by L. C. Son
“Am I okay?” I snap back. “You’re the one invading my mental faculties! You can read my mind?” I shout, stepping away from him.
“Wait! Wait!” Sebastian protests with his hands raised in surrender. “Firstly, I’ve never read your mind. To be honest it’s not a skill I’ve ever been more than mildly capable. It is a skill, Chartreuse. You have to work at it. In over a century I’ve never given much thought to the idea, because as I’ve told you, I’m not sold on the whole notion of our existence as it were. Quite honestly, I’m most happiest with humans and see little use of my supernaturality beyond normal means. So no, dearest, I’ve never read your mind.”
“Never?” I quietly question.
“Never.” He affirms with his shoulders squared and tone resolute. “However, it does make me wonder why you didn’t know this. I mean you are Dalcour’s ward. Has he not explained these things to you?”
First compulsion. Now mind reading. What else hasn’t Dalcour told me?
Forcing myself from my self-brewing entrance, I exhale and don a quaint smile. “Well, to be honest I haven’t been with him that long. Just as fast as we arrived in New Orleans, he was gone to tend to other matters. I suppose he didn’t have the time. But he did say there was more he’d teach me upon his return.” While it’s not a complete lie, I have omitted quite a bit, but I am hopeful this helps to fill in the pieces.
“I see,” Sebastian grumbles in a husky tone. “Tell me, would it be so bad if I did read your mind?” He asks with a deep narrow gaze.
“It depends,” I reply, closing the space between us.
“On what?” He adds, taking my wrists in his hands, as his warm smile returns to his face.
“Well it depends on whether you really want to know what I was thinking as I watched you working earlier or not.” Looking up at him through my thick lashes, I see his breath hitch and he sucks down the hard air in his throat while his steely stare holds me captive.
Good. He’s not as immune to my wiles as I thought. And with his gaze now deepening into my own, I have no doubt Sebastian St. John is interested in more than mere kisses. Still, while I am surprised he’s obviously chosen the more gentlemanly road, it does me good to know his interest in me is just as carnal as my own desires for him.
Releasing a low groan, Sebastian licks his lips and flings his head back and chuckles. “So I suppose that means you’re keeping your secrets then,” he continues laughing as he pulls me into his embrace and plants a light kiss on my forehead. “I reckon I must commit to memory the evocative little melody replaying like a hummingbird in your mind.”
“What? So you can hear something?” I ask, puzzled.
“Yes—well—I mean—not really. It’s just a low little churn of a ditty. Not really a song even. Reminds me of those old nursey rhymes of juniper and mulberry trees.”
Sebastian keeps me tight in his hold as he softly rests his chin on the top of my head. In this moment I am thankful he can’t see the dread of concern I know obviously mars my face. Although I am surprised to learn Altrinions can read minds, I now know the Changelings also have the power to keep my mind barred from such an intrusion.
I can’t help wondering what other powers lay dormant within me. Between helping Sebastian prepare the wine and cheese baskets and throwing myself into all things Sebastian St. John, I’ve taken little time to understand the weight of my own decisions as of late.
“I hope you don’t mind; I’ve asked Oliver to arrange dinner for us at Crème du Ponte just outside of the Quarter.”
“Oh really?” I answer, surprised.
“And before you begin to worry, I’ve taken the liberty to tell Austin to relay the message to Greta. I’d hate for her to go through too much trouble.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Sebastian, but you didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
“I assure you it was no trouble at all. Although I contend, I’d gladly get into some good trouble for you, my little hummingbird,” he answers sweetly, kissing the top of my head once more before looping our arms together again.
“Hummingbird, huh?” I teasingly repeat.
“Do you hate it?” He asks, worried.
“No actually, I love it,” I smile, leaning my head into his shoulder as we walk toward the front door. “I’ve never had a real nickname or term of endearment before. That is if you don’t count Chalmette calling me Treuse or my childhood friend calling me Red.”
“Red? Really?” He scrunches his nose, irritated. “I don’t much care for descriptive names and such. I mean, I’d hate to be called Curly or some oddity regarding my appearance.”
