Don't Hex and Drive

by Juliette Cross

  I couldn’t ignore the nauseous sinking sensation I’d gotten when I saw her on a date with that guy tonight. He wasn’t a buffoon or fool like the other one. He was actually potential dating material, and the very thought had made me want to scream, punch something, and weep all at the same time. If that wasn’t an eye-opener, then my uncontrollable need to pound into her the second we crossed the threshold of my doorway did the trick.

  Violet’s strange reading made no sense. I knew what my intentions were. To make Isadora mine. So her warning that I could lose her seemed like nonsense. But Violet was a powerful Seer. Still, I had her in my arms now, didn’t I? So maybe Violet was wrong.

  Her fingers traced over the hand I had spread over her bare belly. I’d gotten her dress off, but her bra was still on. Though I was pleased there was nothing beneath the blanket spread over her lower body. I wanted one more time before she left me. Who was I kidding? I was conjuring ways I could convince her to move in with me while I was still in New Orleans. Or perhaps, I could stay here longer. Should stay longer.

  The idea of settling here permanently suddenly had great appeal. Ruben was my dearest friend. The Savoie family had all but welcomed me with open arms. And Isadora.

  Fuck. Isadora. The thought of her name, of her smile, of her tender heart and sweet soul had found permanent residence in my own thoughts on a daily basis. The idea of leaving this behind, of leaving her, widened that gaping hollow that lived deep inside me. Funny how the opposite, of imagining a life here with her at my side filled that aching loneliness I’d been carrying around with me for centuries, from place to place, country to country. Ever since I’d lost and left my first home, I’d been subconsciously seeking another. My heart squeezed at the possibility I may have just found it.

  “This must be for Stygorn, right?” She fingered the silver ring on my index finger with the onyx center and strangely scripted S.

  “Yes and no.” My voice was rough with heady emotion as I soaked in her beauty, her lovely presence.

  She smiled, tilting those gorgeous green eyes in my direction. “It’s an S, Devraj.”

  I laughed. “Yes. But it stands for Styx, actually.”

  A frown pinched her pretty brow. “Why Styx?”

  “That was the name of the first known Stygorn.”

  “Really?” She flipped sideways, propping her head on her elbow, her wild wavy hair falling across her chest. “Tell me about him.”

  I shifted to do the same, relishing that her gaze flicked down my naked body, certainly noticing I was half-hard already.

  “You want some covers?” she asked, lifting the edge up.

  I wasn’t cold or embarrassed in the open, but I wanted an excuse to be closer, so I shuffled under the blanket with her. She blushed, her gaze dropping to my biceps, which made me want to lean forward and kiss her sweetly. But I wasn’t sure how she’d react. Sure, we’d just had sex three times, but the last time she was here she’d distanced herself when the physical intimacy felt too intense. I didn’t want to scare her off again.

  “Not a him. A her.”

  “Really?” Her face brightened.

  “Oh, yes. Styx was a born vampire, not made, a millennium ago. Her parents, a vampire and a witch with gifts as a Seer and an Influencer, brought her to their perspective Guilds, saying she demonstrated heightened gifts. At two, she could make a seasoned vampire do her will. And she could track deer in a blizzard at age five. But like most gifted vampires, supernaturals began to fear her.”

  “She was too powerful,” said Isadora, nibbling on a grape.

  I focused on her lips as she held the grape between her teeth.

  “Indeed, she was. A faction of vampires sent out their best trackers when the family fled. Eventually, they tracked them down. When her mother and father were nearly killed trying to defend their child, Styx, now eight years old, beheaded every vampire with a single swing of her knife.”

  “Wow.”

  “Indeed. After that, the Guild instilled a protection law.” I lifted a lock of her blond hair, rubbing the silky strands between my fingers. “Later, after her gene was passed down, by blood or bite, the Stygorn were formally named. Our name is a loose variation of stygian, the origin of the mythical river of the underworld Styx.” Pressing her lock of hair to my lips, I met her quizzical gaze. “Then they began to be trained by ancients.”

