Gods, don’t make me kill her.
“Please.” He tilted the dagger, holding her gaze while he aimed for her heart. Her thin dress would offer no protection against the cold point of the blade. Please, Dominique. I care for you, gods know I cared for you before the bond. But this… I will not be this vulnerable to anyone. Not ever.
“I’m not sure I can.” Dominique stroked his hair back, brushing his sweat-slicked forehead. “I have never done this before.”
“Just…reach for your power. Call it back to you.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Please, you must try.”
Nodding firmly, Dominique pressed her palms to his chest. The gesture forced her to lean forward, putting her breast closer to the blade of his dagger.
She trusts you. See how she trusts you. You pathetic excuse for a man.
His hand trembled, but he didn’t move the dagger. If she couldn’t undo what she’d done, his only salvation would be her death. Just as it had been with the three. Only this time, there would be no walking away feeling justified and righteous. He believed her, believed she had not bonded with him intentionally. Unlike the three, she had not sought power through his enslavement. And he did…love her.
“Watch that dagger before you stab me,” Dominique bit out.
Julien flinched, pulled the dagger back without turning it aside. Dominique was staring hard at his chest, her eyes cloudy as if she were seeing something far, far away. Beads of sweat broke out at her temples, sliding down to merge with a few brown curls licking down the side of her throat. The moisture hung there like perfect droplets of dew on tender blades of grass.
Something low in his body tugged, sensation branching out like long, thin fingers tipped in razor sharp talons. Another tug, and a thousand needles of pain followed the strange sensation. Julien arched his back, trying to ride the pain out, teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached.
“I’m hurting you.” Dominique’s voice was strained. Her gaze flicked to him then back to his chest. “I should stop.”
“No!” Julien choked out. “No, keep going.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but she did as he asked. The pain grew worse, his veins becoming a network of molten lava, his body screaming as though it were his heart she was trying to tear from him. Instinct gripped him, words leaping into his throat to tell her to stop, stop before she killed him.
“Faster. Rip it out!” he rasped.
Dominique pressed her hands more tightly to his chest, and ghostly fingers wrapped around the pulsing magic inside of him, the sensation mirrored on his heart as though an enemy had shoved a hand inside him and was preparing to tear the still-beating organ from his body. She tightened her grip and Julien had barely enough sense to brace himself before she did as he’d asked…and ripped it out.
Agony washed over him in wave after wave, robbing him of consciousness and plunging him into an ocean of misery and loss. Blackness ate at his world, but through the darkness, he saw lightning. Thunder rolled through his body, a menacing tone he’d never heard before echoing in its depths. A screech bubbled from the depths of his soul, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. The part of him that had wanted that bond, that yearned for that bond, raging at its theft. The dagger fell from his useless fingers.
“Madame Laveau, what’s happening?”
“Is he all right?”
“He is possessed!”
“That scream…!”
Voices, so many voices. Surrounding him, squalling in his ears. Julien tried to shoo them away, tried to howl at them to let him be. His body wouldn’t obey his commands, his soul still mourning its loss. He combed the grass with fingers curled to mimic the claws of his other form, digging into the earth for a handhold that would keep him from falling into the roiling pit of anguish yawning like a mouth inside him.
“Help me get him home.”
Dominique’s voice. Calm, authoritative. Her hands caressing his face, nonsense words falling from her lips. A blessing?
The pain lost its edge, though his body throbbed like one enormous bruise. He was being carried now, though he still couldn’t see through the thick black fog that had consumed his vision. He slipped in and out of consciousness, strange visions of himself in lightning bird form filling his mind’s eye between flashes of reality.
The image was not the one he knew, the one he remembered from reflections glimpsed in a calm lake or stream. The bird he saw now was ragged, feathers molting, patches of raw skin showing though the sleek plumes of black and white. Its eyes glowed and its beak opened and closed, sharp tip drawing Julien’s eye. Every snap of its wings brought more lightning, every lash against the wind calling another roll of thunder. The land below the bird was ravaged, destroyed by the storm that carried the bird on gust after gust of freezing wind. The noise was overwhelming, sucking him into a chaotic void that had no end. All around him nothing but death and destruction.
Then silence.
Julien slowly rose through a grey fog, his body screaming in protest when he shifted, tried to move his arms. He forced his eyes open, rewarded with a shard of searing light. He closed them again and turned his head. Something warm and soft pressed against his side. Fingers brushed his hair back from his face, stroking over and over in a blissful, soothing rhythm. He risked opening his eyes again.
Dominique’s brown eyes stared down at him. “Welcome back.”
Her voice was deep, as comforting as a physical caress. Julien closed his eyes and relished the sound, basking in the tender care he’d never expected to receive from this woman. Though his soul sobbed that it was a poor substitute from having her presence inside him—part of him.
“Julien, what happened?”
The question was calm, lacking the force of a demand. It was a tone that said he was free to answer or not. He wished she’d tried to force him to tell her.
“It was too much.”
His voice was so quiet, he hoped she hadn’t heard him. But she hummed her acknowledgement, kept stroking his hair. The silence stretched between them like a void. Words rushed to fill that empty space, to offer an explanation in gratitude.
