Violet Abyss (A Blushing Death Novel Book 7)

by Suzanne M. Sabol

“Vampire?” Dean asked, glancing my way.

  I searched the crowd again. Nothing. I also couldn’t see anything beyond the heads of people in the crowd that was now 15 deep. I needed to get a look at the bodies and see what was going on beyond the crime scene tape. There had been a time when I’d have snuck in and taken my chances with getting caught by the cops. I had a 0% success rate. I’d always gotten caught. I’m just not that stealthy. Now, I knew a cop so I didn’t have to sneak. Derek would stretch his neck out for me even if it meant coming down to the Big Easy to bail me out and pull a few strings. I didn’t want him anywhere near this viper’s nest of vampire politics. Plus, a murderer was hunting vampires and werewolves. As a human, Derek Hamlin would be safe . . . probably . . . but I wasn’t willing to take that chance.

  “Let’s head to the roof,” I said, turning back to Dean and pointing at the building adjacent to the crime scene.

  “Why?” Garrett grunted, and there was a part of me that wanted to snap a response just for having to explain myself. My back hurt. I was covered in grime. I smelled bad. And I was hungry. I was all out of patience.

  “So she can see,” Dean answered for me, and it wasn’t the first time I was thankful he knew me so well.

  He and Garrett led the way with me in the middle and Niyati pulling up the rear. Dean hopped the waist-high wrought-iron fence separating the two shotgun homes. The house, much like most of the buildings in the Marigny, were old row homes with ornate wood work on the eaves, long shudders framing their front façades, and colors that no one outside of New Orleans would put together.

  I reached over and pulled the latch to open the gate instead of impaling myself on top of the fence.

  “Show off,” Garrett whispered behind me, and I smiled.

  Niyati shut the gate behind us and we traversed the dark, narrow sidewalk to the back of the building. Dean hopped up onto the dumpster, propelling himself up until he was on the roof.

  “Ladies first,” Garrett said with a grin and a quick sweep of his hand.

  “How romantic,” I teased, knowing that it was killing him to let me go first. As alpha, his instinct was to lead.

  Niyati climbed up first, knowing that I was injured and held out her hand to me. Grasping her hand, she yanked me up onto the dumpster. We followed the same process for the roof. Didn’t matter, though. My back burned as I moved, even with her help. I tried breathing through the pain and whoever said that breathing helped, lied. It still hurt like a sonovabitch. I gritted my teeth and kept going, fighting not to cry. Dean grasped my hand for reassurance but didn’t say a word about my pain, not in front of Garrett. God, I loved that man.

  I straightened my back and rolled my shoulders, trying to work out some of the stinging and burning still making my flesh tender. It wasn’t working. Striding to the edge, I crouched low and leaned over as much as the pain would allow to get a better look.

  Between the portable lights illuminating the night like the sun and the forensic techs bustling about, there were two bodies, one male and one female, about three feet apart lying perpendicular to one another. Both were surrounded by a pool of blood that had run together into one congealed mess. Each’s head had been severed and was lying in their grasp like Ichabod Crane. Their shirts were torn open and bloody marks streaked across their chests.

  “Did you know them?” I asked Garrett.

  “They were two of Raine’s,” he answered. “But if you’re looking for names, I don’t have them.”

  “I can get their names and see if I can snatch anything vital,” Niyati offered, heading back down the fire escape and around the building as she disappeared into the crowd. She was quick and agile, moving between people like a ghost. Normally, I’d fear my wolf would get caught but not Niyati. She and Alex, the second in command of our vampire colony, were quick, efficient, and more like cat burglars than brutal killers. I was killer enough for all of them.

  “They’re not decomposing. They must have been young comparatively.” I placed my foot on the edge and rested my elbow on my knee to lean in more with a straight back. I couldn’t quite make out the marks on their chests. It looked like writing but from the distance, the angle, and the blood, I couldn’t really tell. “What’s on his chest?”

