“I was there all last night.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.” A lot of his brethren, Jacob included, had families when Isabelle made sure they didn’t survive whatever had befallen them. Families they had to watch age and die, families they could no longer be a part of, interact with or even be seen by. Jacob had been engaged and now wanted nothing more than to settle down with his chosen mate.
“They scratch an itch, provide a necessary service, that’s all. There’s no…connection.”
Both of them eyed the couples congratulating Beau and Emma, noted how the men constantly touched their mates, all of whom were either naked or barely clothed, making that necessary skin to skin contact easier. The pleasure that could be seen reflected on their faces went beyond the physical, sexual stimulation that kept their strength and powers elevated and it was that deep commitment that Jacob craved more than anything else, which was why he didn’t understand Damien’s refusal to take what was given to him and run with it.
“You’ll find her,” Damien told him even though he had no idea if that was true. According to the book he had found while tearing apart Isabelle’s chamber in a fit of rage, they would each find their mate when the time was right.
“Yeah, so the prophecy says, but when?” The one hundred and fifty year anniversary of his ‘death’ was coming up, and it had been a long century and a half for Jacob who had spent his first decade as a vampire mourning the loss of his fiancé and the promise of their future together.
“I don’t know, Jacob, but until then let’s both congratulate Beau and Emma.”
They were halfway across the room when Damien was stopped by Gideon, his mate, Ava, at his side, her pierced nipples prominent pinpoints, the gold loop piercing her labia clearly visible through a sheer, gauzy skirt, the only garment she wore. “Got a minute, Damien? It’s important.”
“Sure. Let’s step outside.” Turning to Jacob, he added, “Tell Beau I’ll visit with him in a few minutes.”
Damien opened the nearest French door that led out to a tiled veranda that overlooked the large two acre lawn. The full moon lent enough light to see the well maintained gardens and to make out the distinct shape of the Spanish moss covered trees that decorated the banks of a large pond at the far end of the property. Beyond that, the night sounds of the bayou echoed in the sultry, spring night air. The musical cadence of birds, crickets and frogs could be heard over the soft sound of rushing, gurgling water. Damien smiled when a roar that could have only come from Tasha, one of his beloved Bengal tigers, rent the air and drowned out all other sounds for several seconds.
“She’s mad about something,” Gideon remarked as he pulled Ava in front of him and set her hands on the wrought iron rail separating the veranda from the grass.
“Micah must be encroaching on her territory. They’ll work it out.” Damien had spent a lot of time with the large cats during his five year hiatus in the rain forests after first fleeing from Isabelle’s fortress. Discovering one of the perks of being a vampire was a special rapport with tigers, he had become fond of the species and when he had heard of two tigers who were being sorely mistreated in a small traveling circus, he had wasted no time rescuing Tasha and Micah and making sure their owners were too scared of him and the threat of what he was to ever replace them. His original intention, after nursing them both back to health, had been to find a sanctuary or zoo for them to live out the remainder of their lives, but they had settled in to the bayou, enjoyed the close proximity to water, the sufficient cover and trees they required and the abundance of prey that wandered onto his property.
Damien watched without qualm as Gideon absently ran his hands up Ava’s waist to cup her breasts, his thumbs grazing her turgid nipples in an absent minded caress that nonetheless had Ava shifting against him. “What’s bothering you, Gid?” He always knew when something was troubling one of his brethren, and Gideon had a very troubled look on his face.
“This is what I miss about your place, Damien, the peacefulness away from the chaos.”
“It’s Mardi Gras. We’ll have more chaos in the next few days than you’ll see all year in Columbus,” he returned dryly as he waited for Gideon to tell him what was bothering him.
Chuckling dryly, Gideon conceded the point. “True.” Turning his gaze away from the moonlit scenery, he couldn’t disguise the worry in his eyes or his voice as he said, “Last week there was a murder of a young college girl. Her body was found in an alley, drained of blood and mutilated. Just like….”
Damien held up a forestalling hand. “She’s dead, Gideon. Jacob and I left her in a pool of blood and the sun peaking on the horizon. There was no way she had the strength to teleport or even dematerialize before the sun turned her to ash.”
For centuries Isabelle Sartre had terrorized Europe by turning rogues loose at night to wreak havoc and murder amid the countryside. The only time she ventured from her stone fortress in the Carpathian Mountains was to find more victims to turn into mindless, bloodsucking rogues eager to do her bidding, fuck her as often as she wanted until the madness started to take them over. Once a rogue showed signs of insanity, she simply staked them, watched them turn to dust and replaced them with a new victim. Until she had turned Damien at the Battle of New Orleans in 1815.
