Need (11 page)

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Authors: Todd Gregory

BOOK: Need
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He turned and went back inside the party.
And I left. I didn't stop running until I was back in New Orleans.
It would have probably been better had I stayed with Jean-Paul.
I went back into the bedroom and started dressing. Jared was still asleep. I touched his forehead—his skin was extremely hot. He mumbled as I finished dressing, and I was at the door when he sat up.
His eyes opened, and they weren't blue—they were brown flecked with gold.
“Sebastian—” His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell back into the bed.
“That's odd,” Rachel said from behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. “Did you call him
Sebastian?
” She shook her head. “Wasn't he the witch—”
“I'm going for a walk,” I said, pushing past her and heading for the front door.
“Suit yourself.”
I slammed the door behind me.
C
HAPTER
6
I
stood on my front steps, leaning back against the door as I tried to catch my breath, trying to figure out what was happening to me—and to Jared.
It was a cool night. A chilly breeze was blowing down the street from the direction of the river. I could hear the music and noise from Bourbon Street, and the clouds overhead were that odd pinkish color from the neon lights in the Quarter. Orleans Street was deserted, but there were crowds down at the corner at Bourbon. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go, or even what I was running away from.
Was it just my imagination? Or was Sebastian—or rather his spirit—somehow coming through Jared? Was this all
my
fault ?
I sat down on the top step and buried my face in my hands. The old man had said I was cursed, that Sebastian had somehow cursed me as my brotherhood had killed him. But why was the curse only now rearing its ugly head and affecting my life and the people I fed from?
It isn't affecting everyone you feed from. Remember the stripper at Oz? His wounds healed the way they always did before. It's just Jared. Somehow, if there is a curse, it has something to do with
him
.
It didn't make sense.
Nothing made sense.
“You really should wait for Nigel to get back,”
Rachel's voice whispered inside my head as I stood up and leaned against the railing.
“And you really should stay out of my head. You're starting to annoy the crap out of me,”
I told her.
“And don't you think it's kind of
rude
and invasive to just go inside of someone's head without permission?”
“You only say that because you can't do it yet.”
Much as I hated to admit it, she had me there.
“I knew it!”
Somehow she managed to make it sound smug and triumphant. I heard her laugh, and then,
“No worries, baby. I'll teach you not only how to do it but also how to block others.”
I gritted my teeth and started down the steps. I took a deep breath, trying to decide where to walk. I wasn't hungry, so there wasn't a need to go hunting. I had just decided to go down to the levee and watch the river for a while—I always found that to be relaxing—when I heard someone start playing the piano. It took me a few moments to realize the sound was coming from inside the house.
Who else could it be but Rachel? She was the only person inside the house it could have been—Jared couldn't play anything. She played beautifully, and the song was vaguely familiar. I closed my eyes and focused, and after a few moments I recognized the song—“Save the Best for Last.” She started singing, and I was amazed to hear that she actually had a beautiful voice, a soft alto that soared over the notes of the piano as she sang. I sat down on the bottom step and listened. There was a poignancy, a longing in her voice that touched me deep inside. Who would have ever guessed that a snarky vampire could not only sing so beautifully but also put so much emotion into a lyric? Her voice was almost heartbreaking, and I found myself thinking about Jean-Paul yet again.
And if I was going to be completely honest with myself, I had to admit that he had broken my heart.
And that, really, was what it had all been about. Me tracking down the hot Latino underwear model in South Beach, having sex and feeding with that guy in the parking lot of the White Party in Palm Springs, all the little fights and bickering and defiance. I'd fallen in love with him and had thought he was in love with me—when the truth was I was nothing more than the latest version of young flesh he wanted to fuck. It was all me, acting out because he didn't love me, and he never had, not even in the beginning. I understood that now. Maybe he wasn't even capable of love the way I felt it, the way I understood it to be. What a fool I had been, thinking that Jean-Paul and I were going to be joined together, a couple for all eternity, walking hand in hand through the centuries together.
I couldn't believe how naïve and stupid I'd been. Jean-Paul and the others had probably laughed at me.
Clint had tried to warn me when I'd seen Jean-Paul fucking the underwear model at the house in South Beach. But instead of being rational and accepting the truth, I'd gotten all emotional, lost control, and basically made a complete fool of myself.
Was it different for humans? I wondered, my head in my hands. All I'd ever wanted was to fall in love and have someone love me back. I never thought that was too much to ask. But maybe it was for vampires—after all, human couples seemed to have trouble making their relationships last, and they didn't have an eternal life span. But I didn't expect to fall in love with a vampire who didn't love me back.
And look where that had gotten me! Alone in New Orleans, paying back the kindness of the human who'd been the best friend I'd ever had by destroying his life completely.
When she finished the song, she started playing another one I didn't recognize but sounded vaguely familiar. I sat there, letting the melancholic notes swirl around me. They seemed to fit my mood perfectly.
Of course it does. She can get inside my mind,
I reminded myself bitterly.
She didn't answer this time, so maybe she wasn't listening to my thoughts anymore.
A sound across the street startled me out of my reverie. I opened my eyes and saw someone locking the door of Sebastian's house. The man was wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans that had slid halfway down his ass—I could see his red underwear—and a sleeveless navy blue T-shirt. It was a really nice ass, actually, and the shoulders were broad and strong, the waist narrow. He put the keys into his pocket and turned to go down the steps.
My breath caught in my throat, and I stifled the involuntary cry that rose in my throat.
It was Sebastian.
But that . . . that wasn't possible, was it?
