Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “As much as I appreciate your unending praise, I fail to see what my success has to do with your marriage proposal?” Dominique craned a look over her shoulder, slanting a meaningful glance at his still hands.

  Julien followed her gaze and resumed applying the ointment. “I am the best rumrunner in the five kingdoms. I could double your business—quadruple it even.”

  “The best rumrunner in the five kingdoms,” Dominique mused. “Yes, I remember that boast.”

  “It wasn’t a boast, chere, and you know it.” Julien’s voice remained light, edged with amusement and more than his fair share of confidence. “There is no ship faster than mine, there is no captain who knows the sea better—the nooks and crannies of the inlets, the caves waiting to hide a ship. No one knows more islands with nothing but animals to witness who comes and goes.”

  He increased the pressure of his fingertips, massaging the ointment around the wounds as well. It hurt and felt good at the same time, a foil of their history.

  “Chere, I could bring you wines so fine they would make you weep at the first caress on your tongue. Liquors so strong the very scent of them would send your people into a dreamland to shake hands with the loa themselves.”

  “You always were so disparaging of my faith.” Dominique flexed her fingernails into her palms. “I’ll ask you again, and this will be the last time. Give the loa the respect they are due.”

  “Respect.” Julien snorted. “You can live your life as you like, chere, but I want no part of your god or his messengers. Never trust a creature with no body of their own.” His hands trembled as if he’d shuddered. “Parasites possessing people, prancing about in their skin. I will never understand why you tolerate it—welcome it, even.”

  “No respect,” Dominique repeated.

  Julien leaned in so he could see her face, taunting her with the strong line of his jaw, handsome despite the blue beard. “You remind me of your mother, you know. She was all about respect as I recall.”

  Mother. Yes, her mother had been all about respect—a fact that had set Dominique’s teeth on end, considering her mother’s refusal to adhere to the code of the priestess, her insistence on doing what she pleased despite what it did to her reputation. The reputation that had gotten her killed. She set her jaw, ferociously blinking back the telltale burn of tears. He will not see me cry.

  The pressure on her wounds vanished.

  “Dominique?” A touch of uncertainty stole the bravado from his face. “Your mother…?”

  “Dead.” She picked at the sheets with one carefully filed fingernail. “And my father. They left for Ville au Camp to help with the chaos caused by an earthquake. Their ship…” She stopped, swallowed as silently as she could. “They never arrived.”

  Julien leaned down, but she hid her face behind the fall of her spiraling curls. She peered through the ringlets to the painting of the ship at sea. It seemed like such a mockery now, the opposite of the fate that had claimed her parents out on the water. Dying in the dark, far from their home. Bodies lost to the sea, without a proper burial.

  “Chere.”

  Julien brushed her hair back from her face. There’d been a time she would have welcomed his sympathy, would have cried on his shoulder and been grateful for the comfort.

  But that time had passed.

  “It was no accident. Their ship was tampered with, I know it.” She fisted the sheets beneath her, a familiar anger rushing to fill her with its heat, to offer the reassurance of the only embrace she’d had in those horrible, black days after she’d gotten the news. “They feared her too much. Feared her because she was a bokor.”

  “A bokor?”

  “You’re surprised?” Dominique laughed, a short, humorless sound. “I thought everyone knew. They certainly loved to talk about it—some of them still love to talk about it. Talk about how I might turn out to be just like her.”

  “I didn’t know.” He resumed caring for her wounds, movements slow and sure, comforting in their rhythm.

  “I’m not a bokor.” Dominique turned, studying his face, searching for the judgment she saw everywhere else. She may have to take it from her community, but she would not take it from him. “I’m not. Nor will I ever be. I am a priestess. I serve the loa only with good intentions.”

  “I believe you. Though you should know, it matters little to me. As I told you, I have never been one to put stock in theories of good versus evil. The world is full of grey, and those who realize that, who accept it and acknowledge that sometimes life gets messy, will be better suited to the tasks they are called to do.”

