Midnight Coven (Devil's Roses Book 7) (The Devil's Roses)

by Tara Brown

  “Knowledge that you have satisfied a very big curiosity for me.” I grin but his stoic face doesn't change.

  “I’m a cursed man. I’m not like regular vampires. A curse made me this way. Now I feel like maybe you owe me something more than simple gratification. I want a striptease. Not a ridiculous one from this decade. If I see one more go-go dancer-looking beach bunny or drunken whore, I will actually just start killing random people. I want a nasty one like in 2012. I want huge heels, a pole, tear-away clothing, and maybe if you could figure out how that one gal in Vegas was able to launch those Ping-Pong balls—” I slap a hand over his lips, muffling the sounds and shaking my head. “No. Don't finish that sentence. I want to live in a world where that level of debauchery hasn't happened yet.”

  He laughs. “Love, it’s happened. She just hasn't been exploited and put on a stage. You really have to work at getting those types of girls addicted properly before you can exploit them at the level where you are able to get them to launch Ping-Pong balls into crowds.”

  I roll away from him but he pulls me back. “We aren’t done discussing your striptease. To be honest I’ve always enjoyed the girls who pretended to be something sweet. Little Red Riding Hood is a favorite.”

  “Oh my God, you are so nasty.”

  He chuckles and kisses my neck before scooping me up in his arms. “Love, you still smell like sex.” He carries me to the shower. I catch a glimpse of our reflection as we walk past the mirror in the bathroom. He’s so handsome it’s ridiculous. His dark hair and olive skin make his dark-blue eyes pop, but the long inky lashes that frame his azure eyes are too much. He narrows his stare. “What are you thinking about? I see the wheels turning.”

  “You’re very handsome for something so evil and rotten.”

  His jaw drops like he’s affronted. “Rotten? I can see evil, but rotten? When have I ever behaved rottenly?”

  “The first time I met you.”

  He turns the shower on and puts me down. “Which time?”

  “The first time, in Baton Rouge.”

  He scowls, still wounded by my comment. “I don't recall being rotten.”

  I nod. “I could tell, just a feeling I had about you.”

  “Well, God forbid a bloke finds you attractive and gives you a bit of a flirt.”

  I step in with him, sliding up against his warmth. He wraps his arms around me, rubbing my back. “Do you want to fill me in on the great dilemma you were having with your noisy mind while I was trying to get my beauty rest?”

  “What?” I pause. Then it hits me. My cheeks redden. “You could hear my thoughts?”

  He shrugs. “Sometimes when I have witch for dinner, I find I get a bit of a food hangover for a couple days.” He pulls back to look down at me. “You, however, drank my blood too, didn't you? You naughty thing. Blood swapping with me is a strict no-no. Now your thoughts come flittering about in my head. Not clearly, just mumbled and heady with that accent of yours.”

  “You have an accent, not me.”

  “Fine. What were you all worked up about?”

  How do you explain the desire to be normal to a man loving his existence as an abnormality? I don't know how but I try. “I was thinking what if we were a regular couple who was all in love and happy. What if we were normal and there weren’t no blood or magic between us, just love? Imagine how amazing it must be to be in love and to be appreciated for the small things like making a delicious dinner or bringing home flowers, or asking that person you love to slow dance on the porch.”

  “I understand now the expression, I’m sorry I asked. Thank you for that small lesson on why humans are the lesser species.” He winces like I’ve caused him pain and I remember exactly why I am here.

  I tilt my head to the side. “Get your fill. I have to go. I have to end this and move on with whatever hell my life has become.”

  He doesn't hesitate. He lifts me up, holding me in the air and filling me with his cock and fangs simultaneously. There is no part of me that wishes I didn't enjoy every second of it. The delectable sensation of having my back squished into the wall as his fangs pierce my flesh overwhelms me, but the feeling of him inside of me is enough of everything else. It is enough to be full of someone for a moment, well several moments. The pleasure of him fills the void of being a vampire. But I don't listen to his warnings and growls when my fangs also pop, grazing his shoulder. I bite down, encouraging him to thrust harder. He grunts into my neck, still sucking as he fucks, but I can tell he’s done. I draw from his neck a little longer, chanting with my head. “Curse of the blood, curse of the compassion, find your way into my heart, taking with you his pain and passion.”