Sebastian was dead. My brothers had killed him, torched the house, and his remains had been found in the fire. And if I'd learned anything for certain in the last few years, it was that vampires knew how to kill.
But he'd been a witch. Maybe witches were harder to kill; maybe he had cast a spell that had made them think he was dead when he was actually alive.
Then whose body had been in the smoldering ruins?
I swallowed. They'd thought they'd found my body and were wrong about that. It was possible another mistake had been made. . . .
And there was something wrong with me. Nigel thought Sebastian had cursed me. But if he were still alive . . .
Somehow, I managed to get to my feet just as he glanced over at me. He gave me a half-smile and nodded slightly as he started walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the cathedral.
He didn't seem to recognize me.
Confused, not knowing what I should do, I started following him down the street. Crazy thoughts raced through my head.
Hadn't Jared said that Sebastian still lives? Neither Rachel nor Nigel had witnessed the weird way Jared's eyes changed sometimes, had not heard him speak in a voice that was slightly different than his own. It was possible my own guilt over Sebastian's death had caused those odd delusions.
If they actually
were
delusions.
It was possible. Before that Mardi Gras when I met Jean-Paul, I didn't believe vampires existed, and now I was one. Witches certainly existed—I had firsthand experience with them. So, it was possible that somehow Sebastian had also survived that night. He'd ingested some of my blood, believing the power he would derive from vampire blood mixed with his own powers would make him a god. That was why he'd been destroyed, or at least that's what Jean-Paul had said, and I'd had no reason to doubt him.
That was also when I thought he actually loved me, thought I was more to him than a young piece of ass. The only doubt I'd had back then was whether he'd acted more out of revenge than out of a need to destroy the hybrid creature Sebastian was becoming.
No,
I thought as I reached the corner,
it can't be Sebastian. But I'm not imagining him. This isn't some kind of crazy hallucination. He's right there across the street. I can see him, and he even kind of walks like Sebastian.
He weaved his way through the crowds of people at Bourbon Street and dodged around the Lucky Dog vendor. I had to hurry to not lose sight of him—his legs were longer than mine, and for every stride he took, I had to take two.
He turned to his right when he got to the corner at Royal Street.
I reached the corner just in time to see him unlock a door in the corner building and disappear through it. I crossed Orleans Street, dodging around an enormous couple with incredibly pasty white skin, and stood in front of the door. There were a number of buzzers on the right side of the door frame, with just numbers and names neatly printed on white cards next to them. It was enormously frustrating. I wanted to slam my fist against the door, but stopped myself with inches to spare. I smiled at a couple of young women holding supersized daiquiri cups. They averted their eyes and walked faster.
This was one of those times when having my full powers would come in handy.
I could have gotten inside his mind—
I slammed my palm against my forehead in irritation.
Why didn't you get Rachel to go inside his head, you moron?
“Maybe I wouldn't have done it after you were so rude to me.”
Her voice sounded smug.
“Not so annoying when you need it, is it?”
I cried out, startled. The enormous couple with the pasty skin gave me a strange look and hurriedly crossed the street.
“Don't do that!”
I told her, hoping my irritation was clear in my tone.
“Yes, no worries on that score. Your tone comes across loud and clear, Cord. So sorry about that, didn't mean to make you jump.”
Her tone, though, made it pretty damned clear to me she wasn't in the least bit sorry.
“Besides, you're right. It's not Sebastian. His death was pretty well documented.”
Her tone turned grim.
“It wasn't a pretty death, and the Witches Council wasn't happy about it.”
“Witches Council?”
This was the first I'd heard of that.
“There's so much you don't know. Remember, you hadn't heard of the Council of Thirteen before yesterday. Hang on, I'll be there in a moment.”
“It really is shameful the way your education has been so thoroughly neglected,” she said as she materialized next to me. “Jean-Paul is lucky he isn't called before the Council.” She gave me an enormous smile. “He still might be. And if I have anything to do with it . . .” She let her voice trail off as she turned toward the door, putting her left palm against my forehead and her right one on the door. A couple in their forties gave us an odd look as they went past us, and she glared at them. They walked faster.
Her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed. “That's strange.” She dropped her hands and took a few steps back away from me. “I'm not getting anything—there's no image of him in your head, and I get no sense . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Of course.” She stepped out into the street and looked up. “Is that him, by any chance?”
I followed the direction her finger was pointing. The building was about five stories high, and on the Orleans Street side there was a rusty and not very secure-looking fire escape. On the Royal Street side, there were several small balconies on each level, with French doors opening out onto them.
A man had stepped out onto one of the balconies on the third floor. He'd removed his shirt, revealing a perfectly smooth, well-defined torso. His skin almost seemed to shine in the light from the streetlamps. His jeans looked to have slipped down another inch or so—it looked like the only thing holding them on in the front was a rather prominent bulge. I nodded, licking my lips. “Yes, that's him. How did you know if you can't—”
“Because I can't read him, either.” She smiled. “He isn't wholly human, you know. That's why I can't read him—I can only read humans and other vampires. Nigel would be able to, if he were here.” She bit her lower lip and hummed for a moment. “He's definitely a relative of Sebastian's; that's for sure. He's at least part witch.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I don't sense any danger from him—and I should.” She tapped her forefinger against her temple. “Interesting.” She reached over and rang the third buzzer from the bottom. A name card next to it read Q. NARCISSE. She gave me a smug look.
I really am an idiot sometimes. I hadn't even looked at the names.
Up above, I saw the shirtless man turn and walk inside from the balcony. After a few moments, there was a burst of static from the speaker mounted above the buzzers. “Yes?”
The sound of his voice raised hackles on the back of my neck. He sounded just like Sebastian.

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