“I guess I didn’t think too much of it before, but now is different.”
“How so?” He says standing in front of the large steel door, barring our exit.
“Before, those names only came from friends and family. This time—”
“It comes from your man,” he completes my thoughts and steals a sweet kiss. “That’s who I am Chartreuse. I am your man.”
Once more, Sebastian kisses me. Soft yet deliberate. He leaves no room for retort or questions as he opens the door and leads us out.
Slowly, I’m beginning to understand there’s a strong, domineering force lingering just beneath the veil of his alluring and boyish charms and I am more than eager to discover just how powerful such a force can be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dinner at Crème du Ponte is lovely. Not only has Sebastian secured a table for us in a private area of the restaurant, but he has given the chef a list of all of my favorites—even my croissants—to ensure I had a most pleasurable experience.
“Everything is perfect, Sebastian!” I exclaim before forking in one last bite of pork and seafood etouffee.
“I aim to please,” he answers with a bright smile as he takes a linen cloth to wipe his chin.
“Well, I am most certainly pleased. And stuffed, I might add,” I laugh.
“Good. That is, of course, the point of supper. However, I hope you’re not too full. I had a few more surprises for you,” he says with a sly grin.
“A few? Now I’m interested!” I smile back, resting my chin on my clasped hands.
Rising from his seat, Sebastian extends his palm to me and helps me up from my seat. “Come with me,” he says in a low tone.
I do as he asks, and he leads us to a darkened room in the back of the restaurant hall. As we enter through two narrow double doors, a tall elderly gentleman with the clearest blue eyes I have ever seen, greets us with a dutiful smile.
“Master St. John, madame, please follow me,” the man says with his shoulders hunched in submission. As we go deeper into the room, thick clouds of smoke and scents of hickory and cedar cigars fill my lungs. “We have Sir St. John’s lettered box here as you required, my lord.”
He offers a long, small, black and cedar trimmed wooden box to Sebastian, and he takes it after handing the man folded notes of money and the man smiles in return, nods at me and makes his exit quickly from my view.
“I thought you’d enjoy a smoke with me,” Sebastian says in a tone lighter than the broody atmosphere surrounding us suggests. Looking through the dimly lit room, I spy several men chatting with cigars and pipes in hand. “That is, since you’re not some conventional woman who’d rather dally with cross stich, I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”
“Well, my lord, you are quite learned. I’d love a smoke with you,” I cheerfully reply.
Taking my hand, he helps me to a seat and his normal boyish grin stretches across his face. “My, my lady how perfect you are! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the wonderfulness of you! Most women I meet only care that I am of class or status within the supernatural community. They throw themselves into what others deem appropriate and lose sight of who they are. You are not that woman. I admire that about you. You like what you want because you want to! And even if you were to tell me that you had no desire to smoke, I�
�d be just as happy. I only want you to be happy with what you want in life, my little hummingbird.”
“Sebastian, please don’t make me cry. I’d hate to ruin the taut image you have of me,” I mutter.
“That, my sweet lady, is impossible. Besides, if you were to cry, it would just give me an excuse to hold you once more,” he says, squeezing my hand in his.
“There will be no tears!” I quietly exclaim, firming my grasp in his. “Just know you’ll never need an excuse to hold me, my dear Sebastian. You are my man after all.” I whisper back.
“Very well then,” he adds with another wily grin, peering at me through his curly tendrils cascading his face. “I thought you’d like this curated box of Fonseca and Sancho Panza. They both have the cherry and hickory flavors your pretty little pallet likes.”
Smiling wide, he opens the small box and moves it to my side of the table. His eyes search mine and I can tell he’s anxious to see which cigar I chose. Although I’ve only smoked a few times with Scotty, I never had the option of selecting a smoke. Scotty normally handed me whatever he had in his pocket. Some flavors were more robust while others were laced a thin layer of sweetness within the tobacco. Either way, I always relished our times smoking in the back of the saloon. As odd as it was, there were even times when Monroe would join us and for a moment, there was a semblance of peace between us.
