Aubreigne Read online

  Contents

  Cover Credit

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  From The Author

  About The Author

  Cover Credit

  Christopher Coyle

  darkandstormyknight.com

  Thank you for adorning my words so beautifully.

  Sandra R Neeley

  P. O. Box 127

  Franklinton, LA 70438

  [email protected]

  84,583 words.

  Aubreigne

  Whispers From the Bayou

  Book 6

  by Sandra R Neeley

  Copyright © 2020 SANDRA R NEELEY

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for purchasing and/or downloading this book. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and/or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without express written permission from the author.

  Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are creations of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  For Pam.

  About This Book

  Centuries past, Amilanu made a foolish, spur of the moment decision. He’s been paying for it ever since. Sharing his body with The Dark One locked away in Hell has been punishment enough, but now that he’s managed to find his way to freedom it’s even worse. He’s found his mate, the one woman who holds his soul in her hands. But he can’t claim her, can’t love her, can’t even spend more than a few fleeting moments with her from time to time. Every time he tries, The Dark One surges back to the forefront and regains control, threatening his woman and causing her nothing but heartache. He’s decided it’s best for her and the world in general if he simply destroys himself and, hopefully, The Dark One in the process. But then he hears his Aubreigne’s desperate pleas for help and has no choice but to go to her at once.

  Aubreigne has resigned herself to living the remainder of her life alone. She’s convinced herself she’s okay with that, but can’t stop her thoughts from lingering on the mysterious male who visits her home during the night, leaving her beautiful, painfully realistic sketches. It’s as though he’s trying to tell her something. She’d thought it was The Dark One for a time, but all he does when he’s near her is lash out cruelly, so surely it can’t be him. Yet it is — and just as she’s convinced herself she wants no part of the drawings or the male who’s left them, he’s back and he’s suffering. Seeing him hurting and so helpless, leaves her unable to do anything other than assist him. The last words from his mouth before he collapsed were a plea for her forgiveness. She doesn’t even know if she can save him, but she’s got to try.

  An unexpected threat stalks Aubreigne and those she loves. She finds out too late that the person representing that threat is more dangerous than any gave him credit for. Will Aubreigne move quickly enough to save those she loves most? Will Amilanu hear her call before he deals himself the final blow. All hinges on fate coming together and twining their lives in just the right way. One tiny misstep will destroy all Aubreigne holds dear.

  Warning: Intended for mature audiences. This book contains violence, abuse both real and inferred, and sexual situations that may be disturbing for some readers. If you are offended by these subjects, please do not buy this book.

  Chapter 1

  The stifling heat permeating the room, and the damp sheets below the male woke him from a drug induced slumber. He raised his head and struggled to see through the smoke hazed air of the dark, dank room he found himself in. Slowly he regained focus, gathering his wits about him, and began to crawl from beneath the unwelcome irritation of multiple women clinging to him relentlessly as they slept.

  Freeing himself from their repulsive attempts to hold him to them longer, he stumbled a few feet away from them and vomited the remainder of the illicit substances still running rampant through his system. Looking around in disgust, he realized where he found himself, and what he’d done once again. He staggered to the door, threw it open and breathed deeply of the fresh night air. I cannot continue like this, I will give my soul for release! He thought to himself.

  A deep, amused voice echoed through his mind as he refused to give up control of his body to the being who’d abused it overnight. You already have, the voice said, laughing as realization caused the man to stop, lean against the wall, and vomit yet again. He stumbled out into the night with one thought on his mind. Redemption, and the only place he knew he could ever find any sense of peace — my female, I must get back to my female.

  Traversing the almost empty streets of a country he’d not seen in centuries, his eyes picked out the profiles of golden domes, and holy places, long ago lost to him. Stopping beside a baker’s shop in the darkness of predawn, he glanced inside to see the baker himself rolling dough, as flour scattered and lifted into the air as he worked, unaware that he was watched. The sound of trickling water drew his attention, and he turned to see where it came from. He stumbled over to the slender stream dripping from the corner of the rooftop and stretched out his arms, holding his hands beneath it. He cupped his hands, waiting patiently until he’d amassed enough to wipe across his face, then thankfully, vigorously rubbed his face with it.

  He spun to face whoever stalked him when he heard footsteps approaching. It was the baker, startled to a stop but still offering a gentle smile as he held out a cup of cool, fresh water. The male willingly accepted the cup of water, gulping it down appreciatively. When he handed the cup back to the baker, he saw pity in the man’s eyes.

  “Can I offer you bread?” the baker asked.

