Queen of the Dead (The Dead and Not So Dead Book 1) Page 3
“You should really re-consider that outfit,” my aunt chirped. I opened one eye and looked up from the bubbles covering my body to see my aunt sitting on the vanity chair. Her and my mother had been twins and looked very much like my grandma. Beautiful. Not cute.
“I’ve told you a MILLION and one times that I can’t wear a dress to this type of thing, Veronica.” I reasoned, an annoyed edge in my tone. “It would ruin my vibe.”
She scoffed. “Your vibe?”
I closed my eyes, ignoring her, and felt her presence leave. For fifteen minutes, I simply enjoyed the peace of being submerged in warm water with no dead people talking to me. I mentally began to allow some crazy into my head to prepare for this meeting. How to succeed at necromancy? Be crazier than the scariest person in the room. You can’t fight crazy because you can’t predict it.
Once done, I slipped on the jean shorts and tank top. I adjusted my boobs to show a little cleavage and braided my hair into a loose fishtail. I kept the makeup simple, darkening my thick lashes with mascara and liner and added some almost rum-colored lipstick. Not pink, so perfect for this. I began to insert my piercings, exchanging the gold for black and rounded the assortment out with the brow piercing. Don’t know why but people seem to be more scared of me when I had it on.
After spraying perfume, I gave myself a cursory assessment and nodded in approval. Don’t judge. You do it, too. I walked back into my bedroom. I slipped on my ass-kickers and leather jacket as familiar voices sounded downstairs. Grandma would, as always, have them wait in the sitting room, crazy old bat, and as always Dorian Westburrow wouldn’t listen.
“Chérie,” a seductive voice called as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. I looked up from packing my motorcycle backpack to see Dorian looking very much his namesake.
Ever heard of the Oscar Wilde story called The Picture of Dorian Gray? Yes. Well, this motherfucker is the egotistical bastard who was going through a very dramatic tragedy phase and convinced the poor man to write his story. The incubus dramatized almost everything and in that period of time, he had felt a little down on himself. So, he had gotten creative.
I’d like to state first, he was not, is not, and never will be a player. He may have a sexy voice and lust-inducing powers but the guy is a total, sensitive, broody daydreamer. In fact, besides the spectacular ego boost, he only had Wilde write the book because he had found it an amusing test of a human’s ability to derive lies from the truth.
Wilde failed, unfortunately.
Not to mention, Dorian can very much look at pictures of himself without repercussion. In fact, he rather enjoys the pastime. Along with being a brooding sensitive bastard, he also is entitled and incredibly vain. It’s a winning combination and if it wasn’t for that goddamned adorable smile, I’d kill him. As it stood though, I couldn’t because of the very obvious fact that I cared about him. Also, he didn’t ever hurt anyone with his powers and simply fed off the sexual energy of our crazy city. It made me respect him more because he was totally hot enough to get action several times a day.
So, despite all his faults, he was my brooding bastard. He was also one of the most brilliant minds in this realm. He had repeatedly devoted his genius to advance medicine and technology. His powers allowed him insight into how patients actually felt and reacted to the medicine they were taking, especially those medications in early, experimental stages. He had only gone on hiatus to help me.
I guess that deserved some brownie points.
“Good morning.” I smiled at him as his pretty ivory face lit up. He reminded me of a male model. His face was chiseled. Almost haunted-looking with dark gray eyes that seemed to burn like small infernos. There was a grace to how he held his body. A body eternally predisposed to a swimmer's physique. Michael Phelps, eat your heart out. Must be nice.
Despite having a longer life span, I couldn’t eat donuts for every meal and maintain my current size. Goals though, right?
Dorian mentioned once that he would eventually die, but it would be upon his choosing. Egotistical, I know. In all reality though, he was simply aging slower, like myself. As an incubus, his spot would be back in the demonic realm. Don’t think that his twenty-something appearance stopped me from making old man jokes and often. It was the only thing that could guarantee a fight. And fighting with Dorian was sexy.
Very sexy and very intense. Yes, I used it as an excuse to touch his muscles.
