Bloodshed (The BlackGuard Society Book 2) Page 15

  Ace stretched and draped an arm behind me. “We’ll take care of it after we get ya a new ride. Any preferences?”

  “No. Whatever you buy me will be fine. I might have enough in my savings—”

  “Dawlin’, I’m offering. I don’t need or want ya money. Let me take care of my wife.” He smiled and pulled me close. “Ya realize this is the first night we’ve been alone in a long time?”

  “Yes.” My lips curled up right before he claimed them.

  17

  Visiting Kin

  Tabitha

  * * *

  The next morning, Morgan summoned me. She wanted to visit Delta Ava in Bayou St. John and suggested I come along. The last time I saw Delta Ava Lavegne was before my mother got sick. Delta Ava was supposedly an aunt on my father’s side of the family, but I suspected she was more like a pretend aunt. As a kid, I had plenty of fake cousins who were actually the offspring of close family friends. They had no blood relation to me, but when push came to shove, they were more reliable than the people sharing my DNA.

  Shortly after ten o’clock, Morgan and Edwina met me on the sidewalk outside of the business that was part shop and part museum.

  “Are you ready to do this?” Morgan asked.

  I made a face. “It’s no big deal.”

  Honestly, it wasn’t. Delta Ava was just another in a long list of so-called family who wasn’t there for me. She came to Mama’s funeral and then disappeared like a disappointed customer. I didn’t hold it against her.

  Much.

  We entered the bright-yellow Victorian double with navy-blue shutters and white trim. The door slammed shut behind us. I glanced up at the baubles, skeletal remains, and masks adorning the walls. For a brief, ghastly moment, the artifacts appeared to dance in place. I blinked and the movement stopped. We crossed the cluttered showroom and stopped at a door covered with a colorful beaded curtain.

  “I wondered when you’d come by my house.” Her croaky voice reached across the shadowy space. “Ya gonna come in ‘r what?”

  Delta Ava, with a Gris-gris bag around her neck, sat at a round table tucked into a corner. She waved a café au lait-colored hand toward the chairs on either side of her. Her warm-brown eyes narrowed. “Morgan, it’s been a while.” The priestess turned toward Edwina. “What do ya want, traitor?”

  Edwina sneered. “Ya confuse me with Lavinia. I’m no one’s traitor.”

  “It’s not what the ancestors say.”

  Who knew what predecessors she meant? I had no idea how old Delta Ava was. She had been friends with my grandparents and great-grandparents but didn’t look a day over thirty.

  “Ya mamma’n’dem be outraged with what’s happened to ya, Tabitha.” She clicked her red nails against the tabletop. “Ya have questions, ask ‘em.”

  Morgan spoke up. “Actually, I have the questions. The BlackGuard—”

  “Needs ta know nothin’ I do.”

  Edwina stood and leaned across the table. “Here’s the thing, Ava. The same asshole who turned me, turned Tabitha. Ya want him to keep it up?”

  The priestess closed her eyes. “So ya want ta stop Alexander St. John? What do ya think I can do?”

  “Delta Ava, has he been to see you?” Morgan asked.

  “He has. He’s searching for permanence. A way to be invisible.” The brown-skinned woman smiled. “I haven’t given it ta him. Yet.”

  “We’d appreciate it if ya didn’t.” Edwina sat and strummed her fingers on the wooden table. “What do ya need to stop him?”

  Delta Ava tilted her head to one side. “Dere is only one way ta stop da evil one. Bring me a piece of cloth from his restin’ place. Also a lock of his hair.”

  I asked, “Where would we find him?”

  “St. John can be found in de Irish Channel down on Pleasant Street. Look for de beige two-story house with white trim. Dere’s a picket fence around de yard. Da items are needed ta keep St. John in his place. Fix his soul and ya can end him.”

  Honestly, I had no idea what the priestess was talking about. Morgan and Edwina, however, nodded and rose to their feet. I stood too. Maybe they knew what Delta Ava’s gibberish meant.

  Delta Ava glanced up at me. “Chile, give up on da dhampir. He’s not for ya.”

  “Are you talking about Clint?”

