The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) (17 page)

She tried to back away from him, but he held on to her. “You killed those women, the ones found ripped apart around the city. What about the murders from the seventies, the thirties and even back in 1895? Was that you?”

He let her go. “How do you know all of that?”

She backed into the foyer beyond the living room door. “I went to the newspaper today. I looked up some old articles in the morgue about the murders. Susan, your former chef…you failed to tell me that her last name was Livaudais.”

Julian slowly followed her into the foyer. “I did not want to scare you. I cannot help what I am, but you can end all of this. You can stop the killings.”

She inched her way toward the front doors. “Me? How can I help you?”

“You are my match, the one I am supposed to be with; the one who can end the curse.”

Jazzmyn backed into the double doors. She reached behind her and fumbled with the deadbolt. “I can’t help you, Julian. You need professional help…doctors, lots of drugs, and years of therapy to get over this.”

He came up to her and wrapped her in his arms. “I need you. On the night of the full moon—in three days’ time—you must declare your love for me, and only then will I have made amends to the family of Livaudais. I will have fulfilled my obligation and married a mistress of their house.”

“Married? I can’t marry you! Julian, listen to what you’re saying. This is insane.”

“Jazzmyn, I know how this sounds, but if you marry me, you can free me. I can be a mortal man with a mortal wife. We can have children and grow old together.” His dark eyes peered deeply into hers. “You must marry me. If you do not, I will go on killing.”

“Julian, please I can’t just….” Her voice gave out as his naked body pressed against her.

“I’ve known since the first time we touched that you were the one. Every time I’m close to you, I feel the heat rising from your skin. I see the desire in your eyes. I know I do something to you.”

She put her hands on his chest, hoping for the strength to push him away. “But you have killed innocent women. How can I—?”

“I have not killed anyone!” he adamantly professed. “The beast I am cursed to be kills. I have no memory of killing anyone.”

She trembled in his arms. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

He breathed in the scent of her hair. “Because I have been inside you, Jazzmyn. I could not do that with any other woman. If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it many times before now, but you are my chosen one. I will never hurt you.”

“Julian, please let me go.”

He kept his arms locked about her. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you.” She fought to keep the panic from creeping into her voice.

He sighed into her hair. “Liar. I can tell by the way you feel that you don’t believe me. What will it take to convince you?”

“I don’t need convincing, just let me go,” she pleaded.

He released her from his arms. “There is one thing I can show you to prove my story.” He took her hand. “It’s in the dining room.”

Jazzmyn’s mind was hunting for ways to escape from him. There had to be some way she could get free from him and run for help. As he pulled her along the hallway to the dining room, she tried to think of all the self-defense moves Kyle had forced her to learn over the years.

Kyle. His handsome face floated in her mind, and suddenly she regretted all that had happened that night at the restaurant. He had beseeched her to stay away from Julian, but she had been too stubborn to listen. No, that was not right. She was not being stubborn, she had simply been too afraid to accept her true feelings for Kyle. Jazzmyn had tried to distract herself with Julian, and now she feared she was going to pay the ultimate price for denying those emotions.

Julian flipped on the lights in the dining room with its dark mahogany paneling and oval table that seated twenty. On the walls were numerous paintings of dead relatives. As a child, Jazzmyn had hated being in this room. All of those ghostly eyes staring back at her from the portraits on the walls had always frightened her.

Julian released her hand and proceeded to the far corner where several antique, oval, miniature portraits hung on a wide piece of red ribbon.

Jazzmyn stood a few feet from the entrance, keeping a wary eye on Julian. Wanting to seize the opportunity to get away while he was preoccupied, she began inching closer to the door.

“Your mother, Noreen, put this on the wall after she found a box of them tucked away in the attic,” he called from across the room. “I remember your father telling me how much he had appreciated her regard for his family heirlooms.”

Dumbfounded by his comment, Jazzmyn stopped within a foot of the dining room doorway. “You knew my father?”

He turned back to her. “Your father invited me over after we met at a jazz concert. I told him I was starting a new recording studio and was looking for musicians. You and I would often spend time together and talk about dogs and your favorite Sesame Street character, Oscar the Grouch. During one of our visits you invited me to tea with you and your imaginary friend, Clara. I was Julian Paul Devereau then, but you always called me Mr. JP.”

Jazzmyn’s raised her hand to her mouth. Her mind raced back to the days when a tall man had come to see her father and had always spent time with her instead. She remembered Mr. JP as big man with a wonderful, musical laugh, and the way he had smelled like a green forest in the middle of spring.

“Oh, my God.” She reached for the wall. “That was you!”

“Now are you convinced?”

Jazzmyn shook her head. “No…I mean…that couldn’t have been you. Mr. JP was a man in his middle thirties and—”

“It was me, Jazzmyn. I used to come and visit you every Sunday, remember?”