Despite being immune to his sexy powers, I found myself attracted to him but not just for looks. Although, right now, I really wanted to run my hands through his dark auburn silky hair. It was cruel of him to stand there in the mid-morning sun looking so handsome. Today, he wore a pair of dark dress pants and a black American Horror Story t-shirt. A pair of suspenders hung off his pants in a fashion that made him look like an alternative 1920s gangster. My eyes traced the steel gray industrial bar he had on his left ear. God. Something about piercings just turned me on. Especially on these boys.
While Dorian was rocking this alternative mobster look, Raphi often dressed opposingly. He was a muscular guy, more comfortable than not without clothes on. No complaints here. I would bet my left arm that he was downstairs wearing dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and a black tank. The only addition to that standard uniform was a flannel shirt during winter. Never a coat though. He ran at a very warm, perfect cuddling temperature.
“I heard Johnnie boy was asking for a beating today.” Dorian flashed me an amused smile as I scowled up at him. He was slightly taller than Raphi at 6’4” and he never let you forget it. The man had been a giant in his day and still continued to find it amusing that people were shorter than him. At least his height matched his ego.
I jammed an index finger into his chest to back him out of my bedroom. “Leave the poor forgettable human alone, Dorian.”
Dorian let out a chuckle as he caught my hand with his own tattooed ones, the dark ink simplistic yet undecipherable against his skin. I had always wondered why he only had knuckle tattoos. I pulled away from him.
“Can’t I just mess with him a little?” he pleaded. “I mean, would it be so bad for him to truly question his sexuality? The modern age is so repressed! I could help him. All I would have to do is enter his mind, even in a dream, and then he would no longer be your issue. It would just be planting a seed and then we could send someone along to keep him company.”
I let out another laugh, ignoring my usual flair of possessiveness from my magic, as I landed on the bottom steps. My magic had made it very clear that it wanted the boys’ attention on her and only her until the day they die. And she was stopping there.
Maybe.
I caught Alaric’s eye from across the room. My grandma was talking to Abel, his twin, about a piece of artwork that she had bought at an auction. He smiled at me in passing as I made my way over to the aloof stuffy bastard that I called best friend. I tumbled right onto his lap causing him to grunt before he leaned back, seemingly unfazed, into the sofa.
I saw the twitch of his lips, though.
Abel and Alaric Vladern were from a family of gruff Scandinavian vampires that use to be Vikings. It seemed Alaric had hung out with the gruffer side of his family when growing up. Raphi, who was preoccupied watching Jonathan’s house through the window always poked fun at them with me. Well, mostly Alaric. Abel was too sweet.
“Baby,” I cooed and ruffled Alaric’s perfectly styled icy blonde hair. The gesture incited a dangerous look, one that could kill. Similar to his twin, Alaric had a strong jaw and dark brows that only served to accent his icy skin and nearly white hair. Both of them were huge, clocking in at 6’6” and were built like tanks. Tanks that moved super quietly in the shadows and could rip out your throat. On the other hand, I’d heard getting bit by a vampire was orgasmic, but I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Today Alaric and Abel both wore dark suit pants with matching vests over t-shirts. I found it distracting when they dressed so sexy but kept that shit to myself. It didn’t seem to stop my dreams of being in between the twins as they drank my blood and fucked me senseless. Fun stuff.
I can’t believe I’m still a virgin. I have the imagination of a seasoned veteran.
“You seem upbeat,” Alaric mumbled, his voice softer than with others. He still had a harsh accent. It often scared people. But with me he always spoke quietly. Unless we fought, that is. Then it grew choppy and got me all hot and bothered.
“It was a good morning,” I smiled as his electric blue eyes darkened.
Wait for it…
“Because of Jonathan?” he asked quietly. I scoffed and slid off of him, flicking him right on his chin as he scowled. Those sharp fangs poked out just slightly and it was super cute. Don’t tell Alaric that. It would be a death warrant. And a fucking fast one at that.
Not really but he’d be pissed.