  “I heard the police talking about it. Someone carved words into his flesh. They’re pretty spooked,” Garrett added, leaning over the edge beside me.

  “Too close to the real occult for a city like New Orleans,” I replied, understanding the creep factor that a sacrificial killing could raise. Ceremonial slayings left a bad taste in your mouth and didn’t ease public concern. Even in a city like New Orleans that peddled magic and the supernatural like it was candy, these weren’t your everyday murders.

  “What’s it say?” Dean asked.

  “Power is shifting,” the Pittsburgh Alpha answered, eyeing me warily.

  I glanced to my right and met Dean’s heavy gaze. Us or them? I mouthed the words so Garrett wouldn’t hear. Dean shrugged And I turned my attention to the scene below. I’m not sure what I was looking for. The bodies hadn’t told me a whole lot and without getting a hell of a lot closer, they wouldn’t tell me anything else. I was really hoping for something to jump out at me, something unusual or out of place. I moved my gaze from the bodies in the center to the surrounding crowd.

  There were a lot of tourists, still clinging to their large plastic cups filled with slushy pink liquids with as much alcohol as not. Some were locals, chatting together but sticking pretty close to the sidewalks near their homes. On the edge of the cluster of people, a woman, medium height and curvy, paced back and forth, giving very little attention to the crime scene. Her focus was behind the crowd, her hand tapping quickly against her thigh in agitation again and again. Her long red hair shimmered in the neon lights from the 3 MUSES sign across the street. The woman’s skin was pale to the point of pure porcelain and she moved with a grace that only the undead possessed.

  “There!” I practically shouted and pointed toward the woman lingering at the back of the crowd. And of course, she heard me. Glancing my way, she caught my eye and took off running.

  “Damn it, baby!” Dean snapped as he turned toward the other end of the roof and hit a dead sprint to follow. “Indoor voices.”

  Garrett and I followed.

  “Sorry,” I said, running behind the two werewolves who were bigger and faster than me. “I got excited.”

  Dean reached the end and jumped. I didn’t have time to scream, gasp, or even call him a stupid asshole before he touched down on the roof of the house next door. Garrett followed Dean over and when I got to the edge, I stopped. There was no way in hell I would make that jump, especially with my wound. It was only a story and a half to the ground but I wasn’t a werewolf. My ass would hit cement and I knew it. I wasn’t looking to break my legs on top of my ripped up back so I stayed put.

  “God damn it!” I snorted, and I stomped my foot.

  “We’ll bring her back,” Dean called as he leapt to the next roof. And by the fourth house, I’d lost him in the darkness.

  Chapter 25

  Fifteen minutes later, Dean hauled himself and an unconscious woman slung over his shoulder up onto the roof. Striding over to me oozing confidence and a proud smile, he dumped the limp body of the vampire with long red hair unceremoniously at my feet like a prize.

  “A gift.” He smirked.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said with a smile. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “You two have a strange relationship,” Garrett snorted as he came up beside Dean.

  “It works,” Dean answered.

  “Did she say anything?” I asked, ignoring both of them.

  “Not before Dean knocked her out.”

  “Well then, let’s go wake her up and see what she has to say.”

  �
��Back to the house?” Dean asked.

  “Probably a good idea. This will go more smoothly with fewer witnesses and interruptions.”

  Dangling from the roof, I dropped the few feet to the dumpster, hissing at the contact and the sting in my back. Then I said fuck it and jumped from the dumpster. I would hurt just the same. After taking a few deep breaths, I jogged the three blocks to where Dean had parked the SUV. Hopping in, I fired up the engine and headed back to the alley behind the building. The crime scene was still lit up like a Christmas tree so keeping a low profile was imperative.

  As I pulled around the corner, Dean was waiting. He leaned with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his large muscled chest as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I drew to a stop beside him. He nodded, then moved out into the alley. Stepping out in front of my headlights, he held his arms out.

