Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) (7 page)

Realizing that she’s waiting for an answer, I give a sly half smile and shrug. “Well … the rooms here are for the working girls, if you know what I mean. I have to make sure that there is available space here for them and their … guests. Now, if you’d like to rethink your job title, I’d be happy to arrange that and get you moved in immediately.”

Amelie’s eyes go wide, and she shakes her head furiously. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’d much rather stay here. You know … if it’s ok with you.” She bites her lip and looks away. “I can understand if you want me to go. I’m sure I’m seriously cramping your style. We can work out a system, you know. Maybe leave a sock on the door if you have company, or I can stay with someone else. I don’t particularly like having a live porno played out in front of me.” She turns to me and smiles, though it doesn’t touch her eyes. “Ten years of seeing every inch of you and more women than I can count … no wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Wait a minute … you’ve never had a boyfriend?” I frown, choosing to focus on that part of her oration.

“Kinda hard, ya know. Piss poor, drunk father, crazy Voodoo family, inexplicable nightly dreams of a murderous, philandering Warlock ... Oh yeah, guys were lining up around the block.”

I know she’s joking, but a pang of guilt attacks my chest. How much of this girl’s misfortune have I been responsible for? Her father has gambled and drank in casinos and bars that I own. She was cursed with a mysterious illness, so the Light could sink their claws into her to get to me. She’s been plagued with nightmares of my evil doings for a decade, no doubt warding off any hopes of intimacy. And the biggest bearer of my guilt? The tense, violent history between the Laveaus and the Dark - something I played a part in.

This is it. The opportunity for me to prove that I’m more than some pretentious asshole and own what the fuck I am for once. The chance for me to put bullshit and ancient family secrets aside and do what’s right for me. To do what’s in my heart, no matter how black and vacant it is.

“Amelie,” I begin, my voice shakier than it’s ever been, the authoritative timbre gone. “There’s something you should know…”

She tilts her head to one side, and gives me a small, sweet smile of encouragement.

I open my mouth to speak my truth, to confess my sins, to bare my soul and pray for understanding. But before the words can escape, the sound of approaching footsteps puts me on guard, and the shame and humility is replaced with hostility and possessiveness.

Three raps reverberate the door seconds later. Against my better judgment, I call out, “Enter.”

Varshaun opens the door, dressed in his usual black three-piece suit. His dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and his bronze skin looks even darker paired with his aqua eyes. He has scented her, and the hungry gleam in those eyes shine with craving.

“What is it?” I snap, agitated by his mere presence. Varshaun frowns but quickly replaces it with a mischievous grin. His teeth look more like razor sharp fangs, and a sudden impulse inside me tempts me to knock that smile right off his face.

I shake the insane thoughts from my muddled head. What the hell is wrong with me? This is my best friend - someone who has been my brother for over a century. Being in Amelie’s proximity is seriously fucking with my rationale. The only logical explanation has to be the mix of Light magic in her Voodoo blood.

Varshaun steps farther into the room, and his eyes roam from my angry expression to Amelie, and then back to me. “I see the two of you are getting along splendidly.” His gaze drifts to Amelie’s smooth, bare legs and up to her supple breasts before landing on her full, red lips. Feeling the intrusion of his lustful glare, she brings her knees up to her chest and hugs her legs, shielding her precious, delicate body. “I knew you’d like this one, Niko. She’s special, isn’t she? Bet she’s quite the amusing ride.”

Before he can say another word, in a blur of frustration, confusion and distrust, without even bothering to hide my abilities from Amelie, I am in front of him, my blue eyes growing colder and paler by the second. “What brings you to my quarters, old friend?” I ask through clenched teeth.

Varshaun narrows his eyes at my offensive stance and smirks. “Well, seeing as I am your friend and business manager, I was concerned to learn that you’ve been too….” He looks over my shoulder, glimpsing Amelie’s frightened frame on the bed. “…preoccupied to handle some of the professional matters. I thought surely that you were ill.” A devilish half grin crawls onto his lips. He’s baiting me. He knows it’s impossible for us to get sick.