But it never lasted long.
Without thinking too long, I pick up the cigar in the middle and Sebastian’s wide Cheshire grin returns as he lifts a match to light it. “Good choice,” he mumbles with a thick cigar now lodged at the corner of his mouth. “The Fonseca suits you. Sweet and bold. The grace in its smoke mirrors the manner of your stride. Hauntingly beautiful.” Sebastian says while blowing out his first puff of air.
“Hauntingly beautiful? Another new endearment in one day, my lord. My head will swell with all of your accolades,” I playfully counter, as I inhale the deep aroma of the Fonseca. Crossing my legs, I lean back into the wine-colored wingback leather seat and let the fragrant fumes fill my lungs.
Gazing at me through the cloud forming between us, Sebastian smiles as he too enjoys the coaxing relief of the Sancho stemming between his lips. “I must say, this is a different experience as an Altrinion. We feel everything deeper than humans. I can taste the leathery essence laced within the casing.”
“Oh, for mercy, Sebastian, don’t tease me. I was only just getting a bit of a lift,” I laugh.
“Well by all means Miss Chartreuse, don’t let me interrupt. For certainly, I of all people know just how ceremonious your lift can be,” a familiar throaty deep voice says from behind me.
Sebastian’s normal boyish grin grows into a menacing grimace and he quickly rises from his seat. “I beg your pardon,” he growls back.
Turning around, I am shocked to find Preston, one of my saloon regulars now standing behind me. Everything in me freezes and I dig my feet into the carpeted ground beneath me. It’s all I can do not to bolt from here. Dropping my cigar into the small ceramic bowl at our table, fear and embarrassment gnaw at my insides. Somehow, I fooled myself into believing I’d never have to lay eyes on anyone or anything from my past, save Chalmette.
And while both Sebastian and I have spent the last few days sharing our truths with one another, there is one part of my life I purposely omitted. I never told Sebastian of my life at the saloon, nor had I the intention of doing so. Now that I was in this supernatural world, I had hoped neither my past nor present would collide.
I was wrong.
“Pardon me sir, I meant no offense,” Preston cowardly responds, ambling back from our table. The stench of bourbon reeks from his pores as it does the two men at his sides.
Still, Sebastian keeps his sight set tight at Preston. Extending his hand, he quickly lifts me from my seat, pulling me next to him and away from Preston and the two gangly looking men with him.
“It—it’s just me and Miss Chartreuse know each other quite well. Don’t we sugar?” Preston laughs. “In fact, we know each other so well, I’m actually one of her best tippers! Aren’t I darling?” Reaching out to stroke my face, Preston stumbles over his associate’s foot and his hand lands on my shoulder, narrowly missing my breast.
A deep growl echoes through Sebastian and he is instantly in front of me. I don’t have a chance to shake Preston’s grip from my shoulder before Sebastian grabs him at his wrist, squeezing it tight. “Listen to me well, you foolish drunkard, don’t you ever put your hand on this woman ever again. I don’t care if you two shared the same nursery and carriage! As a matter fact, I want you to forget she exists. All I want each of you to remember is that you are worthless, deplorable souls who don’t deserve the air in your lungs, much less the companionship of such beautiful woman. Is that clear?”
Dumfounded, the men nod in acquiescence, entranced by Sebastian’s compulsion. I don’t know what is more frightening, having the grievances of my past made bare before Sebastian, or witnessing Altrinion compulsion firsthand.
Sebastian was right. He does such a great job blending into normal human issues, watching his display of supernaturality is hard to witness.
“Mr. Mitchell,” Sebastian calls over his shoulder and the same elderly man who ushered us into the room quicky returns to Sebastian’s side.
“Yes, my lord,” Mr. Mitchell answers quietly.
“Please remove this man and his feigns from the presence of myself and Miss Grenoble. I think using the back door would be best.” Sebastian barks his orders in a tone so gruff, I never thought him capable.
