Although he’d been the one to speak the words to put the curse on the house, he still blamed Bacclum for pushing him to it. If it hadn’t been for the selfish, power-hungry actions of the Grigori, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He wouldn’t have let anger and spite and selfish wishes for power fuel his actions. He wouldn’t have spoken the words and cursed them all for an eternity.
As a demon, eternity was something he understood, as he’d already lived for thousands of years, but to do so forever trapped in this house, with no way out, was torture. He’d rather have been ripped apart in the pits for the rest of his days. At least, he’d feel something. Pain most likely. But it would be something. Other than this hollow ache he had deep inside him. That no amount of food, or drink, or music, or running could fill. He was empty.
As he walked into the next room, a table appeared with a chair in front of it. A single plate sat on the burgundy table cloth, two forks, a knife, and a spoon placed next to the fine bone china. When Malvo approached the table, a servant dressed in fine livery shimmered into view, pulling out Malvo’s chair for him.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Reginald.”
Malvo sat and unfolded the linen napkin to place it on his lap. He tapped the wine glass with his fingers and it magically filled with dark red wine.
“What would you like this evening, sir? The gumbo is excellent.”
Picking up the wine glass, Malvo took a sip and studied his servant. “No more gumbo, Reginald. I’d like prime rib, rare, potatoes au gratin, and some asparagus.”
Reginald bowed his head. “Very good, sir.” He walked out of the room and vanished into mist.
Malvo sipped his wine and contemplated its flavor. Food and drink were two things he used to indulge in, savoring each taste. Reveling in it. He missed that. Sex was another thing he missed. That was another indulgence he longed for. Another thing he used to savor and sample quite often.
He could conjure a woman here and now and have her any way he wanted. He’d done it plenty of times. It would feel, and taste, and sound as if it was truly real, as if she were a solid entity moaning his name with each thrust of his hard cock. But he knew deep down it was a falsity, and that he may never know the honest pleasure of a woman again.
Anger roared inside and he squeezed his glass tightly. It shattered in his hand, cutting his thumb and forefinger. The pain was immediate and he savored it, if only for a moment, until it dissipated along with the broken shards of glass and the spilled wine. Another wine glass intact and full of wine appeared on his table as if nothing had occurred.
Reginald took that moment to arrive with his meal. He set it on the table in front of Malvo. “Enjoy, sir.”
Inhaling the delectable smell, Malvo picked up his knife and fork and cut a tender piece of meat. He set it into his mouth and sighed. It nearly melted on his tongue. Closing his eyes in rapture, he chewed it slowly, savoring each morsel, each separate flavor that erupted. If he allowed the truth of his situation to sink in he knew the food would dissolve like dirt in his mouth and he’d never find joy or passion in anything again.
So he happily pushed the thoughts aside and enjoyed his meal. At least he could do this one thing. Even if he knew deep down inside it meant nothing. He yearned for something to matter to him. Matter enough that maybe, just maybe, the curse he’d brought upon himself and the others would disappear just as Reginald, his faithful servant, had done earlier.
Chapter Three
The old beat-up pickup truck rambled down the dirt road. Kiara smiled as the movement brought a slight breeze to her sweaty skin. She sat in the bed of the truck and watched as the scenery went by. Louisiana was beautiful country. The trees, the rich greenness of the area, made her feel right at home.
After a few more minutes, the truck stopped a short distance from a bridge. The road after it was overgrown even more than the road they’d been rolling down. The one to the left was clearer, obviously the one more traveled over.
The grizzled old black man hung his head out the window and looked back at her, although she could see he tried desperately not to stare at her eyes. She’d been getting that reaction ever since she’d gotten in a cab and headed toward the airport back in Ireland. “You sho ’bout this, girl? This is the road you wanna take?”
With her bag full of everything important to her slung over her shoulder, she jumped out of the back of the truck and stood next to the driver’s side window. She nodded. “Yes. I thank you for the ride.”
The old man peered through the cracked windshield of his truck at the overgrown road. He chewed on his bottom lip a moment as if contemplating the meaning of life. Finally, he turned toward Kiara, his eyes narrowed.
“I can’t take you any farther.”
“I understand. There’s no need to worry. I’ll be more than fine.”
“A pretty thing like you needs to be careful.”
She smiled. “I can take care of meself. It may not look it, but from where I come, people are afraid of me.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but eventually he tipped his head to her, put his truck in gear and rolled forward, turning onto the other road.
