House of the Rising Sun (26 page)

Like maybe if he hadn’t been such a big part of Livie’s life, she would have tried harder to reconnect with Harlow. He knew deep down Harlow blamed him for some of that. Even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it, those feelings of resentment would surface someday.

Dulcinea put her hand on his arm. “Hey, I know you’re anxious to get on with chasing these vamps—we all are—but considering the last couple of days, I’m more shocked this little cocktail party didn’t happen sooner.”

He looked away from the window. “You’re right.”

“Judging by the sound of what’s going on out there, Harlow’s not much of a drinker.” Dulcinea moved toward the door. “How about I help her upstairs, get her to lie down for a bit? A little nap might help.”

“I’ll help her.” After all Olivia had done for him, he could
look after Harlow. Showing her he wasn’t such a bad guy was just a side bonus. Like being close to her, even if she was half out of her head.

Dulcinea made a funny little noise as he opened the door.

He paused, already regretting that he was about to dig further into whatever nonsense she was cooking. “What?”

“You’re
so
gentlemanly.” She waggled her brows suggestively. “It’s very sweet.”

“Stop reading into what’s not there.” He scowled. “I’m the Guardian. It’s my job to take care of people.”

“Especially if those people are super-cute and kinda tipsy.” She snickered.

With a sigh, he left Dulce behind to squat by Harlow’s chair. “Hey, how about we get you upstairs for a little nap before you read that cross for me? Make sure you’re in good shape for it.”

Harlow sucked down the last of her mint julep, then plunked the glass onto the table. “Those are really, really good. Lally is a mean mix-alog… misholist… mixologist.” Her eyelids had gone from heavy to drooping, but her face held a sad sweetness unlike anything he’d seen there before.

“Yes, she is.” His traces of remaining anger dissolved. Harlow’s indulging might have cost him some time, but pushing her wasn’t healthy. She was already dealing with so much. “What do you think? You want to catch some shut-eye before we do some work?”

“Sure.” She yawned and tipped her head back like she might go to sleep right there, but at the last second raised her hand to him. “Help me up.”

He stood and took her hand. Her glove was damp with the condensation off the glass. He pulled her to her feet. She sagged against him, so he hooked his arm around her waist and held her upright.

“You’re tall,” she muttered. “And you smell like barbecue.”

Lally laughed. “She’s right. You do. Y’always smell like you been working the smoker at Quinton’s Rib Shack.”

“It’s my smokesinger blood—can we talk about what I smell like later and maybe get her someplace to lay down?”

Lally threw her hands up. “All right, all right.”

But Dulcinea already had the door open. “You need help?”

“No, I got her.” He scooped Harlow into his arms and carried her into the house.

When they hit the steps, her head lolled back and she smiled at him, eyes dreamy and half closed. “No one’s ever carried me before.”

“I’m taking you up to your room.” And trying not to think about the body filling his arms. Warm, soft, curvy. There was no way her baggy clothes could hide her shape now. If not for
Nokturnos,
when he’d first held her against him, and the little black dress she’d worn to the memorial, he would have been more surprised, but now… now his brain couldn’t help but connect how she looked in that dress to how she felt in his arms.

He pushed her door open with his foot and carried her to the bed.

As he set her down, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the nub of one of his horns. “I’ve wanted to touch these ever since they started peeking through your hair.”

He swallowed hard. “You already touched them during
Nokturnos
.” Even though her hands were gloved, the sensation made his lids drop to half-mast and a little groan escape his throat. She had no idea what she was doing. No idea how the feathery touch of her fabric-encased fingers shot sparks into his blood and raised pleasure bumps over his skin. He tried to pull away but her grip tightened possessively. His body constricted in response.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that was you then.” She laughed softly. “What are these things for anyway?”

Shaking his head only caused more friction. “They, um, they…” He inhaled, hoping to clear his head, but succeeded only in filling his lungs with her sweet bourbony, minty perfume. “I… you should probably… stop.”

Instead, her other hand latched on to the second protruding root. She grinned like she’d just won something. “Are they handles, Augie?”

Hell’s bells, she was killing him. His entire body went taut under her touch. “Harlow, I need to…” What had he been about to say? His brain was short-circuiting.

She pulled his face closer, her expression deadly serious. “You scare me, you know.”

“I scare you?”
Breathe.

