Coveted - Book 3 in the Gwen Sparks Series Read online

  Dorian and I walked in silence. My eyes trailed over Bourbon Street, the tall townhouses with wrought iron balconies and colorful overhanging flowers. Businesses lined either side of the road, people filling the sidewalks. Dorian wrapped an arm around my shoulders to pull me out of the way of a passing crowd. When they had passed, he dropped his arm.

  “Do you still think Holly is the one who hired the Veil?” I asked after a while.

  Dorian’s jaw flexed, his lips a tight straight line. “I wouldn’t put it past her, but at this point it could also be the VC. It would save a helluva lot of time if I could just storm in and wipe them all out.”

  “Why can’t you?” I asked. “Not that I want you to, just curious.”

  “Breaking the rules has consequences. I’m already paying the price of saving your life. I’d hate to see what the Fates would do if I started killing people before they were destined to die.”

  I was trying really hard to not think of how I should be dead. It was my time to go. Had Dorian not stepped in I would be lying in a silk-lined coffin as my spirit-self watched over the grievers. He’d given me a second chance at life and I was repaying him by running off with Aiden? Even I hated myself sometimes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “But the punishment isn’t really all that bad, and I appreciate what you did more than you know.”

  Dorian snorted, glancing down at me and then away. “I do know how much you appreciate it. I’ve spent millennia listening to dead saps beg me not to take their souls.” His mouth snapped shut and I noticed his fingers curled and uncurled as if agitated by something.

  “As for the punishment,” he continued. “It’s not just lost sight on some random person. I care about you and now I have no clue what will happen to you. You could end up running off with Aiden and I’d have no way of knowing if he drained you dry, unless I ran into your spirit.” He paused again. “I need to get over it, over you. Imagine, Death caring for someone. It’s ludicrous.”

  I was taken aback by his words. “You’re mad because you care about me?” It made me smile a little bit, not because I was happy to hear he cared—I knew he did, but because he was pouting like a child about it. Just to mess with him I reached down for his hand, bringing it up so the palm was facing me. The motion caused us both to stop. Dorian looked down, confusion causing his brows to dip together.

  “Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you have your cootie shot.” I circled a pattern with my fingertip on his palm. “The spell is broken. You are now free to not give a shit about anything or anyone. Go forth, Mr. Grumpy, and visit the beds of willing females.” I smiled for good measure, releasing his hand. I began walking again, crossing my arms to keep my hands warm. I was smiling to myself when Dorian caught up with me.

  “Hilarious,” he deadpanned. “Hey, if this whole spirit walker thing doesn’t work out, you can become a comedian. It’s good to have a backup plan.”

  I was still laughing when we cut across the street.

  “Here we are.” Dorian pointed up to a round black sign hanging by chains. In fancy, white lettering it read: Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo. Three concrete steps led up to the front door, green shutters on either side. Dorian went through first and I followed closely behind him. The shop was small, dark and smelled like patchouli and other herbs. Various items lined the shelves: charms, voodoo dolls, candles and souvenirs. To the right was a glass countertop where the cashier stood. Dorian walked up to the man behind it and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. I picked up something that looked like a cross made out of twigs.

  “Come on,” Dorian said turning and heading toward the back of the store. A woman with skin the color of silky milk chocolate greeted us. She wore a colorful, zigzag printed dress and her long hair fell in tiny braids around her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes regarded us with suspicion while her lips remained in a straight line. Though she looked roughly thirty-five, those brown eyes held wisdom beyond her years. There was something about her that made me feel as though I’d done something wrong. Like the time my mother had caught me kissing a boy goodnight; the disappointment in her blue eyes hurt worse than the two week grounding.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Kiah.” Dorian held out his hand. Kiah stared at it, her brow arching as she took a step back.

