Finally, when I climaxed again, there was no chance of holding back a scream.
Only then did he slow his actions, taking more time as he pinned his eyes on me.
The heat of his skin scorched every inch of me and this time as he jerked my arms over my head, he entwined our fingers, finally allowing himself to reach satisfaction.
As he erupted deep inside, I lolled my head away, closing my eyes.
There was nothing like knowing that he’d filled me with his seed.
CHAPTER 16
Donatello
Gris-gris, a voodoo talisman or amulet originating in West Africa.
Primarily, the small cloth bag containing herbs, bones, oils, and even personal items was used to bring good luck or provide protection for someone. Emmeline had learned the art of black magic as a kid. However, they could also be used for evil intentions. Placing hexes and evil spells on anyone deemed necessary.
I’d laughed when I’d heard all about her love of spells.
At least initially.
Then I’d seen firsthand what a true hex could do when Emmeline’s grandmother had cast a spell on people responsible for her son’s death.
All I could say was that any act of torture I could inflict was nothing in comparison to the condition of their bodiesafterwards. As I stood in the kitchen of the rental house, staring at a cloth bag that I hadn’t seen before, my thoughts drifted to the day the bodies had been found. The police had worried there was a serial killer hiding in the bowels of New Orleans.
No such thing.
Just an eighty-something-year-old pissed-off woman with a hunger for violence that outweighed my own.
As soon as I reached out to pull the bag tied with a soft violet ribbon into my hands, I thought better of it. Knowing Emmeline, I’d need to be careful.
Besides, I knew what a physical spell looked like and the small mesh bag had all the markings of a particularly evil spell. Not by the smell, which reminded me of night-blooming jasmine, or by the bones I could tell were crushed inside, but simply knowing the woman nestled naked under soft sheets.
I’d also seen the effects of a spell promoting good health in the daughter of a soldier still working for the Prince family. She’d been healed of an aggressive cancer. The person responsible for the hex? Alexander.
The entire damn family was Cajun. Why would I think of them incapable of planting a spell?
I grabbed the cup of coffee, moving through the house. There was a slender chance she’d placed a spell on me. Would she do that? Then again, what would it matter if she had? I was already an evil man.
I shook my head as I opened the back door, heading outside. The morning was beautiful, sunlight already streaming across the harbor in strings of gold.
The night had been unexpected, a taste of the forbidden, but instead of my thirst being quenched, I longed for more. Indulging in my needs was even more dangerous, definitely unforgivable.
Our sinful act had kept me wide awake, but obviously not all night long. At some point, she’d left our bed, taking the time to create her little gris-gris. I imagined she could build them in her sleep. She even sold them in the gift shop inside Indulgence.
My lack of slumber had also been put to good use.
With the decent internet connection and with being unable to sleep, I’d spent some time researching both Peter Kendall andSouthern Comfort Magazine, the latter being a legitimate business operation and from what I could tell, providing savvy presentations of the upper echelon of southern societies in their homes.
If so, then why hire a two-bit photographer making ends meet by taking wedding photos to dress in dark clothing and stalk her in the middle of the night? The question would linger in the back of my mind, a nagging as well. Everything that had occurred was intertwined together.
Even what I could find on this William Dreyfus didn’t send up any red flags, but I wasn’t the one to make the decision to contact various sources we had and doing a deep dive into the man’s background. He was an older gentleman, graduating from Vanderbilt University with a master’s in business.
While there was no direct connection that I could find between the players I’d researched so far, my thoughts continually drifted to a group of wealthy individuals who ruled the world behind the scenes. The Brotherhood. They’d reared their ugly heads in ourworld almost two years before. Mostly men from America’s first families who’d carved out a kingdom of power and prosperity that rivaled sheiks and Russian oligarchs.
They existed mostly in the shadows, protected by an invisible army. Not only did they have money and connections on their side, they also had anonymity. That alone was highly dangerous. I couldn’t get them out of my mind. Sadly, it wasn’t as if there was a shopping list of how or where to find them. It didn’t exist.
But I’d bet William Dreyfus was a card-carrying member. It appeared the magazine was part of his family holdings. Digging any deeper would need to be done later.