I had become friends with the twins much like I had Dorian, because of their measured distance from any particular supernatural community. The twins’ family was far too old to be part of a clan and stuck to themselves because born vampires were so dissimilar to turned. Now they were stuck with me! I walked over to Abel and wrapped my arms around my little optimist.
Abel smiled down at me, a sparkle in his deep navy eyes, before he continued his conversation with Grandma. He shared the same dark, harsh lines of ink down his arms as his brother. I wanted to take off his shirt to see it better.
Only reason. I swear.
Instead, I just listened to him talk to my grandma about a new auction and gala coming up. Ever the philanthropist, Abel was huge into helping charities and donating massive amounts of money to good causes. Causes that his brother researched and interviewed personally. The two of them ran their family financial firm from their home here
in New Orleans and spent more time focusing on charities rather than their hedge fund. I wasn’t positive why they worked because they certainly didn’t need to.
Abel is a huge romantic, pacifist, and lover. He has the optimism of someone far younger than the five odd decades or so under his belt. His looks belied his true age, appearing at best maybe twenty two. The two of them had been born around World War II and had been blessing people’s lives ever since. Now, while I am stating clearly that Abel is a romantic, he also has not and would not hesitate to kill. Especially for me. Try keeping that from going to your head.
“You never answered,” Alaric growled as I turned to find him right behind me. I smiled a little at the perturbed tone in his voice.
“You asked if my morning was good because of Jonathan,” I stated. I felt Abel turn with interest as Grandma chuckled before leaving the room.
Traitor.
“Well, was it?” Alaric demanded. Raphi let out a small growl. I honestly think my answer would determine Jonathan’s fate.
“No boys,” I chirped. “Calm down.”
And they did.
Hm. Interesting.
I mock gasped. “Are you jealous, Alaric?”
The vampire snarled before heading toward the front door. Abel chuckled and lifted me up to follow. I shouted a goodbye to my grandma and we made our way beyond my protective safe estate and wards.
I groaned as I wavered slightly outside the fence. My wards kept a lot of the extra spirits at bay. Stepping beyond their protection allowed them to bombard me all at once. I felt Raphi wrap an arm around me. He knew exactly how this worked. Finally, I shook my head and looked at all of them. Some spirits were so faint they just felt like a breeze of wind running across your skin. That didn’t mean they weren’t overwhelming.
“Hellhounds,” I stated, trying to keep my morale up, while we moved down the sidewalk.
Now, when I say people are scared of me it’s not in the “you’re scary but we love you” way. No, I literally had shifter parents urging their kids inside as the five of us made our way toward the established meeting place off of Bourbon Street. It was around the corner from the main hub so a full fight couldn’t break out but we would still be alone.
It wasn’t a very long walk until we were entering into the Bourbon street area and my smile grew. The strong scent of liquor filtered through me and masked the favorite scents behind me. Raphi’s sugary scent. Dorian’s citrus scent. Alaric’s pine scent. Abel’s cherry scent. Well, it was less their scent and more their life scent. Like an aura, but it smelled good.
I suck at explaining shit. But just as blood has a certain taste or smell to vampires, so does someone's life force. It’s the easiest way to explain it, honestly.
As the five of us made our way down the street my smile turned into a smirk as humans ogled us openly. My monsters moved to the side and their eyes shot down as I let my power slip out and down along the ground, making it seem as though dark wisps of shadows covered my feet. Humans wouldn’t be able to see it but I am positive I looked like some dark overlord to the rest of the community. Fuck. This shit was always so much fun.
Why I haven’t made it to Broadway yet, with my dramatic flair beats the hell outta me.
On a societal level it was sad that the only thing that worked for the supernatural troublemakers was fear. My family, specifically my grandma, had tried the soft approach and it had made them seem weak. So now, I made myself scary enough that people didn’t even think about acting up. It helped that I had enough power to make good on my threats if necessary.
If that didn’t work, there were always the knives.
The door of the bar we went into slammed open and rattled the alcohol on the walls. I grinned because half the hellhounds present jumped. As predicted, they had over-committed for attendance. All of them, nearly ten, had their backs to the back corner and were waiting for us. I met the Alpha with a penetrating gaze that elicited a low growl.
