by SF Benson
“Hank speaking,” I growl, not happy to be interrupted by a stranger.
Static and heavy breathing greet me. “Bro, I need your help.”
“Tyson?” Didn’t I just watch his ass on TV?
“I’m in trouble. Please—” The line goes dead.
“Tyson!” I yell into the phone.
I flinch when Edwina touches my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, but that was my brother.” I throw the sheet off me and get to my feet.
“Hank.” Edwina pulls on a robe. “What did he say?”
“Tyson said he’s in trouble.” I zip up my jeans and push my feet into my shoes. “I don’t even know where he’s at.”
“Calm down. You’ll find him,” Edwina touches my arm. “Is there an ID with the call?”
Scrolling through the incoming calls, I locate the last one. The ID says Unknown call from…New Orleans.
Chapter 2
Edwina
N’awlins. Too many memories, some good and some bad, in a location with a history I’d rather forget. A past I’ve tried to put behind me for a hundred years. Thanks to Hank, the thoughts, all focused on one being—come back like a bad meal.
Alexander.
He was an imposing figure with wavy hair the color of midnight, strong features, and deep-set gunmetal blue eyes. The male was always impeccably dressed in custom-tailored dark suits, crisp white button-down shirts of the finest linen and silk ties. It was always an attempt at human perfection. It was only a persona. Beneath the mask, he was twisted and dark. A predator as old as time itself.
“Edwina, mind if I use your computer?” Hank’s voice drags me back to the present. “I can take care of some things before we get out of here.”
“We?” The one-word question freezes my feet. This isn’t a trip we need to be making. Returning to Crescent City is something I swore I’d never do.
Hank studies me for a moment with his eyebrows raised. “Yeah. Kind of hoped you’d go with me. You know the city. You got connections.”
Gliding down the stairs ahead of him, I say, “Not a good idea.”
“Hold on, Edwina.” Hank rushes behind me. “Explain to me what’s wrong with us going together.”
Is he listening to himself? Going together implies we’re a couple. That’s a discussion we’ve already had tonight. Sitting on the sofa, I grab my tablet from the coffee table. “Let’s be honest. Ya don’t need me there. Whatever ya need to know, I can tell ya before ya leave.”
Hank cuts his gorgeous emerald eyes at me as he sits down and takes over the device. No words pass between us as he taps on the screen. Should I be grateful or upset? What is it with males around me? All of them want things from me, but they don’t want me.
You’re giving away the milk. No reason for them to want anything else.
Disregarding my conscience, I lean my head against Hank’s shoulder and read the screen with him. It displays the Spectral Board, a supernatural database. Every city, in every country, has one. Humans aren’t the only ones digitizing information. Hank clicks on a few screens until he finds the record for Tyson.
“According to this information, my brother’s living in New Orleans.”
“Ya sure?”
“Yeah. The database stays up to date. Tyson has to stay registered, or he’s—”
“Considered a rogue.” The words tumble from my mouth without hesitation.
Hank lowers the tablet. His gaze narrows as his head tilts to the side. “How do you know that? Most supernaturals only learn of the database when they change towns.”
“Did ya forget I’m not from Falls Creek?” A nugget of truth lies in my answer. Hank doesn’t need to know the whole truth. Not yet.
Pressing his lips together, Hank switches off the device and taps his fingers against the screen. “Edwina, why are you lying to me? Have you forgotten I can read you like a book?”
Damn animal instincts. Any other time I would appreciate Hank’s no-bullshit attitude. We don’t intentionally lie to each other. It’s why we’ve maintained a friendship all these years. But right now I don’t feel like sharing, and I could do without his judgment.
Going to the kitchen, I grab a cup and another bag of blood from the fridge.
“Are you gonna explain yourself?” Hank’s voice stretches across the dark.
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
If I’m going to retain his friendship, keep this—whatever the shit you call what we’re doing—intact, I need to be honest. My fingers fumble with the clamp on the bag for a minute or two before I’m able to squeeze out the contents.