She watched as his truck rambled away from her. Then she straightened her shoulders and stepped onto the grassy lane, starting her journey toward her father’s house and a new life.
She’d read his letter with a mixture of anger and interest. She’d never met her father. Her mother had told her nothing of him, except that he had knocked her up and abandoned her and Kiara the second she’d been born. Rubbing a finger under her eye, Kiara didn’t have to guess why he’d fled. Her goat’s eye was difficult to look at. She struggled with it when she was younger, until finally she grew to accept it and even be proud of it. It afforded her power and prestige in her culture.
Jean-Paul’s letter had been full of regret and words of apology. He’d asked her, nay, begged her to come to Louisiana to see him. He’d wanted to make amends to her. She didn’t know about making amends, but she jumped at the chance to come. She knew this was a sign, an omen. And she always followed the omens. She came to the old parish not to find a father, she cared nothing for him, but to find the one thing she was missing in her life. Passion. She knew it was waiting for her down the road.
After a few minutes, Kiara stopped and slid off her shoes. She picked them up and shoved them into her bag. Hefting her bag over her shoulder, Kiara inched off the grooves in the road to bury her toes into the soil alongside.
Since arriving in Louisiana and particularly in the area near New Orleans, she’d been overwhelmed with the need to touch the ground, to set her bare feet onto the earth beneath the city. And that’s what she did the moment she was outside the city and on her way to her father’s old plantation house.
She knew it would be a little walk, a quarter of a mile several folks told her when she informed them of her destination, but she didn’t care. Now that she was here in this part of the world, she felt an affinity to everything. The trees, the grass, the dirt, even in some sense the old buildings. There was some force here, some power that called to her inner spirit. Something that told her that she was home.
The dark rich soil was cool on her toes and she squished it between them, sensing the power deep inside the ground. There was something powerful here, in this place, waiting, sleeping, growing, and shifting. Into what, Kiara didn’t have a clue. But she knew that when it woke from its long slumber, there would be a storm like no one had seen before swirling overhead, threatening to destroy or to create. Depending on its mood.
She kept on walking, in no hurry to reach her destination. Kiara was all about the journey. She’d never been in too much of a hurry to get anywhere. It was her gypsy roots. Meandering from one place to another, letting the wind guide the trip. Yet she was excited to get to the house. She knew there was something amazing there waiting for her. Something that called to her even while she was awake. The closer she got to the house, the more she could sense its presence.
Every night since her first dream of the demon and the other two beings in the library, she’d dreamed of him. Dark, sensual dreams that stirred her juices. She’d wake sweaty, aching between her thighs. The ache would nag at her until she satisfied it with her own fingers. But it would be back again, harder, fiercer, the next night and the next. It got to the point where she didn’t need to sleep to feel that throb pounding inside her. It was there now, a constant companion, and no amount of massaging or thrusting or manipulating would sate it.
Only her dream demon could slake her hunger.
She hoped he was waiting for her, primed and ready, eager to take her, to plunge himself into the warm soft folds of her body.
Her breathing grew rapid as she thought about the possibilities. Sweat trickled down her chest, between her br**sts to pool in her navel. It was hot, and thinking about her dream demon wasn’t doing anything but making her hotter. She had to curb her thoughts before she dropped onto the ground right here and now and took care of the raging lust pumping through her veins. She hoped the walk wasn’t that much longer. Because if this kept on, she’d do just that, and be damned if anyone came by and saw her.
Kiara walked, dragging her bag on the ground, for another few minutes before she sensed a change in the air. It became thicker, heavier, and cooler. As if an ocean breeze had swept through, but she knew that was not the case. The ocean was not close enough to elicit such changes. It was a shift not in the weather but in the atmosphere. There was something tangible just over the rise.
Her pace increased. She was anxious to get to the house, to finally find a place of her own, to have a home she could come to and be herself without fear, without judgment, without reservation. She knew from her father’s letter she would be accepted here for who she truly was. Her father had called her home for a purpose.
And that purpose was within her grasp. She could feel it creeping over her skin, like fingers of a lover’s hand. Licking her lips, she crested the rise and came to her salvation.
The sight of the huge, ancient sycamores lining the dirt lane stole her breath. She’d never seen so many great trees before in her life, and she came from the Emerald Isle. These trees were giants, leaning over the road, protecting it like formidable guardians. They formed a canopy overhead that sunlight could barely penetrate. So when Kiara took her first step onto the road to the house, it was as if the moon had eclipsed the sun.