Cards of Love: The High Priestess

by Olivia Ryann

  “And that is… that’s where I come in?” I sat quietly.

  Damen nods. “Yes. You promised me you would do anything I needed. So once we arrive in New Orleans, you’ll have to lie a little. Make up a back story, where we’ve known each other for years. And you’ll need to be physically comfortable around me, too. You know, affectionate.”

  Looking down at my lap again, I swallow. I made a deal with the Devil, and now he’s asking so little. How can I say no?

  “Of course,” I mumble.

  Damen turns his head, looking toward Cass. “And you’ll have to keep her out of the way. Somewhere safe. Somewhere she’ll stay quiet.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Safe?”

  He smirks at me. “Yes. I imagine that there will be people who aren’t a fan of my brother. If they figure out you’re connected to me, they’ll snatch you off the street and kill you.”

  I give him a horrified expression. “What?”

  He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “It’s not a guess. It already happened to my brother Arsen. He got a head delivered to his doorstep. It was the head of his mistress.”

  The horrible image of a head in a box sticks in my mind.

  “Why?” It comes out sharper and louder than I intended.

  “Because. I think you know what business I’m in. We do things a certain way.” He shrugs. “Brutality rules in the underworld.”

  Damen’s phone starts buzzing again, and he shoos me away. “Start thinking about that backstory right now. And talk to your sister. Think about where she’ll be safe and quiet.”

  With that, I’m dismissed. I wobble down to the other end up the plane, my brain absolutely filled with thoughts. Sitting down across from my sleeping sister, I sip the warm champagne that’s in the bottom of my glass.

  So much has happened today. I got married, for starters. And then it turns out that the man I married is this puzzle, only half the pieces are obscured and the puzzle keeps shifting and turning. I can’t even keep up with all the facets of Damen I don’t yet understand.

  I stare at my sleeping sister, clutching my drink in my hand, and try to sort through things in my own head.

  (fill in stuff here?)

  4

  Damen

  As soon as our plane finally lands in New Orleans the next evening, I’m off like a shot. I’m overcaffeinated, and there is only so much staring at his new bride a man can do before he completely loses his shit.

  I mean, it’s not like I can’t have her. I can have her whenever and wherever I want. But most of our time in the last twenty four hours has been spent in the company of her sister or others.

  As much as I would like to make her strip to please me, I get the feeling that it won’t be something she wants to remember as our first time together. And since I plan on there being many, many more times… I’m willing to wait.

  A while, anyway. At least until her little sister isn’t making eye contact with me.

  So I have enough time aboard the plane to arrange the necessities for our stay in New Orleans. A couple of bodyguards, more for the girls than for me. A place to stay at the Belvedere Hotel on St. Charles, not too far from where Arsen has a house. I rented a whole floor of suites out, because you never know what to expect.

  I dispatch the bodyguards to get the girls settled in at the hotel, and I go visit Arsen’s house. I text him when I’m on my way over, looking out the darkened window of my chauffeured SUV. The city slides by the window. I see kids in their private school uniforms just getting out of school and adults jogging in the park.

  When the SUV pulls onto Arsen’s block, I see Arsen open the front door and appear in the doorway. His big frame swallows up the space in the doorframe as he props himself up, waiting. As I get out of the car and head over to him, I notice that he looks like he hasn’t slept much lately. Twin circles, deep and dark, have formed under his eyes.

  “Brother,” he says simply, inclining his head. “This is pretty last minute. You could’ve let me know you were arriving.”

  “I could have,” I agree with a smirk. “Where is your girl?”

  He folds his arms across his chest and gives me a level look. “She’s none of your concern, Damen.”

  “Still angry about the run-in we had in Columbia?”

  “I’m not angry about anything.” His expression says otherwise, though. “What are you here for?”

  “I’m here to introduce you to my new bride.” I drop the words casually, as if my marriage was an expected affair.

  The look of surprise on Arsen’s face is almost too enjoyable. “Your new what?”

