he could spend in one lifetime.

  “But ya didn’t call me here to exchange pleasantries,” I say as I sit back.

  “No. I won’t quibble with the particulars. Ya only need to know that the BlackGuard needs ya assistance. All these damned rogues comin’ through N’awlins are pushing our resources to the brink. Morgan and Ace can’t handle all the work.”

  Long before Kragen summoned me, I knew about the problem with the rogues. It’s why I was reluctant to contact the BlackGuard for help with Cash and Qadira’s problem months ago. It put me in a position of needing to return a favor. Personally, I didn’t want to owe the BlackGuard shit. After all, they wanted me gone. Yes, I have to return the favor, but I’m not rushing in like the fucking cavalry. As far as I’m concerned, Morgan and Ace could ask me personally for help. Using Kragen, the supernatural who owns this fucking town, like a messenger is a role beneath him.