The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) (20 page)

Julian bit down on her earlobe. “Let me take you home and you can thank me properly.”

Dread rose in Jazzmyn’s throat at the thought of giving herself to him again. No matter how her body yearned for him, her mind was beginning to rebel against him. But she knew if she vented her reservations, the darkness that dwelled just below the surface in him would return, and Jazzmyn feared that darkness, more than she had ever feared anything before.  

“It’s time to go, my love,” he whispered to her as he took her hand. Julian led her from behind the bar and toward the kitchen door.

While she dutifully walked behind him, her mind raced with ways to break free of his control. Jazzmyn knew she would not be able to get away from Julian without help. The only problem was the one friend she trusted to help her was the same man she had fired from her restaurant the night before. As Julian turned the lights of the dining room out, Jazzmyn began to hope that things had not been irrevocably broken between her and Kyle. Now, more than ever, she needed him. She just hoped he would be willing to listen to what she had to say.

***

Julian opened the leaded glass doors to Jazzmyn’s home and tossed her keys onto the inlaid green marble table next to the entrance. Jazzmyn followed him inside and placed her purse on the table next to her keys. As if suddenly awakening from a dream, she remembered the hammerless .32 revolver in her handbag. She placed her hand over the brown leather purse and considered removing the gun from it.

“I need a shower. I reek of your kitchen,” Julian complained beside her.

After unbuttoning his gray shirt, he peeled the fabric from around his torso and slung it over his shoulder. “Come upstairs with me.” He reached for her hand. “We both could do with a shower,” he insisted as he pulled her toward the stairs.

Jazzmyn said nothing as Julian led her through her bedroom door. He let go of her hand as he strutted into her room and threw his shirt onto her bed. He then turned to her and began undoing the buttons on her white shirt.

She reached up and stayed his hands. “I can do it.”

He studied her face. “You’re upset.” He glanced down at the gold satyr figurine about her neck. “No, you’re more…uncertain about me. I can feel it.”

“I’m just tired, Julian, and a little overwhelmed by this.” She nodded to the engagement ring on her left hand.

He slid his arm about her waist. “You know I love you.”

“I know.”

“But you’re apprehensive about something. What is it, Jazzmyn?”

She needed to stay sharp and not say anything that could set Julian off. From now on, her words had to be carefully weighed before she uttered them.

“At the restaurant, when you were angry, your face…changed. When you were fighting with Kyle your eyes got darker, but what I saw tonight was far worse.” 

He began undoing the buttons on her shirt again. “That wasn’t me, Jazzmyn. It was the thing inside me.”

“What thing?”

He pushed the shirt from around her shoulders. “The curse, the monster Eve placed in me, I don’t know what to call it. All I know is when I get angry or frustrated it comes out.” He reached behind her back and unclasped her bra.

“It frightened me, Julian.”

He dropped the lingerie to the floor. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He ran his hand over her left breast and kissed her cheek.

“What happens if this curse isn’t lifted?”

He reached for the zipper on the front of her slacks. “It will be lifted.” Julian eased her pants and underwear to the floor.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can feel it. My time of reckoning is at hand.” He kissed her shoulder and let his hand glide down her stomach until he reached the mound of flesh between her legs. Jazzmyn closed her eyes as a rush of longing flowed through her veins. Julian’s fingers thrust inside her, and Jazzmyn reflexively gasped against the pain. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he tried to go deeper.

Julian stopped and withdrew his fingers. “You’re too sore for me tonight.” 

A wave of relief trickled through her and she relaxed against him.

Julian sensed the change in her. “Do you find me that disagreeable?” he asked, sounding dejected.

She patted her hand against his shoulder. “No, Julian.” She leaned back from his body. “But I am a little relieved. Do you know how many Advil I had to take today?”

Julian pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, I should have been more aware of my proportions and the discomfort they have caused you.” He placed his forehead against hers. “But I have never been able to satisfy myself with a woman before you. This is all new to me.”

Jazzmyn thought of the other women Julian had been with, and how they had been torn apart when he could not satisfy his lust. The memory of his black, lifeless eyes glaring back at her in the restaurant sent a shiver through her body. Those eyes may have been the final image witnessed by many of his victims before they died.

