Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 (13 page)

She wanted to yell at him to hurry, but she could barely think coherently enough to say anything. The moist heat between her legs was maddening.

All she could do was moan when she felt his hot tongue flicking against her erect nipples, and then when he buried his teeth into her mounds of flesh, she was sent over the edge.

In that moment, she would have sworn that nothing in heaven or on earth could compare to the sheer ecstasy of his touch.

Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her to the bed. “This will hurt,” he warned.

It didn’t matter. As long as he doused the fire burning inside of her, she would gladly welcome the pain of being deflowered by the son of Satan.

“Open your legs to me, little angel witch,” he breathed.

This she did, anticipating that moment when they would finally become one.

He entered her slowly, giving her one deliciously agonizing inch at a time.

The waiting was far worse than the pain of taking him into her body. She arched her hips, taking all of him into her.

Pain ripped through her yielding flesh, but it was soon replaced with consuming heat. He rocked against her, slowly at first, but as she bucked her hips, he dove into her harder, building her need until she thought she’d go mad.

One second she was drowning in that need, and the next she was hit with an overwhelming sensation that set her entire body tingling.

A scream threatened to push through her lips, but he kissed her into silence. Suddenly she felt him stiffen as he reached his pinnacle, flooding her womb with his hot seed. The sensation of him pulsating within her, brought her full circle to another orgasm.

He remained inside her for a long time, but finally he shifted his weight and rolled to her side. He then gathered her in his arms and held her close against his chest.

“It’s done now,” she mumbled. “We are free.”

“Yes … you are free,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead.

For the first time in weeks, Laurel felt safe when she drifted into sleep.

The three witches waited patiently for Bale to arrive. They’d sent the message nearly an hour ago, but still the vampire hadn’t made an appearance.

“Maybe he’s changed his mind about helping us,” Mora suggested.

“He’ll be here,” Bridgett told them. “He won’t be able to resist the bargain I offered.”

“And that is?” Arlene asked, raising one brow.

“That we would help him reach the ancients.”

Mora frowned. “
We
don’t even know how to do that.”

Bridgett’s smile was mischievous. “He doesn’t know that. I didn’t say that we knew how to do it, only that we would help him find a way.”

Mora lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “Perhaps he’s figured that out and has decided he doesn’t need our help. The sun will be up in a few hours,” she pointed out.

Bridgett shook her head. “No, he’ll be here. Bale Spencer has an agenda, and for some reason he needs our help to achieve his goal.”

“Yeah … his agenda is to raise those ancient vampires.” Arlene scowled.

“I don’t think that’s what he’s after, at least that’s not the whole of it. If that’s all he wanted, he would probably continue to follow Omar’s lead,” Bridgett explained, but before she could say more, they heard the jingling of the bell attached to the entrance of St. Claire House.

Bale entered and he had Laurel cradled in his arms.

Arlene gasped. “How did you get her so easily?”

He shrugged. “I went on my own. Bringing the three of you along would have only slowed me down.”

Bridgett glared at him. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s unconscious. Whatever happened to her must have been too much for her body to handle. She’s been like this since I found her.”

“Let’s get her to her room,” Bridgett flung the words over her shoulder as she was climbing the stairs.

Bale followed her, depositing the witch onto her still made bed.

When Laurel was safely in bed, Bridgett put her hands on her hips and glared at the vampire. “I think there’s a lot you’re not telling us. How did you get her away from Marcos.”

Bale motioned for Bridgett to follow him out of the room. The vampire carefully shut the door behind them.

“It wasn’t hard. Actually, he welcomed my help. St. Claire wanted her returned here.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mora interrupted. “He wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble to take her, and then send her back.”

“Unless he’d already accomplished what he set out to do,” Arlene reasoned.

Fear gripped their hearts as the three witches stared at each other.

“Enough of this doom and gloom, girls.” Bale smiled. “He probably did do this thing you are all thinking. I know Marcos St. Claire, and he wouldn’t have released her otherwise, but I have to tell you … judging by her state of dress and the expression on her face when I found her, she was most likely a willing participant.”

