Blessed Curse

by Sandra R Neeley

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About This Book

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  From The Author

  About The Author

  Sandra R Neeley

  P. O. Box 127

  Franklinton, LA 70438

  authorsandrarneeley@gmail.com

  Independently published by

  Sandra R Neeley

  53,775 words.

  Blessed Curse

  by Sandra R Neeley

  Copyright © 2020 SANDRA R NEELEY

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for purchasing and/or downloading this book. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and/or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without express written permission from the author.

  Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are creations of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  For Lexi and my fellow slayer creators — thank you for including me.

  About This Book

  This book has been reworked, expanded by 5,907 words, and re-edited since its original temporary release as part of the E.V.I.E. anthology which is no longer available in any format.

  Blessed Curse

  Solange has lived all her life in the shadows of the circumstances that gave her life. Raised by her great grandmother, who is Granddame of one of the strongest covens in North America, she’s trained since a very young age to seek out and eliminate all traces of the scourge that both created her and took her mother from her. Now, she’s joined an organization dedicated to the same end — all vampires must be eliminated. Finally, she finds him, the ancient who determined the direction of her life before she ever took her first breath. She plots, she stalks, she attacks. She’ll accept nothing less than success. Any who stand in her way will be struck down.

  Alastair is an ancient vampire, his humanity long ago forgotten. He lives for one reason now — satisfaction, in whatever form it may come. He notices a young woman rushing through the park one fateful night. Once in his grasp, he realizes she belongs to a coven that he blames for his ultimate downfall more than a century before. This coven’s Granddame ignored his pleas for help during a rare moment of clarity. He devises a plan on the spot to plague them all without end. He takes the woman. He claims her. He mates her. Then he returns her to her coven. Little does he know, the very curse he seeks to gift the Granddame with, is the same curse that will rain vengeance down upon him.

  Crispin has lived a long life, alone. He was turned against his will as an afterthought by an ancient vampire just to fill the hours of a mundane existence. Now, he wanders — lonely, watching, searching, protecting others from his creator as best he can. He moves on the outer fringes of his own kind, more of an observer than a participant. Every day blends into the next — until he sees her. She’s stalking the oldest and most dangerous of them all. She’s stalking his maker. She’s strong, graceful, beautiful, well-trained, and deadly. She’s a slayer. And she’s the first thing that’s made his cold, dead heart thunder to life since he became this new Crispin all those centuries ago. He cannot look away. Now the slayer and her target are both being stalked.

  Warning: Intended for mature audiences. This book contains some violence, and sexual situations that may be disturbing for some readers. If you are offended by these subjects, please do not buy this book.

  Prologue

  The swirling, misty, grey fog lapped at the feet of the tall, thin female as she hurried through the edge of City Park on the way back to her home. She pulled her poncho closer about her shoulders, trying to shake the feeling of dread that had settled about her.

  “It’s nothing,” she whispered aloud. “Just the darkness of the night.”

  She heard a clicking noise behind herself and glanced quickly over her shoulder, not even slowing her steps as she looked for anything that could have made the sound she’d heard. Nothing — just as she’d thought.

  She snapped her head back around to quicken her steps even more and swallowed the scream that threatened to leave her body, as it was silenced by the ghostly pale hand wrapped tightly around her throat. “What a pretty little witch,” the creature purred, tilting his head this way and that, examining in great detail every small nuance of her face, her eyes, her lips.

  Adrienne made the worst mistake she possibly could; she dared to stare the creature in the eye, to defy him, she thought. But he was far too powerful for her to withstand. Instead, he seized control of her mind, of her body, of all that she was, and bade her submit to him, willingly at that.

  “Adrienne,” his anciently accented words fell from his mouth seductively, making even the very sound of her own name an evil thing. “I see you. I see your heart, I see your courage.” He laughed as he stared into her eyes, taking every secret she kept in her soul for his very own. “I see your magic. It will not save you this time. It’s not enough, but then, you know that — it never has been enough.”

  Adrienne whimpered as he lowered his mouth and nipped her lower lip before snaking his tongue out to lap at her blood, moaning in ecstasy. “I shall enjoy this. It’s been a while since I’ve savored such a good little witch.”

  Tears started to roll down Adrienne’s cheeks as she realized there was nothing she could do. Her sisters couldn’t hear her calls as her mind screamed incessantly for them. Her grandmother couldn’t hear her pleas for help. This creature, this vampire, was so powerful he’d blocked her ability to reach out to them, and now he had her completely under his control. She wouldn’t survive this. She didn’t want to survive this; she turned her thoughts to the magics she’d been born into, begging for a quick end to her suffering.

  Alastair watched the emotions flicker over her face, he felt her resignation, he heard her thoughts. “Perhaps you will choose to join me, little mouse,” Alastair teased.

  Adrienne couldn’t look away from him; she wanted to, but his hold on her made her body not her own.