  “How nice for you that you can believe that, that you can live that way. I suppose when you’ve got the fastest ship and a thousand hiding places—and no attachments holding you anywhere—it’s easy to do as you please. You can simply bolt before you have to deal with the consequences. Before you have to face up to the stares of other people, before you have to see the judgment on their faces, the pity in their eyes…”

  Dominique trailed off. Heat suffused her cheeks, not just temper anymore, but embarrassment. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost the plot, forgotten what she was talking about. Two pains had become one.

  “Why do I get the feeling we aren’t talking about being a bokor anymore?” Julien’s voice was soft, non-judgmental.

  “What we are talking about,” Dominique ground out, “is the fact that not all of us have the luxury of escaping the consequences of poor choices. I live here. These are my people. I have to look them in the eye, I have to stand before them as the priestess of this community.” She slid her arms up and rested her head on them, her body feeling heavier now as though a lead weight had been laid over her shoulders. “There was a time I dreamed of leaving this place. A time when nothing sounded so wonderful as a life of freedom, a life of moving from one place to another, never settling down, never…” She snapped her mouth shut, too late to bite back the words she hadn’t meant to share.

  “But I left you behind.”

  “Best thing you could have done.” She stared at the wall, refusing to look at Julien or that blasted painting. “Those dreams of leaving with you, sharing a life at sea with a handsome pirate—they were the fantasies of a foolish girl. What I have now is real.”

  “And is there none of that foolish girl left?”

  Dominique stiffened as Julien slid his arms beneath her body, lifted her up into his arms and sat down himself, cradling her on his lap. The sheets tangled around her lower body, but her upper body was bare. Only her stubborn pride kept her from crossing her arms over her chest. She summoned her best glare, wishing a look was all it would take to burn him to ashes for the next breeze to take away. He offered a soft, wistful smile, but wisely kept his eyes on her face.

  “You aren’t the only one who still thinks of that night. I remember too.”

  “I never said I—”

  “Midsummer. The greatest celebration of them all.” Julien lifted a lock of her hair, twirled it around his finger. “You were dressed in red, the color of blood splatter on a lamp, glowing in what little darkness the torches allowed. The mask over your face hiding everything but your wicked, wicked smile and the light that danced like fairy glamour in your eyes.”

  “I—”

  “You stood out from the other women like a phoenix amongst hens.” He cupped her jaw in his hand, the calluses of his palm rough against her sensitive skin. “Beautiful and a little dangerous, eh?”

  He leaned in, inhaling above the skin of her throat. Dominique held her breath, her pulse fluttering in response to his nearness, the solidness of his body against her. Still so familiar despite the passage of time.

  “You smelled of bourbon, your family’s best. I could taste it on you even before I caught you…kissed you.”

  Every word that passed his lips fed Dominique’s memory, plucking at all the delicious sensory details that went with them. Her blood had been hot that night, warmed by bourbon and dancing, and the pure, unadulterated
joy that marked the Midsummer Celebration. She’d been young, but powerful, born with a natural gift that rendered her an easy vessel for the loa, a willing and able conduit for their power. Her mother’s words of caution had more often than not fallen on deaf ears. With power like hers, there had seemed little need for politics, for manipulation. She didn’t need to win the people’s respect or fear. It was hers by birthright.

  And Julien…

  She’d been spinning, arms flung out to the sides, face tilted up to the sky. Her skirts had reached for the corners of the earth, lifted in the whirling chaos of her dance. His gaze had been a physical weight on her, a heated iron left in the fire. Her head had spun far after her body had halted, and her first look at the pirate had done nothing to ground her.

  Dark hair with a hint of curl had brushed broad shoulders tight with muscles built over years of working on a ship. He’d prowled around the crowd, threading through the tangle of bodies as easily as if he were navigating the current. There’d been so much potential in him that night, so much behind the dark eyes reflecting a light that had nothing to do with the torches.