“Why don’t you just go to bed? I’ll be in after I take a shower.” Julian kissed her forehead. “I think we both could use a good night’s sleep.” He let her go and went to her bathroom door.

As his muscular body walked away from her, Jazzmyn envisioned how defenseless she would be against him if he became angry with her again. When she heard the rush of water in the shower, she darted for her bedroom door. Quickly, she made her way down the stairs to the first floor. After retrieving her purse, Jazzmyn removed the hammerless .32 revolver from inside. She looked back up the stairs as she clutched the gun in her hand. It may not stop him, but at least she could have a weapon to use against him if something did happen.

After she had snuck back into her room, Jazzmyn slipped the gun under her pillow.

A little while later when Julian came to bed, she pretended to be asleep. He climbed in next to her and spooned his naked body behind her. Soon his breathing slowed, and she felt him relax against her back. Jazzmyn lay on her side like that for hours, too afraid to move, too afraid to sleep, and terrified that she would wake up in the arms of a monster.

Chapter 18

The following morning, Jazzmyn awoke with a start from another nightmare. Sighing with relief that it was just a bad dream, she turned to discover that the spot in bed next to her was empty. The events of the previous night came back to her, and she pictured Julian’s dead, black eyes boring into her. Jazzmyn let out a long breath as she pondered how her nightmares and her waking life were slowly becoming one and the same.

Aching with fatigue, she forced her body to a sitting position and rubbed her face in her hands, trying to chase away her weariness. As she sat there, searching for the strength to get out of bed, Julian entered the room.   

Dressed only in his black trousers, he was carrying a breakfast tray loaded with whole wheat toast, a selection of jams, scrambled eggs, and bacon.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I made a few things,” he announced from the bedroom doorway.

Jazzmyn anxiously stood from the bed and put on a brave smile.

“No. Get back in bed. I figured you could have a nice breakfast and then I will take you to the restaurant.”

She climbed back into the bed and covered her naked body with the sheets.

Julian came up to the bed and placed the tray over her lap.

Jazzmyn browsed the mountain of food. “I hope you don’t expect me to eat all of this!”

He sat down on the bed next to her. “A fair portion.”

“You made bacon. I thought you didn’t like to cook meat.”

“Oh, I can cook it. I just can’t eat it.” He stole a slice of whole wheat toast from her plate. “It’s been so long since I’ve prepared breakfast in bed for anyone, I forgot how much I enjoyed doing this.”

Jazzmyn picked up a slice of bacon. “Who did you make breakfast in bed for?”

His eyes filled with warmth. “My mother, Estelle. When I was a little boy I used to love bringing her breakfast in bed as a surprise. When she became ill, I brought every meal to her in bed.”

Jazzmyn thought of something Clay Wallace had told her. “You put her name on your birth certificate, didn’t you? Estelle Frellson Devereau.”

“I would very much like to know how you discovered that?” he demanded with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

She put her slice of bacon back down on her plate. “My friend at city hall, the one who told me about your trust fund; he pulled up your birth certificate. Why did you use her name?” 

He shrugged, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. “Whenever I have to change my identity and file a new birth certificate with the city, I always use her name. It’s my way of honoring her memory.”

“When did she die?”

“July of 1853. Every family across the entire city was affected by yellow fever that summer. Everywhere you turned there was death. People hurried to get dead bodies out of the city. Many did not receive proper funerals but were tossed into common graves dug at the edge of town. I’ll never forget the smell in the city during that time. The devastation of Katrina smelled the same way to me.” He looked down at the piece of toast in his hand. “After the storm I was haunted by memories of that summer.”

Jazzmyn noted the profound sadness in his eyes, but this time she was not moved by it. “Do you miss your family?”

“I miss having people around who knew me, like your family knows you. My father was the last to live on well into the years after Eve’s curse, but we were never close.” He took a bite of his toast.

“Did he know about the curse?”

His eyes frosted over with indifference. “He knew. He stayed away from me after that. When he fell ill and was at the end, he asked for me, but I never went to see him. I didn’t even attend his funeral. Whatever relationship we had died when I became what I am.” He dropped the toast in his hand on her plate.

