Chapter 19
Edwina
Soft laughter leaks past the locked door followed by the click of her heels and the ding of an elevator. I lean against the wall of the building. Seeing Cash again was hard. Damn hard. Hank was right. He should have been with me.
But my heart, a little bruised, is still intact. I can still breathe. My only regret is that I didn’t set Cash free earlier. He’s happy, and I’m getting there.
Liar. You’re already there.
I reach into my jacket and check my phone. No messages. I sent Hank a text earlier on the way to Kragen’s. Hank always returns my text messages without fail. Panic swells inside me. My heart beats like a jungle drum signifying war. Something’s terribly wrong. If it weren’t for Elijah and Damien, I would be responding like a stupid jealous fool, thinking Hank ran off with his ex. Unfortunately, I’m going to need some help to solve this problem.
It only takes me a few minutes to reach the Bloody Bastard, an upscale bar in the Vieux Carre catering to both humans and supernaturals. The packed place is the perfect environment to disappear in, but I’m not looking for refuge.
Thankfully, Julien Vladislav—the attractive owner—is busy admonishing an employee near the bar. It allows me the opportunity to slip through the crowd unnoticed. I head for the wooden door in the back of the room. No one’s in the hall outside the office. Opening the door, I discover the couple. A six-foot tall, muscular bald-headed male with his tongue down the throat of a slim female with waist-length black hair. They jump apart.
Morgan hisses. “Forget how to knock, Edwina?”
Ace, her partner and mate, grumbles as he perches on the edge of the massive cherry wood desk. “Edwina. Can’t say it’s a pleasure.”
They should count themselves fortunate it wasn’t Julien disrupting their intimate moment. I seriously doubt that NOLA Council or the ancient vampire ordained a mating between Morgan and Ace. Truth is her family embraces traditional prejudices. In Julien’s world, wolves serve vampires. They don’t fuck them.
“It’s not a social call. I need ya help,” I admit reluctantly.
Morgan, a dhampir—half-vampire and half-human—folds her arms over her chest. Someone should inform her that tank tops weren’t meant for DD breasts. “F’sure? This is an interesting turn of events. Who would have ever thought Miss Independent Vamp would come to us begging for help?”
This is one of those times when I truly hate the great-granddaughter of Morgan Le Fay. The dhampir thinks her ancestry makes her special and my superior. Yes, Morgan Le Fay founded the BlackGuard. And, yes, Ace chose the dhampir instead of me (that’s a story for another time). Those things, however, don’t give Morgan sovereignty over me. My fangs descend.
Ace, sensing a pending retaliation, jumps in. “What d’ya need, Edwina?”
Think of Hank. Fighting Morgan won’t help you find him.
My posture relaxes as I let my anger retreat. “Help locating my…my friend.” Putting a label on what Hank is to me isn’t necessary to find him.
The alpha stands up, ready to act.
“Not so fast, Ace.” Hatred seethes through Morgan’s warning. “Who is this so-called friend? We’re not tearing through Crescent City without a good reason.”
My lips curl back in anger, revealing my canines, and I start walking toward the stupid girl. Morgan’s pet dog won’t stop me when I tear into her neck.
“What in the hell are you doing in my office?”
All eyes turn. Julien’s dark gaze falls upon each of us.
“Father.” Morgan smiles brightly and rushes to her father’s side. She plants a kiss on his bronzed cheek. “Edwina has a missing person case she wants us to handle. We were just discussing it.”
The older vampire, a direct descendant of the first vampire, faces me. “Has this anything to do with Damien Duchamp and Elijah Ryder?”
No doubt he’s been in touch with Kragen. Lying to Julien will be pointless. The being can sniff out deception like a bloodhound except when it comes to his not so darling daughter. “It does. Hank Richards hasn’t—”
“Returned your texts, and you think that spells trouble.” Not a question, but it’s coming. “Why should the BlackGuard help you find your paramour?”
Nothing gets past Julien. He runs this town along with Kragen. They know everything that happens whether you tell them or not. “We’re not looking for trouble, Julien. Hank came to find his brother, nothing more. Elijah, however, sees it as an opportunity to settle a score.”
A scathing look, complete with descended fangs and clenched fists, bleeds from Morgan. The cheeky child has never liked me for numerous reasons, including the fact I’m the better hunter. Truth is, I’m a better everything when compared to her—hunter, witch, even a better vampire. Hell, if Ace had given me a chance, he’d know that I’m a better fuck than she could ever be. Plenty of reasons for the bitch to hate me.
“Ace,” Julien barks, “send your wolves. I want the Richards brothers found tonight. Morgan, you will accompany me to Kragen’s affair this evening.”
She pouts and complains. “What about Mother?”
