Chapter 29
Edwina
Respecting Hank’s wishes, I don’t turn around. Bones break and reconstruct. Heavy breathing fills my ears. I swing around when I hear the growl and his claws scratching the concrete.
The two beasts—one a huge black panther and the other, a mostly gray one—face off. Snarling, they circle one another. Elijah decides enough is enough and lunges for Hank, wrestling him to the ground. His teeth poise over Hank’s neck. I close my eyes unable to watch.
A pair of unfamiliar hands encircle me and pull me against a bare chest. I glance up into Ace’s face. I’m grateful the alpha wears a pair of jeans. Wolves usually have no problem with nudity.
“Do yaself a favor and don’t watch,” he suggests. “My wolves are nearby. Ryder won’t leave here alive.”
Growling and flesh ripping send shivers down my spine. “I’m not concerned about Elijah’s life. I should help Hank.”
Ace’s grip tightens. “No, Edwina. It has to be a clean kill for there not to be any retaliation from NOLA Council. Let’s get ya inside.”
With great effort, I walk back inside the venue with Ace’s hand on my lower back.
The first person we run across is Kragen. His forehead, creased with worry, smooths out when he sees me.
“She’s fine,” Ace informs Kragen. “Just keep her inside. She doesn’t need to interfere with male business.”
And that’s one huge reason nothing ever happened between us. I refused to submit to Ace. Morgan, on the other hand, never had a problem obeying. I listen to the big oaf lumber off. He’s undoubtedly going back to join the fight.
“Edwina, what do ya need ta tell me?” Kragen asks.
“Damien Duchamp is going to be a problem.”
“How so?”
“He wants the BlackGuard to support the PFC,” I tell him. “And he wants me to convince ya to do it.”
“Why did he ask for ya help?”
“Because he can manipulate me, Kragen. He’s a distant cousin—a Devereaux witch. I have to help him.”
Kragen purses his lips. “We’ll deal with it. Do whatever ya need ta do for now.”
For the first time in years, I feel helpless. My past threatens to take over and destroy my happiness. I shake my head. “I don’t know what to do. Damien threatens me because of our shared lineage. It’s not right.”
“I agree with ya. And feasting on ya bad memories is even worse. Here’s the thing ‘bout memories, though. Ya can’t get rid of bad ones, but ya can always make better ones. Like I said, we’ll handle this. Ya need ta go see ta ya mate. The fight between Hank and Ryder is over.”
The cheers from inside the ring signal the end of that fight as well. I have to hurry.
I rush to the parking lot ahead of the pending commotion of the crowd starting to exit. The smell of blood permeates the night air. Among the parked cars, Ryder’s men lie dead. Ace limps past me, followed by some of his other wolves all bloodied and bruised. Pushing past them, I see Hank.
He sits on the hood of a car with shredded clothing. Blood coats his arms, chest, and even his face. On the ground, leaning against a tire is Elijah’s mutilated body. Hank lifts his tired eyes.
But he’s alive. It’s all that matters to me. Not caring about his injuries, for the moment, I throw my arms around his neck.
Hank pulls me close and mumbles near my ear, “It’s over.”
“I see that.” My heart finally calms and rational thought returns. “Let me help ya.”
“I was hoping you’d offer.”
Stepping back, I wave my hand over him. Instantly, Hank’s clothes weave back together. The blood lifts and dissipates into the air. I point a finger at the corpse, creating a virtual container around it, and the body bursts into flames. It’s a short-lived fire. When it dies down, nothing is left but a fine, black ash. A rank stench hangs in the atmosphere.
Hank places his hands around my waist. “Thank you.”
“Ya welcome.”
He leans down and hugs me close. Fatigue surrounds him like a heavy blanket. In Hank’s current state, he can’t take on Damien. Somehow I need to protect this male before my asshole cousin destroys what we’re trying to build.
“Angel, we should go.”
“Ya don’t want to see ya brother?”
“Not right now. I need time alone with you.”
Police sirens approach the venue. I have to wonder if they’re coming because of Damien or the melee surrounding us. Something tells me we shouldn’t stick around to find out.
As soon as we arrive at Kragen’s, I climb the stairs and go straight to the bedroom. I’m torn between doing what is right—going against Damien and destroying the PFC—and what is necessary—safeguarding my relationship. It’s something I’ve pondered the entire drive here instead of focusing on the male at my side.
“Edwina… Angel, talk to me. You’ve been too quiet. I know you’re troubled over something.”
I look away from the window. “I thought ya wanted time with me.”
“I do, but that won’t happen if your mind isn’t focused.” Hank takes my hand and sits next to me on the window seat. “Talk.”
Wetting my lips, I turn away from him. “I met with Damien Duchamp tonight.”
“Of course you did.” Hank sighs deeply. “What did you talk about?”
“Common lineage,” I mumble.
“I don’t follow.”
“I haven’t filled ya in on everything about me.” I lower my head. “My mother wasn’t the only witch on the plantation. There were others, but they were too afraid to practice or show themselves. Collectively, they referred to themselves as the Devereaux Witches—taking Granddaddy’s name and making it their own. One of those witches was a cruel bitch named Seraphine. She hated everything about me, including the color of my skin and the relationship between my parents.”