“You know something of my kind—know that we are…that we instinctively seek out magic users to fill us with their power. That we serve these magic users?”
“Yes.”
“But it is more than that. The bond is not merely service, it is…” He groped for a word, but nothing encompassed the enormity of what he wanted to express. “It is more than friendship, it is…”
“Love?”
Julien met her eyes, stared into their depths as if he could read her soul, see what she was thinking. There was no hope in her tone, no hint of a woman digging to discover if the man in her arms was devoted to her. There was no color of excitement, no sign that she saw what he was telling her as a way to force him to be hers. Still…
“It feels very much like love. But I don’t believe that’s it. It is more… Need? No.” He knitted his brows together in frustration. “I can’t explain it. Having your magic inside of me was like being complete. As if something had been missing until that moment.”
Dominique was silent for a few heartbeats, considering. “And that…upset you.”
She’d been about to say frightened. He could hear it in the echo of her voice, see it etched on her face. It should have been insulting—would have been insulting…if it weren’t true.
“You wish to be in love someday, yes?” he asked instead of answering.
Dominique went still, her public mask sliding over her face to hide her emotions. “I’m sorry?”
Julien sighed. “Bear with me, chere, please. Love, true love. Finding someone who completes you, someone who understands you, complements you, someone who will make you a better person, who will be a better person because of you. Love.”
“All right.”
“Well now imagine that someone has told you that until you find that someone, you’re not complete. That you can’t be whole without a
husband. Imagine being looked at with pity because you are alone, and you could not possibly understand the completeness that comes from marriage.”
Anger heated Dominique’s brown eyes. “That is insulting.”
Julien slumped with relief. “Yes. Yes, it is. All my life I have believed that I am my own man, that I am enough. Others of my kind have viewed me with either pity or scorn. I’ve always heard that I need to find a magic user, that I need to settle down, that I’ll understand when I’ve bonded with someone.” He met Dominique’s eyes, willing her to understand—really understand. “It is not that I do not understand. But I cannot rely on someone else to make me complete. If I cannot stand on my own, if I cannot be enough on my own…”
“Then you can never be truly secure,” Dominique finished, her voice hushed. “Part of you will always fear what will happen if you lose that other person. If you get used to being with them and then you find yourself alone.”
“Yes.”
Dominique was silent for awhile. Her fingers continued their relaxing offer of comfort, dancing over his forehead, tucking his hair behind his ear. Finally she laughed. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you. Really seen you.”
Julien grunted as he leaned back down into the pillows. He tried to muster up a wicked grin, but it came out as more of a wince. “I am your husband now. When I can move without losing my breath, you will get to see a great deal more of me—if you wish.”
Dominique rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed with a hint of pink. Somewhere deep inside of him, the image of his lightning bird ceased its mournful cry, perking its head up with renewed interest.
Chapter Fourteen
Narcisse stretched languidly in the tender grass. The sunlight pouring through the trees painted his body in gold and he was careful to shift now and then to keep the sun from leaving an unattractive pattern in his tan. He hummed happily and rolled over, offering his back a chance at the light.
“It was my understanding I was to meet you here. But given your current state of near-undress, I begin to think perhaps you were expecting the fairer sex?”
The hoarse, grating voice nipped at Narcisse’s pleasant mood, disrupting his enjoyment of summer’s gift. He sighed and opened his eyes. There was no one there—at least not that he could see. His contact had arrived then.
“Will you show yourself, or shall I just pick a random direction to speak to?” He rolled over again and curled into a sitting position. Snagging his shirt, he pulled it over his head, not bothering to fasten the buttons at the neck.
A hacking sound like a cat forcing up a wad of fur came from somewhere to his left. Narcisse wrinkled his nose in distaste. A small pebble fell out of thin air. A moment later, a form shimmered into view.
The tikoloshe was a small miscreant, his head not rising high enough to meet Narcisse’s ribs. His misshapen form was covered in thick, wiry, black hair that openly defied even the idea of proper grooming. Its beady black eyes gleamed like puddles of oil as it studied his state of undress.
“Why did you have your shirt off?”
“I was letting the sun color my skin.” Narcisse combed his fingers through his hair. “The ladies enjoy the golden look.”
“But you had your pants on.” The tikoloshe jutted his chin out as if he had cleverly discovered a flaw in Narcisse’s logic. “Do they not enjoy the golden look all over?”
“By the time their gaze has fallen below my waistline, they have ceased to notice such paltry things as skin tone.” Narcisse crossed his arms, drumming the fingers of his right hand over his left biceps. “You have heard then?”
The little creature bobbed his head. “The lightning bird has married the voodoo queen. It is as my mistresses said it would be.”
Narcisse unfolded his arms and leaned closer. “Ah, but did our lovely ladies predict that they would bond? That their lightning bird would allow the queen to nestle her power inside of him?”
The tikoloshe hissed, black eyes shining with red light. “You lie.”
“I do not. I was there when it happened. I saw her put her power into him—and I saw her take it out.”