Julien’s eyes taper. “She’s attending Coven business. Besides, I want you there. Damien will be in attendance. I suspect Elijah will too. They need to know the BlackGuard is watching their every move.”
“But—”
“Go home, Morgan.” Julien raises his voice and points to the door. “Dress appropriately. I’ll meet you there soon.”
His daughter huffs and stomps out of the office with Ace trailing behind her.
I start to leave when Julien says, “Edwina, a word please.”
My feet freeze and Ace pulls the door shut. “What is it, Julien?”
He walks to his desk and has a seat in the oversized leather chair. “You do realize our assistance comes with a price? As I recall, you still owe us for the help we gave you a few months ago.”
Julien would bring that up. Help from the BlackGuard requires staying in N’awlins indefinitely. Not something I planned for, but I don’t plan on losing Hank either. Once he’s found, I’ll worry about the future.
“Understood.”
The ancient vampire places his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers. “You’ll be attending Kragen’s event?”
“Yes. First, I need to check out something.”
Julien cocks his head to one side. “Shall I send someone with you?”
“No.” The fewer beings involved, the fewer debts I have to pay. “I’ll see ya at Kragen’s.”
Hoping to find Hank waiting for me, I return to St. Roch Market. The only thing there, unfortunately, is his Camaro sitting in the parking space. My eyes survey the surrounding area, searching for a clue of any kind.
“Charmer, looking for somebody?”
I pivot on my heel and a buffoon—a were-jackal decked out in a bright orange suit—nearly blinds me. Too many smells hit me and make me gag: wet dog, cheap cologne, and the underlying scent of absinthe. Why in hell does this species think they are the gods’ gift to females? No one, outside of another jackal, would find the garish clothing choices, bad skin, and rotting teeth appealing.
“I might be. Got any news for me?” Jackals are fond of shiny objects. I imagine a gaudy gold watch, reach into my pocket, and pull it out.
His eyes glaze over, and he salivates like one of Pavlov’s experiments. Rubbing his grubby hands together, he asks, “What canna help ya wit’ ta day?”
“A were-panther. Darker skin, tall and muscular, wearing a leather jacket…”
The irritating cackle of the jackal hits my ears. He inches forward with his gaze fixed on the watch. “He was here wit’ a beautiful female.”
“Where did they go?”
“They didn’t go anywhere. A coupla muscular cats came wit’ an older panther. He knocked ya friend out and dragged ‘im away.” The jackal reaches for the watch.
I snatch it away. “Not yet. Where’s the female now?”
“Inside. She be easy ta find. She be holding court wit’ a circle of males round her.” He holds his hand out.
I toss the trinket at him. He has no idea there’s a tracker on it. If I need the jackal again, I’ll easily find him. He slinks off, and I head inside the market.
The air is ripe with pheromones coming from the fucking circus in the middle of the room. Sheila Montgomery sits at a table surrounded by males, both human and otherwise. It’s easy to see her appeal—creamy skin, natural beauty, perfect hair, and full lips—but a wise being can see beyond it. The bitch is in heat and seeking another sucker. I don’t blame Hank for getting tied up with her. I only blame him for not realizing she set a trap for him.
Gliding up to the spectacle, I clear my throat, and Sheila’s head rocks up. Immediately her eyes dart around the room looking for an escape route. I say loudly, “Gentleman, the party’s over for now. I have business with the lady. She’s all yours when I’m done.”
Grumbles come from the crowd. Chairs scrape the floor. Footsteps rush for the exit as the men disperse. Sheila grips the edge of her seat as I sit across from her.
“Where did Elijah take Hank?”
Her mouth twists like she’s smelling foul air. “What makes you think I know where he is?”
I lean over the table. “Cut the bullshit, bitch! Where the fuck is he?”
“I don’t answer to you,” she replies.
Sheila starts to rise to her feet, but I yank her arm. Our gazes lock, and I stare into her brown eyes. She’s easy to compel. I tear through her thoughts and unravel her defenses.
Flatly, I say, “Tell me where Elijah Ryder took Hank.”
Sheila grimaces and struggles to hold onto the truth. In the end, my compulsion wins out. “The PFC gym.”
“Address?”
“2333 Tchoupitoulas Street. It looks like an abandoned building.”
“How many floors?”
“Only two. Hank and Tyson are upstairs.”
Holding her gaze a few seconds longer, I learn the ugly truth residing deep in Sheila’s mind. It’s something she doesn’t want anyone to know, and I wish to hell I didn’t. “Ya will forget ya ever spoke to me. Understand?”
She nods.
“Good.” A male with shoulder-length whitish-blond hair, possibly a dragon shifter, passes close to the table. I grab his wrist. “Care to take on a jaguar?”
His lips part in a wide smile. The tall being sits down.
My job here is done. Sheila will be lucky to walk again after he’s done with her.