She rocked her hands up and down, making him nod. “Yes. You’re so fae and just like Dagger, all take charge and protective and it’s sexy but I am not going to fall for you.” Her amber eyes practically glowed with sincerity. “Do you understand? I don’t like being fae and I don’t wanna be your sidekick.”

He nodded under his own power this time. “Absolutely.” He had no clue what was going on, but her drunken confessions were certainly entertaining. He wanted to ask who Dagger was, but thought better of it.

“Good.” She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the tip of one horn. “Hmm… pointy.”

“How about you get some sleep?” He tried to ease back, but bourbon had apparently kicked her fae strength into overdrive.

“Okay.” She tugged him toward her and the next thing he felt was her warm mouth pressed against his, her lips as sweet as the mint juleps that had gotten them into this mess.

He jerked back in shock, expecting her to protest, but her hands fell away. Her eyes were closed. He sat on the edge of the bed trying to figure out what had just happened.

She rolled to her side and tucked one hand beneath her cheek, looking as harmless as a newborn kitten.

He shook his head, the fire she’d stoked in his body showing no signs of cooling off. His senses seemed just as slow to return.

That was the only way he could explain being afraid of a kitten.

T
he slight throb in Harlow’s head was nothing compared to the sheer embarrassment of the things she’d dreamed about. Her body was still warm from the visions her brain had produced. All that hard muscle covered in sweat-glistened gray skin and those horns. Her fingers twitched as she involuntarily gasped. In the name of all that was electric, she was wholly grateful that dreams were still private.

As it was, she planned to avoid direct eye contact with Augustine for the immediate future, not only for the dreams she’d had but for drinking herself into stupidity when she’d promised to help.

Happily, she’d made it to bed, although she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten here. Just that those mint juleps had been delicious. And dangerous.

She tapped her LMD to life and checked the time. Almost one. Her stomach rumbled to announce she’d missed lunch. And she still hadn’t read the cross for clues to help Augustine. After a quick stretch, she went downstairs to apologize for passing out.

Lally was in the kitchen cutting up a whole chicken. “There you are. You have a good nap?”

“Maybe too good.” Harlow froze, realizing what she’d said. But that was silly; Lally wouldn’t know what wicked things had happened in her dreams. “I mean, those mint juleps really knocked me out.”

Lally whacked the cleaver down, separating a thigh and a drumstick. “You’re a lightweight, child. Should’ve cut you off after one. If I’d a-known, I would’ve watered them down some.” She winked. “Next time.”

“I don’t know if there should be a next time.” No sign of Augustine. “I guess I missed lunch.”

Lally pointed the cleaver at the fridge. “There’s a plate of ham sandwiches and a bowl of potato salad in there waiting on Augie and Dulcinea to get back, but you don’t have to wait. Help yourself.”

Harlow opened the fridge and pulled the food out. “Where did they go?”

She shrugged. “Guardian business, Augie said. Should be back soon. Also said we weren’t to open the door to anyone and to call him immediately if anything strange happened, but that he was posting another lieutenant to keep an eye on the house all the same.”

“Like in case that man comes back.” Harlow got a plate and a fork, then sat down to eat, hungrier than she’d been in a long time.

“I suppose so.”

“Was Augustine upset I passed out and didn’t help him?”

“Not a bit. Augie understands you needed some downtime.” She put the last piece of chicken in a bowl and went to the sink to wash up. “I know he’s anxious to find who’s letting these vampires into the city.”

“Me too, because that person is ultimately responsible for my mother’s death.” She ate another bite of sandwich. “When he finds them, do you think he’s going to kill them?”

Lally took a carton of buttermilk out of the fridge and poured it into the bowl with the chicken and the seasonings, then mixed it with her hands. “Maybe. Can’t really say.” After
washing up, she put the buttermilk and the chicken back into the fridge. “Does that bother you?”

“No. I think I could probably kill that person myself.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“Me, too, child. Heaven help me, me too.”

“It does kind of bother me. That I could feel capable of taking a life.”

Lally snapped the cover back on the potato salad. “Vampires aren’t people. Not those that killed your mother. They’re monsters who don’t deserve another day on this earth.”

“Did you see them?”

Her hands stayed on the container, her gaze focused on some dark memory. “No. But I saw what they did to her. Monsters.” She lifted her head and looked toward the window, hiding her face from Harlow as she did. “Monsters,” she repeated softly.

