Worth the Fight

by SF Benson

  Brady exchanged a suspicious gaze with Santiago, and then the older wolf left the room.

  “The pack will protect you.” Brady helped me to my feet. “But you can’t go home.”

  “But Sheila—”

  “She’s moved on.” Brady fixed a pointed look in my direction. “She’s been keeping time with Tyson.”

  The news nearly sent me back to my knees. “You’re wrong. I’m going to be a father.”

  “Sorry to tell you, but the kit is Tyson’s. Sheila blabbed to Audra. Hell, the whole fucking town knows.”

  Everyone except me.

  Brady removed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from a shelf and tossed them at me. “Change your clothes. We need to get you moved before Old Man Ryder discovers Jackson.”

  The Romero pack hid me out on their estate for a few months while I waited for the incident to blow over.

  “You’ve done enough, Brady. Take care of yourself, and watch out for Audra.”

  Brady nods. “How the hell did Elijah Ryder get to be chief?”

  “Wish I knew. I think Council gave him the position,” I offer.

  “If that’s true, we’ve got some big ass problems in this town.” Brady tosses his drink back.

  “Brady.” Audra’s voice comes from across the room.

  “Yeah?”

  “We need to call a meeting. Get our packs together. If Elijah’s waging war, we need to be prepared.”

  Turning the key in the weather-worn door, I enter the three-story Victorian I’ve been renovating. This place was for Sheila. Somehow I thought we’d make it a real home, fill it with kits, grow old together. My wife proved it was a stupid idea.

  While I was planning for our future, she was busy with her own agenda. Somehow I missed every damned clue. At least Sheila and Tyson left town, sparing me the indignity of watching her stomach grow with a kit I thought was mine.

  This isn’t the time for memories though. Action is a must. I drop my shield and the police-issued revolver into the shoe box and wrap duct tape around it. I’ll drop off the package on the way out of town. I’m going to miss being a detective, but it was never my desire to be part of a crooked-ass force. With Elijah Ryder at the helm and Captain Miller his yes boy, the FCPD will operate on a current of corruption.

  Opening the closet, I crouch low and run my hand along the floorboards. I find the loose one and tap it. Underneath the oak plank is my Glock, ammo, and nearly a hundred thousand dollars in stacked bills—some of the money I inherited from my old man. It’s my personal getaway kit—all I need to get started somewhere else. After the trouble with Jackson, I stashed the items in case I needed to run. The clothes I left at Edwina’s will suffice.

  Grabbing my laptop and power cord before descending the stairs, I head to the car. I’ll send the house key to my mother. She’ll know what to do with it. In her travels she meets supernaturals in need of housing. Maybe someone else will show the old house some love.

  It’s time to hit the road while night covers the land.

  Chapter 9

  Edwina

  Hank is on the sofa when I come downstairs. His stealthiness reminds me of a familiar I had as a child. King was a black cat who came and left on his terms. I never knew where he went, but the cat was obedient and presented himself when summoned.

  Setting the last suitcase down, I say, “I didn’t hear ya come in.”

  His green eyes survey the room. “Only three bags?”

  “One’s mine, one has ya stuff in it, and then there’s the cooler.” I slide my arms into my leather jacket.

  “Are you sure about this, Angel? It’s okay if you’re not. Hell, I’m not one-hundred percent sure about it,” he admits.

  My eyes lift to meet Hank’s—so much despair shine in their depths. Little by little, I move toward the male. Cash was an incubus who worked hard to hide his emotions, but this male openly displays whatever he’s feeling. I hate to admit it, but it’s refreshing.

  Placing my hands around his neck, I say, “Ya don’t have to be completely convinced. I’m convinced enough for the two of us. I remember how Elijah doted on Jackson. Ya not safe with him running things.”

  “Thanks, Angel.” His hands go to my waist.

  “For what?”

  “Coming with me. If I had to go alone, this would feel more like a punishment. But with you by my side, it’s an adventure.”

