Even villains deserve happy endings...
Undeniably Female. Unquestionably Feral. Unquenchably Famished.
It’s been twenty years since Chartreuse Grenoble witnessed not only the burning of her sister at the stake for claims of witchcraft but the great all-consuming fire of New Orleans. When the enigmatic, pure blood Altrinion-Vampire, Dalcour Marchand rescues her from fleeing her family’s doomed state, she has no idea she is nothing more than a bartering tool for his wretched brother, Decaux.
But she has other plans. She has no desire to be used or controlled.
Forging her own dark alliances, Chartreuse defies not only the will of men but the supernatural balance itself in her blood-thirsty quest to avenge what matters most.
Herself.
*Warning- This book contains mature material not suitable for readers under 18 years old. Topics such as rape, abuse, prostitution, racism, and misogyny are vividly depicted in this book and may trigger sensitivities of some readers.*
1808 Natchitoches, Louisiana
“We’ve got forty bottles of madeira, twenty jugs of rum, and only twelve of port,” I shout over my shoulder to Monroe.
“Only twelve?” Monroe yells back from the corner table. He barely looks at me as DeLuca and I work to steady the trough before it falls and spills the meager supply.
“Yes, I’m afraid this is all Ripley could spare without—Ow!” DeLuca squeals as I jar the heel of my boot into his foot.
“We’ll get it to the middle closet, Monroe!” I force my words out before Monroe has a chance to make out DeLuca’s garble. Sure, Monroe knows he owes Ripley more than he can afford to pay, but it will not help matters hearing it from DeLuca. Even if he is right.
Besides, Monroe hates being teased. He fancies himself a man of society, of which he is not. He is nothing but the keeper of a spirit tavern and brothel. While he hopes to hook the attentions of potentate gentlemen who are looking for a spirited drink and untethered coitus, nothing will come of his depraved ambitions. Between his day drinking and gambling, it is no wonder he is unable to remain afloat.
“Goodness, Red! You didn’t have to stake my toe to the ground!” DeLuca whines, lifting his foot to his knee, posting himself to the doorframe. “I still have four other deliveries to make before nightfall or Ripley will have my hide!”
“Oh shut up, DeLuca!” I reply with a shove into his shoulder before pulling the bottles out of the trough to place on the shelves.
“Some friend you are, Red! Let’s see how you’d fancy towing the wagon to Borden’s and LaSalle’s with your foot throbbing in a thistle!”
“Well, I’m certain I’d tough it out, unlike you my little Romani friend,” I answer with a chuckle and a light peck on DeLuca’s forehead. His big brown eyes stare back at me with a kindness I’ve only ever found in him since this life took me hostage. Still, I cannot resist squeezing his olive-skinned cheeks, puckering his rose-colored lips between my palms. “Now stop your bleating blabber or I’ll have to ask Chalmette to tend to your wounds. At least she’s no baby!”
“All right, all right. Enough!” DeLuca grumbles, snatching two jars of rum from me. He places the remaining bottles from the trough onto the shelves as I mark the inventory, hopeful I can give Monroe an account of our holdings before we open this evening.
“So, speaking of Chalmette,” DeLuca quietly begins, leaning over my shoulder. A shooting ache pains through me as he says her name and for fear, I turn away from him, recounting the shelves. I have no desire for this conversation to go any further.
“Please, DeLuca, do not even speak your next words!” I wistfully snap, peering over his broad shoulders and into the barroom. Thankfully, I only see Monroe, still checking his receipts, frustratingly trying to make heads and tails of his earnings.
DeLuca steps in front of me, regaining my attention. “Look, Red, I know you don’t want to discuss it, but you must, at least with me. I am now and have always been your friend. Have I not?” He adds with a soft smile that folds into his square jawline. The sincerity I see in his gaze, entreats me to soften the tension I feel in my throat as I exhale.
“Of course, you are my friend, DeLuca. But I am doing all I can to spare her my lot.”
“I know you are. You are an adoring sister. Chalmette could ask for no better.”
“She deserves much better.”