  “And the rest, as they say, is history.” Isadora got that dreamy look, watching me sweep her lock of hair against my closed mouth. “It’s hard to imagine such a brutal world that would allow that to happen to Styx and her family before our laws were put into place. Before the Stygorn became revered instead of feared.”

  “We’re still feared,” I admitted. “I’m not always as welcome as I am here with Ruben’s coven. To be honest, I’m not so sure how welcome I am even here.”

  “Seriously?” She sat up, seemingly affronted by this fact. “Vamps give you shit for being Stygorn.”

  I laughed. “Some do. The ones who fear us still.”

  Her frown deepened. I pressed my thumb to the spot, smoothing it out by rubbing softly. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  “But I don’t like the idea of people mistreating you. You can’t help that you’re a stronger vampire. That’s ignorant prejudice. It’s stupid.”

  “Lots of people are stupid for less reasons than that, love.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.”

  Something buoyed up inside my chest, lifting me with the thought of her care for my wellbeing. “You learn to ignore the fools and cherish your friends.”

  I laced my hand with hers, palm to palm. And she let me.

  “You’re wise, Devraj. And more forgiving than me.”

  I smiled. “I’ve lived a long time.”

  She nodded. “So the S is for Styx.”

  “But also, the ring is a symbol of my status as a Stygorn. We’re given the ring after our training is complete.”

  She stared at our laced fingers, fair and dark overlapping, entangling. So lovely. “And how did you become a vampire?”

  “That’s kind of a sad story. I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

  “I do.” She stared at me, sincerity written in her eyes.

  I’d told this story to only a handful of people, all of whom were dear friends and confidants. Like Ruben. And never a woman I had bedded. Strange that I felt as if I were walking across a line in the proverbial sand. A place of no return by sharing this intimate part of my past that I clung to and hid from the world.

  “I was young, only thirteen, and I took my mother on our annual pilgrimage to Varanasi. This was the first time since my father had died of illness the previous year. We were nearing the temple and set up camp on the outskirts of the city. I told my mother I’d find fresh water for us to wash and drink. So I went inside the city, wandering the streets filled with people. Somehow, I found myself being lured down an empty alley and then a stone stairwell. I don’t know why, but I knew I had to follow the whispering in my mind.”

  I paused, remembering the bone-deep fear and allure of that voice, guiding me toward my fate whether I wanted it or not.

  “A Stygorn vampire.”

  “An ancient one,” I added before going on. “He sat upon a throne deep in the earth, his hall lit only by braziers. There were other vampires, beautiful ones draped in the shadowy spaces on luxurious silks. Golden platters of food and drink sparkled, filling my senses with the opulence of this place, the majesty of this man. Gorgeous women, stunning men, all seemed to be worshipping the one on the throne. I thought I’d fallen into a dream because I couldn’t resist when he held out a hand to me, covered in jewels. His eyes were pure liquid silver.”

  I huffed out a laugh, the memory smarting.

  “I went to him so easily. So, so easily, Isadora. A poor boy being summoned by a king. So I’d thought.” She squeezed my hand before I went on, “I took his hand, and he said, ‘One day, you will thank me.’ Right before he hauled me to him
and bit me hard, drinking so long I passed out. When I woke, I was still in that room, the braziers of torches lighting the room. But there was no beautiful entourage at his feet. No golden platters. Only cobwebs and the musty dank smell of decay. Just the beast himself in ragged clothes. When he saw me wake, he stood, his eyes glowing bright silver, his face flushed and healthy after feeding. The rest had been a mirage created by his glamour. There was such pain and such thirst, but all I could do was look up at the vampire. He smiled down at me and repeated, ‘One day, you will thank me.’ Then he walked away and left me there.

