Chapter 52 Cold Corpses and Changed Forms

Chapter 50 Shadows of Care
EVEET -

Eveet’s boots echoed off the tiled foyer as she gripped Luca’s good arm, guiding him toward the stairs. Once the doctor left, the quietness of the estate pressed in on her

The chandelier’s golden glow cast long shadows across the oriental rugs, and the air was thick with the scent of polished wood and lingering cigar smoke from her father's study.

She turned to look up at Luca. His face showed no signs that he was in pain. Just a strong jaw and stoic features. Yet... his face was pale beneath the olive skin, and the bandage on his bicep was already seeping a faint red through the freshly wrapped material

“I’m fine, Signora,” he muttered, his voice rough, but the wince in his dark eyes betrayed his words.

Signora. She was beginning to hate that title. She wanted him to call her Eveet again.

“Shut it,” she snapped, her tone heated, tugging him upward. The stairs creaked under their weight.

Frustration rode Eveet's nerves.

She needed Luca safe. To see him resting. The panic from earlier still clawed at her chest.

The guest room loomed ahead, its four-poster bed draped in white linens. She pushed the door open, the hinges groaning. As they moved in, the cool air of the room chilled the sweat still clinging to her skin.

Luca was stiff as he eased onto the mattress, the graze pulling at his muscle as he stretched out.

"I have my own bed here, ya know. In the servants' quarters. I'll sleep just fine there."

Yet, as she hovered beside the bed, she noticed he didn't try to get back up after his statement.

Her gut twisted at the sight of him. Almost vulnerable. She couldn't help but think.

Her eyes moved to the scar. It was an angry white slash across his chest. His muscles tensed under her scrutiny.

Nervous, she turned to grab a basin of water from the washstand, the cool liquid sloshing as she dipped the cloth.

"Let me clean this up," she said, her voice softer now, the heat fading into something warmer. His dark brown eyes watched her, and when their eyes met, a flicker of something unspoken passed between them.

Butterflies ate up her stomach and flew into her chest. She was almost dizzy from the sensation.

With a heavy inhale, she sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Leaning forward, she dabbed at the blood smears on his arm, her fingers brushing his skin. The touch sent a spark through her, like his warmth was seeping into her palms.

Even though it drew a hiss from him when she first touched his arm, he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. The words carried a weight, like there was a question beneath them, but she shook her head, her fingers lingering on the bandage.

The room's air thickened, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow. It was just them, alone in a room with her caring for him like he'd always protected her.

It wasn't a kiss, not even close, but the way his hand brushed hers as she pulled back felt like a balm spreading warm over a crack somewhere deep inside her heart. It forged something deeper in her mind, a bond that didn't need words.

Luca’s eyelids drooped, his own adrenaline crash pulling him under. His breathing slowed, steady and deep, the gunshot’s pain easing into sleep.

“Rest.” She whispered, tucking the sheet over him, her fingers brushing his shoulder one last time. His face relaxed, and she watched the tension melt away. She waited until the rise and fall of his chest evened out before she stood up.

The estate’s quiet wrapped around them, and she thought for a brief moment that the silence seemed louder than the gunshots from earlier.

She stayed longer than she'd meant to. With a heavy sigh, she slipped out, closing the door with a soft click that echoed in the hall.

The library called her next, its shadows beckoning down the corridor. Celestine was in there.

A heavy sigh filled her lungs, and she closed her eyes.

The voodoo priestess.

When did it become normal for her to host such a person?

Eveet paused in the doorway, the weight of the night pressing down on her. When she was ready, she moved into the library, her boots clicking on the hardwood. The scent of old incense lingered in the air.

“What are you doing here?” Eveet asked, her voice sharp but weary, the adrenaline fading into exhaustion.

Celestine sat in Sam’s armchair, the leather creaking under her, and a string of Spirit beads dangled from her fingers. Her presence was unannounced once again, and it set Eveet’s nerves on edge.

The priestess smiled, slow and knowing. “Blood calls to blood, child. Your father’s closeness to death draws shadows, and your wounds stir da currents. Sit. We talk.” She gestured to the chair opposite, her dark eyes piercing through the dim light.

Eveet sank into the seat, the leather cold against her back. “What secrets now, Mambo?” she demanded, her tone edged with impatience.

She remembered the last time the woman had come to her home. She'd left Eveet with more questions than answers, and her world was left shaken. Eveet didn't know if she wanted to know what the priestess was here for.

Celestine leaned forward, the beads clicking softly. “The Night Crawlers’ blood runs deeper than you know." She rolled one of the beads between her fingers. "A little bird told me dat you've met wit your French family. I 'spose you learned some tings?"

A chill slid up Eveet's spine. "How do you know that? You keepin tabs on a Matranga?"

A cackle left Celestine's throat. It was wet and high before it ended into a coughing fit. "Cherie, I always have tabs on Margaux's girl. Did your uncle tell you bout what happen wit your mother?"

"He explained a few things. What's that to do with you?" Eveet wanted to end this meeting. She wanted to have this conversation with the Voodoo Queen, but not here and not now. She needed time to think and adjust, and she needed a place that didn't have potential ears.

"Ahh, everything, Cherie." She pulled a red pouch out of her robe and held it between both hands. "Da prophecy was born to me." She laid the pouch down on the small coffee table that sat between them. "Did he tell you what Margaux was doin'?"

Eveet eyed the pouch, which was most likely another Gris Gris. These were hard to come by normally, but here she was, seeing two in the same room within the same decade.

"He told me she was being forced to murder her own child."

"Oui, Cherie. Good for him. Make me respect da hunters more. Did he also tell you dat yours isn't the only life in danger?"