“And live happily ever after?”
“Of course. ” Cian grinned at her. “What else will we do?”
“Die horrible deaths. ”
“Pessimist. ” Cian kissed her soft lips lovingly.
“Realist,” she answered.
“Badass,” he whispered against her lips. Sliding his hand up under her shirt to rest against the small of her back, he said, “Now, to finish this night properly. . . ”
The fear in her voice faded, replaced by desire. “Yes, please. ”
Cian pressed her lips to hers and set aside his worries for another night.
Chapter 5
Rachon set her cellphone down on the battered kitchen table. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains over the kitchen sink and brushed against her cheek. The checkered dish towels, cracked black and white vinyl floor, and decor heralded back to another era. Rachon’s mother had rather liked the Forties and Fifties and kept the house suspended in time. Her mother, known to everyone as Mother Delia, was in the living room watching the late night talk shows with Prosper.
Outside, children played in the moonlight, their squeals and laughter mingling with the boisterous voices of her neighbors. The Sullivans were having a family reunion that was running late into the night. The smell of the crawfish boil turned her stomach, but she rather enjoyed the sounds of the party. The music made her sway a little as she stood contemplating her conversation with Cian.
When Etzli had told her that Santos planned to test Amaliya’s power, Rachon thought it was a foolhardy move, but not unexpected. Santos wanted Amaliya for himself, but he’d have to find a way to capture her. Testing her powers was the best way to determine the woman’s weaknesses and determine the best plan to acquire her from Cian. Of course, this meant killing Cian, but Rachon knew from experience the Irishman would not die easily. He was stronger, older, and more resourceful than most of the vampires in North America.
As Rachon walked through the kitchen, the floorboards creaked under her feet. She would have to replace the floors soon and have the foundation checked. The old house was a money pit, but her mother loved it. Prosper hated that she and her mother lived among the poor. Prosper lived in the elegance and wealth of the French Quarter along with his brothers. Rachon couldn’t bear to leave the old neighborhood behind until she had to. She loved the sense of community, the beauty of the people, and the strength of will of those who had to work even harder for the simple pleasures of life. She kept her corner of the neighborhood free of crime as payment for the joy she received from watching the people who inhabited the homes around her around her living their daily existence. Besides, her mother hated being uprooted, so it was easier to alter to memories of her neighbors than actually upset the older woman.
The small house was tucked along the northern edge of the Ninth Ward in New Orleans. It was a simple white clapboard bungalow with a nice big porch surrounded by her mother’s lush landscaping. Her mother loved to putter around outside at all hours of the day. The house had survived the terrible wrath of Hurricane Katarina only because of the massive magical wards Rachon had placed on the property over the course of the previous century. The neighborhood had suffered massive losses though. She’d secretly funded the reconstruction of many of the homes through a dummy foundation. Sadly, there were still destroyed homes slowly rotting away on abandoned lots.
The neighbors thought Rachon was an artist, living odd hours, struggling to make it big. She sometimes chatted with them, but not very often. They could sense there was something off about her, something not quite right. Rachon had vivid memories of the many times she had been hunted by her owner’s henchmen and by vampire hunters, therefore she tried to keep a low profile.
“Mama, I’m going to check on the girl,” she said as she walked into the living room.
Her mother leaned over the arm of her leather recliner, the only new piece of furniture in the house for the last twenty years. The older woman was very tiny, with a delicate face and slim frame. She had been a house slave before Rachon had rescued her. She had pale green eyes, light brown skin, and her white hair was twisted into a bun on top of her head. Rachon’s father had been black as night with maroon eyes just like his daughter. He had died before she had rescued her family and burned the plantation.
“She’s such a quiet thing. I keep forgetting she is back there,” her mother admitted.
Prosper grunted at something funny on the TV, not really paying attention to their chat.
“I just want to make sure she’s okay. ” Rachon pressed her hand against her mother’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. Her mother had refused to become a vampire, but had agreed to take sips of Rachon’s blood to extend her life. Delia was very devout in her faith and afraid of losing her soul if she became a vampire. She prayed faithfully at church every day for her vampiric family. Rachon often wondered if God was listening.
“Oh, that girl isn’t okay, but she’s quiet. So it’s all good. ” Her mother snuggled her face into Rachon’s hand as she raised her own arthritic hand to touch her daughter’s fingers.
“You tired yet?” Rachon asked, smiling as her mother kissed her palm.
“No, no. Don’t need sleep yet. Besides, that wild party next door won’t let me sleep. But they did have some good crawfish earlier. Mmmm. . . ” her mother grinned.
Rachon lovingly kissed Delia’s cheek.
“Rachon, let’s make Rhianna into a vampire,” Prosper said from the sofa, grinning.
“Let’s not,” Rachon answered.
“Always ruining my fun. . . ”
Delia laughed and playfully slapped his knee. “Always on the prowl for a pretty girl. ”
“I got a pretty girl right here,” Prosper answered, resting his big hand over hers.
“Oh, you’re such a liar!