Jazzmyn shifted her gaze to the cup of coffee Julian had put on her tray. “After my father became sick, I remember he once told me that the pain of what he had done to me was much worse than the discomfort of his cancer. He felt guilty because I had left graduate school to care for him and his restaurant. He said he wished it could have been different, but he didn’t know what he could do to make things right for me.” Jazzmyn raised her eyes to Julian. “Maybe your father stayed away because he didn’t know how to make things right for you. What you became was a result of his ambitions. If he had not wanted to attach himself to the socially prominent Livaudais family, you would never have been cursed.”

Julian smiled and the coldness in his eyes vanished. “You remind me of my mother. She was always turning the worst of situations around to make me see the best in them.”

Jazzmyn picked up her cup of coffee from the tray as the diamond ring on her left hand glistened in the early morning light. “I would have liked to have known her. But I’m sure I’m not quite the wife she envisioned for you.”

Julian stood from the bed. “Speaking of which, I know you wanted to wait to get married, but I’ve been thinking…after we get our joining ceremony out of the way tomorrow night, we should quickly marry. I don’t want to wait. Once I’m human again, I will want to make sure you’re completely mine.”

The possessive nature of his statement made Jazzmyn’s body recoil. She lowered the coffee cup from her lips and glanced up at Julian. “You act as if this ceremony tomorrow night is no big deal. From everything I know of voodoo, I would have thought lifting a curse would be a rather scary proposition.”

Julian picked up his gray shirt from the Napoleon chair next to the bathroom door. “It’s just a voodoo ritual, Jazzmyn, not open-heart surgery. Anyway, the hard part is already over. I’ve found you. The rest is simply a formality.”

She put the cup of coffee on her tray. “Somehow I don’t see a voodoo ritual as a formality.”

He shrugged his shirt over his shoulders. “I’m sure the priestess I found will explain it all to us tomorrow night.”

“You found a priestess? Who?”

“Lucinda La Cre,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I know it sounds very theatrical, but she’s supposed to be the best.” He nodded to the breakfast tray. “Eat up and get dressed. Then I’ll drop you at the restaurant. I have to head over to my house this morning to meet with a real estate agent.”

“You’re really selling your place?”

He gave a curt nod. “I’m done with it. I want to live here with you in this fine old mansion. I also plan on putting my other homes in Europe and New York on the market. But I’m keeping the Malibu place. It would be a shame to get rid of it. It’s absolutely beautiful there.”

Jazzmyn picked up the fork and debated on where to begin on her plate.

“Why did you put that gun under your pillow last night?” Julian calmly inquired.

Jazzmyn’s eyes shot up to his face. He was standing at the end of the bed with his arms folded over his broad chest, observing her.

The constant burn of apprehension that had been hounding her quickly intensified. “I’ve always slept with a gun under my pillow. Force of habit,” she answered with a nonchalant shrug.

“Or last night you were afraid,” he countered in a firm voice. “There are some benefits to being what I am, Jazzmyn. I have an acute sense of smell, an ability to sense other people’s emotions, and an uncanny talent for never being able to die. If you were planning on using that gun on me, you would have been sorely disappointed.”

She tossed her fork down on her plate. “If that is what you think, I’m surprised you still want to marry me.”

“I need you. You know that, and I will do whatever it takes to free me of this curse. So leave the gun in your purse from now own. You know as well as I do that no one will ever hurt you as long as I am here.”

Jazzmyn moved the tray away from her lap. “What if you become angry with me, Julian? What if you turn into that monster and come after me? What do I do then?”

“There is only one way to make sure that doesn’t happen, Jazzmyn. Don’t make me angry.” He turned and walked out of her bedroom, leaving the door open to the hallway outside.

Jazzmyn listened as his heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs to the first floor. When the sound of his footfalls finally faded away, Jazzmyn wrapped her arms about her body and fought back the urge to cry. All her life she had been proud to be from such an old New Orleans family, but for the first time, she hated her family name. If she had never been born a Livaudais, she would never have come to know the evil that existed inside the likes of Julian Devereau, an evil she feared would one day destroy her.