I grabbed a chair and swung it to sit backwards. In a move with elegance and grace, I sat on it and leveled a stare at the bastard. He had been sitting in the same way and now we were nearly eye to eye as I watched him with a predatory look. My hand slipped into my boot as I began to fiddle with my knife. The motion served several purposes. One, it sort of calmed me. Two, it was scary. Three, it added to the challenge I presented to him. He really didn’t like me making direct eye contact.
“Is this a joke?” one of them asked behind him. “She’s a fucking kid.”
My lip twitched as the Alpha’s eyes shifted from anger to concern. I tilted my head and when he didn’t say anything to the man, I let my power slip out and wrap around the dissenter in a vice grip. The men behind the Alpha flipped out as the life choked from their friend. There were rules to these things and his disrespect hadn’t been corrected.
“Stop,” the Alpha gritted. My power let go of the man. He fell to the floor unconscious and spasming. He was alive, barely, but hopefully a bit wiser.
See? Some people would abuse this power. I only used it for emphasis. I am a fantastic fucking Queen!
“Do you know why we called you in?” I asked studying the Alpha. As with most hellhounds, his eyes were a bright red, a trait of his demonic heritage. If it wasn’t for his pack’s obvious disrespect of the law, I would have called the fucker sexy. As it stood though, he seemed like sort of a dick. Not the fun kind either.
Oh good. Now I was thinking about dick. So not the time to get turned on Narc.
“No,” he grumbled through clenched teeth in lie so obvious Alaric chuckled. It made all the hellhounds shift uncomfortably. I knew my boys looked imposing in their relaxed position behind me, stretched out in their chairs unworried and bored. I bet the Alpha hated that. It was awesome though, the dynamic my little group had. I could prove my dominance through my own power without the fear of being overwhelmed by numbers.
Or committing mass murder of my own fucking people.
“Let me shine some light,” I grinned maniacally. “See, some of your men, around 10 p.m. last night were caught using their demonic influence on some college co-eds. Wanna take a guess what they wanted them to do? Hint. It’s very original.”
The Alpha shook his head with a low rumble in his chest.
I spread my hands out while exclaiming my point with a point of my knife. “Not sure? Let me help. They were using their influence to fuck them! Who would have thought, right? Not stereotypical at all of demonic realm folks or men in general. I mean it’s a real damn shame to represent such a beautiful place with such trash. You should really consider others and attempt to make your gender proud, instead of looking like such absolute shit heads.”
Several growls started before the Alpha let out a snarl to silence them.
“I was not aware of the incident, ” he husked painfully. “What would you have us do, Your Majesty?”
“Glad you asked!” I offered him an excited smile that made him pale.
Narcissa
I sipped on my bourbon as I watched the hellhounds from above. My legs were crossed comfortably and a platter of cheese and fruit sat in between Dorian and I. The demon read a massive text from one of the many shelves inside the shop below. A family friend owned the local café, so he allowed us to use this space to watch the hellhounds’ embarrassment. Plus, the witch totally had a thing for me and was unashamed of it. Alaric sat across from us and Abel leaned against my chair, his feet hanging off the balcony as he peered through the wrought iron fence. I could tell Alaric was really fucking trying to not laugh at their punishment. Raphi stood behind me as his warm hands played gently with my braid. My lips curled in a satisfied smile as I enjoyed my Saturday afternoon sunshine.
It was muggy and warm but I knew it would only get worse as we worked our way into June. Then again, I sort of loved it because the dead were cold. The weather felt alive to me.
“I can’t believe you offered them this as an ultimatum,” Dorian chuckled, looking down at them. The offending hellhound shifters attempted to talk to the very drunk Bourbon street members about sexual assault prevention and local charities. I offered that or chopping off their dicks. They made a good move. If there was one thing I hated, it was a man pulling physical dominance over a woman to abuse her, sexually or otherwise. No matter the century, it was always the fucking same even if small strides had been made. Now, I am not saying there aren’t women who do the same, but I’ve just got a very specific bone to pick with men who do it.