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Another crash split the night, and this time the walls shook from the force of it. Ransome swore under his breath and rolled his shoulders before striding past them to the door. He opened it and ducked; a beer bottle barely missed his head as it flew past and smashed into the wall behind him.
“I’ll do some digging,” he continued. “See if I can come up with a name, but until then . . .” He grinned wickedly at the three of them and cracked his knuckles. “I could use a little help.”
Chapter 7
A crow flew past Ana and landed on the large stone angel that stood a few feet away. It stared down at her in silence, head cocked to the side as if it were about to talk.
She slid past the black bird, her feet gliding over the damp earth as she darted between the rows of graves. It was late, well on the wrong side of 4 A.M. The Voodoo Lounge had been an experience, an out-of-control crowd fueled by booze, loud music, and sex.
And a little bit of chaos. The aftereffects tingled along her spine and were the main reason she was so on edge.
It had been a mild taste of what was to come if Samael wasn’t stopped.
They’d returned to the DeLacrux mansion only a half hour before, with the jaguar warrior Nico along for the ride. Declan had been correct. The wards were strong, the wolves were patrolling, and Kaden was safe.
She’d grabbed a bag of O neg and disappeared into the attic, which, unconventional as it seemed, was where she’d always felt the most comfortable. She needed space, time to be alone.
Christ, who was she kidding? She needed to feed.
Blood from a bag went only a small way in satisfying her hunger. It kept her alive, but didn’t feed her soul the way fresh blood, warm blood, from a living human did. The essence fed her spirit and tempered the darkness that was part of her nature.
Most of the time it was an easy balance to achieve—walking that line between light and dark—but she could tell the next few days would test her like none before.
Being around Declan did nothing but make her crazy. She’d grown weak over the last two years. There was a time when she’d been able to resist the scent of his blood and block it out. Yet for
the past twenty-four hours it was all she had thought about.
Her fangs slid out at the thought of him and she paused near the far end of the cemetery.
The crow flew by once more and swooped toward the largest of the mausoleums. The damn thing seemed to be following her and she frowned as she watched it glide gracefully through the air.
It landed atop the stone structure, but this time it was no angel it rested upon. The crow shook out its dark wings and stared down at her from the peak of the DeLacrux tomb. Its small, beady eyes glistened in the moonlight and it cawed sharply.
Ana winced as the sound cut through the heavy silence. She glared up at the bird and hissed, her fangs fully exposed. It continued to stare down at her as if issuing a challenge. She hissed once more and was at the foot of the tomb in less than a second, her body a preternatural blur. The crow flapped its wings and then disappeared into the night sky, leaving her alone amongst the shadows.
She’d been in New Orleans for almost two weeks but had not paid a visit to this particular corner of the city, otherwise known as the city of the dead. If the humans knew how many undead still walked between the tombs they’d surely stay away.
She felt silent eyes watching her, the heavy stare of souls that still wandered. Her gaze swept the immediate area but there was no one willing to show themselves tonight.
She bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. The melancholy, the abject sadness that hung in her gut was painful. Ana had never felt so alone. So bereft. Seeing Declan again had stirred the pot, but running into Asher tonight, standing in the Voodoo Lounge once more, had set the damn thing to boiling.
She ran up the steps, her feet silent on the stone, and stood in front of the double doors. Names were engraved along each side, etched deep into the walls, and she traced them slowly. Her finger stopped at the last one. Jean-Charles DeLacrux. Her twin.
The whisper of a memory slid through her mind and she smiled to herself. Jean-Charles, or Jack as she’d called him, darting through the cemetery as a child and Ana fast on his heels. She leaned her body against the cold stone and rested her cheek upon the hard surface, her finger still caressing his name.
The last time she’d seen her brother had been nearly sixty years ago. He’d been covered in blood, mad with grief . . . and it had been her fault. If she’d kept her mouth shut . . . If she’d not been so jealous of his happiness . . . If Asher hadn’t been there . . . maybe his lover, Cerise, would have been spared.
“You are dead to me, sister.” They’d been the last words he’d spoken to her, and even now, the echo of them in her mind was enough to break her heart in two. Again.
He’d fled New Orleans, and his name had been etched into the stone by the local ruling council. It was a sign to all vampires that Jean-Charles DeLacrux was no longer welcome in their world. He’d committed a crime against their code and would be destroyed if he ever returned.
Ana grimaced as her fingers touched the other names that were there. So many of them. The DeLacrux were bad seeds. It was only a matter of time before hers was added to the list.
Bill wouldn’t be able to pull a miracle like that out of his ass. She’d long ago accepted the fact that she was indeed cursed.
Hunger stretched and ached inside of her, gnawing at the emptiness that was there. She blew out a ragged breath. It was time to hunt. She needed more than the bagged blood she kept at the house. With Kaden to look after, she’d been keeping close and not hunting like she should.
“Nice digs.”