  “Hey,” I said, leaning up in the driver’s seat. “Where’d she . . .?” I called as I caught a glimpse of Garrett moving on the roof. Before I could stop him, Garrett tossed the unconscious vampire over the side. I watched in wide-eyed horror as she plummeted a story and a half into Dean’s waiting arms. He caught her with a grunt and a slight step backward. Rolling down the window, I hissed through clenched teeth, “What the hell?”

  Dean came around my side of the car and opened the door to the back seat. “This was easier,” he said, climbing in with her.

  Garrett hopped down to the dumpster and then the street like it was a couple of stairs. Circling around to the passenger side, he slid into the front, closed the door, and buckled his seat belt across his lap.

  “Was that necessary?” I asked, slipping the SUV into drive.

  “It was quicker,” Garrett answered just as succinctly as Dean.

  I had a feeling Dean was rubbing off on him. Great.

  I rolled my eyes and hit the gas. I definitely didn’t want the vampire waking up while we were in a confined space but I didn’t want to get pulled over with an unconscious woman in the back seat either.

  Twenty minutes of sleepy vampire and silent werewolves later, I turned the Cadillac through the automatic gates of Patrick’s Garden District Mansion. Home sweet home. As the black wrought-iron gate closed behind us, two vampires came out of the shadows. One crossed the drive and the other followed us up under the portico. I parked and got out.

  “Madam.” Dogma bowed low, as if from another century, and in truth he was. Dogma was old. Like centuries’ upon centuries’ old. No one knew his real name and I wasn’t even sure he remembered it. He’d lived for a very long time by his own code, “wandering” as he liked to call it. He’d found us after a century in Chicago and had proved to be invaluable. Especially in the park as Logan’s horde had descended upon us. He was a vicious fighter and surprisingly loyal when he liked someone.

  “Dogma,” I said in greeting. “All quiet tonight?”

  “Haven’t heard a peep,” he answered with a wary glance over his shoulder.

  “The quiet give you the creeps too?” I asked as Dean backed out of the SUV behind me, dragging the unconscious vampire by her ankles.

  Dogma’s head whipped around to face me and his eyes flashed with understanding. “Yes.”

  I glanced down at his foot, tapping on the pavement.

  “Don’t worry, Dogma,” I said with a reassuring smile. “They’ll come out from the shadows soon enough and we’ll get to kill something.”

  A small calculating smile turned up the corner of his lips. “Good. I don’t like the waiting.” Eyeing the woman Dean unceremoniously slung over his shoulder, the vampire’s brows drew together in confusion.

  “Dogma,” Dean greeted with a quick nod and continued on toward the house.

  “Gaoh,” Dogma answered, hesitantly.

  I patted Dogma’s arm and gave him a quick smile. Following Dean around the front of the SUV, I waved and said, “See you later, Dogma, we’ll be in the basement.”

  Realization eased his shoulders and a knowing glint of predatory menace lit his pale blue eyes. “Happy hunting,” he said and disappeared back into the shadows.

  Dean and Garrett crossed the foyer and rounded the corner, disappearing through the basement door.

  “Dahlia!” Patrick called before I could follow.

  I stopped and turned, smiling at his long lithe form striding across the marble floor. My mouth watered at the sight of him and the thought of his hands all over my body.

  “Sweetheart, we don’t have time for that right now,” he said, a knowing smirk lighting his dark eyes with mischief.

  “Fine.” I pouted, unashamed of where my thoughts had gone.

  “When you are finished below, will you join me in the library?” he asked, tugging a bit of dried algae from my hair.

  I grinned sheepishly at my dirty state but then again, I’d also almost been eaten by alligators so I guess dirty was better than dead.

  Patrick inhaled deeply, and the entertained light in his eyes turned lethal. “I smell blood. Your blood,” he growled.

  “Guilty. We had a slight run-in with an alligator but everyone’s all right.”

  “Were you planning on telling me?” he ground out.

  “Eventually,” I said with a shrug. “I got busy.”