Hank squeezes my hand. “What’s that got to do with you and Duchamp?”
“Tonight I learned that a descendant of Seraphine, Lavinia Devereaux Mercier, gave birth to a son. The child has shifter DNA and claims heritage to the Devereaux Witches.”
Hank drops his hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Duchamp?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?” A low growl rumbles in Hank’s chest.
A weight presses on my chest, robbing me of my breath. Honesty, however, forces me to summon up an ounce of bravery. The bottom line? In order for Hank to deal with Damien, I have to share everything.
“Damien showed me his powers. He’s a formidable shapeshifter able to become anything or anyone he chooses.”
Hank’s face tightens. “What does he want?”
“To legitimize the PFC and destroy the AFC. Damien wants your brother to fight for him. If I don’t help with Damien’s goals, he’ll use those powers against me.”
“How?”
Seeing Hank’s hands fist nearly changes my mind. I’m not telling him these things for him to go out and do something stupid. I just want him to know what we’re up against.
Slipping off the seat and gliding across the room, I say, “Damien will play tricks with my mind, hoping to drive me insane.” I wish I could get farther away from Hank. Right now being close to him is unbearable. “My wonderful kin will make sure that no one will want me around. Not the BlackGuard and definitely not ya. I’ll be alone again.”
An impatient snort springs from Hank. “You’re doing it again, Angel.”
“Doing what?”
Hank comes up behind me and slides his muscular arms around my waist, pulling me against him. “You’re giving away your power. We talked about this before. Damien Duchamp can only torment you if you let him. Please, Angel. Stop letting others inflict pain on you. They are only words.”
Words.
Something witches are familiar with. We’re experts at manipulating words to do our bidding. We know the power they have over humans and supernaturals alike. A few well-thought utterances can shape, torment, and destroy. Witches have always chosen which words to value and which ones to ignore. That knowledge keeps us strong. I now realize I’m guilty of focusing on the wrong words, letting them weaken me. Somehow, I need to see them for what they really are—just vowels and consonants strung together in recognizable patterns—and break free from any hold they may possess over me.
If it weren’t for Hank, I wouldn’t have made this connection. This male keeps me grounded. Reminds me of my strengths when I feel weak. He guides me. Molds me into a better individual. If only every female, could be so lucky to have someone like him. But. He. Is. Mine.
Damien’s threats only have value because he knows what I hold dear—my tenuous relationships with others. Embracing any remaining shred of humanity matters so much to me, but I have to stop doing this. Hank isn’t with me because of who I was. It’s only what I am now that matters to him.
As it should be.
I turn in Hank’s arms. “What would I ever do without ya?”
“You won’t ever know.” He fingers a curly strand of my hair. “My beast is ready to claim you, now and forever. When he does, know that nothing or no one will ever come between us. We’ll be bonded for life.”
“Death will part us,” I mutter the chilly reminder into his chest.
Hank lifts my chin up. “No. Not even death will separate us. You are the best female to enter my life. I’m never letting you go.”
“Oh, just great. I’m going to end up with a wrinkled old cat?”
He chuckles. “Angel, shifters in my family age exceedingly slow. Most of us die before that happens. I’ve got at least a hundred years before I even show signs of old age. Tell you what. When I get the first sign of gray hair, I’ll accept your gift of immortality.”
My gaze blurs, but these aren’t tears of sadness welling up. No way. This is pure joy. Something that has never defined my life as a human. I certainly haven’t known it as a vampire until now. With Hank.
“So how do we do this?”
His fingers caress my cheek. “There are words…”
“Say them. Tell me what to say.”
He angles a penetrating gaze down at me. “I, Henry Jerome Richards, claim you as my forever mate. The one I shall love, cherish, and protect for all the days I walk this Earth… You say the same thing, Angel.”
“I, Edwina Marie Devereaux, claim ya as my forever mate. The one I shall love, cherish, and protect for all the days I walk this Earth. And when the time comes, I shall gladly bestow upon ya the gift of immortality so that we can share eternity together.”
Hank leans in and kisses my cheek. Against my ear, he says, “Angel.”
I giggle like a school girl and ask, “Now what?”
“Claiming is normally done when we’re in beast form, but since—”
“Dawlin’, I am a witch. Ya let me know what pleases ya.” I step back and concentrate on the image of a sleek female panther with shiny black fur. She’s graceful, exotic, and in heat.
“Damn, Angel. That works for me.” Hank undresses with speedy efficiency.
My beast has an advantage. I’m fully aware of everything happening. I sit back on my haunches and watch Hank’s transformation begin.
I’m in awe as his bones break and reconstruct, his back lengthening and black fur sprouting. His beast is beautiful. A deep rumble comes from within his chest as he circles around me. Hank nudges me with his neck. I know what he wants, and it’s the only time, in this form, I will ever submit to him. I lower myself to the floor and allow the animal in him to take over.
His rough tongue laps at my neck right before his fangs sink into my flesh. I yelp. We move together as the beast bonds with me, leaving his imprint behind. I’m unsure if panthers are supposed to purr, but I do.
And I plan on purring over and over again tonight.