Jeaniene Frost - Destined for an Early Grave

Great. Bones had neglected to mention that.

“If Gregor hadn’t been invading my dreams, I wouldn’t know him if I hit him with my car,” was my even response. “I remember cutting my hand and swearing by my blood that Bones was my husband, in front of hundreds of witnesses. Where are Gregor’s witnesses? Or evidence? If he’d really taken the trouble to marry me, you’d think he would’ve kept a souvenir.”

“You could find out the truth for yourself,” Marie stated. “I wonder why you haven’t.”

I sat up straighter. “Mencheres told me my memories can’t be retrieved.”

“Did he? In those exact words?”

My nails drummed against the edge of the chair. “Kind of.”

“Mencheres can’t return your memories, but Gregor can,” Marie flatly pronounced. “Mencheres knows that. As does Bones.”

I didn’t say anything for a minute. She stared at me, absorbing my reaction, then she smiled.

“You didn’t know. How interesting.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said, covering my obvious surprise. “I don’t know Gregor, but he doesn’t sound like the type who would come over to return my memories, then leave with a cheery wave when he was proven wrong.”

“What if he wasn’t proven wrong?”

Be careful. Very careful. “Like I said, why are all his claims hinging on my memory? It could easily be a ploy to get me within snatching range, then it would be may the fastest man win.”

Marie set her knitting down. Guess that meant we were getting serious. “Right now, I believe you don’t truly know if you bound yourself to Gregor. If it’s proven, however, that you are his wife instead of Bones’s, I will ally myself with Gregor according to our laws. That’s my answer in this matter.”

“You asked me before what I wanted, Marie. I want to go home with Bones and be left alone by everyone for about ten years. I don’t remember Gregor, but even if I did, it wouldn’t change how I feel about Bones. If it’s a fight Gregor or you wants by trying to force me to be with him, you’ll get it.”

Marie’s face had an unusual ageless quality about it. She could have been twenty when she was changed into a ghoul. Or fifty.

“I was married once,” she remarked. “His name was Jacques. One night, Jacques beat me, and I knew he liked it. The next morning, I gave him a poisoned tonic, then I buried him underneath my porch. Now every time I take a lover, I call him Jacques, to remind me that if I have to, I’ll kill him.”

Marie tilted her head and gave me a challenging look. “Care for some refreshment?”

Not after that story. But if she thought I was going to tuck my tail between my legs, she was wrong.

“Love some.” Bring it on, Voodoo Queen.

“Jacques!”

The ghoul appeared. “My love?”

I quelled a snort with difficulty, getting the reason behind his name. Yeah, you’d better ass-kiss, buddy. I bet you never forget an anniversary, huh?

“Bring some wine for me, Jacques, and I believe we’re familiar with our guest’s preferences?”

He returned quickly. The glass with red liquid he gave to Marie with a bow, and the round one filled with clear liquid went to me. I hefted it at my host in salute and swallowed in a long gulp. Gin and tonic, no surprise there.

Marie watched me, taking only a sip of her glass. When I was finished, I extended it toward the hovering Jacques.

“That was great. I’ll have another.”

Marie set down her drink and flicked a hand at Jacques, who took my glass and left.

“Your bloodline doesn’t make you immune to all things, Reaper.”

“No, it doesn’t. Still, from what I’ve heard, you have a protocol about killing people, so in that case, I’ll have a keg of whatever you’re serving. And my name is Cat.”

“Do you have any intention of turning into a ghoul?” Marie asked me.

The question was so unexpected, I paused before answering. “No, why?”

Marie gave me another hooded look. “You live with a vampire. Your life is frequently in danger, and you are weaker as a half-breed, yet you haven’t chosen to change into a vampire. I’ve heard it’s because you want to combine your half-breed abilities with a ghoul’s power, making yourself the first ghoul-vampire hybrid.”

What’s in the stuff she’s drinking? I wondered.

“That thought never crossed my mind,” I said.

“A vampire can’t turn into a ghoul. Only a human can. So no one but you, as a half-breed, could combine all the strength of a vampire with none of their aversion to silver. You might have unlimited power. But you’ve never thought of it?”

Open challenge was in her words. I thought back to Fabian saying that there had been a recent influx of ghouls in New Orleans, whispering about a possible new threat to their species. Was this it? Did people actually believe I’d do such a thing out of a twisted lust for power?

“After my father ripped my throat, Bones told me he would have brought me back as a ghoul, if I’d died before his blood healed me. That’s the only time I ever thought about being a ghoul. If one day I choose to cross over, Majestic, it’ll be into a vampire. So you can tell that to whoever’s spouting the rumor that I’m looking to be even more of a freak than I already am.”

Jacques came back with another full glass, but Marie gave him that authoritative flick of her fingers again.

“Our guest is leaving.”

I stood, my mind running through a list of reprimands. Good one, Cat. Pissed her off in ten minutes. Guess you’ll be the one leaping up the stairs, yelling, “In the car! Quick!”

“Always nice to meet a famed historical figure,” I said.

Marie rose as well. She was tall, probably five-ten, and in those heels, over six feet. Her figure was statuesque, and she radiated an odd combination of menace and matronliness.

“You are not what I thought you’d be.”

She extended her hand, creamy mocha and soft. I clasped it and fought not to shake mine afterward to get out the numbness from her power.

“Neither are you. I was so sure about the headless chicken.”

Why not say it? When someone wanted to kill you, you really couldn’t make them angrier.

She smiled. “Of all the things you’d first say to me, quoting a scene from my favorite movie was the last I expected. Go in peace, Cat.”

Jacques held open the door to the tunnel for me. Those long, curved knives slid back into their settings with a hiss. I caught a hazy flash at the end of the tunnel. Fabian on sentry duty. He was gone before Jacques fell in step behind me.

My escort didn’t talk the rest of the way. When we reached the door to the crypt, the upper covering groaned as it slid open. Jacques put his hands out to help me up, but I brushed him off.

“Don’t bother, thanks. I’ll do it myself.”

A quick bend of the knees and flash of concentration, and I cleared the twenty-foot space. With my increasing ability to jump, at least I was becoming more like my feline namesake. If I shed my pulse, I could do a hell of a lot more than jump high.

Bones was waiting by the cemetery gates. When he smiled, leaning into the bars as the lock opened, I suddenly didn’t care about anything but the shape of his mouth. That smooth curve, lips palest pink. The strong jaw and deeply etched cheekbones. Dark brown eyes taking in the surroundings. His hands clasped over mine when the gate opened, vibrating with no less power than Marie’s, but they didn’t leave me feeling numb. I felt safe.

“We might have to take some beignets to go,” I began.

He squeezed my hands. “Don’t fret, I suspected the two of you wouldn’t get on. We’re packed. Liza’s waiting with the car.”