  May he feel that way when my past beats down my present and shatters me. It remains to be seen if I’m a better supernatural than I was a human. Time is the only one who knows whether this male stays by my side when my monster reveals itself. If Hank was wise, he’d run as fast and as far away as his beast could carry him.

  As a kid, before I came into my powers, I was afraid of the dark. Part of my fear was because I was a slave. My parents didn’t run off with me until I was ten years old, so I had plenty of time to live with the horrors that emerged when the sun set. The call of the dogs, the angry voices, the smell of burning flesh, and the screams from the shadows were things that frightened me to my core.

  Mama was afraid to use her powers. She’d seen what happened to those who rose up against my granddaddy. If he saw a finger twitch, he’d cut it off. If an eye blinked and someone fell ill, he’d pluck out the suspected pupil.

  Not all was bad on the plantation. Mama often said that even within evil soil a good seed could flourish. Papa was that good seed. He truly loved Mama. I never heard him deliver a harsh word to anyone—outside of Granddaddy.

  In time, I discovered the dark offered salvation from evil. Years later when my powers developed, men like Granddaddy no longer held me captive. My fear dissipated like the morning dew. I came to relish the shadows. They were a safe place for both slave and supernatural.

  “Edwina?”

  Hank’s voice snaps me back to the present. “What?”

  “Just wondered when you fed last.” He lowers the volume on the radio.

  “Before ya came to pick me up.” I glance out the window. “I should be asking about ya. At some point, ya need to sleep.”

  “We’ll check into a motel when the sun starts rising. I’ll sleep all day, and we’ll hit the road at dusk. It should take us about two days to get to New Orleans.”

  “Ya know we could have done this easier. Cars are replaceable.”

  He glances at me. “I thought about it, but I’m not ready to give up my ride. Before my old man died, he gave it to me.”

  “Oh,” I mumble. Hank and I have known each other for five years—the same amount of time that I’ve known Cash—but I never asked Hank about his family.

  “Angel, don’t clam up on me.” Hank touches my knee. “We’ve got a lot of road ahead of us. I want to know all about you.”

  His words make me squirm in my seat. “No. Ya don’t.”

  “Sheila and I had our problems. One of them…” He pauses for a beat. “…was her lack of communication. She never told me about her fears or her concerns. I assumed she was good with my working for the FCPD.”

  “When did she tell ya?”

  “She never did. I got the news from Agnes while I was at the diner.”

  Wow. News like that shouldn’t come from strangers. My past shouldn’t be told by others either. But sharing it with Hank won’t be easy. What if he rejects me? Will I be able to stand the isolation when Hank puts me out of the car? I sink down into the seat.

  “Angel.” He grasps my hand. “Let’s start with something simple. Tell me about your childhood.”

  “My childhood isn’t worth sharing. While my cousins played together in the Big House, I worked the fields with Mama.”

  “Really?”

  “I know what ya thinking. Someone my color wouldn’t have worked the fields. My mother was a beautiful woman with skin the color of mahogany relegating her to outside labor. The overseer tried to put me in the Big House. Mama wanted me with her. If Papa hadn’t stepped in, the overseer would have beat her to death.”

  Hank’s bre
ath caught on a sigh.

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing in my life, or death, worth hearing about.” Taking back my hand, I stare at the landscape blurring by.

  “You’re wrong, Edwina. Your history is the history of every person in this country, black and white.”

  “How ya figure?”

  “When it came to slavery, everyone was on one side or the other.” He clears his throat and explains, “There was no middle ground. The Civil War proved that. You’d think as supernaturals we wouldn’t choose to take on human personas. We choose to live in the skin of those who discriminate and those who are discriminated against. That choice comes with an inheritance of hatred and evil. To be honest, our kind doesn’t handle it any better than humans. If anything, we’re more pigheaded. More irrational.”

  I’d never thought of it like that, but it doesn’t excuse the person I became.

  “So much for your childhood.” He pats my hand. “Tell me about the ass who turned you.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not a pretty tale either.”