“What about that woman that came to the funeral, the one that’s married to a vampire?”

Lally’s brows went up. “Chrysabelle? That’s a different situation. That vampire isn’t controlled by his bloodlust the way these monsters are.”

She wanted to ask more, but the back door opened and Augustine and Dulcinea came in. “Told you we wouldn’t be gone long.” He glanced at Harlow. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Great.” Horrible. Having him in the same room was worse than she’d imagined. His closeness made the images from her dreams seem real again. She rolled the edge of the napkin in her fingers to give herself something to do. “I can read that cross anytime.”

Thankfully, Dulcinea sat next to her. She reached for a sandwich and Harlow took the opportunity to change the subject. “Where did you guys go?”

Dulcinea leaned back to show off some kind of nightstick hanging from her waist. “I had to do some stuff to officially become one of Gussie’s lieutenants.”

Augustine growled. “First order of business is never call me that again.”

Dulcinea stuck out her tongue at him. “You’re not the boss of me. Well, technically, I guess you are now. Whatevs.”

“Gussie,” Harlow echoed. That was so much better than Augie. She stored that away for the next time he called her Harley. “Must remember that.”

“Please don’t.” He grabbed a sandwich and ate it leaning against the counter. “You want to do this in the library or someplace else?”

Dulcinea tipped her head. “Augustine filled me in on what happened with Branzino. I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” For once, the strange fae didn’t seem interested in sparring. Harlow shrugged and glanced at Augustine. “I can handle the library. What’s done is done, right?”

He swallowed a bite and nodded. “Exactly.” But the look in his eyes seemed to be recalling something very different besides the fight with Branzino.

She stood, the air suddenly very close. “I’ll wait for you both in there, but don’t rush on my account.” Without waiting for an answer, she escaped to the hall.

The small table in front of the mirror still held an arrangement of flowers from the memorial. The rest had been taken to the cemetery, but these sat beside the picture of Olivia. Harlow looked up at the black bunting draping the hall mirror. There must be some fae tradition about how long that stayed up. Not knowing only reminded her how disconnected with this world she was.

She’d never liked the idea of being different, which was
exactly what being fae was. Maybe not so much in a place like New Orleans, where people claimed their fae heritage like it was a badge of honor, but in the rest of the world, most humans still feared what they didn’t understand.

In the same way that Lally had called the vampires monsters, other people referred to fae the same way. Harlow never wanted to feel that kind of animosity directed at her. She felt human. Why couldn’t she just live her life that way?

She could. If her life wasn’t in New Orleans.

The decision she’d thought she’d made reared its head again. Come back here after her sentence was served and deal with being fae and all that brought with it, Augustine being no small part of that, or stay in Boston and live her simple life, taking the chance that someday Branzino would come after her there.

He wouldn’t, would he?

No matter how many times she answered that question no, it never rang truthful.

Her self-preservation instincts knew that returning to New Orleans after prison was the only safe answer. Could she live here without embracing her fae side? Augustine was the Guardian, not her. She wasn’t required to recognize her bloodlines, was she?

If she knew more about what was acceptable and what wasn’t, she might feel more comfortable, but learning about fae history and traditions just so she could ignore them seemed a crooked path.

She stared into the mirror, hating the strange color of her eyes, which identified her as something more than human. Before the covenant had been broken, no one had understood those things marked her as fae. Most just saw her as an oddity. At boarding school, her looks and her insistence that no one touch her had made her an outcast. In college, a bit of a freak.
Both of those experiences had pushed her to pursue computers as a way of supporting herself without having to be around people. Funny how her fae gifts had been both the cause of her withdrawal and the means to enable it.

The light pouring through the glass front doors flickered as a car drove past and for a second, it seemed like her image in the mirror had turned into her mother’s face. She blinked, shaking her head. Just a trick of the light, she told herself.

“Everything okay?” Augustine walked out from the kitchen.

She turned away abruptly. “Yep. Just waiting on you.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at the mirror. “Did you see something in there? Something odd?”

“Other than my own face? No.”

“There’s nothing odd about your face.”

Unwelcomed heat rose in her cheeks. She couldn’t take even a hint of him being sweet to her, not after her wicked dreams. “I’ll be in the library.” She left him standing there and slipped into the cool, dark room that smelled of paper and leather and whatever else made up the perfume of real books.