“I saw the body, Damien. That poor girl looked just like victims of rogues. I know, I know,” he admitted when Damien started to argue again, “she’s dead and there’s never been any sign or indication that there are any more master vampires, but I can’t help but be concerned. I’ve, we all, have a lot to lose.” Bending his head, he kissed Ava’s cheek, his hands kneading her soft breasts, breasts he never got tired of touching, even after more than twenty years together.
“Do you need me, Gideon?” Ava asked softly, turning her head to look up at him. She knew how worried he has been since that murder last week.
“Always. You know that.”
Ignoring the small twist of envy churning in his gut at their shared look of intimacy, Damien said, “I’ll check with the others, see if anyone else has heard of a similar death in their area. If so, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Nodding, Gideon replied simply, “Thanks.”
Shutting the door behind him as Damien returned to the ballroom, he saw Gideon bending Ava over the rail, lifting her flimsy skirt and sinking his cock into her swollen pussy. Ava’s cry heralded her climax, but he knew she’d have several more before Gideon found his own release. He couldn’t help but picture himself in a similar position, Abrielle in front of him, her soft, wet pussy clutching his cock in spasmodic release, couldn’t help b
ut imagine the pleasure he knew awaited him in her willing body, couldn’t help but long to hear her voice crying out in orgasm, just as he couldn’t prevent the picture of a young peasant girl lying dead under him, her body drained of blood, her face slack with the pleasure she had achieved before he had killed her. He would never forget the malicious, gloating look on Isabelle’s beautiful face or the knowledge that she had set him up. Isabelle was dead, she had to be dead, because if she wasn’t there was no way in hell he was meeting the dawn until she was.
New Orleans, with its colorful history of death by fire, torture, suicide, murder, disease and execution, was the perfect city for the undead. At least Damien has thought so ever since he had made his home near the Big Easy after his own death. The Battle of New Orleans may have been the grand finale battle in the war with Great Britain and America’s greatest land victory of that war, but it had been far from his last battle. As he and Jacob made their nightly patrol along the dark and dangerous back streets of the French Quarter, doing what they could to keep the ignorant, but innocent mortal citizens safe, he knew they would never win the war against evil.
The hordes of people that flocked to the Quarter every night quadrupled during Mardi Gras and here on Bourbon Street was where the most decadent of the debauchery took place, as well as where the most assaults occurred during this festival time. People barely noticed them as they walked among them every night, never knew they were there to keep them safe from those mortals bent on causing them harm. The history and architecture of the city’s oldest neighborhood drew residents and tourists alike, people who were so immersed in the sight of charming lacy galleries with their cast iron balconies and the ivied walled courtyards of private residences and others who were there for the decadence of the sinful nightlife, partaking of the pleasures to be had in the cabaret/burlesque clubs and various bars, that they were oblivious to the dangers that lurked around every corner.
There was a time, long ago, when Damien and his brethren had made it their sole mission in life to keep his city safe from the insanity driven rogues Isabella sent to wreak havoc among the innocent in constant retaliation for him escaping the imprisoned life she thought he should be grateful for and for rescuing his brethren from suffering the same fate. It had taken him over fifty years, but thankfully he and Jacob had managed to rid the world of her evil reign in 1865. After checking Jon and Luc for the telltale mark that labeled them among the few men who could survive as a vampire longer than a year without going mad and committing suicide and finding the crescent shaped wine colored mark on both brothers right palm, he and Jacob brought them to the plantation to heal and help them through their transition as well as celebrate Isabelle’s demise with the rest of his brethren.
“This madness never ceases to amaze me,” Jacob said as they maneuvered through the throng of party goers, the majority of them dressed in the carnival’s colors of purple, gold and green. A young woman, no more than eighteen or nineteen, flashed her bare breasts and received a string of beads for her exhibitionism, a common sight during the revelry even though thinking this act was based on tradition was a complete misconception. “A week from now those pretty breasts are going to be splashed on the internet and she will have had plenty of time to sober up.”
Damien shrugged as he glared at a drunken would be pickpocket and sent him scurrying away empty handed. “She’s young, but old enough to know what she’s doing. Except for the embarrassment, it’s harmless fun.”