“Well, you are certainly a fairer prize than Victoria. At least you did not run off and leave the girl to the dealings of Monroe, your mother or worse.”
“Well, I fear worse has come for my dear sister. Her menses ended yesterday.”
“Does Monroe or your mother know?” DeLuca asks, his eyes widened with the same fear I am certain reflects in my own.
“No, well—not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“I’ve kept her in my room locked up. Monroe will normally grant seven full days and one for cleansing. Her days are far shorter, but they needn’t know. I sincerely hoped Victoria would hold true to her promise and find Chalmette work in town. At least then she’d be assured room and board far from this dreadful place.”
“And you’ve not heard from her?”
“No. I even went into town yesterday looking for her, but her husband said she was out.”
“I am sorry, dear one. I know you do not wish for this to be her young life’s end, but do you think, perhaps, you should prepare her? You know—for what is to come. To be with a man?”
“How could you even suggest such a thing?” I bite back, as a gnawing sting in my gut grows.
“Because you are her sister, and you love her more than anyone. If she should hear it from your mother—or worse—Monroe, who knows what her fate will be. At least from you—”
“From me, what? If I cannot keep her from the vehemence seeking to violate her virginity, what more can I do, DeLuca!” I contend, circling the trough in fear.
“Calm yourself,” DeLuca begins, looking over my shoulder, placing his hands in mine. “You know more than anyone, the tricks of the trade. Do you not?” Squeezing my palms, DeLuca’s sincere gaze seeps into mine and I know he’s doing all he can to comfort me as he always has done.
Batting my eyes, I force my forming tears to the deep pockets of my eyelids and swallow the hard knot in my throat. I nod in understanding to DeLuca’s questioning, and he smiles, loosening his grip. “Yes,” I whisper in reply.
“Well, then you teach her all you can before your mother and her wretched beloved can get their vices on her. Teach her the things you told me in secret. The places you sent your mind. The songs you recanted. The lasting endearing memories of Calida and your father.”
“But she has no such memories, DeLuca. She was only a baby when we took this place to be our home. What sweet songs does she have except the canter and strumming of barstools and prickling?”
“Then give her something! Anything! If anyone can teach her to turn her mind away from the slobbering drunkard atop her—you can and you must, my dear one,” DeLuca answers, gently squeezes my wrist and strums my chin quickly, before pushing the empty cart out of the closet, leaving me alone.
The thought of any scallywag nightcrawler resting his palms upon my sister is repugnant to me. Sickening. But I know DeLuca is right. She is eighteen. Monroe will not keep his front foot from her for long.
I must do what I can to both prepare and protect her.
“Chartreuse!” I hear Corrine, one of the oldest house girls call to me from the hallway.
Pushing aside the tears that once again threaten their release, I rush out of the closet to see what is causing her angst.
“What is it, Corrine?” I shout back when I see her standing frozen at the bottom of the staircase.
Pointing up from her chin, she shakes her head and blows her blond tendrils from her face. “I’m sorry, darling. But you know you couldn’t keep him from her for long. It’s probably better this way. No need of giving her fantasies that will never come to be,” Corinne says, tapping my shoulder softly before walking back toward the bar.
My heart beats like racing bulls in my chest as I race up the steps at her words. Glassy, tearful pools swathe my vision as I nearly knock several of the house girls to the ground as I storm down the hall to Chalmette’s room.
Reaching her door, I am not surprised to find my mother blocking my entrance.
“Move out of my way!” I demand, staring up at the hardlines now squaring my mother’s otherwise youthful face. Her sea blue eyes are always more pronounced in her anger and with the way her burnt ginger-laced curls frame her face, her glare is almost haunting.
But I am not afraid.
“Back away, Chartreuse! Haven’t you done enough to worsen matters?”
“Me?” I say astounded, wondering what new blame she chooses to lay at my feet today. I try to push past her brooding frame, but she side steps me, placing her long arms across the threshold, preventing me further.
