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Keiron. His name is not one I expected to hear again. At least not so soon after my awakening. Even a hundred years from now would be too soon. Yet, despite the gnawing and rattling sound in my ears at the mention of his name, I can’t help but allow curiosity to assuage my rage. Dalcour is right. Keiron was the first to mention Dacari when he brought Mikkel, the Scourges and Skull aiding to his threats. It was Keiron who alone slit Dauphine’s throat, offering only a callous rebuke and slithering grin when I denied his demand of my cousin. And through it all we never learned the true motivation behind his heinous betrayal, nor his devious schemes.
“You can’t possibly be considering this ridiculous suggestion, Damina! Tell me you’re not!” Jackson barks as a dim look of intrigue crosses my face as I think on Dalcour’s recommendation. But it is the sound of Jackson’s typical rebuke that sends my thoughts from mere interest to defiance. Despite everything, Jackson doesn’t understand, I’m not that woman anymore.
“What other recourse would you offer, Jackson? That is anything other than your condemnation!” I shout back at Jackson, allowing a low snarl to bellow through me. A quivering jolt of energy rivets through me, sending my body hurling in his direction, squaring him toe-to-toe. He jumps back, likely more out of disbelief than fear. He’s still not accustomed to this side of me, nor does he like it.
I don’t care.
“Look, Beautiful, I don’t want to make you do anything too hasty. Maybe Lord Nashoba is right. Maybe it is too soon,” Dalcour says softly coming to my side, resting his large palm on my shoulder. At his touch, I feel the unnerving energy within me settle. I am equally comforted by his fragrance. Closing my eyes, I inhale enough to fill my lungs, exhaling slowly as I reach my arm across my chest to squeeze his hand. Dalcour closes the gap between us slightly, allowing our bodies to touch as his belt buckle grazes my abdomen. He squeezes my hand and takes a step back while his fingers lightly trail down my shoulder as he pulls away.
I am thankful that Dalcour can still quiet the chaotic force surging through me. Looking over my shoulder I smile at Dalcour and he returns the gesture until his eyes meet Jackson’s watchful glare.
“Damina, I want answers too!” Jackson begins in a more subdued tone. “I’m just worried about you is all. I mean, it hasn’t even been an hour since you awoke. Besides, my brother hasn’t said one word since he’s been in captivity.”
“Well, he did say one thing,” Dalcour replies in an equally calm voice.
“What? What did he say?” I ask.
“He asked for you,” Jackson answers.
“As a matter of fact the only thing he said when he came to is, ‘Where is Damina?’” Once more, as Dalcour replies, his memories flicker sharply through my mind. Images of Keiron screaming my name in a panic as he came to after I fell cold in Jackson’s arms rip through my core. Now, more than ever, I realize Keiron may in fact have the answers I seek.
“Damina, darling, before you speak to Keiron there is more we should discuss,” Aunt Delia exclaims in an almost brutish manner.
“Aunt Delia, what else needs to be said? If Keiron has any inkling of where Dacari might be then I need to speak to him now,” I snap in a tone brasher than I intend. Aunt Delia’s eyes well with tears once more, and it is evident my harsh mood is more upsetting to her than I realize. Although I’m still upset with her, I need her to know the love between us is untarnished. “Listen, Aunt Delia, I know there is much we need to cover. But we’ve lost too much time already. If I’m the only person Keiron is willing to speak to, then I must confront him. Perhaps we can finally get some answers. Know this, I love you and I always will!” I tug her arm and pull her in for a brief embrace and immediately turn to follow Dalcour down the hall. Jackson shares a quaint nod with Aunt Delia before rushing to my side, taking my hand in his as we head to the Civility Center.
“Here take this,” Dalcour says in an unusually commanding tone with his arm extended toward me, holding a long beige trench coat.
“What’s this for?” I question.
“Well you can’t go storming through the Civility Center in nothing but your jammies. It’s enough I’ve had to ask Mark to close the mansion today. I haven’t been able to give Titan and the others a heads up to clear the CC. I’m sure neither Lord Nashoba nor I are in the mood to knock the lights out of the first person who sees you in that cute little ensemble.” Dalcour regards me with a familiar and hauntingly seductive glare reminiscent of the night we met at Razors. I can’t help feeling weak in the knees as my mind recalls that night. Quickly, I turn to face Jackson and put on the coat, hopefully to douse my want for Dalcour.