  “Do you like my new name for you, Mouse? It is fitting, I think. One with even as little magic as you would certainly fight me, but no, you just give in and choose death rather than fighting the inevitable. What a pity.”

  Alastair had no fear of her running from him, she was frozen in place, awaiting his next command. He looked down at the ugly, shapeless poncho she wore and used his milky-white nails to rip it down the middle. He snatched it away from her shoulders then tossed it carelessly to the ground beside her.

  “I wish to see my prize,” he said, licking his lips. He clawed at her blouse, ripping it in shreds and exposing her bra to his hungry eyes. Alastair lifted one painfully thin hand and caressed the breast beneath the lace cups holding her breasts in place. At his touch her nipple hardened, and she closed her eyes shamefully.

  “Do not fret, Mouse. You will know all there is to know of me soon. Then you’ll not be lying with a stranger, you’ll be lying with your lover. For a while anyway, until your death.�
�

  Adrienne’s breath caught with her fear.

  “That is what you wished for, isn’t it? Death?”

  Adrienne’s eyes were still closed. She was making every effort to regain some of her self-control.

  Alastair knew as long as he could stare into her eyes at great length, he could keep the hypnotic control over the pretty, young witch. If she kept her eyes closed for too long, though, she may possibly be able to give him a fight. The fight he craved. He loved it when his prey fought him. It made for so much more entertainment than simply feeding.

  This one, Adrienne — she confused him. She had power, yet she was timid. More timid than any little witch he’d ever encountered. He had a particular affinity for witches developed over time as a result of the Granddame of the LaCelle coven refusing to even attempt to help him when he’d begged for it during one of his rare moments of clarity. A moment in which there may have still been hope for him. But now? Now it mattered not. That time was long past. He’d embraced his insanity, his complete lack of remorse, and had made every attempt to become so powerful he was nearly unstoppable. And as a special gift to the great Marceline LaCelle, whenever he could, he fed from any witch he was able to entrap, then left them dead all over the world. But Marceline had trained her coven well. They were never caught unawares. He’d yet to take one of her own coven-sisters.

  Alastair’s brows creased and he leaned forward, sniffing his pretty, willing - yet unwilling prey. He pressed his nose to the valley between her breasts, inhaling deeply. Her scent was familiar. He sniffed her again, lifting her hair and pressing his nose against her neck up near her ear beneath the heavy curtain of her blue-black hair.

  He laughed — slowly, evilly, his rich laughter poured from his chest. “You are of the LaCelle coven, are you not?” Alastair grabbed Adrienne’s hair in his bony fist, yanking her head backward and startling her into opening her eyes. He towered over her, staring down into her eyes.

  “Do you know the witch Marceline?”

  Adrienne couldn’t help it, her mind began to remember herself as a small child, sitting on her grandmother’s lap as she taught her spells and read to her from the books of their history.

  Alastair’s eyes glittered with the realization of what had fallen into his hands. His laughter was boisterous, his head thrown back. “Finally! The fates have smiled down on me!” he shouted, then laughed again as he tore the bra from Adrienne’s body, grabbing her breast and twisting it painfully. “Marceline is your mother, is she not?”

  Adrienne didn’t answer, she held her tongue defiantly.

  Alastair twisted her flesh harder. “All it takes is a yes or a no. One simple word and the pain stops,” he whispered into Adrienne’s ear. He angled his fingers so that his nails pierced the soft flesh he mangled.

  If he’d not placed his other hand at Adrienne’s throat, her screams would have filled the night. But his grip stopped her from breathing, he stopped any chance of her calling out as he squeezed her delicate throat.

  Her vision became blurred, her head pounded and blood streamed down her side from the punctures in her breast.

  “Just. One. Word,” Alastair repeated on a whisper.

  With her lips trembling, tears weeping from her eyes, she responded with the one word he didn’t expect. “No,” she barely managed to get out as he slowly strangled her.

  Alastair leaned forward again, pressing his nails deeper into her breast.

  “Do not lie to me, Mouse,” he snarled.

  “Grandmother,” Adrienne whispered as her tears completely blinded her.

  Alastair grinned. Then he leaned over and used his tongue to trace the small trails of blood leaking from her damaged breast, before sucking her nipple into his mouth and drinking hungrily of the blood his fresh punctures brought to his lips. He released her breast, then licked his bloody tongue up the side of her face. “Such a sweet treat you are, granddaughter of Marceline. What shall I do with you?” he asked, using one bony finger to tap against his blood-stained chin. Suddenly his eyes took on a look that would have made Satan nervous. “I know. I know what I shall do. But for now, I need sustenance. I fear you shall have to both feed me and be my messenger to the great Marceline. Can you do that, Mouse?” he asked. He fluttered his hand in the air above his head. “It matters not. You will, whether you wish it or not — you will. You should be happy, Mouse. I’ve decided not to kill you. Oh wait,” he said, feigning surprise. “You wanted death, did you not? I’m sorry, Mouse. I just can’t. It will be so much more fun with you alive.”

