Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (3 page)

“What beard?” the man choked out, his voice three octaves higher than any man that size should’ve been capable of.

Julien squeezed his shoulder. “What beard indeed.”

He dropped his blade, pivoted, and strode away. Behind him, the scrabbling of boots on wood alerted him that his new friend and his companions were scuttling back to their pub, no doubt to drink away the memory of the blue-bearded pirate.

The satisfaction that should have come from scaring off the arrogant loud mouth was noticeably absent. Julien shoved his blade back into its sheath, teeth gritted.

“It is getting old,” he growled to himself.

“Ahoy, Captain!”

His temper spiked higher, sharpening to a fine, long point that could have speared a whale and still had room for more. The confidence that radiated from that voice grated on his nerves, roughening them until they were bare and bloody. The stowaway landed beside him, feet making no sound at all despite having leapt from nearly a hundred feet.

“Drust,” he spat. “Do
not
call me Captain.” His hand itched to draw his sword again. “I am not your captain, nor are you welcome on my ship or at my side. Be gone back to the chaos from whence you came.” He smiled, a cruel expression considering he knew full well Drust could not go back. The Unseelie were not a forgiving bunch, and Drust had played his pranks on one too many of the royal line.

“In point of fact, you invited me onto your ship. Welcomed me, if I recall.” Drust’s green eyes glittered like emeralds shining from the bottom of a dark lake. “It is most unwise to treat the laws of hospitality so carelessly.”

“I invited you onto my ship because you told me you were a master of illusion, that even among the fey you were renowned for your ability to hide the most monstrous beings in plain sight.” Julien curled his fingers into his palm, resisting the urge to snatch a handful of the fey’s hair—usually a sea foam green, but currently glamoured to a plain brown, damn him—and rip it from his scalp. “You got your invitation by false pretenses and I’ve told you our deal is off. You cannot fill the job you were hired for so you are no longer welcome on my ship.”

The slender being sniffed. “I
am
the best at illusion. But you did not tell me at the time you inquired about my services that you wanted me to hide your beard.”

“You didn’t have to hide it,” Julien bit out. “You simply had to change its color.”

“Then you should have specified that.”

“I did!”

Several heads swiveled in Julien’s direction and he gritted his teeth, struggling to get his temper back under control. Drust brushed at an invisible speck from his thin leather gloves.

“I told you I wanted my hair to be a normal shade.”

“It is. I know many men with a beard such a color.”

“Human men?”

Drust frowned. “No. But you didn’t say a normal shade for human men specifically, did you?”

Julien gripped the dock post, trying to avoid strangling his unwanted guest. The power inside of him licked its lips, hungry for destruction.

“It is as I told you,” Drust explained patiently. “No one could hide that beard. It is not blue by some trick of birth or the whim of a confused hairdresser. It is blue because someone laid magic on it—powerful magic. Magic that is very specifically designed to make you stand out, to be seen.” He held up his palms. “The Queen of Air and Darkness herself would be challenged to hide something infused with that sort of magic.” His brows knitted. “Well, maybe not the Queen of Air and Darkness. She would probably, you know, make it dark. That would hide it. Unless of course it glows in the dark.” He slanted a glance at Julien, interest sparking in his green eyes. “
Does
it glow in the dark?”

“If you refuse to leave, then you will make yourself useful.” Julien jabbed a finger into the fey’s chest, momentarily appeased by the wince of pain on the other man’s face. “Use your
supreme powers
of illusion and make yourself look like me. Take the ship and draw our pursuers as far as you can.” He dropped his hand, but didn’t step back. “Do you think you can manage that?”

Drust pursed his lips. “Yes.”

Unwilling to wait and see what else the former member of the Unseelie Court might come up with, Julien whirled around and stomped down the dock. It was difficult to outrun his temper when his path was lined with people who stopped to stare, every one of them eyeing his beard with a question in their eyes if not on their lips. He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing at his beard as if he could wipe away the color. He almost pulled the sash from his waist to tie around him like a scarf, but experience suggested that would be an exercise in futility. Drust was right, the magic that had turned his beard blue was meant to be seen. The scarf would only loosen as if plucked at by some unseen hand. The power of the curse.

