by L. C. Son
Still, I cannot take my eyes off of him. Even though a brood of warning ripples through me, I can’t withstand the entirety of his lure. From his supple, cranberry-stained lips to the bronzed sheen of his caramelized skin every part of him calls to every part of me. At the sight of him, darkened abandoned thoughts trigger my more seductive self as yearnings of employing every wanton desire permeate my being.
Lifting me into his hold, his eyes trail every part of me, and I work hard to stifle the willful grunt seeking its release. It is taking everything within me to withstand the full measure of his entreat.
A small, devious grin covers the corner of his face and his gaze slowly softens as I regain my footing and his arm gently slides from my back. As he does, I take special note of how his large biceps brush along my backside and the doting caress of his fingers as they glide along my waist.
Standing upright my eyes land square with his brawn pectorals and slender waist.
He is perfection!
Gone now are my thoughts of protest. Instead, and as much as I know I should object, I am strangely interested to see where this goes.
I know this is wrong—or is it?
For years, only slobbering drunks and cheating husbands were given to my bed. Never before has someone like Decaux Marchand been an option. If I must play harlot—perhaps--
“Beautiful she may be, but Calida reincarnate she is not.” The sharpness of Decaux’s tone cuts me in the gut. Circling me, Decaux looks me over once more, glaring down as though he were considering picking a pet. His swift movements are too fast for me and he is quickly perched atop the wooden chair, effortlessly balanced along its beam as he dangles one foot to the ground.
“What?” I mutter in response.
“Oh have I offended you?” Decaux snips back with a haughty laugh. “Truly it was not my intent. But you only have my brother to thank for making a fool of you!” He sneers.
“Come, Chartreuse, let us go,” Dalcour says, annoyed, cupping my elbow in his strong palm.
“Look, Titan, I have offended both the marionette and her puppeteer!” He belts with a cringy chuckle. Titan laughs with him but looking at him I can spy his conforming pretense.
“I am no man’s puppet!” I bite back, pulling myself from Dalcour’s grip and charging toward Decaux.
I do not care who he is, I will not be treated like this. While I am well aware this man could take my life with the wave of his hand or by the snare of his fangs, if I must die because I refuse such manner then so be it.
Rushing toward Decaux, Dalcour is in front of me before I can blink. Placing his sturdy hands on my shoulders, he pushes me back, shaking his head in both warning and fear. “Chartreuse, be still,” Dalcour says softly, and the coolness of his breath seems to quiet my gnawing errancy.
“Ah,” Decaux begins, standing up and away from the wooden chair. “Perhaps I misjudged you, Little Calida,” he adds, tilting his head and peering over Dalcour’s broad shoulders.
“My name is Chartreuse!” I yell, breaking away from Dalcour’s tight hold.
“Chartreuse!” Dalcour shouts my name in rebuke once more.
Cutting my eyes at Dalcour briefly, I keep my attention on Decaux. A part of me feels like I am trapped in the saloon all over again. This time, Mother is replaced with Dalcour while Decaux almost mimics that of Monroe. But unlike Monroe, Decaux has neither interest in me nor a display of Monroe’s slavering stature.
Laughing as he saunters to Dalcour’s side, Decaux rubs his chin, encircling me once more. Intrigue lifts his brow, and an arrogant smile frames his otherwise alluring face. “Well now brother, I see there is yet fire in this one after all. I suppose the spirit of Calida is not as dead as I once believed.”
Dalcour’s expression brightens like a child who just received a trinket as both the eyes of he and Decaux merrily dance about.
“Go now,” Decaux begins, rubbing his hands together, illumining a bright golden light like a flame. “Begin your preparations. If this mortal has gall enough to stand in protest to me, I suppose she has the makings of a proper sireling after all.”
“My lord?” I moan in displeasure but Dalcour keeps his sights fixed on Decaux.