“Saw her take…” The red light dimmed in its eyes, mere embers where once there had been flame. “The years of playing the pretty plaything have rotted your mind.”
The insult rolled off Narcisse’s back, helped along by a smug smile. “Your jealousy is unbecoming—just like the rest of you.”
“I have no jealousy over your torrid romping with human women.” The tikoloshe gave an exaggerated shiver. “Bald as newborn rats, they are. It’s intolerable.”
“I tell you, she put her power inside of him and then she took it out.” Narcisse rolled his eyes, remembering the dramatic scene he’d witnessed from his hiding place amidst the shadows. “A more pathetic sight I have never seen. Instead of treasuring the bond for the gift it was, he crumpled like an offering reduced to ash. Begged her to break the bond, to take her power out of him.” He snorted. “They carried him home, delirious and only barely conscious.”
“I can scarcely believe it.” The tikoloshe stared off into space. “An impundulu accepting a bond…and then breaking it.”
“It isn’t as though he hasn’t done it before. Have you already forgotten that he was bonded to—”
“What you know about magic would fit in the eye of a needle. That was not a proper bonding. An impundulu must give consent for a true bonding. More than that, a proper bond can only be formed with one magic user—one specific magic user, if you believe the legends. My mistresses put their power inside of him knowing he would not bond with them willingly.” Black eyes bored into Narcisse’s. “You know why they did that.”
“Yes, and if something isn’t done soon, it will all be for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
Narcisse pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you not been listening? They bonded. He begged her to break the bond. She did.”
He waited but the tikoloshe only blinked owlishly at him.
“They went home together,” Narcisse prompted.
Another blink.
“A happy couple.”
“So?” The tikoloshe threw his hands up, grubby fingers disgusting in the bright afternoon sunlight. “They won’t be so happy when you do your job and tell the queen about my mistresses. Lead her to their bodies and—”
“I already told her. That’s what they were fighting about right before she shoved her power into him.”
The shock on the creature’s face would have been humorous if the current situation wasn’t so bleak. “She wasn’t mad?”
“She was. But like every woman, her anger was forgotten the moment he was vulnerable. Nothing the impundulu could have said would have cemented her loyalty more than his pathetic begging, that one glistening moment of pure vulnerability.” He threaded fingers through his hair, tugging at the tangles that would soon need a brush. “There is no doubt in my mind that last night brought them closer together than they’ve ever been. Today you will see a new voodoo queen, you mark my words.”
“That cannot be allowed to stand.” The tikoloshe paced, small feet scuttling through the grass, kicking up pebbles and twigs here and there. “There must be some way to get her to my mistresses. She must be made to raise them.”
“Good luck with that.” Narcisse picked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingertips. “The desounen is not done lightly. I have never known a priestess to perform it at all. That magic is reserved for bokor, those who have a more fluid view of right and wrong. A woman scorned would have done it. If she had stayed angry, if their fight had lasted long enough for me to plant the seed of doubt… She would have raised them to discover the details of their deaths, to make certain she was not married to a cold-blooded murderer. But now…”
The tikoloshe froze. “What did you say?”
“I said if the fight had lasted long enough—”
“No, no, no, the other thing. About discovering the details
of their deaths?”
Narcisse shrugged. “If they had kept fighting, I could have convinced her that Julien killed his wives for a horrible reason—temper, drink, sadistic pleasure. When they were fighting, she loved him but was unsure if he truly loved her in return. That is a woman who will do whatever it takes to silence the doubting voice in her head.” He tapped the ground absent-mindedly. “But as I told you, they are no longer fighting. They have grown closer, close enough that she will not believe such ugliness of him so easily. I do not think it will be enough to make her go against her self-imposed rules to raise our beloved ladies.”
“Like all humans, you have let your silly emotions blind you to what is right in front of your nose.” A cruel smile twisted the tikoloshe’s lips, though the expression was somewhat lost behind the sheer volume of its unkempt beard. “We must appeal not to the woman—but to the voodoo queen.”
“You cannot separate the woman from the voodoo queen.”
“Stupid human. The voodoo queen denied her feelings for this lightning bird for over a decade—would have continued to do so if circumstances hadn’t fouled things up. And during that decade, what did she concentrate on? Hmmm? Her community. Her people.” His eyes glittered. “Her duty.”
“Ahhh. Yes, I see what you mean.” Narcisse returned the creature’s smile. “I think it’s time for the grieving family to demand justice for their poor victimized sisters. Don’t you?”
“That is if you can manage it.” The diminutive hairy creature scowled. “I wouldn’t have thought inspiring a woman to look into the murders of her husband’s previous wives could be mucked up, but you managed it.”
The smile died on Narcisse’s lips and he stood to tower over the tikoloshe. “And what have you done? Besides swallow a pebble to make yourself invisible so you could spy?” He snorted. “I spy just fine without the benefit of invisibility. And I obtained more valuable information than you.”
“Did you, now?”
Something about the sly expression in the creature’s eyes set Narcisse’s teeth on edge. He would never question his ladies order, or their plans, but he couldn’t help but lament the value they seemed to place on this…thing. “Well?”
Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) Page 14