“Yes, you! It is always you, is it not? Not only did you choose to deceive us, knowing full well Chalmette’s menses ended days ago, but now Monroe tells me your knicker-knocking with that Sincade DeLuca boy has given Ripley cause to cut the bar supply in half! How do you expect us to earn a living with you carrying around as you do?”
Once again, Monroe has lied on me to spare himself and once more has my mother believed his lies. From the first day he climbed upon me, holding me at my neck to claim my innocence, only to tell my mother that it was I who seduced him, has she believed his folly. Now, because of his gambling, day drinking, and other manner of frivolity does he seek to blame me for his shortcomings.
And now she stands idly knowing her lover’s intent to maim yet another daughter’s preciousness.
I will not let Chalmette’s fate be that of my own. Not now or ever!
“Whatever new lies you choose to believe of your beloved are your transgressions, not mine Mother! If I can even call you that! You are no mother! You are nothing more than a—”
“How dare you girl!” Mother responds, striking a hard blow to my cheek. “You will not speak to me that way. Nor will I allow you to speak ill of Monroe in my presence. If it were not for Monroe, we’d be street peddlers. He is the one who took me in, when I was alone with you girls and pregnant. He’s never asked for anything. Only that we all pull our fair share.”
“Really, our fair share? Is that what we’re calling it now? Father would never—”
“Your father is dead.”
Those four words sting more than the ache of her hand to my face. While I may have been young at my father’s passing, I shall never forget the kindness, generosity, and endearment of his manner. I doubt whether in this world or the next, there shall ever be his equal. Ever.
“Please, Monroe, no! You mustn’t do this!” I hear Chalmette cry from the other side of the door.
Mother’s nose twitches at the whimper of Chalmette’s voice and her posture softens enough for me to push past her, busting the door open.
Chalmette is nestled against the bedframe, grasping her blanket at her chin. Her crestfallen face is flushed with red, and her eyes swollen with tears. Monroe is in nothing but a loose shirt with his trousers buckling at his knees.
Racing to Chalmette’s side, I thrust her into my embrace, as she sobs inconsolably. “I’ve got you little sister. I am here.”
“This is no place for you girl! Get out of here!” Monroe shouts as he works to pull his clothing back to his waist, staggering as he does. I see his day drinking knows no bounds. He is such a slobbering mess. Looking at him I still don’t know what redeemable qualities Mother ever found in him. From his grease-laden, balding, coal black hair to his sunken eyes and rickety, missing teeth, he is revolting.
There may have been no one to fight for me when he “broke me in,” as he called it, but there is someone to fight for Chalmette.
Me.
“Monroe is right, Chartreuse! This is not your place!” Mother contends as she tries to help Monroe with his fasteners, but he grumbles, refusing her aid.
“Oh I know my place, Mother and it is right here. Between my sister and that foul fool at your side!” I shout. Gasps erupt from the hallway and I am sure the other girls and attendants can hear our every word. Most wouldn’t dare speak ill of Monroe. Somehow, he’s cast the same spell over them as he has over my mother. A few of the housemates have contested he is better than most men of his stead. Whatever kind regard they have for him bears no weight to me. He is and forever will be a monster to me.
“Girl,” Monroe yells back, “step aside. Little Mette must learn the way of things. It is time she contributes to the house. I’ll not have freeloaders under my roof!” He falters, stumbling over the floor pillows as he tries to make his way to us.
“Look at you! You loathsome loaf! How pray tell did you expect to rise to the occasion? You’re so full of Ripley’s rum punch you can barely walk!” I sneer. He is almost laughable, but I rein in my need to taunt him further.
“Catherine, get your girl! I’ll not have her mouthing to me!” Monroe yaps his words over his shoulder to my mother. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn I spied her posture shift, repulsed by his actions. But that would be all too motherly of her and she is not so.
“Chalmette does contribute to the house!” I quickly interject as my mother’s mouth parts to speak. Raising her brow, Mother tips her head to the side, curious of my intent. “She sings,” I say as though I were inspired. “Monroe, Mother, you both know she brought in much money singing last month. The bar was full every night during Mardi gras when she headlined the set. Why not let her continue singing? There are surely enough girls in the house. Chalmette needn’t add to the number when she can attract many more with her melody.”