It’s time, Edwina Marie. Either tell him or spend the rest of eternity not being close to anyone.
“Nobody else in this town knows what I’m about to tell ya,” I start.
Hank stands by my side as I top off my cup. “Not even Cash?”
“Especially him.” Cash wouldn’t have understood. Besides, I don’t think he wanted to know the real me. Taking a long sip, I lick my lips and continue, “Before coming to Falls Creek, I was a member of a secret society in Crescent City.”
“The BGS?” he asks flatly.
My head rocks back. “Ya heard of the BlackGuard Society?”
Hank, his head down, leans against the counter. “I asked Luc about the BGS at Cash and Qadira’s tribunal.”
So that was the conversation they were having. With all the other discussions going on, I couldn’t make out the details. It doesn’t matter what Luc told Hank though. I’m the only one who knows the truth.
I glance at the male beside me. “In the history of the BlackGuard, I was one of the best rogue hunters they ever had.”
Hank folds his arms over his bulky chest. “Why’d you leave?”
Tell him the truth. He deserves to know it.
“I was forced out. My involvement in the BlackGuard served a purpose—finding the asshole who turned me.”
“Did you succeed?”
Long nights were spent following dead-end trails. Checking out every lead filtering into headquarters, but I never found Alexander. He was an expert at deception. My obsession with him nearly ended me.
“No. As soon as the BlackGuard found out I had a personal vendetta, I was asked to leave. The Elders told me my purpose went against their oath—protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.” Bringing the cup to my lips, I wish it was something considerably stronger. Unfortunately, liquor doesn’t sit well with me anymore.
Hank rests a hand on my shoulder. “Angel, asked is not the same as being forced. Tell me what happened.”
Swallowing, I reach for a napkin on the kitchen island and dab my mouth. “Someone from the BlackGuard went to Kragen Bonaparte, my coven leader. He summoned me to his house for a meeting.”
It was 1916, and I lived in Storyville, N’awlins Red Light District. At the time I was friends with a brothel owner, Lulu White. After becoming undead, her Hall of Mirrors—a place for prostitutes of mixed races—was an acceptable place for me to spend time. I could satisfy my need for companionship and nourishment without raising suspicion.
Kragen sent a touring car to the four-story brothel. Standing beside the vehicle was an extremely tall chocolate-colored brother. For a fleeting moment, I considered making a run for it. Kragen’s errand boy read my mind and pointed to the open door. Lulu had enough issues with the law. She didn’t need problems with the supernaturals, too. My only choice was getting into the car.
The Bonaparte mansion was one of the opulent Southern mansions in the Garden District. Back then, the area contained only a few houses with large yards in each block. In a matter of minutes, the limo stopped in front of a two-story house surrounded by a fancy iron fence. My heart pounded against my chest as I crossed the threshold into the lavish home.
I was led into a dimly lit front room decorated with crystal chandeliers, fancy Turkish couches and ottomans and the like, heavy gold-colored drapes, and a marble fireplace. Sitt
ing in the shadows on a wingback chair dating back to Louis XVI was a lofty man dressed in a three-piece sack suit. His silky black hair hung to his shoulders, an unusual style for a man during this period. But he was no man. The perfectly groomed beard and mustache only mimicked humanity.
“Kragen.” My trembling hands dug deeper into my coat pockets.
“Edwina, I’ve heard some disturbing news ‘bout ya.” His accented drawl was distinct—overemphasizing certain syllables in words and dragging out others. Kragen extended a hand toward one of the couches. “Sit. We need ta talk.”
The ticking of the clock and the swish of my skirts filled the silence. My pounding heart let me know I had reason to fear Kragen. The news wasn’t a rumor. My punishment was the reason he summoned me.
“It has been brought ta my attention that ya involvement with the BlackGuard is of a personal nature.” Kragen steepled his long fingers. “Ya know that is prohibited.”
Pushing my shoulders back, I said, “Did ya honestly think I wouldn’t hunt down Alexander?”