Stepping to my side, I feel Decaux’s towering presence loom over me, but I refuse to look him in the eye. “My, Young One, I wonder what shall become of you,” he begins, turning my chin to meet his glowing crimson gaze. “Will your fire remain? Or will the taming of these halls douse the kindling I see behind your eyes? I should hope not. I’d much rather see what burns in the wake of your new form. Do not disappoint me, Little Calida.” Despite my growing antipathy for him, Decaux’s whispered words ride me hard, gripping me with a temptingly fearful passion.
Decaux exits before I have a moment to counter his sentiment leaving only the trail of his enticing scent and his haunting words behind.
Although I have no desire to play pawn, Decaux is right about one thing. If anyone has cause to light a fire it is me. But my plans far outweigh a mere flicker.
I intend to burn it all down.
Chapter Fifteen
Titan disappeared before I had a chance to notice, leaving only Dalcour and me in the darkened corridor.
Dalcour stares at me, searching my face, attempting to discern the fury fueling my thoughts. Anger holds me captive, and I feel like a fool. I cannot believe I am once again in this repose. I thought I could trust Dalcour. I thought he only wanted the best for me, but I was naïve.
“I see your confidence in me fading, young one,” Dalcour says softly, making his way in front of me. As much as I want to, the appropriate response evades me. “Perhaps I should explain,” Dalcour adds, pleading to me with his eyes.
“Perhaps,” I force the words out.
“I deserve that,” Dalcour continues in a slightly demure tone. “Please, sit,” he says while extending his arm toward a small stone bench on the other side of the wall. Hesitant, I do as he asks as he takes a seat next to me. “Look, I know I should have mentioned my brother to you before now. I guess I had hoped things would turn out differently.”
Although I can tell he is sincere, I refuse to allow the tenderness of his smile to lull me into a false sense of security once again. “And by different do you mean you thought we would’ve fallen madly in love at first sight? Did you think Decaux would take one look at me and see his one and only true love—my sister? Or did you think I’d throw myself at him and play the harlot? I suppose that must be all you see when you look at me! Isn’t it?” Spitting my words like fire, I work hard to hold back the tears that are so desperate for their release. I refuse to give him the satisfaction nor do I want or require his pity.
Dalcour’s eyes bulge at my words and he swallows the thick air in his throat. Lifting his hand, he quickly pulls it back as he looks into my eyes, knowing I have no interest in any comfort he would seek to provide.
“Chartreuse, you must believe when I tell you that I do not regard you as a harlot. I never have.”
“If that is true then why is your first recourse to pair me with your brother? I thought you said you wanted to give me the power to protect and care for myself. I did not think that meant coupling me with the likes of someone who’d rather see the world burn than to give regard to someone like me.”
“While it may appear the contrary, I can assure you that was never my intent. Never.” The resolution of Dalcour’s intent is clear as he places his hand on my shoulder. Tears peddle down my face as he does, and I can no longer fight back my cries. Pulling me into his embrace, Dalcour runs his hands through my hair and kisses the crown of my head.
Releasing me from his grasp, he smiles at me as I use my wrists to wipe my face. “Please understand no matter how naïve it may seem; it was only my hope that maybe once Decaux saw you he would be reminded of his affection for Calida. But not only that, I hoped that seeing you would stir up whatever goodness remains of his stone-cold heart. Your sister had a power
to bring the best out of him and when she died, she took that part with her.”
“So I was but to be a mere replacement?”
“No, Chartreuse, not a replacement. Simply a reminder that good once reigned in his heart. I wanted him to see that all was not utterly lost at her passing. I had hoped because he loved her, he would—”
“Find it in his heart to love me too?” I mutter through my tears.
“I had no expectation for you two to become what Calida meant to him. But I wanted him to have a fresh start. Perhaps a chance to experience care for someone, but this time it would be different.” Dalcour’s finishing sentiment is soft as he stares distantly into the dark corridor.
“How?” I ask, leaning forward, hopeful to regain his attention.