“That was Mardi gras, Chartreuse. Merriment was plentiful. But these are hard times, girl. Tensions here in the once new world are at its peak. Shipments of port and mead from Britain have lessened and with talks of war brewing beneath the surface men look to places such as this for the small comforts we provide. Pillow and port.”
“Please, Mother!” Chalmette pleads, lifting her head from under my tight grip. “I’ll do whatever I must to earn my keep—but please, not Monroe! Please!” Chalmette’s words churn within me, sickening me to my core. Although tears drench her face, I am surprised by her sudden change of disposition. Against even my own will, she’s trying to take charge of her own fate. And while everything within me finds her posture impressive, I know she will yet regret her words.
“No, Chalmette!” I whisper, turning her reddened face to meet mine.
“It’s okay, Chartreuse. You can’t protect me forever,” she whispers back.
“Catherine, I’ll not let your wretched girls dictate the order of my house!” Monroe shouts in protest, staggering a few steps forward. “She will—”
“No, Monroe—you will not. Not this time,” Mother’s tone is strangely comforting. She looks over her shoulder at me and Chalmette and her eyes soften slightly. But it doesn’t last for long. Narrowing her gaze once more, she scrunches her nose and turns back to Monroe. “You mustn’t worry, dearest. Chalmette will agree to the house rules. She will work.”
“Ha! That she will!” He grumbles, gritting his teeth and spitting on the ground. I push Chalmette behind me against the bedframe as I watch him take needful steps toward us.
Again, Mother places her hand at his chest, circling around him to get his focus off me and my sister. “Yes, beloved, she will work—but not with you. She has made a vow and she intends to keep it,” she begins as she looks over her shoulder at us with an ominous glare filling her face. Worry grips me, fearing Mother’s next words. Chalmette thrusts her sweaty palm into mine, and I know she too worries what follows. “It’s been years since we had an auction and bidding. Men will pay handsomely to be with a virgin as lovely as Chalmette.”
“Mother, no!” I gasp. While I know I shouldn’t be shocked, I can’t help it. How could she suggest such a thing?
“Yes,” Monroe cackles with a malevolent grin as he scratches the stubble along his chin. “The lot of them paid generously for Marietta and she isn’t even a looker not to mention wasn’t a virgin. But they bought it. You are a genius, Catherine! I’ll get Marius to make papers to post over town. They’ll come from miles over for this sweet one.”
“Please, no!” I protest once more, holding Chalmette deep in the cavity of my chest as tears soil my face.
“You should be happy girl. Now some wealthy pauper will have the honor. Unless you’d rather it be me? But if this doesn’t work for any reason, girl—it will be me!” Monroe smirks, exiting my sister’s suite.
Chalmette drenches my shoulder with her tears, screaming into my neck as she does. More water floods my face, but I keep my sights on my mother. Just when I thought I couldn’t loathe her more, my disgust of her reaches a new low. She is no longer my mother. In fact, she hasn’t been for some time. For years, I only saw her as victim to incidence gone awry, but no more. She is not a victim. A pawn, perhaps, but she is still well in control of her path and that of our own.
But no more.
Although I am unsure how, I will see to it that her control ends today.
Walking to the threshold of the door, she turns back to face us, this time her countenance is stoic. “Be sure she is cleaned up and presentable by the evening hour. And fix yourself up too. You are still required to work tonight as well. That is, if anyone will have you. Should you need anything, I—”
“We need nothing from you, Catherine! We never have.” My words strike her heart just as I intended. Her eyes bulge at my sentiment and I know she is surprised. I have always done my best to hold her in some manner of esteem—even if it was minimal. Now, at this moment, it is all forfeit.
Rising from my side, Chalmette quickly paces to the door and slams it shut in her face. Screaming once more, she buckles at her knees and cries against the doorframe. Rushing to her aid before she topples to the ground, I take her in my arms and hold her tight.
“I’ve got you, dear sister. I promise now and always, I will never let you fall. Ever.”