  “Course I am. Clint Bonaparte is an abomination.” She pointed at Morgan. “Just like she is. Vampires and humans weren’t meant ta procreate.”

  My eyes drifted over to Morgan. She gestured toward the door, but I said, “I’ll meet y’all outside.”

  Morgan dragged her feet, but Edwina tugged her out of the shop. Once they were gone, I took my seat again. “Why isn’t Clint for me?”

  “Ya allowed ya self ta become one of the undead. Dhampirs aren’t immortal. Ya will be around till the end of this world. That man will die one day soon.”

  Spending eternity without someone in my life seemed empty, but I didn’t want to share anything with St. John.

  The priestess shook her head. “Vampires are cursed to exist alone. Ya don’t have life anymore. The isolation can drive a being insane. It’s St. John’s affliction. Loneliness drove him to kill for profit.”

  “Why? He could have bitten a woman and kept her with him.” It was what I would have done in his position. I still could…

  “It’s not that easy, chile. Ya assuming a woman would want ta stay with a beast. St. John bit ya, but ya don’t want ‘im. He bit Edwina, and she didn’t want ‘im either. Ask ya self why.”

  It wasn’t something I had to ponder. I witnessed his cruelty the last time we were together. Was his behavior a byproduct of what he became? Or was it always there, lingering beneath the surface?

  “Was he always so despicable?”

  Delta Ava nodded. “He’s walked the earth much longer than I have. Kragen Bonaparte or maybe Julien Vladislav could tell ya ‘bout St. John’s previous life. I heard rumors he knew the Marquis de Sade.”

  I had to search my memory bank. The name was usually associated with sadism. If the man was friends with Alexander St. John, it would explain a lot. Memories of how the vamp ravaged my body came back in vivid detail.

  The obsession he had with my ass…

  His desire to stick his cock in every hole…

  His need to inflict pain with pleasure…

  I shook my head and tried to forget how he degraded me.

  “I’m sorry ya suffered because of ‘im,” Delta Ava said. “I didn’t help ya when ya needed me years ago, and I apologize for that too. Whatever ya need from me ta get rid of St. John—”

  “Forget him for a moment,” I snapped. “What if I bit him?”

  “Who? The dhampir? Why?”

  I remembered the hungry look in his grayish eyes. “His father’s disregard has pained Clint for a long time. He wants relief. I can give it to him.”

  “Ya fancy da half-breed. Whether ya can help ‘im, remains to be seen. If a vampire bites ‘im, it will free his soul from its human bond. Problem is, chile, it has to be from his true soul mate.”

  “True soul mate?”

  “Da one his soul was meant for.”

  “Am I?”

  “Naw, chile. Ya not meant for anyone.”

  Delta Ava’s words followed me out the front door. Morgan and Edwina looked up as I approached.

  “Did she answer ya questions?”

  “Yeah. Gave me a few new ones too.”

  Edwina gave me a knowing glance. “Ya think ya Clint’s soul mate?” She scoffed. “I don’t think the dhampir has one. If he does, he hasn’t met her—or him—yet.”

  For once, I had no comment.

  “We don’t have all day to stand around. We need to get what Delta Ava needs,” said Morgan. “Plus, we need a plan to capture St. John. Keep him immobilized long enough for me to decapitate him.”

  Was it a coincidence we were in a neighborhood baring the same name as the vampire?

  “Wait!” I said.

  The two fe
males stopped in their tracks and faced me.

  “Edwina, you knew Alexander St. John centuries ago. When exactly?”

  She pursed her lips. “Right before the Civil War. Why?”

  “I’m curious about Alexander’s last name,” I said. “Was it given to him? Or did he adopt it?”

  “Alexander is old. Far older than the United States. Most likely he assumed the surname. It gave him a pretend history. When I met him, he claimed to be of French ancestry. I believe he said his family were trappers. He sold me a bill of goods ‘bout owning a waterway that connected the Mississippi to Lake Pontchartrain. St. John was supposedly his family’s name, and they named the Bayou.”

  Morgan added, “My father used to tell me about the different vampires from the old country. A lot of times when a vampire moved to a new town, they’d adopt a name to separate themselves from their former humanity.”