But a new scent soon overrode the old one. Smoke. She didn’t have to turn to know that Augustine had followed her in. His presence made her hyperaware of what little distance there was between them. She moved toward the wall that held a framed map of New Orleans in the 1800s, putting a couch between them.

“Harlow.”

“Hmm?” She stared at the map intently, but it was impossible to see anything more than lines and squiggles with her concentration focused on the man behind her.

“Harlow, look at me.”

She still didn’t turn. “Do you think this is an original? Knowing my mother, probably.”

He sighed. “We need to talk about this or it’s just going to get weirder and that’s going to make sharing a roof difficult.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A blur of movement caught her eye. He’d leaped over the couch and now stood directly beside her. She backed up, her hand on her heart. “Don’t do that. You scared me.”

He didn’t look the least bit sorry. “You mentioned that.”

“What?”

He took a step forward. “That I scare you.”

“I don’t remember saying that.” She shuffled back.

His eyes twinkled. “I bet you don’t remember kissing me, either.”

“Of course I remember kissing you. I also asked you not to bring it up again. Isn’t there some sort of ‘What happens during
Nokturnos
stays in
Nokturnos
’ kind of thing?”

“I’m not talking about
that
kiss. I’m talking about the more recent one.”

Her mouth dropped open and her heart jumped into it. “What? When?” She bumped into one of the bookshelves lining the walls, unaware she’d been retreating.

“Right after I carried you up to your room and you told me how I reminded you of someone named Dagger.”

She closed her eyes and groaned softly. “I am never drinking again.”

“Never?” His voice was closer.

She kept her eyes shut. “I’m sorry about kissing you, I really am.”

“I’m not.” Then his mouth was on hers, insistent in a way she’d never felt. Not that her experience with men was so great.

Unable to resist, she kissed him back. His hands slid around her waist and he pulled her closer. Emotion began to flood her senses. The strongest was the feeling of desire, a rare silvery
thread that tangled with another darker thread the color and texture of pain. The pair wound a pleasurable path through her, filling her with longing for more. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over and the lines of emotion unraveled, spinning out into fading wisps of sensation.

Her fingers went to her mouth, her head still registering what he’d done. “What did you do that for?”

“To see if kissing you sober had the same effect as kissing you drunk.”

“I was only tipsy,” she whispered, realizing the difference because now she was drunk. On him and how he’d made her feel.

He stared at her like he was waiting for an answer. “So? Did it feel the same?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember the tipsy one.” But she’d remember this one, that was for damn sure. “Don’t do that again.”

He almost had the nerve to laugh. “Oh, I won’t. Not until you ask.”

“Like that’s going to happen.” The question was already forming in her head. Stupid, traitorous brain.

“At least now we know.”

“Know what?” She really, really needed her hands to stop trembling.

“How this kissing thing makes us feel when we’re sober.” What was that supposed to mean? Before she could ask, he walked to the doors and called for Dulcinea, that they were ready.

Ready? She wasn’t ready for anything but maybe a cold shower and the chance to disappear into Realm of Zauron for a good eight hours. Some people imagined themselves in a tropical getaway, but her happy place came from leveling up her warrior mage.

Dulcinea came in and shut the doors behind her. She approached Augustine, who now stood in the center of the seating area. “You’ve got the cross?”

He pulled it from his pocket and held it on his flattened palm. “Right here.” Then he looked at Harlow. Not a trace of what had passed between them showed on his face or in his eyes, which could only mean that the kiss had not had the same effect on him as it had on her. “You going to join us?”

“Yeah.” She could be just as nonchalant as he was. Determined to prove it, she adopted an air of bored indifference as she came around the other side of the couch. She plopped down in the chair, happy to have Dulcinea between them like before. “There’s a good chance I’ll get more with this than I did the jacket.”

Augustine sat. “Why’s that,” he asked.

“The cross is metal. And I’m really good with metal. It seems to kind of be my thing.” The confession stripped her bare. It was more than she’d ever said about her gifts to anyone, other than to complain about them, but after that kiss she was so wound she couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

“Cool.” Dulcinea nodded.

Harlow wriggled her gloved fingers. “Not so much actually.”

Dulcinea nodded thoughtfully. “I guess it could suck in its own way.” Since the thing with Branzino, Dulcinea had eased up on the attitude toward Harlow.

“It does.” She looked at Augustine as she pulled her gloves off. “Let’s do this.”