Chapter 13
Bash
After dropping Elina off at home and what happened with her grandmother, I want to drive around for a while and feel the wind on my face. Heading toward Lake Pontchartrain, I get on the Causeway Bridge and open up the throttle. The 24 mile long bridge over open water gives me time to think. The first thing I think about is how sad it is that Elina hasn’t ever done this. She has never made this drive and felt the air from the lake blowing across her face. I want to give her the world so she can hold it in the palm of her hand. If I only get the next 30 or 40 years with her, I want her to spend every day with a smile on her face. The thought that keeps trying to invade my mind, that makes me flinch every time I fail to push it out of the way, is how will I do that given the current state of things in Ville de Sang and the world. We are left alone only because we stay put. Do I think, for even a minute, that humans would let us exist as we do if we made spectacles of ourselves on crowded American streets?Absolutely not.
After I ride for a few hours all over southern Louisiana, Icross back on the Twin Span bridge so that I can pass through Little Woods, and Elina’s house. I drive slowly so the engine is quiet and stop down the street. Jumping onto the roof, I quickly find the windows that belong to her. While I don’t look into them or watch her sleep like a creep, I do sit and listen to her breathe while she rests. Her breathing is a little uneven—she is definitely asleep but she is restless. Perhaps she was crying or sad. Maybe it’s a nightmare. Tightening a fist, I wish I could be there with her, holding her, calming whatever is causing her turmoil. One day, but not yet.
Finally admitting to myself that I have put off talking to mother as long as I can, I head back to the Quarter.
“Mother,” I greet her as I walk into her apartment across the gardens ofCattedrale del Trono Notturno, down Pere Antoine Alley.
Looking up from where she is perched on a chair—her back ramrod straight, not a single muscle relaxed—she levels me with a scathing look of reproval. “Sebastien Enrique.” I am really in trouble if she’s using my full name. “Nice of you to stop by. Would you like a glass of blood or did you get it from your pet?”
“Yes, thank you. I have not drank today.” I refuse to rise to her bait. If she wants to know something, she is going to have to ask.
“Interesting that I stumble upon you, loft reeking of pheromones, with a human, and you have not drank? What exactly do you think you’re doing with a human woman if you aren’t feeding from her, especially if you’re fucking her.”
I flinch at the vulgarity and disgust in her tone. “She’s…she’s Elina. Just Elina.”
“Just Elina,” she sneers in a mocking tone. “Who the hell is Elina? The woman from the brothel?”
“She’s everything, Mother.” I drop onto the chair oppositeher. “She’s the light in my darkness. She fills the void in my soul. She makes me hope, she makes me want to dream again. She is everything.”
“It sounds to me like you love this human? Have you even considered what this will mean? Would she give up the light for you? Forsake her humanity?” Her tone has not even softened, she asks all of these questions with a rough edge to them.
“I don’t have answers to any of that right now. It’s new—we are figuring it out.” I don’t seem to have answers to a lot of things lately.
“New? Figuring it out?You’re kidding. Are you saying you love this human? Is this why you’ve been spending all your time at that brothel? Is she a whore?”
“The correct term is ‘sex worker’, Mother.” She sends me a steely glare and I roll my eyes. “No, she isn’t a sex worker, she is a bartender and a tour guide.”
She scoffs as though Elina is not even worthy of her attention due to some classist bullshit. “A bartender for my son, the HEIR!” She yells at me. “Get out, I am disgraced. Disgusted. Get out, Sebastien. I don’t even want to look at you.”
“Mother, please, you’re being really dramatic. I’m not making any decisions right now.” I lean against her knee. “Just trust me. When the time is right, I’ll know, and then you’ll know too.”
“Get out,” she whispers. I stand on shaky legs and walk toward the door. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until my fist is buried in the sheetrock next to it. I will leave, and I don’t want to return.
As I feel the sun pulling me to rest, I lay in bed thinking about her face. How stunning she looked as she laid underneath me and came on my fingers. My cock hardens as I think of the way she looked, felt, and smelled as she came apart.Gripping myself, I stroke my length until I am completely pulled under.
I sit upright as the sun moves toward the horizon and begins to release its hold on me. Dressing quickly in a solid black polo, black slacks, and matching lace up boots, I peek out the window to ensure the sun is no longer shining on my balcony so I can escape before the sun sets. My door faces northeast, so as the shadows lengthen across the French Quarter, I head out toward Rue Bourbon and have a clear path of shadows all the way.
Walking through the doors of the Velvet Tomb, I lean against the door frame, catching Elina’s eye a moment later.
“Hey,Tesoro. I missed you while I rested. Is everything ok at home?” I ask her as I lean in for a kiss. After witnessing her restless sleep, I’m worried about what may be going on in her head.
With her voice full of confusion, she asks me about my appearance before the sun has set. I spend a few minutes filling her in on the inner workings of the vampire sleep cycle. Nothing exciting but she seems interested in this information, I don’t blame her. There isn’t really much available about bloodline vamps.
Her conversation with her grand-mere after I left is a bad development, especially now that I have finally convinced her to give me a chance. It feels like we’ve been having the same conversation on opposite sides of the city. I refuse to allow regret to cloud my thoughts. This is right, I can feel it. She says all of these things openly and without hesitation. I can see it inher eyes—she blames me for it too—the orphans, the widows, the graves. I want to tell her I will take her far away from this place. I will burn the whole city down for her, except, I feel like that would make things worse and she would hate me more.
“Look at me, in my eyes, and tell me this feels like a mistake.” I study her eyes, her face, her body language. I know she is trying to figure out what to say. If she asked the same of me, I know I wouldn’t even be able to form the sentence.
“No, it feels like the most right thing I have ever done. And that scares the shit out of me.” This uncharacteristic admission of feelings gives me hope that I am not failing at this.
“We are going to figure this out—our families will have to learn to accept it,” I tell her, hoping she can hear the sincerity in my voice, and she doesn’t let this keep us from trying to be together. Neither of us are children who need permission to fall in love. I can only hope she feels the way I do.
We stare at each other, the weight of this thing between us. It’s not casual. We won’t fade away. She looks like she is considering something. Instead of saying it, she smirks.
“I guess it didn’t go well with your mom. I have to get to work, but good to know we have a complete uphill battle here.”