Mora shook her head. “That can’t be. She was terrified of him.”

Bale’s smile widened. “For being so terrified, she was sure snuggled up to him in bed … and with no clothes on,” he added.

Bridgett exhaled sharply. She felt completely deflated.

“I can’t believe he just let you walk out of there with her?” She was doubtful.

Bale motioned with his fingers for the witches to come closer. “He made a bargain with the devil. She was free to choose, and if she chose him as her heart’s desire, Marcos could make her his, but there was a price.”

Bridgett held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

This didn’t sound good at all.

“Naturally, he didn’t elaborate much … you know, with me being a mere vampire.”

“Get on with it!” Mora growled.

“The price was that as soon as he took her, he would begin losing his humanity. In other words, the demon part of him would take over until that is all there is of him. That’s why he wanted her out of there as soon as possible,” Bale finished.

Bridgett turned away, hoping the others wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She could not deny what Marcos was, but he was the only family she had left.

The scream took them all by surprise, even Bale.

The four of them turned to see Laurel, who had fallen to her knees. “You’re lying,” she sobbed. “He told me everything was okay now … that we were free.”

Bridgett swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Her cousin had freed Laurel, but she knew better than to believe that Marcos would get away from the coven’s pact, free and clear. There was always a price to pay.

Mora ran to Laurel and helped her to her feet. “Shush now. What’s important is that you are free.”

Laurel shook her head violently. “But he is my destiny. I know that now. He’s been with me since I was a little girl. Take me back to Cypress Grove,” she demanded.

Bale took her shaking hands in his. “Listen to me Laurel. You would not want to see him the way he is. In fact, he has forbidden it. He does not want to see you again … ever. I’m sorry, but he’s right about this. In his current state, he could hurt you.”

Bridgett looked away. She couldn’t bear the pain in Laurel’s eyes.

There had to be a way to save Marcos. It wasn’t just that she would be losing her cousin, but as the demon within him took over, none of them would be safe, not even Laurel.

There was no way they would be able to keep Laurel from going to him. That much was obvious.

If anyone knew what to do, it would be the voodoo queen, Marie Laveau, but she’d been dead for decades. According to legend, before her death, the old witch had discovered the secret of passing in and out of the Underworld.

The spell she’d stolen from the coven would close the door, but wouldn’t allow passage to mortals.

But there could still be a way.

“I may know how to set this straight,” Bridgett told them.

* * *

Laurel paced the floor, glancing at the clock for the tenth time in less than an hour. She’d waited two weeks for this night, and now that the time was near the minutes seemed to tick by so slowly, it was torture.

But they needed it to be a full moon. At the moon’s zenith, they could summon the old voodoo queen.

During those torturous days of waiting, she’d hoped to hear from Marcos, but it hadn’t happened. Since waking at St. Claire House, she hadn’t heard a thing from him.

His silence was like a knife in her heart. Now that she knew his love, how could she possibly live without him?

The days passed in wave after wave of bitter misery.

When she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, she found her way back to Cypress Grove, but it was deserted. Strangely enough, it appeared as if no one had been there for years.

The girls were angry with her when they discovered where she’d gone, but Laurel didn’t care. She wanted answers.

Where was Marcos, and how could the place be in such bad shape when it was immaculate only days before.

Bridgett had a theory, which wasn’t’ unusual. She was the thinker of the four of them.

Bridgett figured that Marcos had been taken into the Underworld and that he no longer existed in the material world. None of them had any idea how time worked once someone crossed over, but it had to have some kind of influence over a being’s existence in this world.

Bridgett came into the parlor wearing her black hooded cloak. “It’s almost time,” she announced.

Relief flooded over her. Finally it was time.

Grabbing her own cloak, she followed Bridgett downstairs. Mora and Arlene were waiting for them.

“Do you have everything?” Bridgett asked Arlene.

Arlene nodded.

“Good. Let’s go then,” Bridgett led the way.

They turned toward the St. Louis Cemetery, which was where they’d find the old voodoo queen’s grave.