***

Matters in Jazzmyn’s life only seemed to go from bad to worse when she entered her restaurant an hour later. In the kitchen, she found Carl covered from head to toe with flour while Ms. Helen was dancing around him with a soup ladle in her hand. 

“I call on the gods of cookin’ to give this boy your power,” Ms. Helen cried out. “To raise up the winds of the east to carry your power across the land to him. Make him a great chef. Make him wise in the use of spices and make him the master of the fire from the stove. All great things we ask of you gods of cookin’. Build him up, and make him one of your own.”

Carl’s long face was hanging on Ms. Helen’s every word.

Ms. Helen stopped dancing and put the ladle on the desk next to her. She took in some deep breaths. “All right. Now you’re blessed.”

“That’s it?” Carl asked.

“That’s all I got, son.” She nodded to the prep table to her right. “Go and cook with confidence.”

Carl began wiping the flour from his red T-shirt. “I can feel it working already,” he happily declared. He scurried to the far side of the kitchen, picked up a long knife, and began hacking away at several whole chicken fryers on the table before him.

Jazzmyn stepped into the kitchen curiously eyeing Ms. Helen. “Should I even ask?”

Ms. Helen nodded to Carl. “Just givin’ the boy some confidence.”

“From the gods of cooking?” Jazzmyn dubiously questioned.

“When you were twelve you asked me to cast a spell on a boy you liked in school. You wanted me to help him win his peewee football game. I called on the gods of football then, but you didn’t seem to pay no mind, either.” 

Jazzmyn watched as Carl ripped apart the chickens. “Well, I’m up for anything that will help him cook better.”

“I didn’t say he’s gonna cook better, he’s just gonna cook with confidence, that’s all.” Ms. Helen’s eyes traveled up and down Jazzmyn’s figure. “You could use some good juju, child. You look like someone who’s got a lot on her mind.”

Jazzmyn twisted the engagement ring around on her finger. “I think I may need more than juju, Ms. Helen.”

“He give you that?” Ms. Helen pointed to the ring.

She held up her left hand for Ms. Helen to see the ring. “He says he loves me.”

“But you don’t love him, do you Jazzmyn? You’re afraid of him.” Ms. Helen took a step closer to her. “You should be afraid. That man’s cursed.”

Jazzmyn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “If you’re so convinced he’s cursed, maybe you should do for him what you just did for Carl.” 

Ms. Helen shook her head. “I can’t help him. He needs to make amends to the one who cursed him.”

“But how would he do that?”

“There’s a ceremony that needs to be performed in the presence of the one he wronged,” Ms. Helen began. “It must always be done at the height of the full moon when the doors between the world we can see and the world we can’t see are open. He must then right the wrong he has done. It’s the only way to truly make amends.”

Jazzmyn mulled over her words for a moment. “What do you mean by ‘right the wrong’?”

“Whatever he did that brought ‘bout the curse he must undo,” Ms. Helen explained.

“What if it is something he didn’t do? Like failed to go through with a commitment of some kind.”

“Then he must go through with the commitment. He must right the wrong,” she insisted.

“But what if that person is dead? How does he right the wrong then?”

Ms. Helen’s warm brown eyes briefly shrouded with concern. “He must right the wrong with the kin of the person who has died. He must find someone who carries their blood and perform the ceremony with them.”

“That’s it? He performs this ceremony and the curse ends?”

“It’s not that simple, child,” Ms. Helen cautioned. “The ceremony is only part of what needs to be done. For a curse to end, there has to be a sacrifice.”

The color drained from Jazzmyn’s face. “A sacrifice?”

“There’s a price for everythin’, Jazzmyn. Somethin’ one treasures must be exchanged in order to receive that which a person desires most. The universe has to know that you’re willin’ to give up somethin’ you love in order to get somethin’ you want. That’s where the power comes from. It’s the fuel that makes magic possible.”

“What would Julian have to give up?”

Ms. Helen shrugged her shoulders. “Only the universe knows the answer to that question. It’s different for every person. It must be somethin’ that demon values. Only at the moment when he truly makes amends will the sacrifice be revealed.”

Jazzmyn’s head began to spin. She stepped over to the wall and rested her forehead against the cool sheetrock.