  Hank pulls off the road, kills the motor, and faces me. “I’m not judging you, Angel. I just want to know everything about you—the human you were, and the vampire you became.”

  “That might take a while,” I warn.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve already contacted Sheila and let her know we’re coming by car.”

  “Telling ya about Alexander St. John requires telling ya who I was back then.”

  Hank sits quietly waiting for me to start my tale. My less than austere beginning is something I had hoped never to share with anyone, especially Hank.

  Despite the Emancipation Proclamation, most of the declared free did not experience liberty. For many reasons, they continued working for their former masters. I, however, had no desire to continue to toil away for my granddaddy. I was only eighteen years old, but I was determined. The first chance I got, I left the plantation for N’awlins.

  “Did things get better for you after you left?” Hank asks.

  “Unfortunately, my kind—quadroon, female, and witch—was no more welcome in the Vieux Carre than on the plantation. Thanks to the Black Codes, I couldn’t find suitable employment. Without a job, I risked being arrested for vagrancy. A prison—either on the plantation or a jail cell—was a real possibility.

  “My nights were spent skulking in doorways, attempting to hide from the police. During the day, I hung around shops begging for scraps of food. The day I met Marie Laveau, a talented mistress of spiritualism, I was almost arrested.”

  I still remember the event as if it happened yesterday.

  “My, my, my, ya are a pretty little thing,” The voodoo priestess sized me up like I was property on an auction block.

  An officer stopped in front of us. “Ya need to move on, or I’ll arrest the both of ya.”

  Marie glanced up at the ruddy-complexioned man. “No need for that. She is in my employ, and ya shall forget ya ever saw us.”

  “Instantly, I was affected by the confident, elderly woman. I wanted to learn her abilities. I had no idea she had other plans for me.”

  “Like what?” Hank asks.

  “Ever hear of plaçage balls?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t matter. They were part of a well-disguised ploy to attract beautiful women of mixed race. We were set up in Creole cottages in Faubourg Marigny where we signed contracts.”

  “For what?”

  “A form of solicitation. A legally binding relationship between mixed-race women and white men. I unknowingly became a concubine promised to Alexander St. John.”

  “The vampire masquerading as a man?” Hank says in a low voice. He goes silent for a few moments as if he’s taking in what I’ve said. “I’m sorry, Angel.”

  I appreciate his sentiment, but it’s not needed. The circumstances in my life are a direct result of being born at the wrong time, nothing more. No one owes me a thing. “Don’t be. Those events happened a lifetime ago. All ya need to know is my association with Alexander was brief. He spent a week charming me before he stole my life.”

  Hank’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand how it happened. You’re a witch. Shouldn’t you have known?”

  “On some level I probably did, but what could I do? I was a young witch without control of my powers. Breaking the contract could have gotten me imprisoned—or worse. At the time, I didn’t know how to hurt him with magic. Trust me, it would not have gone well for me. Powerless against him, I was already dead.”

  “Has anyone ended him yet?”

  “No. Last I heard, Alexander was somewhere in Europe. He’s smart enough not to return to N’awlins.” I pause for a moment. “Maybe you should drive? We’re wasting time sitting here.”

  Hank starts the engine and steers back onto the road.

  It’s not Alexander’s intelligence keeping him alive though. I swore if we ever crossed paths again, I’d end him.

  Chapter 10

  Hank

  In Cincinnati, I pull off the interstate. According to the GPS, there’s a Motel 6 up ahead. It’s been nine hours of straight driving, and my ass is tired. With what Edwina told me about her past, however, I have a feeling I won’t be sleeping peacefully.

  Angel’s been through a lot of shit during her time on Earth. Every bit of it unfair. My beast wants to protect her while making everything right for her. Edwina deserves it. I don’t think the female has had a day of peace since she was born. Growing up in slavery and surviving the aftermath was bad enough. Life didn’t get any easier once she was turned. She’s endured so much ridicule even as a vampire.

