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Today the mansion is buzzing with energy. With the Theadra and the LeClaires now taking refuge here until Dranoel and Lux take them to a safe house and the return of the Lothian wolves, the otherwise enormous estate feels small. Members of the Guard have also arrived, all awaiting instructions on plans to rescue Dacari.
In fact, everything is coming up Dacari.
My cousin has always craved attention, and now she’s getting more than she bargained for.
A small part of me is happy to see so many gathered for a singular purpose. For as frail as a union it may be to see the wolves and vampires coming together to stand against Decaux, I am more than thankful everyone can set aside their animosities for a larger goal. Still, even I am aware more than my cousin’s life is at stake. The very balance of the supernatural world depends on the allegiances of both the wolves and vampires.
While many of the Guard are accustomed to some shared dealings with one another, it has always been under Dalcour’s influence. Now, Mark, their new leader emerges. And with Jackson taking the helm as the Prime Alpha he was always meant to become, there is an anticipatory hope building in the atmosphere that is unfamiliar territory among those in the supernatural world. Gone are the siloed stances of primes against betas, Dunes wolves or otherwise. Even Altrinion-Vampires and rehabilitated Scourge—vampires like Brae now stand shoulder to shoulder, united under one banner.
Civility.
Dalcour wears a proud smile as he strolls through the mansion, and it is clear he is eager to see what he has worked so hard for to finally come to pass.
I even spy Titan slowly coming to the fold as he and Mark seem to have put away their differences as they survey maps together, marking areas to place the once estranged factions for battle. Even if their allegiance is temporary for this one purpose, it is good to see. Perhaps Titan has conceded that nothing will ever come of him and Brae. I hope so.
“This will work,” Aunt Delia says in a low voice as she comes to my side as I stand atop the double staircase landing, looking down into the foyer of the mansion. “It has to.” Aunt Delia’s tone quivers a bit as she speaks, and I see the worry in her eyes.
Squeezing her hand with mine, I smile, and she looks back at me and strains a smile through.
“Yes, auntie it will,” I answer her softly. “Besides, only Dacari could gather everyone together for such an event.”
Aunt Delia chuckles in response, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “You are quite right about that, darling. My Dacari always knew how to work a crowd!”
“And even without being present, it appears,” I tease.
“So why am I still scared?” Aunt Delia states, her eyes welling with tears.
I wish I had the right words to comfort her. But I don’t. This time I can’t blame the darn frog. I simply have no words of consolation or answers to give. I have none. Instead, I pull her into my arms and hold her tight.
My aunt has never been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but now it's exposed like a nerve. Still, she manages to grip her composure to some semblance of control as she pulls away from me, flattening the imaginary wrinkles from her black suit.
“So, you and Dranoel?” I say, bumping her shoulder, giving her a knowing smile.
“He’s a good friend,” Aunt Delia replies over her shoulder, refusing to look me in the eye.
“A good friend, eh?” Bumping her once more. She looks at me out of her periphery, never changing her stance.
“Yes, a good friend,” my aunt answers lightly bumping me back. We both laugh and I resign to let it go for now. Knowing my aunt has perhaps found someone to put a smile on her face makes me happy. She’s never been one to date or dangle a parade of suitors in front of my cousin and me. I suppose the time she spent with Decaux was enough.
“Damina,” I hear Brae call from below. “Have you seen Big D?”
“No, it’s been a while since I have seen him. Why, what’s up?” I question.
“We just got a big shipment of—um—smoothie juice here for all of us. He needs to sign for it since it’s being delivered here and not the Civility Center,” she answers.
“Okay, I’ll go check to see if he’s in his room,” I reply and head down the hall toward Dalcour’s suite.
Dalcour is standing at his terrace door as I arrive, looking out into the courtyard. He stands just shy of the curtains as he watches the sun preparing for its descent.
“It’s going down,” Dalcour says as I cross the threshold into his room. The tenor of his voice has an unexpected haunting chill to it. “Soon the sun will set, and the night will awaken. Are you prepared for that, Beautiful?”
“Dal, what’s wrong?” I question. Worry fills me as I wonder what could be bothering him.
“I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into is all. While I know the Lothians and Jackson think my brother didn’t notice them surveying the land—it just sounds too easy. My brother has never been known to make anything easy for me. I’m racking my brain. What did I miscalculate? What am I missing?”
“Dalcour, don’t do that to yourself. All these people are here now, working together—almost harmoniously because of you!”
“And it’s the almost part that troubles me most.”
“Do you think going tonight is too soon? Do we need more time?” I ask.
“It wouldn’t matter, I’m afraid. Whatever my brother has been plotting, he’s done to smallest degree. In just forty days after the death of Calida, my brother planned and carried out the Great New Orleans Fire of 1788, killing countless innocents. He’s had over two hundred years to orchestrate whatever is coming next. And for the first time, Beautiful, I’m afraid.”
“Dal, no! Don’t say that!” I cry, coming to his side near the terrace.
“But I am, Damina. I am. Most of all, I’m afraid we won’t come out of this. Together.”