Just when I thought I had enough strength to resist him, I now know that is impossible.
Jackson regards me with narrowed eyes and a stern stare as he helps me into the coat, but he presses his lips tight, likely reining in his disapproval. He’s working hard not to upset me. I can tell neither he nor Dalcour want to break whatever truce they bartered, but one thing is sure: it won’t last long. I only hope it holds long enough for us to find Dacari.
Despite the obvious changes I noticed during my brief time in the mansion, I am comforted the path to the Civility Center remains untouched. Dalcour continues leading the way as Jackson and I follow close behind. Jackson’s hand in mine is firm, and I spy him gazing at me periodically from my periphery. As much as I want to turn my attention to him, I am fearful of what would happen if I did. My gut tells me he would toss me against the wall and kiss me. Although that would be uncharacteristic of Jackson Nash, something tells me that like me, he’s not quite the same as I remember. Perhaps it’s my desire playing tricks with my mind, but I’m not opposed to the idea of him taking a little liberty.
At least a little.
Nonetheless, I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt Dalcour. I’m sure all of this is hard enough on him as it is. To be fair, I don’t want to hurt either of them. Thankfully, my pursuit of Dacari and seeing Keiron will douse the vacillation of my heart long enough for me to weigh my options.
The oval wooden door of the Civility Center makes a rattled and squeaking sound as it opens just as Dalcour lifts his fists to knock. But it is the look of a familiar yet beautifully stunning woman holding the door open that makes the pace of my heart quicken while bringing the first sincere smile to my face since my awakening.
How happy I am to see my beloved Brae on the other side of the threshold! Although, I did not expect to see her so soon, I am thrilled to see her!
“Well, well chica! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Brae shouts as she immediately yanks me over the threshold for a tight embrace. I equally surrender to her hold on me and squeeze her tight. For the first time, I detect the sage smell of juniper berry and lemon exude from her pores. Her scent is akin to the essential oil diffuser I keep near my bed at home. Just as I feel her letting go, I maintain my hold enough to take in one more whiff, thankful to see my friend again.
“I missed you too, Damina!” Brae exclaims as she pulls herself from my grasp, smiling up at me brightly. “But if all you wanted was a pajama party, you could’ve just told me, girl!” Just as she speaks a sweeping wind wafts through the hall of the Civility Center, blowing my trenchcoat open as the door slams shut behind us. We both chuckle as Brae tugs on both ends of the belt, motioning me to wrap up.
“Yes, it is wonderful to see you again, Damina—and I mean all of you,” I hear a rumbling and husky voice call from the narrowed darkened corridor. Titan steps from beyond the shadow of the hall with his hands in his pockets in a more casual manner than I expect from him. Wearing a muscle-sculpting black tee, dark navy trousers and with his hand rested on his holster, he paces toward me in his usual confident stride and broad smile. He keeps his eyes locked on me, ignoring all others in the corridor as if it were just us two.
Attempting to break his gaze, I peer around his shoulder for his sisters, Ketu and Keitai and am surprised not to find the playful twins ambling behind him. I pull the belt of the trench tight and hold my hand at the top of the coat hoping to conceal as much of myself as possible but as I catch Titan’s eyes trail downward, I notice the top of my legs forcing through the unbuttoned coat. He stretches his arm toward me offering a hug but Dalcour jumps between us with Jackson marking his place dutifully at my side.
“Well, I see not much has changed in the last forty-or-something days, huh Damina? Still got these fellas in a tizzy I see,” Titan says in a lighter tone looking just over Dalcour’s shoulder until our eyes meet.
“She’s come to see the prisoner, not you Titan,” Dalcour snaps.
“What a shame. I was only hoping to thank Lady Damina for protecting my sisters,” Titan answers while never taking his eyes off me. Though I am not remotely attracted to Titan, I can’t help but blush in the presence of these gorgeous stallions surrounding me. From where I stand, there isn’t an imperfect blemish on Titan. Yet, despite his deified physique, marble-gray eyes, and enigmatic smile, not a jolt of electricity moves me at the thought of him.