  “Can we go inside?” I suggest, motioning to the house. “I don’t want the details of my life broadcast everywhere. I’m certain you don’t either.”

  Arsen looks at me for a second, his eyes narrowing. Then he backs up, turning and leading the way into his house. He heads into the kitchen, where he motions to a seat at the kitchen island. I sit as he grabs a big bottle of mineral water and two glasses from the fridge.

  “What, no alcohol?” I say, although it’s only early afternoon.

  Arsen eyes me and shakes his head. “No. I have a social engagement later that I need to be ready for. I can have someone get you something, if you want it.”

  “A social engagement? My my, how the girl has changed you.” I smile and accept the chilled sparkling water.

  My brother is unamused. “What the fuck did you mean by your new bride?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. She’s at the Belvedere right now, getting herself settled in.”

  “Who did you fucking marry, Damen?” he asks, exasperated. “And why?”

  I cock my head. “Someone I’ve known for a while. Someone who was just waiting in the wings.” I pause. “And partly, I did it because the Tarot cards told me to. But mostly, just because she is beautiful.”

  Technically, that was a kind of truth. I’ve known of Bianka for a while. She just didn’t know about me. And she didn’t know that she was waiting for me either…

  That part about why I married her is a lie, but there’s no way that Arsen will know that.

  Arsen’s brows rise. “And am I supposed to meet this girl? What’s her name?”

  “Bianka. And yes. I’m hoping that whatever you and your girl have planned tonight, you can accommodate two more.”

  His eyes narrow to slits. “You’re assuming that I am kind enough to allow you within a city block of Fiore. I left you alone with her once, and it didn’t turn out well.”

  My lips turn upward into a smile. “Yes, I am assuming. But you haven’t yet met my own bride. She’s quite captivating.”

  “Oh?” he asks. “What are you saying, Damen? Are you offering a trade? Because I’m not interested.”

  I give a low chuckle. “I’m saying that I will have my hands full with my new girl. In fact, I feel like a new man with her at my side. Just like the Tarot cards promised.”

  Arsen gives a huff of laughter. “Again with that? Damen, really.”

  I shrug. “When it’s in the cards, it’s in the cards. There’s nothing you can do or say.”

  He takes a sip of his water, looking pensive. After almost a full minute, he speaks. “We are scheduled to go to a ball tonight. A masquerade ball. Do you think you two can be ready for that?”

  My lips twitch. “Of course. This is New Orleans, after all. You can get anything at a moment’s notice, for the right price.”

  He looks amused. “You’re right about that, at least. That is what our business is all about.”

  Sliding off my bar stool, I stand. “When and where should we meet you?”

  Arsen considers that. “The ball begins at nine. It’s at the Balconnet, just above the Treme neighborhood. I’ll call and make sure your name is on the guest list.”

  “Very well. Bianka and I will see you then.” With that, I turn and head out of Arsen’s house.

  5

  Bianka

  I lean toward the window of the
chauffeured limousine, holding my breath as the New Orleans night streams by. Bright neon lights, deeply shadowed cathedrals, houses in various states of disrepair and rehabilitation. All these things jump out at me as I’m driven down the divided highway style street.

  I smooth my hands down over the rose red satin ballgown I’m wearing, rustling the tulle that falls to my feet in voluminous waves. The strapless bustier top is cut in sweetheart neckline and it’s itches than the devil himself, but it was the only gown they had that was my size. Actually, it fits like a glove.

  I fidget with the large obsidian pendant that Damen put on me, trying to remember to breathe. Glancing over at him, I see that he is entranced by the sights whirring by his own window.

  I allow myself a moment to just look at him. My husband.

  He’s so dashing, his inky black hair carefully slicked back, his collar carefully buttoned, his tux jacket fitting him just right. The tux conceals some things, like what I imagine is his muscular upper body. But some things it can’t hide, like the way his ass looks in his black slacks.