  The male shook his head, but gestured to the now empty cup. “Thank you for your kindness. Blessings upon you,” he whispered to the baker in thanks, before his own face contorted into a vicious sneer, his eyes blazing with flames in their depths at the words falling from his lips.

  As the baker drew back in fear, the male turned and ran as well as he could, ducking into a nearby alley. He turned at the end of it to brace his back against the sandstone wall, and prayed his psyche was strong enough to send him back to the place he longed to be.

  ~~~

  On the other side of the world, Aubreigne woke with a start. She lay perfectly still in the darkness of her bedroom and listened for anything that could have awoken her. Nothing. There was nothing. She opened her eyes and looked around her bedroom. Everything seemed just as it had been when she closed her eyes to sleep. Slowly, she pushed the covers back and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed to stand. She placed her hands beside her to steady herself as she stood and heard a crumpling sound. Freezing in place, she looked down to where her hand
lay atop a thick sheet of paper she recognized as being from one of her sketch books. She swallowed as she raised it from her bed to better see it. “Oh my gods,” she whispered.

  Aubreigne grasped the sheet of paper in her hands and hurried from her bedroom to the living area of her small cottage. She went straight to the fire and stoked it higher to make it brighter before sitting down in her favorite rocking chair to examine the sketch in her hand. As she took in every detail of the sketch, her eyes began to tear, and her heart began to hurt. How much suffering would one have to endure to be able to convey such emotion through a simple drawing?

  No, that was wrong. This sketch was anything but simple. She looked down at it again, running her fingertips over the beautiful, yet tortured face crying out in anguish, looking out at her hopelessly as its owner reached for her from the page, his arms outstretched, his hands grasping for her, as behind him stood women in all manner of undress, and a shadowy, evil figure, all with their hands on him, pulling him relentlessly toward them.

  Aubreigne held it up toward the fire to better see it. That’s when she realized there was something drawn on the back of it as well. She turned the page over and found a drawing of the male from the first side, kneeling, his shoulders slumped, his hands clasped as he looked up at the sky, obviously in prayer, or pleading.

  Aubreigne touched the image, feeling his pain almost as though it were her own. “How can I help you?” she whispered.

  “Forgive me!” carried through her home on a hushed breeze that just barely fluttered her nightdress and her hair.

  Aubreigne jumped to her feet, looking from one end of the room to another. “Who’s there?!” she demanded. She took a few steps away from the fire and looked around the room again, there should be no breeze. Her cottage was sealed tight — all the doors and windows sealed against the cool, autumn weather. “Who’s there?” she repeated, but there was no answer. Aubreigne placed the sketch on her small sofa and went to her daughter’s room to check that she still slept soundly. Aubreigne opened the door and tiptoed in. Finding Deaumanique sound asleep, with a smile on her face even as she dreamed. Aubreigne tucked her in a bit, more to soothe herself than her daughter, and went back out into the living space. She took a seat on her sofa, reached for the sketch and reclined, preparing to spend the last few hours before morning keeping watch, just in case.

  She looked down at the sketch in her hands one more time, taking in all the details of the beautiful, suffering male before again turning the page to look at the back. “I’m sorry you’re suffering,” she said, running her fingers across the drawing again. She kept the page grasped in her hand and rested her head against the side of her sofa. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as she tried to relax, she forced her mind to take her to happier thoughts. Thoughts of her daughter, dressed in the wedding gown that she and Serafina had made for her, the wildflower bouquet that her intended had gathered for her and brought to her door the night before held in her delicate hands, and the small home they’d make their own just as soon as their vows were completed the next day. These thoughts were those that helped her drift off to sleep again. Completely unaware of the male who stood just outside her cottage, witnessing her thoughts as though they were his own.

