Chapter 44 Delilah
Chapter forty-four
Delilah
The woman’s voice rang out, her angry question cutting through the quiet like a knife. I turned, finding her glowering down at us from the balcony, looking like sin incarnate.
She was tall and lean, her body curving in all the right places.
She wore a pair of black pants, tight across her butt but wide and flowing down her legs.
Her hair was cut short, nearly shaved on the sides with edgy, messy waves on top.
Her lips were painted blood red, which matched the daring lace blouse she wore, the white bra underneath standing out prominently against her dark skin.
She was stunning and intimidating, and I really wanted to be her when I grew up.
“Duchess Murmur,” Archer said, dipping his head in a show of respect—but only marginally. “We meant no offense.”
“Don’t gimmie that shit, Archer,” she tossed back, stomping down the stairs in a pair of combat boots that looked both comfortable and functional.
Her words carried a slight accent, as if she wasn’t actually from New Orleans, but had lived in the area long enough to have picked up some of the lyrical creole lilt that the city was famous for. “You know I don’t bow down.”
The words carried a clear threat, one that I knew rubbed Archer the wrong way because his irritation flowed through the bond, even if his face remained completely expressionless.
“Now, what is the meaning of all this? You know you can’t just show up here unannounced. Especially with all the shit that’s been going on in your neck of the woods.” She eyed him as she stepped off the final stair, one elegant eyebrow arched in accusation. “Two Guardians, Archer? Really?”
“I assure you, I have the situation well in hand.”
Vine had the audacity to snort, earning him a swift elbow to the ribs from Corson.
“So well in hand you have to show up in my town, dragging a wanted witch behind you? I am not looking for trouble, Archer. Things have just settled down around here. The last thing I need is a horde of fucking bounty hunters descending on my streets, looking for your witch.”
“My mate,” Archer growled, the words rolling through me like thunder.
He might as well have dropped a bomb for the effect it had on our little group. Vine gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like a scandalized southern belle. Corson scowled in our direction, looking more than a little offended at the fact that he’d not been informed.
Mal, however, seemed pleased, his lips tipped up in the slightest of smiles, as he met my gaze and nodded, his head tilting to the side in a very raven-like expression I was growing fond of seeing on him.
Murmur, for her part, didn’t seem surprised, only contemplative, her gaze sharpening from defensive to curious as she looked at me with new interest.
“Mate?” she asked, pursing her lips. “You’re certain? With a witch?”
“I’m certain,” Archer replied, his pride washing through me, making me stand taller.
“And that is all I’ll say about it.” His tone left no room for argument.
“Now, we are here to request permission to speak with one of your citizens. He has information about a missing relic, and once I have that information, we’ll be gone.
” Archer paused, his jaw and fists clenching tight as though he was struggling to speak, and his next word told me exactly why. “Please, Duchess.”
“That was hard for you, wasn’t it?” she said, a sly smile on her beautiful face.
“Asking for something instead of just taking it.” Her gaze flicked to me, taking in the bite mark that was just visible at the scooped neckline of my dress—my last dress, to be exact.
“I wonder if that was the case for your sweet little mate here. Did you ask, Archer? Or did you just take?”
Her question made me uncomfortable, the dubiousness of the situation we’d been in in the Void explaining but not necessarily excusing the way we had ended up mated.
Archer had asked, and I’d agreed, but I hadn’t been at all clear as to what I was actually agreeing to.
And from the way doubt and a hint of shame flowed through the bond, he knew it.
Without thinking, I reached for him, my hand curling in his, feeling the tension in his fingers relax the moment we touched. For the first time since we’d entered the club, Archer swung his gaze to me, his face softening just a fraction when he glanced down at our joined hands.
Everything within me wanted to reassure him, to protect his pride and his feelings about what had happened between us, but I wasn’t there yet.
And I didn’t know if I ever would be.
Murmur let out a thoughtful hum, tapping one sharp-tipped fingernail against her crimson lips as she took us in.
“Interesting. Just when I thought life couldn’t surprise me anymore.”
With that, she moved, heading toward the bar in the far corner where she began pouring various liquids into a squat glass, giving me time to look around the building for the first time.
The interior was all dark stained wood and low tables that surrounded the dance floor.
There was a stage at the back of the room which was set with stools and microphones, but was empty of instruments at the moment.
Above, there were two stories with visible balconies, giving people the opportunity to look down from them and watch the band on the stage.
Antique looking light fixtures and swaths of red velvet draperies finished the look, giving it a darkly sexy appearance that probably drew packed crowds of tourists every night.
“I’d offer you a drink,” Murmur said as she raised her own glass to her lips and took a sip.
“But I just don’t fucking want to.” Coming out from behind the bar, she headed to one of the low tables, hips swaying seductively with every step.
Archer, still holding my hand, led me to the table, seating me as far from Murmur as possible before taking the seat beside me.
Vine and Corson flanked him, and Mal held his spot by the door.
I was always so impressed at the way they moved as a unit, their unspoken understanding of the needs of the group just second nature to them.
I also wondered where I fit into that dynamic now, but pushed that thought away. I had no business thinking about the future when my present was such a disaster.
“So, you need to speak to one of my citizens, do you? I suppose you think I’ll just hand him over because you asked oh, so nicely?
” Her sarcasm was plain as she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and sipped her drink.