  Thankfully, the motel room is clean and the bed not too lumpy. I slip off my shoes and am tempted to lie back, but Edwina’s too quiet. Like I said, sleep won’t happen if I don’t ease her worries.

  “Come here, Angel.” I stand, spreading my arms, and wait for her to step into my embrace. She doesn’t take long. I rub my hands over her chilly back. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I don’t like talking about my past. It brings up memories I’ve tried hard to forget,” she mutters. “Memories that have haunted me for years. Once they surface, I have a hard time forgetting ‘em.”

  Her tearful voice goes straight to my heart. I tighten my arms around her. “You’re not alone, Angel. Let me shoulder your pain. I can take whatever you give me.”

  Edwina buries her face in my chest and sobs. I won’t do anything to discourage her crying. Maybe her tears will be the cleansing she desperately needs.

  After a few minutes, her muffled voice asks, “Hank, can ya be with a monster?”

  Hell, constant questioning is something my species doesn’t handle well. We’re beasts ready to deal with any shit you throw our way. But thanks to humans, vampires have earned a reputation for monstrous behavior. For the most part, it’s undeserved. It would be like calling every human a murderer simply because they kill animals for food. Some are and some aren’t. It’s the same thing with vampires.

  “Angel, you’re nobody’s “monster.”

  “Yes, I am.” She steps away from me and sits on the bed. “After Alexander turned me, I went back to the plantation…” Edwina drops her head. “I had to wait until nightfall. Back then, I knew nothing of charms and spells to allow me to venture out during the day. As a human, it took me days to get away from the Devereaux Plantation but as a vampire, I was back there in a flash.”

  “The first person I ran across was the old overseer, Jenkins, who said, ‘Well, if it ain’t one of my old niggas.’ I immediately responded with, ‘I’ve never been a nigga or belonged to ya.’

  “The aged man limped toward me. My blood boiled, like hot lava, as I regarded him. He’d been drinking, and the stink of whiskey reached my nose and turned my stomach. A toothless smile spread across his pock-mocked face.

  ‘Ya lose sumpin’, gal?” he asked and his hand went to his belt. ‘Maybe I can help ya find it?’

  “I took a step back and told him to keep h
is distance or I wouldn’t be accountable for my actions.

  “He cackled and continued his approach. The harshness of his voice grated my nerves and pushed me to the edge. In an instant, I was at Jenkins side, my hand wrapped around his scrawny neck, stopping the overseer in his tracks. Wide, rheumy eyes greeted me. He didn’t notice my other hand moving over his collarbone. A gruesome snap, like a dry twig breaking in the night, sent Jenkins’s head flopping forward.”

  “You didn’t drink from him?” I ask, sitting beside her.

  “The mix of stale alcohol, tobacco, and sweat was too much. Even now, the thought of sinking my teeth into his flesh turns my stomach.”

  “Besides, there was a more worthy kill inside the big house. Gliding to the front door, I found my grandmammy on the porch. She rocked in a chair and didn’t seem surprised to see me. The woman barely acknowledged me, focused on her knitting.

  ‘I was wondering when you’d come back to us,’ Grandmammy said without making eye contact, ‘We don’t do handouts to niggas though.’

  “Hearing her call me nigga made my jaw clench. How did such a hateful woman give birth to my papa—a man so kind he lost his life trying to defend Mama? I told her I wanted nothing from her and asked where he was.

  ‘Gerard is in his drawing room, but you need to stay away from him.’ She tried to go on, but I cut the woman down before she finished the sentence. My grandmammy’s blood dripped down my chin and onto my green silk dress. I relished every drop. It was my first feeding, but it wouldn’t be the last that night.”

  “You killed your grandfather.” It’s not a question. It’s not a judgment either.

  “Yes, along with anyone who tried to stop me. Before I killed the bastard, I compelled him to sign over his accounts to me. He also provided documents giving me the rights to the Creole cottage I lived in, proof that I was in his service, and a letter stating that all his properties were to convert to me upon his death. After I drained his sorry ass, I forged the signature of the notary who signed my plaçage papers.”