I slap this mouthy hellion right on her gorgeous ass, hard enough to make the flesh bounce.
She half-moans, half-gasps.
I deliver a slap to the other side of her ass, and gods damn, just watching it jump like that is about to make me come. Squeezing her neck again, I urge her face back and press my cheek to hers. “I did. I fucking bled every second for you, damn you.”
Her pussy clenches in reaction.
As if she loves knowing how much I missed her. How bad it wrecked me.
Enraged with her, I slam my mouth against hers, a brutal mouth claiming that’s meant to deliver more pain than pleasure. As tremors start building in my legs, the explosion beginning to gather in my groin, I take her rough enough to break the dresser.
When it cracks, all I do is fuck her even harder into it, uncaring of who hears us—if the damn thing breaks on through the floor to the party below.
I pound into her, a climax ripping through me. It takes me by surprise although I expected it, the brutality of it making my head spin.
“Fuck, Remy. Oh fuck. I feel you coming!”
“Damn you, female. Fucking damn you,” is all I can say, my head falling to the back of her shoulder, my body working hers as I come.
She explodes around me, I feel every bit of it, yet it’s the orgasm destroying my body that has my entire focus.
The after shudders are even worse. For all my talk of immortal, godly strength, I can’t even remain standing after that. Shaking—fucking shaking—I ease away from her to lead her to the bed.
The violence with which she turns on me almost sends me reeling back. “Was it you?” Marie asks, voice rough. “Was it really you that came for them?”
Her expression finishes her unspoken thought.
Was it you that came for my babies?
We’re buck naked, covered with the scent of our sex. It isn’t the best time for this conversation, yet the pain of a mother who’s lost her children doesn’t understand propriety.
Neither does the heart of a scorned woman.
Marie fell in love with me that night, just like I fell in love with her, I finally admit to myself.
And I left her behind. She wished to never see me, not understanding her powers.
Powers I most likely amplified when I let her take a piece of my soul.
All she knew was that I vanished and I only came back to lead her daughters to the afterlife—for two-hundred years, that was the cornerstone of her belief.
I nod. “It was me.”
“Why?” Marie demands, trembling.
“You know why. Don’t fuck with me.” I point at her. “You’re the one responsible for us not seeing each other. I came back for you. I had to watch you fucking marry him and I couldn’t do shit about it.”
Another blow to her reality. “You were there?”
“Yes, Marie. I was there. Just like I was there to gather his putrid soul and lock it in my realm, where I’ve made damn sure he’s been punished in the most heinous ways possible for what he did to those precious girls.”
A tear leaks down her cheek.
The sight shatters me, awakens a forgiveness I’m not ready for.
Then again, I love her. It’s impossible not to forgive her.
“I . . . I can’t . . . we don’t have time for this.” Her clothes reappear on her body, just like that, and she begins storming past me.
I snatch her arm in a hard grip. “You’re out of your mind if you think you’re walking away from me again.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“You promised to help Khatiya.”
And the werewolf. I remember.
“That doesn’t mean this is finished between us. It never was. You’re going to face me, Marie, and we’re going to settle this once and for all.”
“Go to hell,” she snaps stubbornly, right before she disappears.
Foolish girl.
There’s nothing stopping me from following her this time.
Epilogue
I helped out her friends, as promised.
In doing so, I indervently aided in yet another ascension of hers.
Legba gifted control of the coven to both Marie and Khatiya.
The necromancer and the pyromaniac.
Papa’s domain between this realm and ours is a pocket dimension accessed through Courterie Forest.
As well as other places throughout the world.
When I asked him to intervene, he agreed, and I was able to get Khatiya there before the traitors to their coven, Serial and Sabian, could finish murdering her werewolf lover.
They’d worked a spell to convince Marinette, the loa of power and violence, as well as the one who policies the werewolves, that he was responsible for the attack on The Bestowers.
Had we not gotten there in time, the newly changed werewolf named Silas would’ve died.
Once that little bit of business was concluded, with Sabian and Seril subdued thanks to Marie and Khatiya, and The Bestowers passed the mantle onto them, I was honest with Marie.
I told her to be ready for me.
That I’d be back for her.
It wasn’t lie. But, first, I had something important to take care of.
Namely? I had to confront Legba about my millions of questions.
I only got an answer to one.
There is nothing standing in the way between me and my goal of making Marie mine.
My wife.
She’s immortal, that’s a given. There’s no reason why we can’t be together.
I just have to convince that insane female of that fact.
Thus, I find myself here, across the street from 1020 St. Ann Street.
Or, as it was known two centuries ago when Marie first purchased this cottage: 152 Rue St. Ann.
The street name and address might’ve changed, as well as a few of the homes running up and down the block, but the exterior of that light blue cottage remains the same.
I would know. Up until 1898, when she originally joined the coven run by The Bestowers, this was my usual spot.
On this sidewalk, across the street from her home, yearning for that glimpse of her.
Now, she’s spending her time between this house—after she reacquired the deed under a false alias—and the new one on State Street that they acquired as the base of the coven.
Well, most days she’s here now.
Because she’s running from me and my constant surveillance.
As if this place can keep her safe from me.
Just as I prepare to cross the street and knock on her front door, steps sound my way. It’s 4:00am, and the streets remain pretty busy at this time of night.
Whoever said New York is the city that never sleeps never visited New Orleans.
I look to my right, expecting a drunk human ambling my way—
Oh, this is just perfect. The one being I never want to deal with. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Brigitte smiles and waves at me.
She’s happy.
Too happy.
My eyes narrow.
What the fuck is she up to now?
The hem of her thin, dark coat swishes against her ankle boots. Her dress pants and navy blue tank top are also modern and sleek.
But she’s hidden from view of the humans, as I am. She wouldn’t be rocking her silver, spiked halo, matching glittery tears, nor her all-gray, dead eyes if she wasn’t.
“I asked you a fucking question,” I remind her in a hard voice. The last thing I need is her bringing her bitching and moaning in front of Marie, when I’m about to practically demand that the female becomes my wife.