  I found myself checking him out a little bit earlier, as I followed him from the hotel suite down to the limo. Almost unconsciously, I found my head cocking to the side as I looked at his ass.

  I have to admit, it’s a pretty nice one. Even if it is attached to a man I’m still unsure about. I mean, he might have saved me and Cass, but I don’t know him from Adam.

  Damen looks at me, his piercing grey-blue eyes searching my face. “Are you going to be ready to put on a show tonight?”

  I flush and nod. “I think so, yes.”

  His gaze wanders down to where my breasts peek out of the bustier top. He hasn’t said anything openly sexual to me yet, but I have caught his eyes following me a few times. “This is the first time that we are alone. You realize that?”

  My breath hitches. What does he mean by that, exactly?

  His eyes jump to my lips. His expression is dark as a thunderclap, and he bites his own lip.

  Oh… I think I’m staring at his mouth, hard.

  He leans in, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me in for a kiss. As his lips touch mine, hot and hard and sensual, all the breath leaves my lungs. He’s so much bigger than me as he candles my jaw in one hand. He dominates the kiss, his tongue flicking against mine, drawing a needy sound from me.

  I didn’t know until that moment that I wanted to be touched. No, not wanted. Needed it.

  Then the car lurches to a stop. Damen breaks off, looking away out the window.

  “Fuck,” he mutters. “We’re here already.”

  The next moment, the door opens. Damen climbs out, and I slide over and get out of the limo. I stop and stare at the sleek black building we stand outside of. Two stories tall and almost obscure against the surrounding background of the city, the place is obviously meant to blend in.

  Damen takes one of my hands, lacing my fingers with his. His hands are hot, his fingers dwarfing mine. “Come on. My brother and his girl are probably already inside.”

  He leads me up a set of steps and gives his name at the door. The doorman gestures for us to go inside, where we’re immediately met in a small dark space by two men bearing silver trays holding masks. All the masks are the same, a black bird mask with a long hooked nose and silver accents.

  Damen secures his own mask and then helps me with mine. I glance at him and giggle. He looks fairly ridiculous, like a giant creepy bird. I can’t see his eyes, but his lips tip upward into a hint of a smile.

  “But how will I recognize you in the sea of tuxes?” I ask.

  Damen produces a blood red pocket square, tucking it in his jacket pocket. He pats it. “It’ll be easy enough to pick me out of a crowd.”

  I bite my lip. “Okay.”

  Then the two men open the door, plunging us into darkness. The second the doors open, my stomach plummets. I can’t see anything but blackness and a little swirling fog. I can’t feel anything except the air is a little cold. I can hear a heavy thumping bass line, vibrating my skin.

  But none of that is what upsets me. I can only say that I feel bad things lurking inside. When Damen takes my hand and starts to move forward, I claw at him desperately, trying to pull him back.

  He glances back, his brow knitting. I try to explain. “No, we shouldn’t go in there…”

  But then a second set of doors opens, showing the whole club. It’s still dimly lit, but there are spotlights and mirrorballs glinting everywhere. We’re slightly elevated, and elegant people mix and mingle down a short set of stairs.

  The feeling is as loud as the music, pumping in time with my heart. It’s too loud in here to hear anyone, too loud to think.

  We should not be here right now. I know that much.

  I pull on Damen’s wrist again, trying to get his attention. He looks at me, raising his brows, impatient to move. He looks so imposing like that… I just shrink a little, allowing him to pull me deeper into the morass of the club.

  We head down the stairs. Immediately people crush in around us, dancing and drinking, the party raging wildly everywhere I look. People in bird masks are reveling like nothing I’ve ever seen. I grip Damen’s hand as I see four men in tuxes grinding with a woman in a white ballgown. I look the other way, and I see a flash of a man’s genitals as another man bows before him, sucking his cock.

  What the hell kind of place did Damen bring me to? Bad feelings aside, this is pretty raunchy for what is essentially our first night together as a couple. Hell, some people would consider this our first date.