  He sighed in resignation. We’d been together long enough that he knew chastising me wasn’t going to do one lick of good. “Then perhaps you should bathe before meeting me in the library.”

  I sniffed under my arm and glanced up at him, “What? Do I stink?” I asked, attempting an innocent expression.

  He grinned and kissed me hard. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting every bit of me. After a moment and much too soon, he broke the kiss, leaving me panting. “I don’t want our guests to smell the blood on you.”

  I licked his still lingering taste from my lips and glanced over my shoulder toward the basement. “It could be an hour or two.”

  “That is quite all right. We have a little time before they arrive.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Diego, Pierre, and Trumbolt.”

  Diego was the Liege from Texas which was a big and diverse area. Pierre was the Eastern Canadian Liege with his home base in Montreal. Trumbolt was the Liege of the Pacific Northwest Territory including Oregon, Washington, California, Idaho, and Montana in the U.S., as well as, British Columbia and Alberta Canada.

  “What about?”

  He caressed the line of my cheek and met my gaze with some hint of something I couldn’t identify: trepidation, anticipation, wariness, excitement. A mixture of all of these things but too intermingled to decipher one from the other. “Later,” he whispered. “Tend to your prisoner and come to the library after you have finished.”

  “You know I love it when you talk shop,” I said with a smile as I turned.

  “Go on,” he said. “Don’t keep Dean or me waiting.”

  I wiggled my ass in his direction and a soft grunt of approval echoed in the empty space. I kept moving though or we’d never get anything done. A smile of pure delight lit my face and I released a deep contented sigh. This playful side to Patrick that he’d finally allowed out was one of the most amazing things that had ever happened to me. I loved him. I loved us. I loved how we were now. We’d had to go through a lot of shit to get here, but here was great.

  Relishing in just being happy, I descended the stairs. The basement was light and bright with halogens filling every dark corner. A soft gray porcelain tile covered the entire floor. Off to the right of the stairs were the entrances to the women’s and men’s locker rooms. Behind the stairs were treadmills and weight machines. On the left was a row of 10 doors, each five feet apart, the wall made of solid concrete with steel and iron reinforcements. Cells.

  Dean and Garrett had the vampire in a steel chair facing that lin
e of empty rooms, her hands strapped down to the armrests with leather restraints. Her ankles were restrained to the legs and a leather strap around her middle. I should have been surprised Patrick had a chair specifically for holding someone for interrogation but in all honesty, I wasn’t. Patrick was nothing if not prepared. My very own undead Boy Scout.

  Miguel and two of Garrett’s wolves from Pittsburgh glanced over at us and grabbed their towels off the exercise equipment. “I’ll flip the ocupado sign, Mi Sueno,” Miguel said, leading the two other men up the stairs.

  “Thanks, Miguel.” I listened for the door to close and then strode over to the industrial-sized, stainless steel, utility sink in the corner. I grabbed a bucket and filled it with cold water.

  “What’s that for?” Garrett asked.

  “To wake her up,” Dean answered, stepping away from the chair and opening the drain in the floor.

  I flung the water on her and stepped back, avoiding most of the splash. She sputtered and shook, realizing too late her hands and feet were bound. She fought, I’ll give her that, jerking at the leather restraints like a cat cornered. She didn’t fight for long though as the wet leather rubbed and abraded her skin. Eventually though, the stiffness in her shoulders gave way to resignation and they drooped as her chin met her collarbone. A moment later, she flung her head up, slinging water from her drenched hair. The dark auburn strands slammed across the back of the chair, making a sick kind of slapping noise and she turned deep, emerald green eyes up to meet mine.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, my voice soft and not yet demanding.

  She eyed me warily. “You’re The Blushing Death, aren’t ya?” she said in a thick Scottish brogue. I simply nodded. “I ken it. I just ken it,” she mumbled, her tone somewhere between disbelief and annoyance.

  “What’s your name?” I asked again.

  She glanced up at me then her gaze darted to the floor. “Geneen.”