“I’m fine, as you can see. And what professional matters do you speak of? That’s what I pay you for, correct?”

“You’re right,” Varshaun nods. “Forgive my intrusion. But I must say, Niko, I’m wounded. What happened to my boy? One little human girl has caused you to abandon me and leave me to slay the women of New Orleans alone? Surely, that is not the case.”

Varshaun, you cunning, meddlesome sonofabitch.

I huff out an irritated breath before turning to face Amelie. “I’ll leave you to get ready. Nadia has you in the kitchen today. Report there when you’re finished and they’ll give you instruction.”

“Ok,” she whispers through trembling lips.

I nod, before turning away from her sad eyes. Varshaun opens the door, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Niko?” Amelie calls quietly before I can cross the threshold. I turn to her more eagerly than I should.

“Yes?”

“After I’m done today, later tonight … should I find somewhere else to stay? I hate to bother you and you never answered my question earlier, but if you want me to, I can…”

“No,” I reply before she can get out the words. “No. Stay. I want you to stay… here. With me. Ok?” I hold my breath, awaiting her reaction and dreading the onslaught of questions from Varshaun.

“Ok,” she finally nods. “I’ll be here.”

“You wanna explain what the fuck I just witnessed?”

I continue to walk down Bourbon Street, looking straight ahead. I was able to elude Varshaun’s shocked glare burning a hole in the side of my head while we were back at the house amongst dozens of listening ears, but now that we’re alone, there’s no way he’s letting me off the hook.

“What’s there to explain?” I reply flatly.

“Um, excuse me, but how about starting with the hot brunette you’ve got stashed in your room? I mean, I get it. Maybe she’s too good to share … I’ve been there. But you want her to stay with you? Like actually sleep in your room? For more than a night?”

I look at my most trusted friend and nearly flinch at the look of sheer puzzlement on his face. He’s right. Now that someone’s said it aloud, it does sound ludicrous.

“It’s only temporary. She has … something I need. And I need her close in order to get it.”

“Ah,” Varshaun nods. “You’ve gotten yourself a taste of some Grade A pussy. So good and sweet that you crave it all the time. Need a fix like a fiend. Congrats, my friend.” He claps me on the back and moves in closer to my ear. “Let me know when you’re finished with her. I’d like to sample that luscious creature. Even better, we could fuck her together, like old times. A little double penetration will help rid that shyness.”

I clench my fists so hard that my bones crack. I can feel my nails breaking the skin of my palms, causing fresh, warm blood to pool in my hands. I want to hurt him. Fuck, I want to kill him. I want to rip his fucking pretty boy head off and tie it to the nearest flagpole by those long, black locks. But instead, I plaster on a tight grin, trying desperately to appear normal. And normal for me is ten times worse than Varshaun.

“No,” I say shaking my head stiffly. “She’s not ready for that. I have special plans for that girl.” And none of them involve double penetration, Varshaun, or any other motherfucker for that matter.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs. “Just don’t kill her before I get a taste.”

My pisstivity takes a backseat to bewilderment, and I raise a brow in question.

“Oh yeah, I know about the two girls from the other night. You sure you’re ok, man? You’ve been edgy. I mean, accidents happen, but you haven’t drained someone in years, let alone two girls at once.”

I shake my head, unable to verbally explain myself. I know what has caused my ire.

Amelie.

As badly as I want her for … I don’t even know what, her mere presence has me off my game. I desire her body, but I crave her soul. I admire her mind, but I need her heart. I’m seriously a clusterfuck of emotion, and no magic in the world can undo the spell she has me under.

I can’t even express this shit to my closest friend. The only person I can talk to is Amelie. She’s the only one who’d understand, the only person that has truly glimpsed my soul, and the very person that can never know how I feel.

I look around, realizing that we’ve wandered into a part of the French Quarter that we don’t usually frequent. It’s an area that we’ve somewhat deemed enemy territory. “Why are we here?”