  He grabbed the hair at the base of her skull in his hand, roughly snatching it back and down, forcing her neck and throat out for his ease of access, and at the same instant plunged his fangs into her soft, sweet flesh, drawing her blood into his body with long, strong pulls. Alastair wrapped his other hand around her waist, holding Adrienne tightly to him as he continued to drink from her as he rose into the dark, night skies while the mists and fogs of the typical New Orleans night hid them from view.

  Nine Months Later

  Chapter 1

  “Marceline! Marceline! Come quickly!” a clearly frightened female voice called down the darkened hallway.

  Marceline LaCelle Leschessaire De’Mers opened her eyes and glared in the general direction of the voice calling to her. She’d told them not to interrupt her — not under any circumstances was she to be interrupted. She sat on her knees before the great fireplace in her private rooms. Rooms that not too long ago were awash with elegance and opulence were now cluttered with seemingly non-connecting items strewn about as though discarded in a hurry. Marceline’s bedroom was as dark as the hallway leading to her rooms, as dark as her spirit since her precious granddaughter had been stolen away in the night.

  Marceline closed her eyes once again, clasping the delicate golden chain in her hands, focusing every bit of her strength, her powers, on the object her granddaughter had often worn. She was attempting to divine any information that would give her a direction to follow to find and bring her granddaughter, her precious Adrienne, back into the light, into the fold of the coven anxiously awaiting her return.

  “Marceline!” the voice now outside her door called again, even louder than it had been before.

  Marceline pursed her lips and squeezed the golden cross tighter. “I am busy!” Marceline snapped.

  “Please, Marceline! Come at once!”

  “Surely you can handle whatever this is on your own, Pauline!” Marceline answered irritatedly, getting to her feet. She looked at the array of items strewn about her bed and floor. All of them belonged to Adrienne, and she’d used each of them to try to locate Adrienne, but none had been fruitful. “Where are you, my darling?” Marceline whispered, holding the golden cross to her chest reverently.

  “You must come! It’s Adrienne! She’s in the courtyard!” Pauline said urgently.

  Marceline dropped the cross to the thick, woven throw rug carpeting her room and rushed for the door, fumbling to unlock it and fling it open. “Bring her inside! Do you not hear the storm?” Marceline asked, running as quickly as she could, her wrinkled, unkempt nightdress and robes fisted in her hands to allow her to hurry without hindrance.

  “We cannot!”

  “Bring her in!”

  “But… there’s a vampire!” Pauline said, hesitance clear in her voice.

  Marceline didn’t slow down. She kept running as quickly as she could. Down the hallway, down both sets of stairs, through the large drawing rooms and finally the foyer of the huge mansion sitting in the center of the Garden District. The historical residential district that was the center of upper-class society and old money, in the city that played host to as many mystical creatures as it did humans, all desperately trying to find their place — New Orleans.

  Marceline grasped the handles of the double French doors that opened onto the courtyard at the front of the home and threw them open, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be the vampire she feared it was. “Adrienne?!
” she called, her eyes straining to see through the darkness of the night, made murkier by the hurricane drenching the city in its wake.

  “Adrienne?” Marceline called again, stepping out into the gale force winds and driving rain.

  “She’s a bit… under the weather,” a male voice answered, with an evil cackle of laughter.

  “Begone, demon! You are not welcome here!” Marceline said forcefully, raising her voice to be heard over the storm.

  “I am no demon, Marceline — I did try, but they just won’t let me play with them,” he said with a pout on his thin, cold lips. “Surely, though, you can offer more of a welcome to the male who’s returned your beloved little witch to you and yours,” Alastair said sarcastically from his vantage point, hovering just above the nine-foot high wrought iron gate at the front of the courtyard.

  A moan sounded from Marceline’s right, drawing her attention to the woman lying in the shadows. She realized then, it was Adrienne, lying on the paving stones of the courtyard, writhing in pain, a plain white, cotton gown plastered against her pale skin as the rain pelted her.

  Marceline ran toward her granddaughter, all the while banishing Alastair with a protection spell she whispered non-stop. Finishing her spell she turned and screamed at Alastair. “You are not welcome here. You cannot set foot on this hallowed ground! Leave us!” she demanded, as she fell to her knees beside Adrienne. Immediately, she saw what the problem was.

  “What have you done?” she asked Alastair, her voice a harsh whisper as her eyes filled with tears. She reached for Adrienne, and looked back over her shoulder toward Alastair, who was no longer there.

  “I’ve brought her back. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?” Alastair asked from his new vantage point, atop the grey stone wall to her right. “I’ve heard your prayers to your goddesses every time I’ve come to see just how you’re handling the loss of your sweet little girl. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I thought she’d be stronger. She wasn’t quite as much fun as I thought she’d be. I believe your bloodline is weakening. Perhaps you should look into strengthening it,” he recommended.