  “I remember wrapping my scarf around my neck to hide the mark and stumbling my way back to my mother. I’d found a well along the way and drank furiously, trying to quench my thirst. But nothing would do it. Not until I stole a goat and drank from it when the thirst had nearly made me mad. That was when the guilt set in.”

  “What was wrong with him? Vampires don’t behave like that anymore.”

  “He was an ancient who’d been in a trance-like sleep for centuries, waking to smell me near. I don’t know why he pinpointed me out of a city full of people, using his power to lure me, but he had. The bite had nearly killed me, but he’d also transferred the magic and power of the Stygorn.”

  We paused for a few minutes, neither speaking, till she asked quietly, “Did your mother ask what happened to you?”

  “Oh, yes. She did. She knew something was wrong, but I’d returned. I was alive, and that was enough to pacify her. As a widow, she had a very hard life in that time. I’d already sworn to never marry while she was alive. I was her only child. I had to stay close and keep her safe. Now that I knew what monsters lived in the world, I was determined to keep them away from my mother. The only problem”—I gulped hard, staring down at Isadora— “was that I’d become one of the monsters.”

  “No.” She squeezed my hand, hauling it closer against her breast. “Of course, you weren’t.”

  “Can you imagine the kind of guilt I felt as a Hindu to live as a vegetarian, who vowed to hurt no living creature for my body’s sustenance? Then I’d sneak off into the night to steal and kill a neighbor’s sheep or drink from his goats. I avoided killing when I could, but in the beginning, I couldn’t stop myself. I had no one to teach me. The only option was to stop altogether and die. But I couldn’t do it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Devraj.” She loosened our hands and pushed a long lock of my hair over my shoulder, her palm settling over my tattooed shoulder. “You can’t help who and what you are. I’m so glad you did what you needed to do to survive.”

  I didn’t know quite what to say to that other than, “Thank you.”

  The tension stretched into something heavy. But I couldn’t spin away from the thoughts of my origins while she traced the intricate mandala covering my shoulder, bicep, and part of my back.

  “Why did you get this?”

  “Because it’s pretty,” I teased.

  Her gaze shifted from the tattoo to me. She laughed. “Really?”

  “That…” I tapped her nose, then traced my finger up one cheekbone and down her jaw, drawing the sharper edges that shaped her lovely face. “And the circle represents the universe. A deeper connection to self and the world at large.” I finished tracing her lips and dropped my hand, fixating on her mouth.

  “Devraj, the deep thinker? I don’t know if I believe that.”

  I tossed my head back on a deep laugh before responding to her bright smile. “It doesn’t fit your perception of me?”

  “Not at all.”

  Then she leaned forward and pressed the sweetest, softest kiss to my lips. “I better go,” she murmured, not pulling away.

  “Not just yet,” I begged, a nip of her bottom lip. “Stay.”

  “Maybe just a little longer.”

  I rolled her underneath me. “Just a little longer.”

  As I kissed her, savoring the feel of her plush lips moving against mine, the softness of her lithe body opening beneath me, I realized I would have never met her if I’d lived out my life as a human and never suffered those early days as a vampire. I couldn’t help but hear the ancient one’s words ringing over and over again in my head.

  One day, you will thank me.

  Chapter 25

  ~DEVRAJ~

  * * *

  “Saturday feels too far away.” Ruben stood beneath the awning of his bookstore entrance, hands casually in his pockets. “But we’re all set.”

  “And your grims are tuned into the full plan?” I asked.

  “They’re ready. A little excited about the prospect of catching the culprits actually.”

  “As long as there are no glitches in their tracking software, they can be the ones to put the cuffs on for all I care.”

  “They might take you up on that.” He grinned.

  My next thought vanished when I saw a swish of sun-gold hair and long, tanned legs traipsing across Magazine, heading in the opposite direction. She was wearing another one of those light, airy dresses that barely touched her body, hiding the slight curves beneath that made my mouth water.

  Ruben snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been speaking to you, but apparently you didn’t hear a word I said.” He followed my gaze over his shoulder. “So you’ve got it pretty bad.”