  “Follow me,” she said, turning around and disappearing through a beaded curtain. Dorian leaned down and whispered, “She knows what I am and does not trust me.” That surprised me. While every other supernatural creature was out of the closet, Dorian wasn’t like us. Revealing that angels were real and roaming earth would cause a craze. I could almost hear the apocalyptic rants now. Maybe Kiah was the real deal and she had some mystical insight to allow her to see through Dorian’s human disguise. It didn’t surprise me that she was afraid of him, though he didn’t steal souls for the fun of it.

  We stepped through the beaded curtain and into a small square room. Bookshelves lined all four walls, their shelves filled with glass jars full of spooky looking stuff. I could have sworn one had the body of dehydrated rat, but I didn’t study it too closely. A round table rested in the center of the room, covered with a colorful cloth. A large white pillar candle sat in the middle of it, gnarled drips of wax down the sides.

  “Sit,” Kiah ordered and Dorian and I took a seat. She had her back to us as she stood on her tiptoes to retrieve a long rectangular box. Sitting, she placed the box in front of her and lifted her gaze to me. I tried not to look away like I was guilty of something.

  “Dis you den dat evil has clutched onto.” It wasn’t a question. The drawl of her Cajun accent was beautiful yet made her words sound more intense.

  “Yes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I shot Dorian a worried glance and he braced my hand beneath the table, squeezing my fingers.

  “And your boy tells me dat dis evil is strong. Dat a regular protection spell will not work. Da dagger I offer is not a gift, you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I lend it to you and when you have vanquished your evil, you will bring it back. Do not wield it lightly. It is not to be trifled with.” Her skinny brow arched in warning as she lifted the lid of the wooden box, spinning the container around to face me. Resting on a bed of black velvet was the most beautiful— and frightening—dagger I’d ever seen. Its double-edged blade—all eight inches—gleamed as if Kiah spent hours polishing it. An intricate, vine pattern was stamped into the steel. Strange markings that I recognized as rune symbols were etched into the silver hilt.

  Kiah lifted the dagger out of the box, holding it horizontally so that the pommel was facing us. A circular pattern, made out of what looked like diamonds and sapphires, created the shape of an eye.

  “Dis da evil eye,” Kiah said, tapping a finger over it. “When you strike, you strike da forehead. Evil lies within da mind and nowhere else. Da evil eye—” She grabbed at the air, yanking her hand back and pulling air through her lips to make a sucking noise. “Sucks da evil out, trapping it in dis here.” She tapped the bejeweled eye again.

  My stomach recoiled at the thought to stabbing someone in the head. I didn’t even know if I was strong enough to get through the skull. What if I tried and it didn’t penetrate the bone?

  “She looks a little green,” Kiah said to Dorian. “If you want to defeat dos demons you beddargit over yous soft stomach.” She placed the dagger back in the box, snapping the lid closed.

  Kiah stood and rummaged through some things on the shelves. Dorian’s thumb rubbed circles over the top of my hand while he watched Kiah. I sucked in air through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth, gaining courage as the shock wore off.

  “You’ll need dees too.” Kiah sat a small red, fabric pouch and a necklace with leather cording with a bronze pendant of a rune symbol on the table. “Dis,” she said, picking up the pouch. “Is a gris-gris. You know what dat is, girl?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a mixture to ensure success. Carry it in y
our left pocket. Dis—” She picked the necklace up. “Will give you strength. Keep both on you at all times, ya hear?”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  The beaded curtain clanked and we all turned to see the man from the register pop his head in. “Sorry to bother you, but your next appointment is here.”

  Kiah nodded at the man and Dorian and I stood. Dorian dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and laid a couple hundred on the table. “I really appreciate you seeing us, Kiah. We will return the dagger after we’re done with it. You have my word.” He gave her a respectful nod.

  She snatched the bills up, tucking them in a black box on the shelf. She retrieved a white canvas bag and slipped the dagger inside, handing it to me. “Good luck, child,” she said. “And you best start usin’ that stuff now.” She nodded towards the fabric pouch and necklace still lying on the table. I slipped the sachet into my left pocket like she had instructed, and then slipped the necklace over my head. The cool metal of the bronze pendant rested between my breasts. I wasn’t sure if the voodoo charms would work, but at this point I would try anything.