Kragen cocked an eyebrow. “Finding the rogue won’t change what he did ta ya.”
“I—”
The coven leader raised his hand. “No excuses. A decision has been made. Ya must leave town.”
My jaw slackened. It took a few minutes for me to regain my composure. “And go where?”
“Any place outside of N’awlins. Travel the world.”
“And if I-I don’t leave?”
Kragen’s shoulders slumped. His face paled ever so slightly. “Ya will leave me no choice but ta stake ya and leave ya in a coffin for a few hundred years. Maybe by then the BlackGuard will have forgotten ya misdeeds, and ya will have given up ya vendetta.”
Hank clears his throat pulling me back to the present.
“Needless to say I didn’t relish the long nap. I left N’awlins and went to Paris. Although I’d been warned, I still checked whatever lead I could find on Alexander. Eventually, the trail grew cold, and I moved on.” Despite the fact that Alexander has never returned to the States, I should keep my ass in Falls Creek.
Hank's brow furrows. “Unbelievable! You’re a bad-ass rogue hunter, but you’re letting a weak-as-water incubus break you.” His voice raises. “Enough of this shit, Edwina! Stop letting him destroy you!”
Destroy me?
The notion never crossed my mind. Years ago, when my obsession with Alexander nearly decimated me, I swore I’d never be that vulnerable again. Falling in love with Cash was stupid. What’s that saying about history? If you don’t know your history, you’re doomed to repeat it. Letting myself fall back down the rabbit hole is foolish.
“Ya right,” I tell Hank.
He double-takes.
“I need to stop wallowing and move on. But I can’t go back to N’awlins.”
“Because of the BGS and Kragen?”
“Not exactly.” I walk to the sink and place my cup in it. Gripping the edge of the cold surface, I drop my head. “Kragen’s been in touch recently. He wants me to come back. Remember my telling ya about the rogue killing humans in Falls Creek?”
“Yeah.” His footsteps, much like a whisper in the air, come closer.
My head rocks up when Hank stops beside me. “The situation is worse back home. Kragen wants my help.”
Hank looks down at me. “What’s stopping you from going back?”
“Who do ya think, cher?”
“Didn’t we just talk about—?”
“Are ya ready to face ya demons?” Mentioning Sheila, even indirectly, is a low blow, but I need to say it. “Can ya go to N’awlins and not feel anything for ya ex?”
Hank scrubs a hand across his face and looks away.
It’s my signal to stop, but I keep pushing. “Dawlin, I’ll only go on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We both face our exes and move on. If we have any chance of a future together, we have to do it.”
Hank glances back at me with his eyebrow raised. “You want a future with me? I thought I was just entertainment. A sounding board when your life got rough.”
Honestly, I’m not sure what I want. For years I complained to Cash that I wanted what Luc and Inés Duquette had. Now that the opportunity is in front of me, I’m not sure anymore.
Reaching for Hank’s hand, I say, “Let’s go back upstairs and talk about it.”
“Yeah. Let’s go talk.”
Chapter 3
Hank
As I drive away from the farm with the sun at my back, Edwina’s proposition is still in my head. On the surface, it seems like a simple request—say an honest goodbye to Sheila and move on. After all, I’m expecting Edwina to kick Cash’s ass to the curb and forget about him. But I lack the capacity to do the same with Sheila. Not moving on makes me either an ass or a fool—or maybe a little of both.
How the hell do I seal away nine years of my life? Nine years spent with a female who was as vital to me as the air that I breathe. I thought the sun rose and set with Sheila. Smiling to myself, I lean against the door. Some days, the sun really did rise and set with her. We’d spend a weekend in bed, only leaving long enough to go on a hunt. It was my little slice of heaven watching her graceful, spotted body stretch and contract over and over again as she moved swiftly across the terrain. That female loved a good, hard hunt. She also enjoyed a nice, long swim afterward followed by all-night fucking. Those were great times.
The memory alone causes my claws to protrude. My beast wants his time to play.
Concentrate.