  Step by step, he’d circled, growing closer with every turn, spiraling inward. She’d caught his scent on the wind, the tang of sea air, and something hot, something…burning.

  The seduction had been quick, something that even now failed to inspire shame in Dominique. He’d cut her from the herd like a wolf culling cattle, had chased her as she’d led him on a merry run through the trees, deep into the bayou. She could have lost him at any time, the terrain as familiar to her as her own face. But she’d let him catch her, let him carry her to the ground, laughing and breathing heavily.

  And his kiss…

  Julien’s lips covered hers, a perfect mirror to her memory. There was a heat in his mouth that no other man had ever matched—though admittedly there had been few given the opportunity to try.

  Strong hands gripped her hips, slid her more firmly onto his lap, pushed her legs so they splayed. Her back ached, sharp pricks of pain reminding her she was wounded, but she ignored it. Nothing so paltry as torn flesh could distract her from who was in her arms now.

  “He is an attractive man, my daughter, but there is a price to pay for that pleasure. See the wild light in his eyes. That is not a man who will stay. The morning sun can be cruel.”

  Dominique stiffened at the memory of her mother’s voice. She’d ignored those words back then. She hadn’t really heard them over the echo of Julien’s words, over his promise to take her away. He’d talked of a life at sea, a life they could share together, free from the demands of her training and her mother’s constant lectures on behavior and respect. Facing her mother that morning had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Until now.

  The air tasted bitter after the sweetness of Julien’s lips, but Dominique forced it into her lungs anyway. He leaned closer, trying to continue the kiss, but she planted a firm hand on his chest. His eyes were glazed, heavy-lidded with passion. He blinked twice before a frown tugged at the corners of his sinful mouth.

  Dominique averted her eyes. “Getting back to your business proposal, I’m afraid I still don’t see what benefit an arrangement with you could offer me.”

  She slid off his lap, gritting her teeth as her wounds reminded her of how she’d ignored them, pulled the damaged skin. She bit the inside of her cheek as she snatched the cloth from the lukewarm water and scrubbed at her skin. She would bathe at home, when she had privacy. For now, she only wanted the worst of the swamp gone from her skin, to be clean enough to walk home.

  When she’d done the best she could—and could no longer stand to be naked in front of Julien—she dropped the cloth back into the bowl and plucked the bandages from the basket. Wordlessly, she wagged them over her shoulder.

  He took the hint and picked up the bandages. His movements were less sure now, the caress of his fingers over her skin as he wrapped the bandages around her torso no longer an attempt at seduction, but a confused fumbling.

  “You are not being honest with yourself.” His words when he finally spoke were hesitant, delivered haltingly as though her breaking the kiss had thrown him off. Then he cleared his throat. “You know exactly what I have to offer you.”

  His tone deepened, making his double meaning crystal clear. Dominique gathered her temper around her like a shield as she forced herself to grab the bag that still lay on the bed beside Julien. She ripped the clean clothes from the satchel and held her breath as she untangled herself from the sheets and stood beside the bed.

  “Yes, yes, you say you’re the best rumrunner in the five kingdoms.” The dress shook in her hands and she gripped it tighter, forcing herself not to rush. She pulled the dress up and fastened it as best she could. Relief washed over her, almost enough to make her forget the pain tracing intricate patterns over her back. She grabbed the skirt she just discarded and transferred her things from those pockets to the clean skirt. “That may have been true at one time, but I find it hard to believe that remains so today. It seems to me that someone as easily identifiable as yo—”

  Julien was suddenly standing beside her, fingers digging into her shoulders with bruising force. Dominique gasped, tried to pull away only to struggle to breathe through a nauseating wave of pain.

  “Ah, and now we come to the heart of it.” Julien’s voice lacked all traces of the warmth it had held mere moments ago. He put his lips a hair’s breadth from her ear, every word an intimate caress. “You’ve had your fun, Dominique. Now you will remove this curse. Enough is enough.”