  He honestly had no idea.

  “Have a good day, Ruben.” I patted him on the shoulder and walked briskly past him.

  “I thought you were going to have lunch with me,” he called out, laughter in his voice.

  “Raincheck.”

  Then I picked up the pace, following her down Magazine and right onto Pleasant Street.

  Bloody hell, I really was a stalker, wasn’t I? This was a terrible revelation. I was reduced to being the creepy guy. Unless I caught up to her like a normal friend to find out where she was going.

  I might’ve been just a little paranoid that she was off on another date, the very thought stabbing me with a claymore-sized sword of envy. No. She wouldn’t do that. Not after last night, I was sure of it. Still, we hadn’t discussed whether or not we were exclusive. I needed exclusivity. Quite a bit more than that if I were honest.

  I jogged ahead to catch up. “Isadora!”

  She paused in front of a thrift shop, the windows painted with sunflowers. When she turned, her beaming smile nearly made me trip. I was finding it more and more difficult to play it cool where she was concerned. Since when had a woman’s smile made me breathless and giddy?

  “Hi,” I said when I’d caught up to her.

  “Hi,” she returned brightly. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Following you.”

  Her brows shot up. “What?”

  Grinning, I tugged on a wild lock of her hair. “I was talking with Ruben at his bookstore and saw you heading this way.” Forcing indifference into my voice, I asked, “So where are you headed?”

  She smiled and marched on. “I have an appointment with someone.”

  “An appointment? So, not a date then?”

  Her laughter filled my chest with an infectious joy. I couldn’t help but smile even though I still wasn’t quite sure if she were off to meet some guy.

  “Not really,” she finally said. “Though he is awfully cute. The sweetest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.” Then she glanced at me and said in a low voice, “Well, maybe not the sweetest.”

  By heaven, I wanted to grab her hand and lace our fingers, feel the warmth of her delicate hand tucked in mine, brush an intimate kiss along the back of her knuckles. But that was what a boyfriend would do. Not fuck buddies. Even if I understood we were well beyond a simple sexual relationship. But did she?

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  “You already are, Devraj.”

  She hiked onto her shoulder that crazy, giant bag she carried everywhere with her. I heard something crinkle inside.

  “And we’re here anyway,” she said, opening
the door below a sign reading Angel Paws.

  Hmm. An animal shelter.

  I followed her as she waved to the lady at the reception. “Hey, Trudie! I have a friend with me.”

  “No problem, Isadora. Tell him to take a few home with him.”

  Isadora laughed and kept going through a closed door where I heard the pitter-pat and yipping of lots of dogs.

  “Hello there, guys,” she cooed, stopping at the first empty pen. She pulled out a bag of treats, which was what was making that crinkly sound. “Oh, wow. Looks like Frannie found a new home.” A beagle yipped in the next pen over. She crouched and gave him a treat.

  “Who’s Frannie?” I asked, still standing and watching her.

  “A pretty yellow lab mix that was here last week. Didn’t think she’d be here long, though.”

  The beagle licked her fingers tenderly. That was when I sensed the soft wave of magic wafting around Isadora. I watched as she went from one pen to the next, crooning soft words, her skin luminous from expending energy to the cute little beasties. She was giving them health with her magic. Her pretty face lit up as she gave two treats to one she called Oscar.

  “And there’s my handsome boy,” she said, obviously loving the scruffy-looking terrier mix in the last pen. “How are you this week, Archie?”

  The dog did a cute spin, wagging his stub of a tail, soaking in her affection. He was obviously completely in love with her. I didn’t blame him.

  “So this is where you get your doggie fix, eh?” I asked, crouching down and sliding my fingers into the pen.

  Archie sniffed my fingers then wagged his tail harder, letting me scratch him behind the ears. Friendly little guy.

  “I can’t take them all home obviously, but I figure I can keep them in good health and spirits while they wait for their forever homes. I wish I could do more.”