  I lick his wound as I feel a thousand things fill me up.

  I kiss his neck and pat him on the cheek. “See ya round, Mr. Vampire.”

  “Dragomir and you’re not leaving.”

  I wave backward and strut to my clothes. I desperately want my clothes back, my black ones. They felt heavy and bleak before but now I miss the sleek look. The lavender leisure suit is fairly low on my list of things I might have once wanted to wear. In fact, I don't think it made the cut, ever.

  I hate that the ‘70s haven’t even hit yet and shit is about to get real bad as far as fashion is concerned.

  “STOP!”

  I jump, cocking an eyebrow. “Why are you shouting at me?”

  “Stop! I beg of you. I don't care what you wear or what you think or how much of my curse interests you. Just stop thinking about the shitty clothes and then doing that whole inner dialogue thing. Jesus, I can’t take another second.”

  I pull my middle finger from the front of the leisure suit. “Look what I found for you—all my compassion and caring for your sweet little opinion. Bless your heart, Marcus.” I wave, carrying my shoes. “It’s been real fun.” I stalk out into the hall and wish to the gods of all things holy and even unholy, that I had a damned cell phone.

  I hurry to the elevator, a little desperate to get away from him before he realizes he didn't want me gone.

  Friggin’ nut.

  When I get to the lobby I smile just as sweet as I can, pouring sugar from my soul. I want to see if I can do it. I lean on the counter and bat my lashes. “Hi there. I’m looking for my friend, Lorri. She’s got red hair and a kind of mean look to her but she’s real pretty. I came in with her and didn't get her room number. Could y’all give it to me?”

  The man behind the counter looks like he might either die of boredom or he has already but is still standing somehow. “Room number and last name.” His voice is less exciting than his face.

  Clearly he missed the whole ‘I don't know her room number.’ I contemplate the things she might have used. “Room 666, last name Rose.”

  “No one here by that name.” He cocks an eyebrow.

  I lean in, compelling him. “Red hair, mean look, blood-red knee-high boots, and she would have a single room but she came in with a handsome dark-haired man and me.”

  “Room nine fourteen.” He nods blankly.

  “Forget we talked.”

  He goes back to being just slightly more fun than watching paint dry as I hurry back to the elevator. When I get to Lorri’s room, Dorian opens the door across the hall. He doesn't say anything, just stares at me. I wave subtly. “Hi.”

  He nods. “You all right then?”

  “All right? No. Ready to kill Whit and end this disastrous shit storm? Hell yes.”

  He smiles and closes the door, in my face.

  I sigh and turn back to knock but he opens the door a second later, wearing his black peacoat and dark-blue jeans. The man is sex on a stick, and had I not spent the last fifteen hours being ridden hard and hung up to dry, I might actually smile at him like I mean business. But I don't. The horny vampire thing has got to go.

  He slides his arm in mine, and winks as I groan.

  We land in a soft patch of dirt. My shoes sink in. “This is why Lorri wears boots everywhere.” I wish I’d worn them instead o
f this.

  He nods and slides his finger up to his lips. His luscious lips. My eyes roam down his body, focusing entirely on his groin. I lick my lips and start to imagine running my hands across that exact spot. I wonder how big it is.

  What the shit is happening to me? Did I just think shit? I’m losing my marbles.

  I’m getting all sassy and horny and—damn! Taking Marcus’ blood and curse has made me like Marcus. Oh God. Oh God, I’ll be raping college girls and spitting on old ladies before the night is through. I have to get it out, but how?

  “Can you have that debate with yourself somewhere else at another time perhaps? We have work to do.”

  My jaw drops. “Can you hear my thoughts?”

  He laughs. “When you say them aloud, yes.”

  My face is bright red. I think steam might actually be leaving my pores.

  “I don't actually want to know.” He puts a hand up but creeps along the muddy field. “But if you stare at my cock like that again, you’re going to find out exactly how big it is. We clear?”