“Dal, I—I”
“No words, right now Beautiful. Just give me a minute—just me and you,” Dalcour says softly, pulling me into his embrace.
Resting on his chest, I hear the strumming cadence of his heartbeat and I can’t help but smile. Knowing I had something to do with the return of rhythm to his heart swells me with joy. Never did I ever think I could care so deeply for anyone other than Jackson. Still, the thought of it breaks my heart. I know once this is all said and done, I’ll have a choice to make.
Even more, I am fearful that fate will once again intervene.
Holding my face in his palm, Dalcour looks down at me and smiles. Like my aunt, I can sense Dalcour’s smile conceals a deep sadness within him. Once more, I try to read his mind, but he’s still keeping me at bay. I wish I knew how to help him, but I press myself deeper into his chest, squeezing him tighter, hopeful it gives him some comfort.
He exhales in my arms and the strong scent of his lavender and jasmine aroma permeates the entirety of his suite, calling me deeper into his enchantment. Taking my chin in his hand, his fiery crimson eyes lock into mine with such a desperate fervor I almost wish no one was in the mansion except us two.
Fond memories of our first encounter, our dance at Razors nightclub, our first kiss at the Hall of Isis and the night we spent together replay sweetly in my mind. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess Dalcour was pushing a playlist of our happier times through my mind in a single score. And from the way he’s looking at me, my guess might be right.
Just as he pulls my mouth closer to his, we are both jolted from our longing stare when we hear the loud shouts of Brae from afar.
I guess I took too long.
“Oh, Dal,” I begin. “I forgot to tell you there was a delivery here for you.”
“Yeah, why don’t you come down and sign for your delivery, Marchand!” I hear Jackson shout. While I’m surprised to find him now at Dalcour’s door, it’s the anger marred across his face that gives me worry.
Before I have a moment to intervene Jackson tosses a large bag of blood across the room. It lands at Dalcour’s feet and he reaches down to pick it up. As he does, a deep grumble rumbles through his chest when he examines it.
“Jack, what’s wrong?” I question.
Jackson stares at me, his lips curl with disgust as he shoots glances between Dalcour and me. I’m sure he’s not happy finding me in Dalcour’s arms, but it doesn’t appear to be the cause of his ire.
“What’s wrong, you ask? Why don’t we let Lord Marchand tell us?”
Dalcour looks at the bag of blood and grimaces. He lets out another low grumble and looks over at Brae, who pushes her way past Jackson into the suite.
“I tried to stop him, Big D, but he’s just being nosy!” Brae contends.
“Indeed,” Dalcour gnashes through his teeth.
“Will someone tell me what’s wrong?” I plead.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Damina! It’s this fraud right here!”
“Fraud! How dare you?” Brae snaps back, jumping to Jackson’s face, but he doesn’t flinch.
“I didn’t stutter,” Jackson states with his eyes looking past Brae to Dalcour. “So why don’t you tell, Damina? Tell her where your blood supply comes from!”
“What is he talking about, Dal?” I reply. Turning to face Dalcour, the skies darken behind him and I know he is at the epicenter of the storm brewing from afar.
“We get the blood from various donors. Some are facilities we have an arrangement with, if you will,” Dalcour answers in a softer tone than his scowl suggests. He keeps his eyes fixed on Jackson, but darts a quick glance to me as he speaks.
“And by facilities you mean prisons, Marchand! Private prisons!” Jackson lashes back.
“Is that true, Dalcour?”
“Yes.” His answer is stoic and flat. There is no shade of remorse or regret. Still, he keeps his sights on Jackson.
“Are the donors living?”
“Some. But not all,” Dalcour responds.
“But Dal, you know that private prisons are responsible for the over and abundant incarceration of minorities, right? Even more than that—are these people willing donors? Do they even have a choice?” I shout, demanding answers and stepping away from Dalcour.
“I highly doubt it!” Jackson adds, coming to my side. “What’s worse is that he doesn’t care. Do you?”
“It doesn’t matter if I care,” Dalcour replies and the skies rumble, echoing his sentiment. “Why should it?”
“Because it should,” I answer back, my voice pleading with him for understanding. But Dalcour’s eyes tell me the opposite. His posture is unmoved, and his position remains unchanged. “I thought you said you only fed on willing donors?”
“Sure at the Civility Center, Damina,” Brae starts coming to Dalcour’s side. “With the prisons, well, it’s kind of a don’t ask—don’t tell type of arrangement. But I can tell you we’re not instructing them to kill anyone to meet quotas or anything.” Brae’s wide eyes are sincere as she talks, but’s it is the unyielding stance of Dalcour Marchand that gives me pause.
“No, but you’ll just turn a blind eye if they do! You’re herding people like cattle and do so as if there should be no consequence! You march around this mansion like you should be applauded for your deeds, but you’re no better than your brother—no better than the devil himself!” Jackson barks, pushing himself closer to Dalcour, but I keep a steady hand at his chest.
