He’d gotten a phone call while I’d been conversing with his sister and everything had changed, his eyes becoming pools ofanger. His stares long and hard. Even after challenging him, the difference in what we’d shared in the cemetery had slipped away.
Maybe I just didn’t know him well enough to realize he had two distinct sides.
Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d only seen a crack in his armor, Hyde escaping his dark tomb for a few seconds. What would happen if I was ever forced to witness the full brunt of his rage?
I shuddered from the thought.
The music caught me off guard because when inside the restaurant on the second floor, there’d been no indication the hottest club in the city was housed two floors above.
With intense vibes and powerful neon lights, the atmosphere had to be the most electric and festive in the city. I was shocked he’d agreed to wear a costume. While it was only a mask, I could tell instantly he was completely uncomfortable.
He was doing this for me.
There were hundreds of people inside the club, laughter mixing with tribal music as bodies gyrated in time to the heavy drumbeat. With the lights flashing across walls, the stunning neon-lit bars and the dance floor, the effect was hypnotic.
Only he remained disinterested other than scanning the perimeter every few seconds. He guided me through the maze of people, the partygoers parting the way as we walked through. With his aura of intensity and power, it was obvious he was someone of importance.
His hand had a firm grasp on mine, pulling me to an area blocked off by velvet rope. That’s when I noticed another group of his men who’d taken up residence around the private area.
They nodded toward their master, one dutifully opening the gated section so there was no hindrance in us passing through.
While there were five tables inside the sectioned off area, we were the only guests for the evening. Flameless candles were everywhere, the roar of the crowd unable to take away the feeling of sheer intimacy. As if we were the only ones inside the club.
As if determined to showcase he was a gentleman, he pulled out my chair, saying nothing as I eased onto the soft red velvet seat. But what he didn’t say with words he did by sliding his hand underneath my hair, his fingers wrapping around my neck possessively.
Another shiver coursed through me, another wave of desire created an almost painful throb between my legs. That’s what he did to me, keeping me tethered to him with a mere touch.
Within seconds, a waiter dressed in all black presented a bottle of champagne, purposely not even looking in my direction as if rules prevented him from doing so. Or maybe the employee knew better than to give me any attention.
Even as he approached after going through a quick check by one of the guards, Alexander was on edge. I could sense it in every ounce of my being. Perhaps more so because the waiter’s face was completely covered in a garish mask.
Once he’d poured the expensive bubbly, I leaned over the table. “The king has arrived.”
It took him a few seconds to realize what I’d said, a wide smile spreading across his face. He also leaned over so our faces were close, our lips even closer. “Is that what you think?”
“With a name like Prince and the reaction from the crowd, what else could I think? Are these your subjects?” I swept my hand out, teasing him to try to keep him from crawling his way back to the darkness he thrived in.
“Mere peasants.” He cocked his head and even behind the dark mask, I could tell he was weighing thoughts on what to do with me as the night continued to unfold.
“You terrify them. Do you do that on purpose?”
His snort was unexpected and I laughed easily. “I doubt I put some intense fear in them even if I do have a distinct reputation. Very little terrifies the people of New Orleans. You should know that. We are a city steeped in demons, ghosts, and ghouls. Hauntings are legendary, people from all over the world visiting the city with hopes of seeing a spirit or partaking in acts of black magic.” He lifted his glass of champagne. Every time he did nothing more than look at me, I could tell he was peeling away the layers I’d built up around myself, storing the information that he could use against me.
Or to keep the powerful hold over me.
“Is that the way you feel about your twin brother dying, his ghost returning, seeking revenge? Or are you doing it for him?” I hadn’t intended on broaching the subject and as soon as I did, I sensed another wave of anger, which he had difficulty controlling around me.
His nostrils flared and I could feel another link on the heavy chain pulling him to hell forming. To my surprise, instead oftossing the bottle of champagne against the wall or threatening to punish me, he remained very still. But when he began to speak, just as I’d experienced with him before, there was no one else in the room. He could be a master storyteller.
“My grandmother on my mother’s side and her mother before her considered themselves mistresses of black magic. She often taught her grandchildren there is more power in death than in life.”
“Do you believe her?” I took a sip of champagne, fascinated by him being able to open up to me.
“I love her stories, tantalizing snapshots of the history of our family, of the spells she’s placed on our enemies and of demons crawling free from the earth. I finally began to research many of the people she’d mentioned over the years, who they were and what happened to them.”
“What did?”