“If you would follow me, please,” Mr. Mitchell says, snapping his fingers and the men allow him to lead them out of the restaurant.
Still frozen, my eyes trail Preston and his cronies as they follow Mr. Mitchell, hopeful the pains of my past are carried away with their footsteps.
Alas, I know better.
“Chartreuse, are you okay?” Sebastian searches my face as he holds my shoulders firm, concern filling the void between his brows.
My feet are still tethered to the ground and both the sight of Preston and memories of every horrid detail I’ve ever done with him sickens me to my core.
Why did he show up here?
Did Monroe send him? Did Mother?
“I need to go!” I bite back my response. I know Sebastian doesn’t deserve my lashing, but unfortunately, he’s here and Preston is gone.
“Please, wait!” Sebastian shouts as I pull from his hold and exit near the restaurant terrace. Lifting my dress at the hem, I race fast down the narrow galley and I see Austin standing near my carriage at the end of the galley way.
This time my movements are too swift for even Sebastian to parry. Pacing toward the carriage, I realize whatever remains of Dalcour’s sire bond still flows through my veins, making me faster than I thought possible.
Still, I take little time to marvel at my speed. My only desire is to get out of here. I hear Sebastian screaming my name in the distance, but I cannot stop. There is no way I can face him now.
Once more, Austin senses my need to flee as he flings the door wide at my clearing. Effortlessly, I’m inside the carriage almost as fast as Austin is back in his saddle commandeering the horses to our destination.
Our return ride is swift, but I barely can make out our path through my tear-filled eyes.
Arriving at the estate, Austin quickly flings the door open to aid me out of the carriage. I barely offer a hint of gratitude as I race toward the front door. Thankfully, the door opens as I arrive on the porch and Greta’s warm smile greets me as I enter. Dutiful as ever, she bows her head slightly but curves it over her shoulder, sending her gaze to the threshold of the parlor.
Gasps and expletives rush from my mouth when I find Sebastian standing just a few steps from me. His gaze is tender as he stares back at me, but even that is too much to take.
“No, Sebastian!” I shout, refusing to surrender to his pull. As surprise
d as I should be that he beat us here, I am not. He is an Altrinion after all. With the same speed Dalcour used to rescue my family and me after the fire, I am certain, Sebastian’s speed is just as surging.
Turning away, I make my way up the stairs as my embarrassment of seeing Preston tonight floods my being.
“Please wait, Chartreuse!” Sebastian yells after me, rushing up to me from behind.
I am mildly comforted by a lingering essence of the sire bond within me as I am able to make it to my suite before he beats me to the stair landing.
Still, Sebastian isn’t far behind. Before I have an opportunity to close my door, Sebastian’s hands hold the door steady, preventing me from closing it.
“Please, go!” I cry, pushing my back against the door. The thought of closing the door in his face is too painful.
“I need to tell you something. Just hear me out,” he protests, forcing the door open wide enough that he enters through the crack.
“What, Sebastian? I don’t know what you could possibly say,” I begin, leaning against the door frame, exhausted. “I mean what do you want me to tell you. Do you want me to tell you how if it wasn’t for Lord Marchand, I’d still be a lady of the evening, sharing myself with any willing tipper of the night like Preston? Or would you rather I tell you how because my sister fell in love with a man of color, she was burned alive and that people like Thaddeus see me just as vile as the rumors spread about her? Perhaps you’d like to know how years later we fell on such hard luck; my mother reduced my sisters and I to harlotry and parlor tricks. Is that what you want to know?” Spitting my words like fire, Sebastian stares at me with a bleak yet empathetic expression. As much as I wish his gaze were enough to still the warring of my heart; I know better. “Please, Sebastian, just go,” I sigh, opening the door wide and gesturing my hand for him to leave.
Walking toward me, Sebastian forces his boyish grin, but I still spy glassy pools of water behind his eyes. While it’s not how I intended to tell him my life’s story, I am thankful to have it off my chest. But I don’t need his pity. I owe no apologies for my life thus far nor do I wish anyone to regard me as some wounded dog.