“Where are your sisters?” I reply over Dalcour’s hulking shoulders. I know Titan can read my thoughts and I want him to know they are my only concern.
His eyes fall slightly at my response, but he quickly shakes off my dismissal and his smile brightens once more.
“My sisters are with Trieu. There are celebrations here today and I didn’t think it wise to bring them to the CC.”
“Celebrations?” I question. I’ve never thought of the Civility Center as a place for celebration.
“Why yes. Today Ms. Grenoble is celebrating the anniversary of her making. She became a vampire right here in New Orleans. She always comes back here to commemorate the day. I am sure Lord Marchand will attend the celebrations as he always does. Isn’t that right, Lord Marchand? He is her sire,” Titan coyly replies with a dark glare.
While I detest the sneering smirk etched across Titan’s face as he speaks, it’s the familiar sound of the name, Grenoble, that causes an unknown stir within me. I feel as if I should know this name, but I can’t place it.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Brae abruptly replies, yanking me from my pondering between Dalcour and Titan, but Jackson remains firmly at my side. “Look, are you sure you want to do this now? You’re just waking up!” Brae stands squarely in front of me, attempting to keep me from spying the intense stand-off between Dalcour and Titan.
I can’t help but be curious for their indifference. The two seemed like allies the last time I saw them together, but something has changed. But they are not the only ones who have changed. Brae looks noticeably different from what I recall. There’s little evidence of the goth girl I once knew save her purple lipstick and trademark gloves with leather bracelets to match. Instead of her usually overly gelled hair, she lets her bouncy auburn ringlets hang free with only a light smear of blush framing her pear-shaped face, all while wearing a salmon-colored tee and torn black jeans.
“Chartreuse Grenoble!” I blurt, turning back toward Dalcour as I finally recall why that name churns like butter in my memory. She’s the one Jerrica referred to as her rival. “You sired her?” I can’t help but feel threatened by the mentioning of her name.
Dalcour opens his mouth to speak, but Brae yanks my hand once more, pulling my attention back towards her. “Hun, no worries. That was a long time ago! Eons before you two became little love magnets!” Brae says, nudging my shoulder. Jackson forces a faux cough and Brae lowers her head and pulls me away from the men.
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” Brae whispers in my ear before turning back toward our company. “Look guys, I hate to break up whatever you have going on, but Titan is right, there’s a bunch of my kind on their way to the CC today. So if Damina is going to talk to Keiron, now is the time. Mark’s got all the Loup-Garou Guard ready to protect the Quarter and Garden District. The last thing we need is any distractions. Besides, Big D, I need you to check out the footage we just got back from some of my contacts.”
“Loup-Garou Braelyn? Really? Is Mark really sticking with that?” Jackson laughs darkly over his shoulder.
“Excuse me, but what does that mean?” I asked confused as all the men chuckle in unison. Brae pouts her lips and folds her arms, turning her head away from us with childish petulance.
“Stop teasing guys! Look, Mark’s building something different here! He’s the resident NOLA alpha so, if he wants to call it Loup-Garou instead of Wolf Guard, then so be it!” Brae counters.
“You are right about one thing, Braelyn, he is the resident alpha and he can lead his charge as he sees fit,” Dalcour replies in a soft tone, still laughing as he walks to Brae’s side and pats her shoulder in consolation.
“Well, Brae hopefully when he is professed as the sovereign alpha at the next Lunae Lumen caeremonia he won’t have to defend his freewill to name his guard as he sees fit. Once we find an elder willing to perform it—”
“What is a Lune Lumen caeremo—-whatever you just said?” I ask Jackson, feeling like the only dummy in the hall.
“It’s Latin for Moonlight Ceremony,” Jackson answers over his shoulder, followed by a warm smile. He forms his mouth to continue but is quickly interrupted by Titan.
“So we’re going to just act like the wolves control the city now, huh? I’ve carried the weight of guarding not only New Orleans, but overseeing the Guard operations for this entire continent, and you act like this little mutt can just take over? I’d die first before I see the Guard led by a sniffling mongrel!”
“Watch your next words carefully,” Jackson snarls, squaring himself in Titan’s face.
“Make me, Nashoba. I dare you to try,” Titan taunts, his eyes gleaming bright red and fangs protruding.