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  I tried calling Charles three times and each time I was directed to voicemail. I sat the phone down a little harder than I intended, running my hands through my hair.

  “I’m not going to worry about the council anymore,” I said more to myself than Dorian. He was sitting next to me, his legs spread in a comfortable pose as he watched the History channel. I had my legs curled up underneath me, my cat and a blanket covering my lap.

  “We just need to find a way to take care of the rogues and then everything will be peachy. Eventually Holly will hang herself with the NAWC and they’ll see her for the wicked witch she is.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dorian said, though he didn’t take his eyes off the television. “But you must also find a way to handle the VC.”

  I frowned, looking down at Snowball as I petted her long inky fur. I hadn’t found a solution to that particular problem. According to Aiden, the Vampire Council could not be killed. I imagined they were stronger than regular vampires, but I was sure they still had an Achilles’ heel. Not that I could kill them if it were possible; that would cause chaos in the vampire world and bring a plethora of fanged after me.

  “Unless your plan is to run…” Dorian’s head lolled against the sofa so he could look at me. We considered each other for a few moments. I was surprised he hadn’t tried to finish what we’d started the other night. My fingers itched to brush his hair away from his forehead, my body to snuggle against his. I snapped my eyes away, staring straight ahead.

  “I haven’t decided.” I whispered the lie, but I knew he heard it. Last night while I was alone with my thoughts, I had decided. I was keeping it quiet until I talked to Aiden first. If I ran wouldn’t it be easier on Dorian? He wouldn’t be frustrated by not being able to see my fate, or have to put his life on hold to look after me. No, Aiden would be taking care of you. I thought. I was disgusted with myself. I was a coward whether I ran or stayed, protected behind the bodies of these capable men. That needed to end right here and now. I was powerful and I damn sure needed to start acting like it.

  “Come on,” I said tugging Dorian’s hand as I stood. He lifted himself up, a smirk on his face. His fingers curled around my hand with a firm grip.

  “If you want to get frisky, we could do that right here.” He motioned to the sofa with his head.

  “Hmm, I do want to get frisky,” I said with a smile. Dorian didn’t waste any time in taking a step forward. I held my hand out, my palm against his chest. “But with the dagger. Show me how to use it.”

  “Oh, I’ll show you how to use it.” That smirk turned devilish.

  “Down boy,” I said releasing his hand and walking over to retrieve the dagger from the bag.

  Dorian walked around the couch, crossing his arms. “It concerns me that you’re not as hungry for me as I am for you. I’m as anxious to tear your clothes off as a kid on Christmas.”

  What he didn’t know was that I did want him as much as he did me. How many times had I studied the curve of muscle hiding beneath his tshirts? The difference between us was that I thought about things before I did them while he dropped trou first and didn’t bother with questions later.

  “Maybe it has nothing to do with me at all,” I remarked. “Maybe angels are just horny bastards hiding behind wings.”

  Dorian walked with purpose toward me. My fingers burned as I gripped the dagger’s box tighter. When he was inches from me, he took the box from my hand and set it down. His hand curled around my nape as he leaned closer to my mouth. My breath halted, my lungs just as anxious as the rest of my body.

  “This has everything to do with you, cupcake. You burn me from the inside out. Torturous tease.” His mouth was so close, his words low and seductively alluring me. His other hand gripped my hip, his fingers flexing against the barrier of my jeans. Instinctively, my tongue slipped out and rolled over my own lips. Though Dorian’s eyes were orbs of clouds without pupils, I could tell he tracked the movement.

  “Tell me,” he whispered, trailing his nose up my throat. “What does he have that I’m lacking?” He pressed a kiss to my jawline and my eyes slipped closed for a moment. “Would it be so easy to leave me, Gwen?”