Sending Drust off looking like him was a vain endeavor as well. He might draw off some bounty hunters and law men who knew Julien’s ship, but some of them would make it to Sanguennay and it would take them no time at all to learn Julien was here. But at least the task would get Drust off his back for a while. And it wouldn’t take long to put his plan into action.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. He’d arrived in port early this morning, and he’d spent the better part of that morning telling the chatty old biddies in the shops that he intended to take a wife this night. Not merely a wife—he intended to marry the Voodoo Queen herself. The old women had flown from their seats like chittering hens, moving with the speed of much younger women as they rushed to share their precious news with anyone who would hold still long enough to hear it.

“Have you heard yet, lover?” Images of Dominique filled his mind’s eye. Her dark eyes glittering with passion, sienna skin warm as her blood heated at his touch. If he closed his eyes he could still see her beneath him, still feel the luscious curves of her body against his own more solid frame. His palms itched at the memory, hands clamoring to feel her again, hold her.

“Are you angry, Dominique?” He licked his lips, scanning the crowd as if his thoughts would summon her, the woman who had haunted his dreams for over a decade. “I hope so. If I remember correctly, you are so beautiful when you’re angry.”

“I angered a queen once.”

Julien startled, whirling around to find Drust once again beside him. He stood there next to Julien as if they were bosom buddies, his hands planted on his hips as he surveyed the crowd, a thoughtful expression on his pale, angular face.

“Excuse me?” Julien consciously put thoughts of violence from his mind. Killing the pest would bring more trouble to him than it was worth. The Unseelie might want Drust dead, but that didn’t mean they’d appreciate someone else doing the deed for them.

“The Queen of Mu,” Drust went on. “In the days after I first left court, I stayed for a while in the Kingdom of Mu. I met Her Majesty, and I suggested that the yearly blood sacrifice could easily be provided by the human subjects of the kingdom—that taking blood from creatures beyond the veil was unnecessary and a bit insulting.” He rubbed his arms as though trying to rid himself of a remembered sensation.

“And?” Julien asked warily.

“And?” Drust’s brow pinched in the center. “And do you think I reflect back on that and think ‘Well done, Drust, what a clever
sidhe
you are?’ No, I don’t. I think back and I remember how unpleasant it was being strung up by briars, my own blood dripping over a gaping pit in the land with teeth—
teeth
—at the bottom.” A shiver ghosted over his body. “Upsetting a queen is
not
a good idea.”

“No. Angering
me
was not a good idea.” The erotic memories of a moment ago fled under a surge of temper as Julien remembered why he was here, what had finally drove him back to this wretched little town. “For ten years I’ve let her insult stand, dealt with the consequences of her childish temper. Now I am finished. She will answer for what she’s done, and she will make amends.” He straightened his spine, scrutinizing his surroundings like a king surveying a newly acquired territory. “She
will
marry me.”

Chapter Three

“Blessed Papa Legba, we pray you—”

The
ason
slammed into the ground with far more force than Dominique had intended. The hard shell of the rattle cracked along with several of the beads that decorated it, colored bits of glass flying in all directions like festive shrapnel. Her fingers spasmed on the handle of the ruined holy object, and she pressed her lips together, forcing herself to count to ten.
This is unacceptable.

“Um…Madame Laveau? Are you all right?”

Dominique shot to her feet, clutching the broken
ason
to her skirt in an effort to hide the destruction her temper had wrought. Virgine, a tall, willowy woman with skin the color of a new fawn and eyes more gold than brown, halted inside the tent where Dominique had been trying to meditate. She kept her distance, respectfully giving Dominique space even as her face pinched with concern.

“I’m fine.” Dominique held herself with as much dignity as she could muster. “I need to go to my sacred space. I will be back shortly.”