Bale fell in behind them. “Well thank you my wicked witches. I’m so glad you invited me along.”

Bridgett threw a sour look over her shoulder. “We don’t need your help with this.”

Bale walked a little faster until he was beside Bridgett. “The way I see it, you do need my help. Four witches wandering the streets after dark, is like dangling bait in front of a city of vampires. Besides, if you find a way into the Underworld, I’m going with you,” he informed her.

“Are you crazy?” Bridgett asked. “Even if we manage to get into the Underworld, getting back might not be so easy.”

Bale shrugged. “You could say I’m the curious type. Always wondered what the old hotbox was like. I’m also very curious as to how those ancient witches managed to keep the first vampires locked away.”

Expressing her aggravation with a tired sigh, Bridgett told him, “Just stay out of our way … and be warned, if those bloodsuckers do manage to escape Hell, I’ll be putting them back. Our deal was to help you find a way in. It didn’t include not putting them back where they belong if you do happen to release them.”

Bale clucked his tongue. “Such a temper you have … and manipulative. Are you very sure your mother wasn’t one of the thirteen?”

Bridgett’s eyes cut through him, but she said nothing.

By the time they reached the cemetery, the moon was high, providing plenty of light.

There was one good thing about having Bale with them. If there were any vampires hiding in the cemetery, he’d be able to sense them immediately.

After winding their way through some very elaborate tombs, they finally came to the small - plain tomb.

Laurel had no idea why she’d expected more, but now that she thought about it, she shouldn’t have been surprised at the simplicity of the tomb. Marie had been a powerful voodoo queen, but not part of the city’s elite society.

Arlene was already placing the candles in a circle. When the circle was complete, Mora went to each candle and touched the wick with her fingertip. Instantly, a flame appeared.

Bale was standing outside the circle, watching in fascination.

“You coming or not?” Bridgett asked.

Nodding, he stepped into the circle. “This hocus pocus won’t melt me, will it?”

“Hopefully,” Bridgett grumbled.

When all the candles were lit, they got into a circle and held hands. Pulling on the power of the others in the circle, Bridgett chanted,

“Marie Laveau, hear my words … hear me cry, spirit from the other side. Come to me, I summons thee. Cross now the bridge divide.”

The flames of the candles exploded, sending balls of fire into the air.

Laurel called up the courage to open her eyes, but only to slits. She had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

There was a form of a woman standing in front of the tomb. Her head was lowered; making it difficult to see what she looked like.

“Who is it that calls my name?” Her words were laced with a heavy French accent.

Laurel froze when the other witches looked to her, waiting for her to answer.

She had to answer. If she ever wanted to see Marcos again, she had to throw herself on the mercy of this spirit.

“We seek the door to the Underworld,” Laurel responded, surprised by the strength in her voice.

“The door to the Underworld is closed to mortals.”

“But you know a way in,” Laurel insisted.

The spirit didn’t look up at them. “What is your purpose?”

“We must find someone who has been taken there, before his time.”

“If you descend into Hell and are allowed to return … be warned that you will all bring back with you, a curse that cannot be undone.” The spirit cautioned.

Laurel looked to the others. None of them even blinked at the news.

“What will be our curse?” Laurel asked the voodoo queen.

“The truth of your curse will be revealed over time.”

Laurel nodded her understanding, as did each of the others.

“So it shall be.” The spirit’s voice floated on the night breeze. “The door to the Underworld is hidden within the black tomb. The key to the that door is your darkest fear.”

Mora gasped, breaking Laurel’s concentration.

In that instant, the flames of the candles were extinguished, and the inky silhouette faded until it blended with the surrounding darkness.

“What was that about?” Bridgett frowned. “We needed more information.”

“I know where the black tomb is, but I don’t think we should go there,” Mora told them.

“Why not?” Arlene wanted to know. “Isn’t that what we are here for?”

“The black tomb is where the demon nun is buried. Two hundred years ago, a nun murdered dozens of children. They say she was a fallen angel that disguised herself as a nun.”