  “I-I’m not…leaving,” I mumbled. I couldn’t tell him that he was the reason why I was staying. It felt too serious and I wasn’t ready for serious. But the thought of never seeing him again caused an unbearable strain of sadness. I thought about being with Aiden in some exotic country and how wonderful it’d be, but Dorian would always be in the back of my mind, lingering for as long as my heart beat. He had woven his way into my life and crept into my heart. I couldn’t offer him a relationship right now, but I could be in his life in one way or another. I just needed to be close to him.

  “You’re not leaving with him?” Dorian stood up straight, his disbelief written all over his face. His relief at me staying caused a frenzy of emotion to knot in my stomach. When was I going to stop seeing Dorian as nothing more than a man with a permanent hard-on? Those sorts of men preferred the woman to leave. I honestly believed that if I left, it would hurt Dorian. It took seeing his face now to believe all of his previous words.

  “The loss is greater than the gain,” I told him.

  His lips turned up in a wide smile, and he shook his head while laughing to himself, just a breath of air through his nose but it was a beautiful sound.

  “You’d face the storm with me when there’s a haven just waiting to accept you?” His words were so low I wasn’t sure whether the question was for me or rhetorical.

  “I’ll go against everything I am to protect you.” He cradled my face in his hands, staring down at me. All of the jubilance left his face as he turned serious. “You’ll always be safe with me, Gwen.”

  I didn’t need to hear his promise to know that it was true. He made me feel safe. I reached my hand up and clasped the one holding my face.

  “I know, but I must also protect myself. Show me how to wield the dagger.”

  His mouth covered mine, his lips hard and possessive. An arm slid around my waist, and he tugged me up so that my feet were dangling in the air. His hair was silk against my fingertips as they glided through the long strands.

  “I’ve always had a boot camp fantasy,” Dorian said against my mouth.

  “Forget it; I’m not into role playing.”

  He pressed one last kiss to my lips and set me down. “I’m seriously considering reevaluating our relationship.”

  With a shrug, I bent down, picked up the dagger’s box and headed down the hall.

  *

  “Bend your knees,” Dorian ordered. We had only been practicing for an hour, but already I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, my calves screaming in protest as I crouched into position. Imagine my surprise when Dorian revealed that he had a gym. No wonder he was in such good shape; he probably thought
foreplay was letting the ladies watch him lift weights. I had to admit; the visual playing through my mind was enough to cause a sweet ache between my legs.

  “Now throw it!”

  Flinging my arm forward, I launched the knife through the air and towards Eddie’s head. The blade caught the glow of the overhead light, glinting like liquid silver as it sailed across the room. Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face, not even flinching when the knife cut through his neck. The dagger passed through his misty body, clanging to the floor and spinning on its hilt.

  “You need to aim higher.” Dorian spoke behind me, reaching for my arm and bending it back. “For a man my height, this position will give you the correct trajectory.” I couldn’t focus on anything except the coolness of his fingertips burning a trail down my arm. Giving myself a mental shake, I nodded and thought about the angle of my arm.

  “Go get the knife; we’ll try again.”

  I walked over and snatched the dagger from the floor, standing up and winking at Eddie. His grimace softened the tiniest bit before he realized he was being forced to act as my target against his will.

  “We’ve been at this for a while,” Eddie complained. “That girl can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

  “I did hit my target, just not in the right spot,” I said in defense. “It’s not as easy as Dorian is making it sound.” Kiah said that I had to stab the rogues in the forehead, and because Dorian didn’t want me close to them, he thought standing at a distance and just throwing the blade would be efficient. What he didn’t take into account was the fact that I was born with the coordination of cross-eyed monkey. No matter how much I bent my knees, angled my arm or grasped the blade, the dagger always sailed too low or veered off its mark. Still, I was stone-cold determined to nail the art of knife throwing.

  “Here.” Dorian held out his hand for the blade. I placed the hilt into his awaiting palm, crossing my arms and readying myself for another lecture, or lesson as Dorian called his constant ramblings of trajectories, angles and grip strategies. But hadn’t I asked for this?