  His words are death on my insides. I hate Marcus. It takes me a full second of inner moaning and griping to smell the scent of the lilacs and magnolias on the warm breeze. I inhale and moan.

  I am home.

  I recognize the blood-stained trees as we get closer to the spot I didn't think Whit had the balls to come. Grandmamma Holt’s house.

  No longer afraid at all, I walk up to the front door and knock. She answers, giving me a confused look. “You ‘posed ta be in da England. Why you here, cher?”

  “Whit.”

  Ramón walks to the door, grinning away like an alley cat. “Ooooeeee, cher, something on you smells an awful lot like that Marcus. You wanna give me details?”

  “No. Trust me, they’re seedy like his soul. How’s Tessa? Where is she?”

  “I want dem details.” Ramón smiles. “Shoot, you know we took care of her. She’s real happy down at her friend Lillian’s house. Da poor woman lost her husband and asked Tessa to move in wit her to help her out and keep her company.”

  “That's good. She must be busier than a three-legged dog with two peters trying to keep up with Lillian. That’ll keep her mind busy. She might not even think about Daddy dying.”

  He nods. “You want to go see her, cher?”

  I shake my head as Dorian steps closer, obviously afraid of Grandmamma Holt. Her eyes dart to him. “I ain’t ready for ya yet, sin eater. Ya gots time ta change your fates.”

  Dorian’s eyes flicker, he knows what she’s talking about.

  When I give Ramón a look he twitches his head like he’s saying no. I bite my lips together, forcing my inner Marcus to shut the hell up before Grandmamma slaps some sense into me. Although, a few slaps might rid me of Marcus.

  She looks back at me. “Ya needs ta go home, cher. Dat where he be.” She nods at me once. “Ya know we love ya but we can’t be near dis one.” She closes the door in Dorian’s face as Ramón waves from behind her.

  When I look at Dorian he looks like he might have seen a ghost. “What was that?”

  “Staring death in the face.” He turns and walks coldly; he doesn't want to talk either.

  Okay then.

  Dorian puts a hand out for me to take but I shake my head. “Can we walk a bit?”

  He looks back. “No.” He grabs me and winks me against my will. It’s sort of like being violated, and for whatever sick reason, it makes him smile a real smug grin.

  I heave a little, having not really been in the mood for the winky thing.

  My angry belly is made worse by the stale smell of burnt wood that’s hovering outside of my house. I think both things make me gag again.

  My heart aches, and it’s the same as it was the day I came home after fifty years to find my dead sister not so dead, and even less like my sister.

  At least now I won’t find nothing but Whit.

  We walk past the police tape at the end of the entrance, crunching along the driveway. When we get close I hold a hand up. “He can’t hurt me. Just stay out here, let me talk to him.”

  Dorian ignores me completely and walks inside, through the large wooden front door that's been left ajar.

  The stench of blood and smoke is fresh. I can hear the people from the party stained in the wood burns and smoke damage. The party that will never end, that has been immortalized by the deaths of all them people. If you close your eyes in a house like this one, you can hear the band and the people laughing and joking in the eerie silence of the dark room.

  Em’s blood still stains the doorway and entryway. My daddy’s blood is on the floor, a big burnt puddle of sticky blood. It’s cooked into the floor from the heat of the fire. I don't need to get close to it to know whose it is.

  The beams in the ceiling are hanging down and the walls are burnt. I think the fire is worse than I recall it being.

  Dorian walks without making a single sound, I am not so lucky. A critter from the swamps, probably a possum, scurries to the right of me, making me jump and squeal a little.

  That earns me a dirty look.

  I don't know where Whit is but he ain’t here. I can’t sense him at all.

  We are alone.

  At least I think we are until I see him—my daddy. He walks to me, shaking his head and looking just like he did that night.

  He’s not dead?

  “Daddy?”

  Dorian stops and looks at me. “He has no—”

  “I know.” I put a hand up, cutting him off. I know my daddy has no heartbeat. “Daddy?”

  He lifts his face. It’s pale and frightened. His suit is ripped and blood is smeared across the front of him. “Lorelei? Is that you, honey?” Even his voice sounds funny.