She marched for the door, the space between her shoulder blades itching under the weight of the
ounsi’s
scrutiny. Virgine was the most gifted singer in the village, and Dominique usually welcomed her with open arms for the beauty her voice leant to her rituals. Unfortunately, Virgine was also incredibly perceptive—a trait Dominique found less attractive in this particular moment.

“But… But the evening’s celebration—”

“I will return in plenty of time for the festivities!” Dominique bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself for the sharpness of her tone. She halted her march, and inhaled slowly through her nose. “There is… Something is not right. I must commune with the
loa
before my preparations for tonight’s celebration go any further.”

Behind her the
ounsi
gasped. “What’s wrong? Is it serious?”

The power inside of her flickered, danced, and stretched impossibly high, radiating out in a rare show of raw power. Dominique gritted her teeth, hands biting into the shattered relic. She hadn’t lost control like this since she was an inexperienced youth, still dreaming of her initiation. To struggle like this now, all because of…of
him.
It was insufferable. And
completely
unacceptable.

“Everything will be fine, Virgine. Stay here and warm up your voice. I can’t have my most gifted
ounsi
warbling like a nervous baby bird on one of the greatest nights of the year, now can I?”

She offered a reassuring smile over her shoulder, hoping it wasn’t as tense as it felt. Virgine hesitated, her brow wrinkled like she wasn’t entirely convinced. Dominique held her ground until the look of concern melted away into a smile. “I will strive to be at my best tonight.”

“Good.”

Batting the tent flap out of her way, Dominique emerged into a buzzing hive of activity, the scents and sights of Midsummer preparations a veritable feast for the senses. The mouth-watering aroma of fresh baked bread reminded her that she hadn’t eaten yet, and the tempting hint of bourbon and wine whispered seductively that food was optional and there were finer pleasures to be had tonight. Her people scurried to and fro like sugar-fueled children, laughing and exclaiming over one another’s food and costumes, everyone excited about the festivities darkness would bring.

And every one of them wanted to pay their respects to Dominique.

Smile, nod, say hello.

Her cheeks ached with the effort it took to keep the serene expression on her face and her skin stretched so tight she was certain it would split right down the center if she didn’t vent her frustration soon. The power inside her licked at her insides, flaring outward from her skin despite her attempts to keep it under control.
Unacceptable.

Relief seemed so near as she plunged into the swampland that marked the very edge of the village’s southern border, she nearly lost her footing on the root-sewn ground. The second she was hidden by a thick band of cypress trees, her shoulders drooped and her fury twisted her face into a snarl.

Julien Marcon.

The broken
ason
bit into her hand as she closed her grip, reminding her of its presence. A flicker of guilt twisted her gut, shaming her for allowing her emotions to wreak such destruction upon a holy object. She fell to her knees and dug into a path of soft earth, whispering a prayer as she buried the
ason
, returning it to the
loa
.

Such a powerful item, yet so fragile, so easily broken. Like a promise.

Temper flaring anew, Dominique surged to her feet and stomped through the shallow water of a particularly marshy area between two of the thickest trees, slamming her feet into the murky liquid with unnecessary force. The water sloshed against her worn leather boots, a few trickles managing to reach high enough to splash her knees and run down her leg into the high collars. The sensation was uncomfortable, and it only made her stomp all the harder.

Ripples rose and bobbed wildly in ever broadening circles, licking the trunks of the surrounding foliage. Some of the ripples broke from the circle, halted by a large shape half-hidden under the water. Sickly green eyes blinked once, slowly, black slits thinning in Dominique’s direction. A snout as thick as her thigh rose from the water, offering a glimpse of yellowed teeth tinged with pink.

As Dominique put her foot back on relatively dry land, the creature broke free of the water’s surface, gaping mouth revealing a blood-stained tongue. Its body was enormous, wider than two men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and nearly twice her height. Its arms and legs were humanoid, but still covered in thick, leathery scales and ending in webbed hands and feet tipped with wickedly curved black claws.

“Such a dour expression on your beautiful face. What has you so troubled?”