I focus on the road, and my beast—unhappy and desperate for a reward—retreats.
Later. I’ll go for a run.
It’s too damned quiet. What’s the saying? Music tames the beast. It’s either that or turn this car around and go back to Edwina’s.
Choose the music. It’s less complicated.
Reaching for my phone, it rings in my hand and I see Sheila’s name displayed on the screen. Fuck! This is the wrong time to talk to her. Not when I’m lusting over a memory. But then again, maybe she can tell me what’s going on with Tyson. Save me a trip and an argument with Edwina.
Inhale. Exhale. I steer the car to the side of the road and kill the motor. “Hello, Sheila.”
“Hank. Am I interrupting?” She sounds stressed.
“Just headed to the station. What do you want?” My voice comes across cold as steel. Despite Edwina’s ultimatum, I’m not ready to forgive and forget. Some things can’t be dismissed so easily.
Sheila ignores my tone and asks, “Have you spoken to your brother lately?”
“He called me last night after his fight.” I lean my head against the seat. “Said something about needing my help. What’s going on with him, Sheila?”
Static hits my ear as she breathes into the phone. “I don’t know. Tyson’s keeping late hours. At first, I thought he might be on drugs or something, but he’s smarter than that. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his shot at the AFC.” Sheila pauses for a moment. “Hank, every night Tyson comes home he’s worn out.”
“He’s training, Sheila.” Duh.
“This is different. Tyson’s usually energized after training. Fatigue ordinarily happens with a particularly hard fight. I asked him about it, and he blew up at me. Frankly, he’s scaring the crap out of me.”
She’s blowing shit out of proportion. Fighters are gonna have bad sessions. I haven’t kept up with the AFC scene, but Tyson’s probably just got a heavy match coming up. Training’s gonna get fierce. It’s part of the game. There’s a good chance I don’t need to come down there after all. Maybe we can handle this with a phone call.
“Sheila, where is he right now?” I crank the motor. “I’ll call and talk to him.”
“I wish I knew. He didn’t come home after last night’s fight.” Quiet sobs fill my ear.
I scrub a hand over my face. Why should I clean up Tyson’s messes when he fucked me over?
Because he’s your brother. Remember t
he oath. Blood before booze, bitches, and battles.
Great time for my conscience to kick in. “Stop crying, Sheila. Let me handle some business here, and then I’ll come to New Orleans. Give me a day or two. Text me your address.”
“Thank you, Hank. I’ll owe you,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply and end the call.
The debt Sheila owes me can’t be repaid. I toss the phone in the passenger seat, turn up Eminem, and peel off, spraying dust over the road.
After Sheila’s call, I decide to have some breakfast before reporting to duty. I grab my usual booth at the diner, and Agnes Charles, a middle-aged waitress, comes over. She tucks a strand of fading blonde hair behind an ear. “What can I get for you, Detective?”
No need to bother with the menu. I’ve eaten here so many times I probably could recite the whole thing from memory. “Coffee and the morning special.”
Not bothering to write anything down, she asks, “How do you want your eggs?”
“Scrambled. I’ll have bacon and sausage.”
“You want toast or pancakes?”
Patting my abs, I feel a thin layer of fat covering the six-pack. Not acceptable. My ass needs to get to the gym. Either that or start running more and fucking Edwina less. Yes to the first and a definite no to the last.
“Maybe I should pass.”
She glances down at my physique and winks. “You know you’ll run it off. I’ll bring you a short stack. Be back in a bit with your coffee.”
“Thanks.” There are days when I think Agnes knows me better than me.
Unfortunately, Agnes can’t make going to New Orleans any easier. Plans need to be made, but without speaking with Edwina, I don’t want to book a flight. Our talk last night never included enough words to get a real answer. For some reason, I want her with me. I’m not sure if it’s the simple fact that I appreciate her company or if it’s something more—something I’m not ready to ponder. Right now, I need to know if she’s coming with me. Thankfully, vampires don’t sleep. I punch her number and wait.
