Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (19 page)

He did. One look into those gorgeous blue orbs was all it took. He groaned as his orgasm started to release.

"Kiss me. Please. I need you to kiss me as you come."

Gladly.

The minute his lips touched hers, she tightened her thigh hold on him and, locking her fingers in his hair, pulled him as close as possible. She whimpered under his kiss and he felt the muscles of her core clench tight as her orgasm joined his.

It lasted longer than it should and left him weak, a little bit drained, and 100% satiated. Propping onto his elbows so that the bulk of his weight was supported, he looked at her and grinned. She started to smile and then frowned.

Shit.

"Oh! Shit!"

He jumped up and ran to the bathroom, shutting off the water, the level lapping dangerously close to the edge. The overflow drain was working overtime trying to keep up.

"Good thing I decided to splurge on the oversized tub and the water pressure sucks," he said, emerging from the bathroom. "Otherwise we might have had a mess on our hands—"

He stopped short when he caught sight of her. Back to sitting, sheet wrapped tight around her, knees pulled to chest, looking...morose.

Well, didn't that just drive a knife into his gut.

"What's wrong?" He didn't really need to ask; he had a pretty good idea what was upsetting her, but it was a way to fill the awkward silence.

Of course she just shook her head.

It was one thing to have the woman you love—shit...wait...what?—pine for another man, it was another when that man was your long deceased grandfather. And to have the best sex of your life tainted by that knowledge was not a pleasant realization.

"He didn't die in your arms."

Her head shot up.

"What?"

"Laurent. He didn't die in your arms."

"He may as well have." She shook her head again. "You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't I? I was there too. I got to live the whole thing...when my dickhead brother knocked me out. Leaving Élise's and feeling pretty damn good," the same way he'd felt moments ago, "getting confronted by some jealous southern dude, probably from Georgia judging from his accent, getting called a monkey half-breed, and then getting shot. And then the very unpleasant experience of dying in the street, and having to see the woman you just fell in love with watch you die—knowing there's nothing you can do to ease her heartbreak and feeling like a coward because you couldn't prevent it. Yeah, I think I understand just fine."

She just stared at him for a while and for a moment he thought based on her expression maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was just processing Élise's grief and her unhappiness had nothing to do with him. Maybe she really wanted to tell him how much he meant to her and with everything that had happened didn't know how.

"Wait, did you say Georgia?"

Or maybe not.

He swallowed what was left of his pride. "That's what the accent sounded like to me."

"What did he look like?"

He started to describe the man but she didn't give him the chance.

"Thirties, brown hair, yellow teeth? Like, smoked-three-packs-a-day yellow?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly smiling at Laurent so I didn't see his teeth but yeah, sounds about right."

"Henry..." Her eyes went distant again and then teared up.

Seeing those blue orbs gloss over with sadness made him want to reach for her, to comfort her. He refrained.

Her gaze snapped to him. "We can't tell Élise. It would kill her to know. She was supposed to dine with Henry that evening. She blew it off to be with Laurent."

"We can't tell Élise anything. She's dead."

Lottie buried her face in her hands. For a minute he thought just the mention of her dead relative was enough to send her over the edge. But then she rose up. "God, you're right. This is messing with my head big time."

"There is a nice hot bath waiting for you." He gestured toward the bathroom. "I hear many people find them soothing."

Her expression turned wistful. "I could definitely stand to clean up." Her gaze shot to him. "I mean—"

He held up his hand to stop her. He didn't want to hear any more. "Hey, I'm going to dig up some grub."

From wistful to shameful, she was a woman of constantly changing emotions. "Sure."

Perfect. He had to get out of there. He knew he'd need to deal with what had happened between them at some point, but right now there were other, more pressing issues. Namely, his crazy fucking family.

"Be right back," he said to Lottie without looking at her.

Within seconds he'd made his escape only to linger in the sitting room. Should he be leaving her alone? In a tub filled with water? What if she blacked out again?

He looked toward the bedroom door.

God, if he went back in there now he'd seem like the biggest creep. She hadn't had any problems with water since he hung the chicken feet, so maybe they were doing their job.

He'd have to chance it.

Ten minutes. He could be back in ten minutes. Not only did he need to clear his own messed-up head—which was a big part of it—but he also needed to dismantle Sanite's altar and then find Julien and beat his ass. Not necessarily in that order.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

L
ottie was a mess of tattered, conflicted emotions as she watched Xavier scurry from the room. She wasn't lying when she said her head was screwed. Her brain was pretty much scrambled eggs at that point.

What the hell was wrong with her? How could she seduce Xavier, knowing what Élise had experienced? How could she put her own pleasure above the tragedy of her great-grandmother? Just because she, Lottie, had made the sudden realization that life was short and she should seize the moment didn't mean she should disrespect the memory of her ancestor.

But she had. And in the dirtiest possible way.

And it was so good. He felt so good. Touching him, being with him, under him… everything was so perfect. He was perfect.

God, but every time she thought about the amazing experience of being with him, she was reminded of Élise's tragic love affair. How could she revel in her own happiness when Élise's had been stolen?

Emotionally shattered and unable to comprehend everything that had happened, she grabbed her sleeping tank and shorts, and made her way to the bathroom. How sweet of Xavier to draw her a bath. It was just one of many sweet gestures he'd made in the last several days. Gestures she had no idea how to repay. Gestures she didn't feel she deserved.

The water was still hot enough it stung a little as she stepped into the tub. It was a good sting, but she still had to ease into it. With a sigh, she leaned back against the porcelain and let her mind go blank.