  “I will say when it’s enough,” she bit out through clenched teeth. “And I have no need of your services—any of them. I am quite satisfied with my staff, so you can get back on your ship and sail off into the sunset.” Again.

  “Your little spell has cost me my business, threatened the lives of the men who depend on me,” Julien ground out. “You will make retribution for the losses I’ve incurred because of you. Accept my proposal, Dominique. We can both benefit from this.”

  “How romantic,” Dominique spat.

  A cruel chuckle crawled over her skin. “Oh, Dominique, can’t we be adults about this? Listen to reason. A marriage between us will repair some of the damage you’ve done to my reputation. And without your spell to brand me, it will be considerably harder for those who seek to see me hang to find me. If any do manage to locate me, they will think twice about pursuing the husband of the voodoo queen of Sanguennay.”

  “Ah, so I am to replace a perfectly respectable staff with a man who will draw unwanted attention to my business. And I am to marry him—an unquestionable detriment to my reputation—in order to repair well-deserved damage to yours.” She pulled against his hold, ignoring the lancing pain that shot through her back. “I fail to see what possible benefit I could reap from such an arrangement.”

  The hands clutching her shoulders melted, fingers kneaded her muscles. Knots of tension she hadn’t realized were there ached in sharp, stabbing bursts, then loosened, leaving a pleasant heaviness behind. Against her will, her chin dropped and her shoulders sagged, body inordinately grateful for the firm pressure forcing the tension from her rigid muscles.

  “Oh, Dominique, do not underestimate the benefits of a marriage to me. Have you forgotten our time together so completely?”

  If only. Her traitorous body rushed to supply her with a barrage of images and sensory memories to go with his voice, the firm strength of his hands, the warm brush of his breath. She was suddenly painfully aware that she had to get out of there before the carnal offer he was making started to sound like a reasonable trade for what he wanted from her.

  “I am leaving. Now.”

  Her voice shook and she tried to mask it with a wince, hoping the pirate would take the tremble for pain. He fell silent, hands slowly growing still on her shoulders. Finally, he pulled them away.

  “You have until the last day of the Midsummer Celebration to give me your answer.”


  “You will stop spreading rumors of our impending engagement until then?” The skin on her shoulders held a chill where his hands had been and she fought the urge to rub them.

  “No. I will continue as I have been, telling everyone I meet about the joyous occasion that I am so looking forward to. If you decide to refuse me, then I will leave it to you to explain to your people why the engagement is off.” The smirk was audible in his voice, adding a leering quality to his words. “Of course, I will be providing my own explanation. I’m sure I’ll be quite imaginative, though I doubt you’ll be in the mood to appreciate my creativity.”

  Dominique’s fists tightened, her knuckles paling. She pushed the breath from her lungs as if she could rid herself of her emotions at the same time. His voice and touch had inspired many memories today, and she was letting them get to her. It was time to remember what had followed those memories.

  “You will have your answer on the final night.”

  Julien inhaled as if preparing to speak, but no words came out. Silence grew between them, a physical presence—heavy and unwanted.

  Dominique shifted in place, testing her wounds and the bandages the pirate had applied. Her body ached as though she’d been struck by the bow of a ship, but the sharpness had dulled. When she got home, she would have the pirate’s bandages burned and replaced.

  “I will see myself out.”

  Julien stepped in front of her, using the bulk of his body to block her path to the door. His clothes held the aroma of the bayou and she wrinkled her nose, idly observing that his shirt was covered in her blood.

  I should burn that too. Perhaps while he’s still wearing it.

  “I will escort you.”

  His tone grew more insulting as hers grew colder, emptier.

  “That is not necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is. I would not want my other guests to feel I am not being a good host to their precious priestess.”

  “You’re covered in swamp water. You should stay here. Bathe. Change.”

  Mischief lit Julien’s eyes as he raised his hands to what was left of his shirt. His fingers danced over the button, unfastening it with graceful ease. He peeled it off him, baring his chest in a tempting display.