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Chapter 12
“It was night, and the rain fell; and falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood.”
~Edgar Allan Poe
Darkness always brought with it a calming sense of serenity, a cloak of rightness that rested on the shoulders like a comforting weight. Yet, with that velvet hug came a gnawing hunger. A need to sate the desires of a dark soul. Tonight, was one of those nights.
With eagle eyes, he watched his prey through the windows of the dimly lit building, moving slowly, struggling, nearly begging for relief. This was a kindness. An act of mercy. A good deed for not only himself but many—his target, their struggling loved ones, those with no time to help . . .
It was a completion of the circle—eternal life for both him and his chosen—though in vastly different ways.
He’d watched this quarry for a couple of nights now, taking in their habits, their defenses. He didn’t always do this. Sometimes, the darker side of him demanded instant gratification, and he acted on impulse like he had in the park with the motorcycle man, instinct driving him to choose. With this one, he’d nearly approached the night before, but something in his gut had told him that it wasn’t the time. Not yet. Now, however, theotherinside of him demanded satiety, and he was helpless to refuse.
Go. Take. Claim what is offered. What is yours to possess.
The symphony of midnight washed over him, and a frisson of awareness skittered over his skin, dumping adrenaline into his veins better than any hit—even of the finest drug.
When his intended opened the door and moved into the yard, as they did every night around this time, he felt another surge of excitement, almost sexual in nature, and sucked in a shallow breath. How fortunate this quarry was to have been selected. What an honor to serve.
Distracted and intent on their nightly chores, his offering was caught completely unawares by the first flash of silver in the moonlight, rendering them malleable in seconds, severing the spine in such a way that it killed feeling but kept the blood pumping. He gently lowered them to the ground, careful to pay the proper respect. He was ready. Prepared. He had done this several times now and had a system, only getting better with each offering made.
Brushing a gloved palm over a face so full of emotion and . . .life,it brought forth tears and a surge of gratitude, almost enough to feed the demon within—almost, but not quite.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
He made quick work of freeing the life-giving elixir from its vessel, using tools of his unique design, and then taking it into himself while still hot, feeling the rush of life and strength and vitality it offered. It untethered both himself and his intended from the crippling grip of sickness. When he finished, he dropped his head back with a groan, the silky glide of pure mortality escaping to dribble down his chin.
The darkness within him purred in delight.
As quickly as possible, he gathered what remained of his sacrifice’s offerings to take with him, ensuring that he staged the scene, said a proper prayer to his unholy patron, and left a coin for Charon to ferry them across the River Styx.
His donor was now free of their earthly tethers and on the way to Paradise. He wouldn’t leave them stranded on the bank.
He wasn’t a monster, after all.
Chapter 13
Hanlen
I hadn’t gotten nearly enough done yesterday despite ordering delivery and not even showering or getting out of bed. I’d camped out on the mattress with my tablet and laptop but didn’t even make a dent in what I’d hoped to accomplish. My mind was all over the place. Yes, Dustin was no longer my concern, but I had a ton of other casework to deal with. Things I could do remotely and virtually. That had been my caveat to my mother. That I would come and oversee the show’s happenings and make sure the plantation was looked after, but that I still needed to do my job. Granted, that had all been before Dustin Reynolds’ murder, and even more so before meeting Deveraux Glapion.
The man consumed my nearly every thought now, and it was utterly disconcerting. And that kiss at Lafitte’s . . . oh my God, that kiss. It didn’t help. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, and it wasn’t something I would likely forget anytime soon. I had been just drunk enough not to care. To throw caution to the wind and tell him what I wanted. And he had delivered spectacularly. I had no idea what it meant or what the rest of this trip or beyond would hold, but I decided I deserved a little happiness in the shitshow of my life. We’d texted several times yesterday, and every time the phone dinged with a new message, I felt a smile overtake my face. It’d been a long time since I’d smiled like that, for no huge reason. And it felt wonderful. But that didn’t help my concentration.
It also didn’t help that I hadn’t been sleeping worth a damn outside of thoughts of Dev, either. Dreams like the one early in the trip, of the figures in my hotel room, kept replaying, making me a little bit crazy. I knew it was simply a byproduct of what I had been immersed in since arriving back in Louisiana, but it was still annoying. Every time it happened, I woke feeling a strange sense of urgency that I couldn’t place. As if I should know something and do something about it. But I couldn’t pinpoint it.
Last night’s had been particularly brutal. I’d felt almost attacked, the overall tone of the dream more menacing than usual. But I could glean no meaning from the bits I remembered when I woke, and I couldn’t put my finger on a catalyst for why I was having these night terrors at all. I wondered if it was because I was back in New Orleans and still without any leads regarding Reagan’s murder—despite me doing some digging yesterday. It was as likely an explanation as any. Sadly, I was going through my liquor stash quicker than I’d like because of it.
I was supposed to meet Dev and some of the crew at Arborwood later today. The other night at the bar had been wonderful. The cast and crew were chock-full of some really great human beings, and I actually looked forward to spending more time with them and getting to know them better.
I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was nearing noon. I had coffee in my system, but my stomach would be grumbling for food soon, and I needed to get up and get ready to head over to the plantation.
I wrapped up what I’d been working on, saved the files, closed my laptop, and then got up to finally take a now-much-needed shower.
Turning the dial on the wall, I waited for the water to heat and stretched my tight and achy body. I knew better than to sit like that while working, but sometimes planting your butt in a nice squishy mattress was exactly what the day called for, carpel tunnel and wry neck be damned.
When I moved to shuck my nightshirt to hop into the hot spray that I couldn’t wait to get lost in for a few, my heart sank. My necklace.Reagan’snecklace. It was gone.
I frantically searched the room: in and under the bed, amidst all the bedding, in the bathroom, and near the desk. I threw on some clothes and rushed outside, thoroughly searching the SUV.