“Because unlike Calida, Young One, you would never die.”
“And that’s why you want to make me a vampire? To bond me forever to your brother! And how does this benefit me, my lord? What good can I redeem from such a barter?”
“Life.” Dalcour aptly responds, as he looks back at me, his expression more resolute than before. “I intend to give you a life that will be yours and yours alone. A life so full and free. No more dependences on tippers or saloon crooners. Power to protect yourself and those you care for. Not only that, young one, but the life I want to give you does not bond you to my brother in any way. Your sire bond is only between us two. You will be as a daughter to me and me a father. Being the monster I am, I could never hope for procreation, but through you I can finally apprehend such a notion. Last, even if nothing romantic were to become of you and Decaux, knowing he would regard you as family is equally important.”
The weight of Dalcour’s words tug my heart strings to the depths of my core, locking me in place. Knowing he simply desires to make me part of his family is both honoring and humbling. The life he wishes to provide is everything I’ve ever wanted. While I only spent a few short years under the love and influence of my natural father, it is a void I have long wanted to fill. No one will ever be able to replace my father in my eyes, but I am certain Dalcour’s parentage would parry the likes of anything Monroe could ever offer.
Once more, tears escape my eyes, trailing my face and creating a glassy shield as I stare at Dalcour. This time I don’t wait for his permission before throwing my face into his hollow chest, crying as he grips me in his hold.
“There is nothing to fret, young one. I’ve got you. Always,” Dalcour says softly, holding me tight. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes my face and smiles broad as he lifts my chin. “Now tell me, is this what you want?”
Closing my eyes, I inhale as my mind replays the haunting highlights of my life thus far. I have few moments of merriment to ponder save my memories of my father, Calida, and Chalmette. Flickering thoughts of Scotty, DeLuca and even my recent encounter with Marius warm my heart as I reminisce on my relationships with them. Still, not even those fond memories are enough to ward off the stench of the saloon, Mother, Monroe, and the herd of scoundrels I had to endure.
Stirrings of anger rise within me and I know with all certainty what my response shall be.
“Yes, my lord.” The words rush from my mouth and I know I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
Smiling back at me, Dalcour’s charming grin stretches from ear to ear as he stands to his feet, extending his hand to mine. “Then it is time,” he begins, as I place my palm in his.
“Time for what, my lord?” I ask, curiously afraid as to what will happen next.
“It is time for you to see what you shall become. If you still hold no reservations after what I shall show you then we shall proceed.”
“And if my reservations should remain?” I question as Dalcour leads us to the edge of the corridor.
“Then you will be free to go at your own choosing. As I promised before, I will ensure you have enough resources that you shall never have need again. Either way, it is your choice. Do you understand?”
Nodding in affirmation, Dalcour loops his arm through mine and leads me down the long and dark corridor. Arriving at a large wooden door, Dalcour pounds it hard enough I think he’s trying to break it down when it opens and a small woman with wide, coal-filled eyes and luminescent pale skin stands holding it ajar by a long iron rod.
“Lord Marchand,” she says dutifully, dipping her head in a bow as we cross the threshold. He says nothing in reply as we stroll past her, but I hear a low hiss rumble through her as we continue forward. Dalcour snaps his head back in her direction and growls, expressing his fangs and she stumbles back, pushing the door shut.
“Don’t mind her,” he says in a softer tone than his scowl suggests. “She’s been relegated to the taming wells for more than two weeks and still she can barely open a door without threatening the life of a human.
“Threatening?” I question, glaring back at her over my shoulder as she takes cautious steps along the wall, with her now deeply blackened eyes fixed on me.
“Yes, young one. And not long from now her desires will be your own,” Dalcour answers in a dark tone that sends shivers up my spine.
Turning back around, I lock my arm tighter with his as more hissing and shrieking sounds echo around me. The screeching sounds are earsplitting, and I use my free hand to cover my ear while I press my other into Dalcour’s bicep.