It was very strong, the smell of alcohol and sulfur reaching me where I sat, and I was glad she hadn’t offered me one; I’d probably have passed out just breathing in the fumes.
“I’m not looking to leave town with him, Murmur—” Archer started, but she cut him off.
“Call me Mex. Murmur is such a fucking mouthful.”
“Mex. I have no intention of taking him anywhere. I simply need to inquire as to the location of a relic that was apparently given into his care. I need to find it.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” She set her glass down, leaning forward in the chair to point a finger at Archer.
“Why do fucks like you always think you can just stroll down here and stomp your feet to get what you want? If that relic you’re after is in my town, it’s probably here for a reason.
Magic runs through the very veins of this city, Archer.
Something your spoiled northern ass knows nothing about.
There is power here, more than anywhere else on this dusty continent, and it is my sworn duty to protect it.
” She narrowed her eyes, staring him down with absolutely no fear. “Even from you.”
I could feel it, the way Archer began to rise to her challenge, his anger quickly bubbling up and overtaking any of the other emotions I was privy to through the bond. It was like a wave of rage crashing over me, and for a moment, I wanted to attack Mex myself.
She was threatening my mate; I had to stop her. It was like a biological imperative that was nearly impossible to resist.
But resist I did.
“Stop!” I shouted, standing and slamming my palms down on the table. As I did, all of the unoccupied chairs at the table slid backward, shoved by a blast of power I didn’t even know I was using.
“Alright, cher,” Mex said after a beat, looking at me with what appeared to be a touch more respect. “Not need to get sassy.”
I could feel my cheeks heating, embarrassed at my obvious lack of control over my newfound powers, and moved on before anyone could say anything more about my latest little outburst.
“We mean no harm,” I said, my voice loud and strong—much stronger than I felt, even with Archer’s emotions filling me.
“We want nothing more than to protect the relic. It’s being hunted, and if they find it before we do, then we’ll all have much bigger problems than a little ego stroking from either of you. ”
It was silent, except for Vine’s low chuckle as he muttered, “Stroke,” under his breath. I glanced his way and he threw me a cheeky wink that had me biting my lips together to keep in my smile.
“The Order of the Broken Veil has no respect for you or the citizens under your care.”
“The Order?” Mex asked, eyes wide. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” I nodded, slowly retaking my seat. “Absolutely.”
“We’ve encountered them twice,” Archer said, picking up the discussion, this time with a much cooler head. “And both times they left nothing but destruction in their wake. If what they are after is indeed hidden in New Orleans, then they will not hesitate to tear through your city to find it.”
Mex frowned, looking toward the blacked out windows as though she could see the streets outside.
“This city has been through enough,” she said quietly. “The last thing I want is to force people to start rebuilding again.” Turning back to us, she added, “I want peace, Archer. Don’t we deserve it? After all this time?”
She sounded desperate, her words strained with the weight of exhaustion that probably extended back farther than most recorded histories.
It was something I was slowly coming to grips with: the fact that the people I was surrounding myself with had experienced countless lifetimes of tragedy and struggle, more than I could even hope to understand.
It was sobering to consider.
So was the thought that each and every one of them would outlive me by a long shot, but I wasn’t prepared to start thinking about that quite yet.
“You do, Mex,” Archer said. “We all do. And that’s what we’re trying to achieve, but to do that, we need your help.”
“What exactly is it you’re after?”
Archer looked at me, then the rest of his brothers in turn, a silent conversation passing between them before he turned back to Mex and answered her.
“The Fallen Key.”
“Holy Hell, Archer,” she breathed, sitting back again and running a hand along the back of her neck. “You really don’t do anything by halves, do you?”
“We already have one piece,” he added, making her mouth pop open in surprise.
“And we had to battle the Storm-bringer just to get that one. The other was apparently sent here by a Guardian for safe keeping. If the Order discovers its whereabouts, I assure you they will stop at nothing to get their hands on it.”
“The Storm-bringer is free? How did he manage to escape the Void?”
“I wish I knew.”
Mex sat there, one painted nail tracing the rim of her now empty glass, as she stared at him, likely weighing the truth of his answers. Finally, she spoke.
“Alright. I’ll let you talk to who you need to talk to, but I will be there the entire time.
” When Archer went to object, she raised a hand.
“As if I’m going to let you and your band of merry men have free reign in my kingdom when you’ve got Hell’s most wanted nipping at your heels?
Shit, Archer. I’m gonna stick to you like fucking glue, you hear me?
You even blink and I’m gonna fuckin’ know about it. ”
“Agreed,” Archer said, standing and extending his hand to Mex, but she only laughed.
“If you think I’m entering into one of your shady crossroads deals then you’re a whole lot dumber than you look, mon ami.
I’ll let you find your relic, but I’ll be there the entire time.
You either take what I’m offering or you get your Yankee ass back up north where you belong.
You feel me?” When no one objected, she went on.
“Now, who is this mysterious person you’re so desperate to talk to? ”
“His name is Jean-Francois Baptiste,” Archer stated plainly. “And I believe he’s right down the road, a long term resident of St. Louis Cemetery number one.”
Mex paused, staring at Archer as she processed the fact that he was asking to speak to a dead man, before she burst out laughing.
“Oh, Archer. You do keep things interesting.” Standing, Mex straightened her blouse, ran her fingers through her curls, and then said, “Well, as we say in the Quarter, Laissez les bons temps rouler.”