Varshaun hops up the steps of the ornate mansion, mischief etched on his face. “Just paying our friend Malcolm a little visit. Heard he was having a hard time keeping his girls on a short leash.”

I follow him up the steps but pause at the top, shaking my head. “Malcolm is insignificant and so are his girls. There’s enough money in this city for everyone. Let him be. If we catch it, we’ll deal with it.”

The irises of Varshaun’s eyes turn dark and tumultuous. “There are rules, my friend. Rules put in place by your family at that. You can’t let them think you’re weak. If you let this slide, you’re just opening the door for others to defy you. And we wouldn’t want Daddy Dearest to get wind of that.”

Dammit, he’s right.

I take a deep breath and follow Varshaun to the front door. It’s early, so none of his girls are out displaying their goods on the balcony and porch. Funny how the dark and depraved thrive at night, as if the shadows can conceal our iniquities. Under the dark cloak of denial, we feed our inner beasts with our own individual brands of evil, stifling the guilt until morning. Avoidance is a way of life for us sinners. Maybe we aren’t so honest after all.

Without even bothering to knock, Varshaun turns the doorknob. When it doesn’t click open, he steps back, turning to give me an impish grin. His eyes spark with white flames, and with a simple exhale, he blows the front door wide open. The heavy wood frame shakes and groans as if it had been propelled with hurricane force winds. As graceful and fluid as ever, Varshaun steps inside, not rattled in the least.

“I told you, little pigs, what happens when you don’t let me in,” he calls out to an audience of stunned, terrified faces. Prostitutes, both women and men, scurry out of the way, shielding their half naked bodies. “I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”

I roll my eyes, and step into the vast home, not at all impressed with Varshaun’s theatrics. Normally, his zest for drama would have provoked a little shameless fun, but today, my head … my heart … is just not into it.

“What in the hell is going on out here?” a squatty, bald man spits, waddling his way from a back room wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe. His beady eyes find us standing in the middle of the great room. A ring of frightened bystanders looks to him for guidance. “Mr. V? Mr. N? What are you doing here? Forgive me. I wasn’t aware you’d be dropping by.”

Varshaun holds up a palm, halting further explanation. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Malcolm. Surely you knew we’d be interested in all paranormal activity performed outside of regulation. Tell me, have your whores finally managed to fuck your brains out? Or are you really that stupid?”

Malcolm reluctantly stumbles towards us, trembling and sweating like a filthy pig. “Mr. V, I can assure you that my girls had nothing to do with whatever transgression you are talking about. They’ve broken no laws, I can attest to that.”

“Is that right, Malcolm? So none of your girls turned any tricks outside of your district? And none of them were responsible for fooling three of
my
kind into breathing them, only to manipulate their minds?”

Fucking necromancers. They’re Voodoo witches that dabble in strong black magic with the ability to control supernatural creatures. Legend tells us that a necromancer with enough power has the ability to completely overtake the mind and actions of a Dark One. With that kind of magic at their disposal, they could demolish entire cities.

Of course, none of us have actually witnessed it in action. Every so often, we’ll stumble upon a Warlock that has experienced holes in his memory. Usually, it’s from a soul-sucker, or a fiend. Yes, even the Dark has addicts. They get addicted to the power and have to constantly replenish in order maintain their strength. Soon, the craving becomes too strong, and just a taste of magic won’t do. They seek out human witches for their fix, opening themselves to become susceptible to their Voodoo poison.  

I tune out Malcolm’s blubbering as he tries to refute Varshaun’s claims and take a look around. Audible gasps ring out as my gaze shifts to a group huddled on the couch. They’re terrified of us, trembling in a haze of horrified confusion. They’ve heard the stories, maybe even seen one of us in action. But me … I’m an anomaly. In public, Varshaun is the mouthpiece. I rarely ever accompany him in situations like these. A Dark prince wreaking havoc on the streets of New Orleans would put our entire family at risk. So, I keep quiet and give Varshaun the spotlight, feeding his never-ending ego.