  I swallow hard, even more scared of him than Whit. How is my father alive? Or not alive but still walking about.

  He sighs and sits in the rubble, leaning his head against the charred wall. “Your momma left me here. I tried to follow her, but she ran so fast and every time I tried to leave I came back here.”

  I wince. Oh God. He’s a ghost.

  “She said she would be right back but she didn't come. That nice young man you were seeing, he came by. He looked real upset, and said he couldn't find you either. I told him to try the old house in the field. I know you remember your way out there.”

  It makes me smile but there is a tremendous amount of pain behind the smile, hidden away. “Daddy, you seen anyone else?”

  He shakes his head. “No, darling. I just stayed here. I’m real tired and I can’t seem to clean the mess up, and ain’t no one come to help with the cleanup.”

  “We’ll help, Daddy.” I hold my hands out to him, needing him to touch me so I can release him. He gets up and shuffles toward me, looking like he might fall over. As his hands get close something icy slips between us. I pull back real fast as he changes into a ball of the black smoke. Dorian leaps at me and the next thing I know, we are back in the hotel, but not in my room. I heave a little, looking at the orange shag carpet and the red boots sitting on top of it.

  “Hello, you two.” Lorri walks across the room, sitting in a chair and crossing her legs.

  I cough and shake my head. “That was real mean. Why would Grandmamma Holt tell me to go there if that's what was waiting?”

  “Because Whit must have been there. He set the trap.” Dorian sighs and sits on the bed casually, like he wasn't just about eaten by my father’s fake ghost. “He’s clearly keeping his strict diet of witches going strong. Wanker!”

  I nod and close my eyes, sucking deep breaths.

  “Well, let’s go back and get him if he’s there. I’ll get Henry and Marcus.” Lorri sounds tired when she winks out. It’s weird, she never sounds tired. Sitting back on my heels and slowing my brain, I give Dorian a look. “She seems tired?”

  His eyes lift from the carpet. “She is. She’s been fighting this nonsense a long time. She gets one step ahead and they manage to get two. She’s always fighting, training,
and recruiting. So adding to that the fact she has to constantly worry about being two steps behind them, her life is hard. Plus, she hasn’t been laid in ages.”

  I grimace and he chuckles like he’s laughing at his own joke. He looks tired too. Or concerned. Maybe because he never makes an authentic expression of concern, it comes across as tired. “You and Marcus . . . you an item?”

  I shake my head, fighting the bitter smile that crosses my face. “I don't believe there is a single person able to be an item with Marcus. Not one. He’s an item all on his own. He doesn't need a second person in that relationship; you’re mostly a burden. And he’s crass. I find myself becoming crass with him.”

  His smile creeps back across his lips. “That, back there in the swamps?”

  “I took some of his curse. I wanted to know what he was.” I shake my head, standing up finally and sitting on the other bed in the room. “It was a mistake. You can’t dig around in his curse. It’s private. All I saw was his past in Romania, I think. He’s like Dracula but the real thing. He said it before but I didn't believe him.”

  Dorian gives me a look. “He stole something a long time ago, something powerful. He just wanted to be special and different. So he took something that would ensure that. Of course all things backfire eventually.” Again he looks like he’s seen a ghost. It's the most real I have ever seen him be. His smugness seems like it sort of washed away for the most part when we saw Grandmamma. I sense it won’t be gone long.

  He and Marcus could have a shit-eating grin contest for a decade and still be at a stalemate.

  Lorri winks back with Marcus but Henry isn’t there. She scowls at us—she and Marcus. “Henry is meeting us there, hurry up.” They’re gone again instantly.

  Dorian doesn’t say anything. He just winks, dragging me along for the joyful ride.

  We land and I don’t get sick. I’m too distracted by the thought of being near Marcus that my insides are all clenched up. He holds my arm the moment I am near him, leaning into me. “I told you to stay with me.”

  I jerk free. “I paid my debt.”

  “For the other brothers. You’ll still owe me for this one.”

  I roll my eyes, sorting through the mixture of excitement about owing him and the intense amounts of disgust I shame myself with for wanting him. “We’ll see.”