She was only able to enjoy a few moments of silence. The shrieking ripped through her eardrums before the memory hit her. Like the cries of a feral animal, it assaulted her with despair, anger, and horror.

Élise's head jerked up. Too drained to cry any more, too exhausted to move, she'd stayed with Laurent's body for what seemed like a very long time.

The inhuman sounds came from a Creole woman, the same woman from the courtyard where she'd spied on the Voodoo ceremony…where she'd first run into Laurent.

The woman's face was twisted in anguish, contorted into features that seemed better suited to an underworld demon than a young woman. Her black eyes, the same impossibly dark eyes Laurent had, were filled with pure, vile hatred.

With little warning, she lunged at Élise with all the ferocity of a wild animal. She jumped back and the woman cowered over Laurent.

"What did you do?" she hissed between wails.

"Nothing." With startled steps, Élise backed away.

"You killed him! You killed my brother!"

"No! I..."

The woman jumped up. "I told him to stay away from you! I told him he had no business with a white woman! He didn't listen and now look!"

"I didn't..." She didn't what? Know their affair might cause trouble? Of course she knew. But she never dreamt…

"I should kill you," the woman said, her voice filled with venom. "A life for a life." Her expression turned hard. "I will kill you."

There was nothing but truth in her words. And there was no doubt in Élise's mind she intended to follow through with her promise.

"I curse you. Even in death you will have no rest. Your kin will know no peace. As you have ruined my family so shall yours. You will walk this earth until the blood of your blood is spilled upon your grave."

In an instant, everything changed. Despite her thundering heart, all Élise could think about were her children. Of course she feared for her life, but she feared more for theirs. Though it was tempting to run back into the house, to bar the doors and latch the shutters, she didn't dare. To do so would be leading a wolf into the chicken coop.

As the woman lunged again, hands outstretched like claws, she turned the other direction and ran. Ran in a way she hadn't run since she was a child. The woman—Laurent's sister—followed, cursing and screaming. Some words she recognized. Some she did not. 

She ran without a destination in mind. Her mind a blur of fear, regret, and sadness. Shrouded by grief, the streets were no longer familiar.

The longer she ran, the more frenzied her enemy became. Shouts became screeches. Threats became more powerful, more intense. She kept repeating over and over, "You will not rest until the blood of your blood is spilled upon your grave!"

Élise didn't know what it meant, but she knew to be frightened. There was no escape, no way to flee the enemy. Her lungs burned, her sight unfocused, her slippers long discarded, her bare feet were bloody. Fear and the desire to protect her children kept her moving.

A thick fog had settled over the city, making navigation even more challenging. She made a quick left and then a right, hoping to lose the still screaming woman in the fog. It didn't work.

Ahead, she could hear the lapping water of the Mississippi River kissing its muddy banks. The fog would be thickest there. On the docks, she might be able to hide in it. At least confuse the woman enough to escape home.

The wood was rough under her already damaged feet. Splintered and uneven, it dug mercilessly into her flesh.

Still, she pressed on. Running down the dock until she came across some large shipping barrels, barely shadows in the dense fog. She could no longer see her enemy, but she could hear her. With attempted stealth, she slipped between two barrels and went still.

She heard the woman slow her chase and then pause. "You think you can hide from me?" she cackled. "I will haunt you in life. I will haunt you in death."

Élise wanted to plead with her, beg for understanding and forgiveness, but she was pretty sure she'd receive neither. Laurent's sister was crazy with grief. And she could not blame her for that. Had she not three wonderful children to think of, she could easily succumb to her own sadness.

"Do you know what you've done?" the woman asked. Despair once again filled her voice and it cracked with tears. "You've taken everything from me. Laurent wasn't just my brother, he was my entire family, my life. But you stole that! You stole him! And you robbed a son of his father. Wasn't it enough he saved your child? You had to have more of him. You had to seduce him. Prey on his weakness as a man. When you know you had no business with him. That white men don't take kindly to their women mixing."

Élise bit her lip. God, she was right. Laurent's sister was right. She truly hadn't meant anything by it though. She just…wanted to…love him. And be loved by him.

Two things in this world that should never be wrong.

But they were—at least they were in the world she lived in. And she knew it.

She closed her eyes, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. What had she done? And how could she fix it?

Out of the mist, Laurent's sister's face suddenly appeared, inches from hers.

"And you will be punished."

Élise screamed, jumping backward. Her feet skimmed the edge of the dock, toes barely on the edge, and she flailed desperately to keep her balance. Her swinging arms weren't enough to stall her momentum and keep her on the dock. As she fell backward, her head hit something hard, pain and blackness shooting through her just as the cold, Mississippi water saturated her skin.

Darkness began to engulf her as liquid seared her lungs, choking out her breath. Her last thoughts were of her children and the man she'd never meant to kill.

~

Lottie woke up gagging on water. Submerged, she shot up in the bathtub, coughing and gasping for air.

"Oh my God," she rasped.

Suddenly she knew. She knew exactly what Élise was trying to tell her.

Even in death you will have no rest. Your kin will know no peace. As you have ruined my family so shall yours. You will walk this earth until the blood of your blood is spilled upon your grave.

She was trapped. Cursed by Sanite Villere to walk this earth. Separated from her family, from Laurent…

Blood of your blood.

Lottie was the blood.

Without drying off, she threw on her sleep tank and shorts. After grabbing a knife from the kitchenette, she slipped into her flip-flops and ran out of the Guest House suite. Unlike Élise's final run through New Orleans though, Lottie knew exactly where she headed.