  “Delta Ava said she’d heard rumors about St. John. Supposedly he knew the Marquis de Sade,” I stated.

  “You should speak with my father. He won’t be at the bar this early. If you go by the house, perhaps my mother will allow you to see him.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  Morgan tensed. “I can’t. We’re not on the best of terms at the moment. My mother’s name is Deianira, and my father is Julien. If you tell him what happened to you, he might answer your questions. We can drop you off on our way to the Irish Channel.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I stood on the front porch of the Vladislav home. Morgan wasted no time peeling away from the curb in a shiny blood-red Porsche 911. I raised my hand to knock, and the door appeared to open on its own.

  On the other side stood an elegant woman in a classic black Chanel suit and red stiletto pumps. Her turquoise eyes raked over me. “May I help you?”

  “My name is Tabitha Edwards. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a moment of your husband’s time.” The woman stared at me blankly. “I want to discuss Alexander St. John, the bastard who made me a vampire.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Please, come in. I suspect Morgan sent you.”

  “Yes. She said you—”

  The woman lifted her palm. “No need. I’m Deianira Vladislav. Perhaps I can answer whatever questions you might have. This is my husband’s time to rest. I try to respect that as much as possible. Please, follow me.”

  Our footsteps echoed across the polished wood floor. It was a nice house. A little big for two people, but maybe they had a huge staff. We walked past a winding staircase and then entered a large room. On one side of the room was a dark wood fireplace with a large portrait over the mantel. The intimidating woman in the oil painting resembled Morgan. They had the same long black hair and those sea-blue eyes. The female appeared taller and trimmer than Morgan.

  Deianira glanced at the artwork. “That would be my grandmother, Morgana Le Fey. Please, have a seat.” Deianira pointed to a winged-back chair near the hearth. “Where would you like to start?”

  Straight to the point. I saw where Morgan got it from.

  A pained expression crossed Deianira’s face. “I assure you, my daughter has more in common with her father.”

  “Could you not do that? I have a problem with people reading my thoughts.”

  “Then I suggest you learn how to block them. It will make life easier for yourself and everyone you run across.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Go ahead, my dear. If you want to pretend to be human, we can play that game too.”

  Within a few short minutes, I knew I didn’t like the woman.

  “I want to know how Alexander St. John became a vampire. Not the basics. I want to know who turned him.”

  “Knowing will not change what’s happened to you.”

  “I’d like to know all the same.”

  “Very well.” She pursed her lips for a moment and then said, “Alexander St. John didn’t always use that name. He was born in Paris to the Latour family.”

  “Alexander Latour was Donatien de Sade’s valet.” The masculine voice came from the hall. Seconds later, a tall male with wavy black hair entered the room. With tanned skin and bright dark eyes, he looked like a man in perfect health, but I sensed death.

  He stopped in front of me. “I am Julien Vladislav.” He looked over at Deianira. “Sorry, my dear. I heard you talking.”

  She gave up her seat to him. “Then I’ll allow you to tell the tale. I have a meeting with the coven to prepare for.” Deianira glanced at me. “When you see Morgan…” The woman let the thought die and walked out of the room.

  Julien leaned back in the chair and stared at me for a long uncomfortable minute. “So Alexander is up to his old tricks. Yes, I knew the Marquis. We were friends. Well, as much as one can be friendly with someone like him. His perverse appetites were a little intense for my tastes.”

  I swallowed hard. “Was Alexander a vampire when he worked for the Marquis?”

  “No. Alexander performed exclusive services for Donatien.” When I didn’t say anything, Julien added, “They were lovers. Donatien had a rather healthy sexual appetite, which included men and women. Alexander met his end when he was arrested, along with the Marquis, in 1772.”

  I shifted in my seat.

  “This news troubles you?”

  “Actually, it doesn’t.” It explained some of Alexander’s behavior. “When did he become a vampire?”

  “Not my finest hour,” Julien admitted. “While Donatien and Alexander were imprisoned, I heard from my friend. I helped them escape the fortress of Miolans. It was a wretched prison in the Arclusaz Mountains. Anyway, Donatien wished to join his wife after their departure from the fortress. Alexander, however, thought he might go with his lover.”