“Titan!” Dalcour shouts in a commanding tone. “Calm yourself, old friend, lest you forget your place and to whom the entire Guard belongs!”
Quan as-tu perdu ton chemin? Titan mutters his response in French, almost too quiet for human ears to comprehend.
“No, my friend. It is not I that lost their way. Besides, this is not why we’re here,” Dalcour gruffly responds with a low snarl escaping his curled lips.
“Well, now that we’ve defined pecking order, can we get moving? Really, Big D, I need you to come with me to the security room. I’m sure Jackson can take Damina to see Keiron. Dranoel is at the gate with Lux and all other entrances are secure.” Brae tugs on Dalcour’s arm, but he remains unmovable as his face-off with Titan remains.
“Dal,” I say softly, pulling away from Jackson, moving toward Dalcour’s view, hopeful to avert his gaze away from Titan to me. “Brae’s right. I need answers. I need to find Dacari.”
The hard lines in Dalcour’s face soften as I speak and he turns toward me, cracking a reluctant smile. Titan walks back to the dark corridor from where he first appeared but stops briefly and looks at me over his shoulder with a coarse smile. Something about Titan still feels off to me, but I do my best to shrug it off. Dacari, not Titan, is my number one concern.
“Damina,” Brae’s loud and brash tone snaps me from the gloom-ridden gazes of Dalcour and Jackson. “Like I said, if you want to see wolf boy, you’re gonna have to do it now! I’m sure Mr. Nashoba can keep you company in the lair. Big D, you’re with me. We need to view this footage pronto.” In a flash, Brae rips Dalcour from my view, leaving only Jackson and I in the hall. I’m surprised Brae could pull Dalcour from his frozen-like state, but I can only reckon the mood was a bit too awkward even for him.
“Well, I guess that’s our cue.” Though I expected Jackson’s tone to be stiff, it’s surprisingly light. He cracks a half-mouthed smile while his eyes search my face as he tries to discern my mood. I place my hand in his extended palm and momentarily relish in the warm and peaceful comfort of his touch. “Are you ready?” Jackson asks, pulling me closer so that our bodies are touching.
I inhale his spicy and sweet aroma only to meet his longing eyes staring back at me. I’m not sure if it’s my intuition or not, but everything in my being says that Jackson wants to plant his lips onto mine. Oh, how I wish he would. Instead, he takes a deep breath and steps back and continues leading us through the corridor with my hand securely placed in his.
We reach a tall steel door and Jackson pulls a rope to his right and a loud bell chimes on the other side. Almost immediately the door opens, and I see Dranoel standing just beyond the threshold. He’s wearing a long black leather trench with leather pants to match and a deep purple colored tee. Although I can tell Dranoel is old enough to be my father, the youthful bright smile gleaming through his bearded cocoa skin makes me think otherwise. His golden eyes shimmer as he and Jackson nod at one another before returning to its normal hazel hue.
“Lord Nashoba, it’s good to see you,” Dranoel says in a tone more husky than his frame suggests.
“Always a pleasure, Dranoel. Though I wish it were under better circumstances. Let me introduce you to—”
“Ah yes, the lovely Lady Damina Nicaud. Yes, she needs no introduction. I know we didn’t get a proper meet-cute when you were here last, but I’d never forget a face. At least not a face quite as beautiful,” Dranoel responds, cupping my hand while offering a slight bow.
“It’s nice to meet you, officially Dranoel.”
Dranoel bows with a broad smile before looking back up to me and Jackson. “Well, I know our time is limited so I’ve taken the liberty to secure your brother, my lord. Of course he still hasn’t spoken, so I’m not sure that he’ll be up to holding conversation.”
“He will talk to me,” I quickly answer just as Jackson parts his lips to respond. As much as I want to linger in the pleasantries with Dranoel, I need answers and I intend to get them from Keiron.
“Yes, my lady,” Dranoel answers while waving his hand for us to follow him through a large gated door. He opens the door with a long metal key, and we go down a small flight of stairs to the prison area.
Just as we walk down the staircase, the stench of urine, blood, and what I detect to be the smell of rotting flesh sours my stomach and I instantly cover my nose and mouth. Jackson’s nose squinches as well, but he keeps a protective glance on me while keeping my armed draped tight through his.