“Those are the sounds of the Scourge,” Dalcour says as we stop in front of a stone and glass chamber.
“The Scourge?” I repeat, gazing around the hallway, trying to make sense of the harrowing sounds buzzing about.
“Yes. You call them vampire. But those in the community call them Scourge.”
“What is the difference? Are they not one in the same?”
“No, my dear and it is important that you know there is a difference,” Dalcour quickly responds, searching my face for understanding. “Vampires can be either Altrinion-Vampires like myself—you know those of supernatural lineage or humans like yourself who are tamed and can stand to be in society. Scourges are mindless, bloodthirsty creatures. With little memory of their humanity and no essence of supernaturality, they are trapped in a curse of blood, destined forever to be both a pariah and plague on this earth. For this reason, we call them Scourge.”
“Is that what I shall become?” I inquire, pointing back at the pale-faced girl trailing us from behind. She pauses as I do, and her greasy auburn hair hangs to one side as she climbs the slick stone wall using only her pointy claws and feet as leverage.
“I suppose you could only hope,” Dalcour begins, frowning as he keeps his sights set on the girl. “Although she certainly desires your blood, young Braelyn is faring better than expected.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” a loud and familiar voice calls to us from behind.
I am surprised to find Titan standing just beyond the threshold when we turn around. Walking toward us, I notice Titan has on more clothes than before. I work hard not to allow my earlier thoughts of him to invade my mind. Between the young Scourge on the wall and the sounds bellowing all around I know I must keep my wits about me.
“Is she one of yours, Titan?” Dalcour questions as the girl jumps down from the wall and perches near Titan’s side.
“Yes, my lord. This is Braelyn. If you recall we retrieved her at our last raid north of Charleston. She is making progress, but I keep her close for more taming,” Titan adds with a sly smile. With the way the girl is sniffing about him, I am sure her taming has become quite intimate.
“Will I be tamed in such a manner?” I quickly ask as fear looms within me once more.
Both Titan and Dalcour laugh and Dalcour pats my back and shakes his head in protest. “No, young one that is not my manner for taming. Titan has a style all his own but it’s not quite my way of things. I prefer to do things the old way,” he adds, pointing into a large glass room.
“What is happening here?” Walking closer, I press against the glass, trying
to see inside.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” Titan teases from behind.
“Do what?” Not sooner than the phrase passes my lips, a large creature plunges into the glass wall, affixing its slimy body against the frame, screeching loud and baring two rows of razor fangs. A lizard like face stares back at me as a long reptilian-like tongue forks along the crease of the door. Banging on the door and shrieking loudly, the creature pulls at the door, begging for release.
“That.” Both Titan and Dalcour answer in unison.
“What is that?” I squeal, ambling backward into Dalcour’s arms.
“That, my dear, is a Scourge,” Dalcour replies, speaking low into my ear. “This one is in rare form too!”
“I’m going to turn into that thing?” I snap, looking to both men and shooting a wary glance at the girl now hovering near Titan’s waist.
“Not if you don’t want to,” Dalcour whispers back.
“What does that mean?”
“It means as long as you work hard at resisting blood and feeding on humans you can lead a relatively sage and normal life,” Dalcour says.
“So if I don’t feed on humans, what will I eat?”
Sharing a laugh, both men seem amused by my inquiry.
“Well, it appears she’s not squeamish on the idea of where her food comes from,” Titan laughs as the girl tugs at a leather flask strapped to his side. “Thirsty, are we?” he says as he puts the flask to her mouth allowing her to greedily sip the contents. Turning his attention back to me, he pats the top of her head as she drinks. “New vampires like Braelyn need to feed often. Like the ravenous beast behind you, both Scourge and vampires alike are constantly famished. Are you ready for that, my lady?”
Watching the girl at Titan’s waist feverishly slurp the remaining contents causes me to ponder if this too will be my fate.