  Julien abruptly stood and walked over to a cart in a corner. He removed the stopper from a glass decanter, and the scent of blood wafted past me. The stately vampire poured two glasses and rejoined me. He gave me one and then returned to his seat.

  “The Marquis didn’t want Alexander following him…”

  “So you turned him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I was helping a friend. Donatien had grown tired of Alexander.” Julien sipped at his meal.

  “Why not let Alexander walk away? What harm would that have caused?”

  “Alexander knew all about Donatien’s various affairs. Alexander also knew about how my friend tortured prostitutes and others.”

  “Did his wife know?”

  “Renée? Of course, she did. When they reunited after his imprisonment, she engaged in numerous decadent acts.”

  “Did you turn her too?”

  “Nonsense.” Once again, Julien eyed me as if I were a bug under a microscope. “You’re judging me when you have no right to do so. I was a vampire doing what I did best. Donatien knew what I was and had no issue with it as long as my fangs did not find a home in his neck.”

  “Did you engage in his perverted behavior?”

  Julien gave me a look that begged me to challenge him. I heard his thoughts, and they chilled me. He never indulged, but he liked to watch. That revelation made him a perv in my book.

  “Do you have any other questions about Alexander?”

  “No. I was just curious about his origin.” Then it hit me. “You sired Alexander. Wouldn’t that make him Morgan’s brother?”

  “In a sense.”

  18

  Blood Relations

  Tabitha

  * * *

  I blinked rapidly and shook my head. Surely, I hadn’t heard what I thought I did. The bastard who fucked up my world had Morgan’s father to thank.

  On some level, it made sense. Morgan was a dhampir born into a family of vampires. Every human turned by one of them had to be kin. Of course, there was room for error in my thinking. After all, my concept was based off a TV show I once saw about a family of original vampires. Every time one created a new bloodsucker, he or she was added to their ranks. Siring a new vampire was what the characters called the pr
ocess.

  Julien’s lips curled up, and his pointy canines revealed. “Despite the many stereotypes Hollywood upholds about vampires, the show you’re thinking of had it right. I sired Alexander—created him, if you will. He, in turn, sired you. He also sired Edwina Devereaux.”

  The blood I’d drunk just seconds earlier curdled in my gut. Reluctantly, I set the goblet on the side table and stared at the floor. Somebody pinch me so I can wake up from this nightmare. Only a bad dream explained what I experienced. Vampires aren’t real. I don’t drink blood. It’s just really weird wine.

  “I’m sorry if the realization disgusts you. None of this is a dream. Your life ended the night my progeny feasted upon you.”

  “Do you have to put it that way?” It made me sound like an open buffet.

  Julien chuckled as if there was anything funny about my predicament. “Tabitha, I told you these things to enlighten you. Now, you should understand the reason behind Kragen’s dictates.”

  My head whipped up so fast the room spun slightly. “He knows.”

  “You’re smart for a stripper. It’s good to see Alexander’s taste goes beyond the physical.” Julien spoke casually like I was simply an unacceptable fiancée for his son. “Kragen Bonaparte and I are old friends. There’s no way he’d allow anyone to harm one of my creations.”

  The sharp edge from the chair arm bit into my fingers. If I gripped it any tighter, I’d draw blood. Loosening my hand, I said, “Well, I’m not just anyone.”

  I’m the bitch who’ll end Alexander’s nonsense.

  “No, you’re not. Alexander’s action made you part of my lineage, so I’ll give you a warning. Harm him, and I’ll punish you.” I opened my mouth, and Julien lifted his hand. “You’re wondering how I’ll do it.”

  He slipped a finger beneath his suit coat sleeve and removed a super-thin knife with a short handle. The blade ended in a severe point. “Imagine this sliding into your heart. It won’t kill our kind, but it will paralyze you. Once you’re immobilized, I’ll have one of my staff take you to the basement. There’s an alcove with a fresh batch of mortar and bricks. You’ll spend time encased behind that wall. Thanks to the dagger, pain will be your constant companion along with the darkness. Or I might alleviate you of that menace known as a head. The choice will be mine.”