  It takes a little while for Damen to find his brother and his brother’s wife. When he does, Damen’s brother leads us all to a private area, off the main floor and separated by a heavy wall. The wall cuts down most of the noise, reducing the music to a faraway thump-thump-thump-thump.

  The feeling of badness fades, too. I relax, only now realizing how tense I had grown before.

  Damen and I peel off our masks, and his brother and his wife do the same. I’m taken aback by how alike Damen and his brother look, although Damen’s brother has more pronounced crow’s feet and eyes that are less blue. They’re steely as they sweep over me, but his expression is blank.

  “I’m Arsen,” he says, not bothering to extends his hand to shake. “And this is Fiore.”

  A petite blonde pixie, Fiore smiles and graciously takes my hand. “It is very nice to meet you.”

  She seems to be struggling to fill in my name, so I help her. “Bianka. Pleased to meet you. I imagine you already know Damen?”

  Her demeanor goes cold as ice when she regards Damen. “Yes, we’ve met.”

  The way that she shivers and refuses to meet Damen’s gaze, the way that Arsen puts his arm around her and pulls her close… I look back and forth between Damen and Fiore, my mind trying to make a connection, but coming up empty.

  Arsen clears his throat. “Damen’s going to play nice. Isn’t that right, brother?”

  Damen looks to me. “I’ve got other things on my mind. Right, Bianka?”

  I don’t understand what’s going on at all, but I turn on my biggest smile anyway. “Yes, daddy. That’s right.”

  Everyone in the room looks surprised at my dropping the word daddy, but then Damen just grins. He slips his arm around my waist and tugs me closer, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine. His kiss is hot and firm, and when he pulls back I’m left a little breathless.

  “I need a drink,” Damen says. “And then I need to dance with my girl.”

  Arsen leads Fiore to the door. He opens it, and the creeping sensation of wrongness returns. The music fills the room again, making it hard to catch Damen’s attention. He nudges me toward the door, but I resist. I lean close to his ear to be heard.

  “Wait, before we go out there…”

  He lifts a brow. “Yes?”

  “I really feel like we shouldn’t be here. I don’t know how to explain it better than that. When I have a feeling like this, a bad feeling, it’s best to
heed it.”

  He smirks. “You’re fine. You’re with me. Nothing bad will happen to you.”

  “But—” I start to protest, but he pulls me toward the door.

  “Come on. Don’t keep me waiting,” he orders. He’s so much stronger than I am, and seems very sure about our safety. So I let him lead me back out onto the dance floor, where people are writhing and gyrating wildly.

  We drink and dance, Damen clutching my hips and holding me as close as my ballgown allows. We kiss and fondle each other. We dance, trying to keep up with the frenzied party all around us. I try to relax and have fun, but the feeling won’t dissipate.

  Leave. Leave now, it says in the back of my head, insistent. It’s like a low throb in the base of my skull, the whisper of my inner voice. You know that staying is foolish.

  But I stay anyway, because Damen wants to. At one point, when I have had four glasses of champagne and I’m rather tipsy, I head to the bathrooms. If I’m honest, I’m driven more by the voice inside my head than I am by having to urinate. It’s almost a headache, increasing every moment until I step into the bathrooms.

  Then it subsides, apparently sated for now.

  It’s cool in the glittering gold bathrooms, and much quieter. Low lights, lots of mirrors. There is an anteroom filled with couches, and there are several guests passed out on them. In the corner, there is a couple making out, completely ignoring the fact that a lady is next to the looking like she’s about to vomit.

  As I wash my hands, I stare up at my reflection in the mirror. I look tired. That could be the transatlantic flight catching up with me, yes. But more likely, it is the result of resisting the warnings that my brain is trying desperately to give me.

  When I leave the restrooms, the feeling redoubles. It’s like having a hangover in a nightclub, intolerable and unnecessary. I spot Damen at the bar, trying to ignore it. Moving toward him, I see that he’s talking very seriously with a portly fellow, his tux making him look a bit like the Penguin.