  ~~~

  The male smiled as he tasted the purity of her hopes and dreams for her daughter. This female, her hopes, dreams and thoughts were the only thing that ever touched his heart and gave him a small taste of what it was like to be alive. This was the only thing he lived for now, else he’d have thrown himself into a blazing inferno, off a cliff, into a lion’s den — anything to end his miserable existence. He left his life-ending thoughts and looked once again at the beautiful, delicate, deceptively dangerous female inside the cottage he stalked as her thoughts called to him once again. He smiled sadly when she said she was sorry he was suffering, and he watched her as she lay her beloved head to rest on the arm of her sofa. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to protect her, to love her. Another part of him managed to remind him that this would never be possible. So, instead, he settled for providing for her. “Yes,” he said in a language long ago forgotten. “I’ll provide for her. She and hers will never go without,” he said as he turned away from her home and wandered off in the direction of the wild game paths that crossed through the uninhabited areas of the community. He looked down at himself, taking in the sickly nature of his body, the weakness running through his limbs. Realizing taking down wild game with his bare hands was not likely this eve, he changed course and moved toward the more inhabited sections of Whispers. There he’d find what he sought, provisions for his female and her offspring.

  ~~~

  A few short hours later Aubreigne raised her head as the sunlight shone through the windows of her cottage. She looked around, confused about how she’d ended up in the living room until she looked down at the crumpled page in her hand. She smoothed the wrinkles out of it and folded it in half. She rose and walked to the kitchen, opening a drawer and placing it on top of all the other sketches she’d accumulated over the years.

  She looked down at it again before shaking her head. No. No, she wouldn’t allow herself to get lost in feelings that made no sense, feelings that would leave her in a less than happy state of mind. Today wasn’t about her, or the questions that plagued her from time to time. Today was about Deaumanique. Today, Deaumanique was taking the first step that would lay the path for the rest of her life. A happy, secure life. The kind of life that Aubreigne had always hoped she’d have. Today Deaumanique was marrying her love. She’d take Shane’s name, become Deaumanique Larocque, and move with him into a charming little cottage that he and Enthrall had built for them.

  Aubreigne went into her small bathroom, washed her body and her face, and pulled on her silk robe. It was the one luxury she’d allowed herself to keep of all the gifts left on her doorstep as offerings, that she’d routinely rejected over the last three years.

  She smoothed her hands over the fine, pale pink silk and lifted one of the lapels to her nose to see if she could still detect a scent. At one time the scent of cedar, and something else she couldn’t quite identify, were easily detected on the garment, but over time they’d faded away. It was a shame really — she’d found the scents quite soothing. Slipping her feet into her warmest pair of house slippers, she went back into the kitchen to start breakfast. She wanted breakfast ready when Deaumanique awoke. Today had to be perfect for her girl. Everything would go off without incident. No matter what she had to do, or who she had to bribe, this day would be the perfect entrance into married life for Deaumanique.

  Aubreigne started heating the water for tea. She smiled as she opened the icebox that Murder had insisted she accept, and took out a small glass bottle of milk, and a small dish of butter. Since she’d given in and accepted his gift, she’d been able to keep milk, butter and a small bit of seafoods and meats without worry of them spoiling. She’d cured and dried meats before, but now, she could keep them fresh, which made for much better tasting meals. She sliced the loaf of bread she’d made the day before into thick slices before spreading a bit of butter on them, and sprinkling them with sugar and cinnamon, then placed them on a thin pan in the wood burning stove to crisp it. As she reached for her tea leaves, she heard Deaumanique’s bedroom door open.

  “Good morning, Momma,” Deaumanique said, yawning and stretching her arms above her head.

  “Morning!” Aubreigne said happily. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well,” Deaumanique replied. Then her eyes widened and she smiled brightly. “I’m getting married today!” she said excitedly.

  Aubreigne laughed. “Yes, you are. Had you forgotten so soon?”

  “Kind of. Just seems like a dream, and every day I wake up, it takes me a little while to remember,” Deaumanique said excitedly.

  “Just a few hours, and you’ll be Deaumanique Larocque,” Aubreigne said, lifting the cheesecloth from the teapot she’d been steeping the leaves in. “Si
t, have some breakfast,” she said to Deaumanique.

  “I don’t think I could eat now. I’m so excited.”

  “Just a little. I’ve made you cinnamon toast and tea. Nothing too heavy.”

  “Oh, I do love cinnamon toast,” Deaumanique said, sliding into a chair.

  Aubreigne removed the toast from the oven, plated it, then took it and a cup of tea complete with milk and sugar to Deaumanique. “Here you go,” she said, pausing to smooth her hand over Deaumanique’s jet black hair and kiss her forehead before going back for her own cup of tea. Aubreigne sat across from her daughter as they shared breakfast and chatted about the wedding, enjoying their last breakfast as simply mother and daughter before Deaumanique started her new life.

  Chapter 2

  Shane had only been home for a few minutes, and stood in the kitchen, wiping his face and muscular chest with the shirt he’d been wearing and now had balled up in his hand, as he drank deeply from a cool glass of sarsaparilla tea. He refilled the glass and as he began to drink it down, too, there was a knock at the door. Shane looked over his shoulder toward the door. The sun wasn’t even fully up yet! Shane set the glass on the counter top and walked over to the door, unlocking and opening it.

  “Simon!” Shane said, surprised at who stood outside waiting for an answer to his knock.

  “Shane. Good morning. I’m not surprised that it’s you who answered the door. You must be up early, unable to sleep and excited for the day,” Simon said, smiling at the young man.