“I’ve never claimed to be the contrary,” Dalcour admits, his position more resolute than before. “Not once have I ever stood under the guise of who and what I am, Nashoba. Not once. Unlike you.”
“Dalcour, when we first spoke out on the porch you spoke to me of high ideals. A world of civility. A world of balance. A world where both human and supernatural could coexist. Was that all a lie?” I ask.
“No, there was no lie, Beautiful,” Dalcour replies, his voice now slightly softer than before. “But this world is not as black and white as your fiancé would make it out to be. There is a world of gray, Damina. And that is where I sit between a rainbow of gray. That is where the supernatural world fits in the order of it all. There are no easy answers. No easy fixes. I do what needs to be done. Not because it is the easiest or more amenable way—but because it is the only way!” Dalcour protests, throwing his hands up in the air and forcing the terrace doors open.
Mark, Titan, Gregory, Brian, my aunt and Dranoel now appear at the clearing of Dalcour’s suite. Mark and my aunt force their way past the others, both demanding an explanation for our raised voices. Dalcour ambles to the center of his bedroom, and gazes back and forth at our newly formed audience. The darkening skies lessen to a murky gray as he sighs and turns back to Jackson and me.
“How do you think we got to a place of civility, Damina? Do you think we just have humans lined up willing and ready to give us their blood? No, I am afraid not. The small faction of humans knowledgeable of our world are hardly enough to keep reformed vampires like Braelyn sufficiently fed. So yes! We’ve bartered agreements with private prisons, hospitals, blood banks, and whoever we can to ensure not only knowledge of our existence at bay but the large population of humans safe! Rehabilitated Scourge and vampires can now drink from the fountains we provide, sating their thirsts—but doing so off the streets! Because whether Scourge or Altrinion Vampires there is one thing and one thing alone we will always crave, and that is human blood! That is the truth, Damina. Anyone who tells you different is peddling horse dung!”
Dalcour’s words sit between us and for the first time, despite our attraction, I see our differences. Innately, I step back and away from Dalcour, closer to Jackson.
Who is this man? I ponder.
I am not sure if this is something I can willfully push aside.
“But what about Jerrica, Dal?” I say as though inspiration strikes. “You told me yourself she has lived on animal blood for over a century. So that means it is possible, right?”
“Possible and doable are two very different things, Lady Nicaud,” Brian replies, breaking through Dalcour’s silence. “I have watched Lady Jeffers suffer for years as she tried to subsist on animal blood. Charlotte even told me how you once punctured yourself in front of Jerrica and it took everything within her not to kill you. Now imagine going through that every day. It hasn’t been an easy road.”
“And look at her now, Damina,” Brae begins, in a low and gentle tone. “She’s dying. Maybe if she had human blood—”
“Are you all listening to yourselves!” Aunt Delia interjects. “At least Jerrica has been fortunate to survive this long. Perhaps it’s worth consideration.”
“Well, that didn’t work out to well for Damina’s parents, so—” Titan says coolly.
“Titan! Quiet!” Dalcour roars.
“Wait—what? What does this have to do with my parents?” I ask, walking closer to Dalcour. “Tell me!”
“Now isn’t the time, Damina,” Brae begs.
“No, it’s the perfect time, Marchand! What exactly do you know about Damina’s parents?”
“Beautiful, there’s no easy way to say this, but please know this is not how I intended to tell you.” Dalcour gazes back at my aunt and then back at me. “I don’t know if Delia told you, but your mother gave up her supernaturality to the Sacred Waters. But your father. While he was a blood drinker, he was like Jerrica—he lived on animal blood only. Now, it was probably easier for him than Jerrica because he was not subject to the curse of the sun. But had he been on human blood, the likelihood of his survival would have been higher. Instead, like Jerrica, his wound was fatal. His death eminent.”
“Is that what you’ve been keeping from me all this time? That’s what you’re holding back from me? Not only is your brother responsible for the death of my parents, but you have kept this truth from me too! How could you?”
“Because it should have been a conversation just between us two and not the entirety of the mansion!”
“That’s why you want me on blood?” I say as the realization of it sweeps over me.
“What!” Both Jackson and Delia scream, protesting in unison.
“Damina, I only want what I’ve always wanted—to keep you safe! And if it means you drinking human blood—then yes, I will do whatever in my power to get you comfortable with the idea.”
“But what if that’s not what I wanted?”
“I can’t risk losing you, Damina,” Dalcour replies in a whisper. His eyes are desperate as he stares into my own. I know it is taking everything in him not to pull me into his embrace and whisk me away. But even he knows better.
Tears pool in my eyes and disbelief shakes my core. My aunt tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. They are monsters, she said. What did I expect? Still, if others have to die for me to live, that is not a life I want.
My eyes are now fully open to the truth. Can I accept it? Blinking, I allow my tears their release as they flutter against my lashes. Swallowing the dry, thick air in my throat, I look back up into Dalcour’s eyes. Everything in me wishes the frog once again serves his purpose, instead he evades me, leaving me left alone with words I am almost too fearful to utter.
“No, Dalcour, you’ve already risked everything.”