She anxiously searched his face. “That’s right. Mr. JP would come over and spend Sundays with me. My father thought he was just being kind, and my mother used to tell my father never to let him come back. They would always fight about it. Every time, after Mr. JP left, they would go into their bedroom and yell at each other, but I never understood why.”

“Noreen was not a very subtle woman,” Julian admitted with a shrug. “I knew the marriage was doomed from the moment I met her.”

Jazzmyn put her hand against her forehead as the sickening swirl of doubt gripped her. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You need to believe me, Jazzmyn.” Julian stepped closer to the miniature portraits hanging from the red ribbon and pointed to the third one down. “This is Julian Philippe Devereau. It was the keepsake given to Odette when our betrothal was announced. You used to always call this your Mr. JP picture.”

Jazzmyn cautiously approached the far wall while keeping her eyes glued to the portrait he was gesturing to. When the miniature came into focus, it was readily apparent it was Julian. The gentleman in the picture had the same facial features, eyes, and even his thick, black, curly hair. But the subject in the portrait appeared leaner and had a paler complexion than the looming man beside her. Her memories came rushing back to her as she stared at the memento. She recalled showing it to her childhood playmates and telling them about her special friend, Mr. JP.

She grabbed at her stomach, fighting back the urge to vomit. “You were Mr. JP! How can this be possible? How can a man like you exist?” She placed her hands against her head as the room began to spin. “I must be having a breakdown. All the stress has finally gotten to me.” She leaned over, gasping for breath.

Julian placed his arm about her shoulders, but Jazzmyn shoved him away. “Get away from me!”

“Calm down, Jazzmyn. You’re not having a breakdown, I assure you. Just breathe and let it sink in.” He stepped back from her. “I must admit it is nice to have someone to share all of this with after so many years.”

She stood upright and glared at him. ”It isn’t like you just told me you’re a secret agent or something. Christ, Julian!” Black spots started dancing in front of her eyes as her need for air became more desperate. She felt her legs giving out beneath her as the room began to grow blurry. “But you…you killed people.” It was getting harder for Jazzmyn to talk. “You murdered….” Her lips were growing numb.

“It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.” He swept her into his arms. “I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid. Nothing is going to happen to you, Jazzmyn.”

She was being lifted up, but Jazzmyn had no strength to fight back. The darkness enveloping her was stronger than her will, and within seconds, the last traces of light before her eyes simply drifted away. 

Chapter 15

In her dreams, Jazzmyn was running from something in a forest of stone blocks. The creature chasing her was pure evil and wanted to possess every ounce of her soul. She awoke with a start and nervously gazed about her darkened bedroom. When she sat up, the relentless pounding in her head made her waver slightly in the bed. As her mind cleared, she remembered all the things Julian had said to her.

“God, please let it just be a bad dream.”

But when Jazzmyn moved to the side of the bed, she saw that she was naked, and then the throbbing began in her groin. She flashed back to their frenzied lovemaking and the pain she had initially felt. She closed her eyes and knew then that it had not been a dream. Standing from the bed, Jazzmyn reached for her blue silk robe on the antique Napoleon chair next to her bathroom door. When she slipped the robe about her shoulders, she heard the faint sound of a piano coming from the third floor.

As she exited her bedroom, she attempted to place the strange melody among the litany of tunes her father used to play. After padding across the second floor landing, Jazzmyn looked up the wide oak stairway and listened. There was something hypnotic about the slow and steady rhythm of the music. It captured the inner reaches of her heart and beckoned her to the third floor.

Jazzmyn rested her hand on the banister and forced back the fear seething beneath her skin. She glimpsed the stairway to the first floor and thought of running out the front doors and into the street, screaming for someone to come and save her. But who would save her? If he truly was Julian Philippe Devereau, then there was no one who could take away her nightmare. No modern world miracle would be able to save her from this monster made in the past. Her hand tightened around the thick banister when she realized there were others to consider…the other women Julian would kill if she refused him. As Jazzmyn turned and looked up the stairs to the third floor, she knew she had to go to him. She had no choice; she was his.

Jazzmyn had always been his, ever since she was a little girl. As she reflected on the excitement her childhood friend Mr. JP had always made her feel, Jazzmyn recognized the beginnings of her strange attraction for Julian. Despite the passage of time and the preoccupations of youth, she had never forgotten him. For years she had chalked up her intense regard for Mr. JP as nothing more than a lonely child’s desire for attention; that was until Julian had entered her life. The realization that the same passion she had felt for Julian as a child she still felt as a woman gave her little comfort, and only seemed to confound her even more.

As the emotional melody wafted down the steps, Jazzmyn found her troubling thoughts being overtaken by images of Julian. Enticed by the steady beat of the soulful tune, she began to climb the stairs; ready to face whatever the fates had planned for her.

On the third floor, she followed the music to the studio her father had converted from what had once been the library. When Jazzmyn entered the studio, she saw him, dressed in his gray slacks, but shirtless and hunched over the keys of her father’s old upright piano. Slowly, she moved closer to the small bench where he sat and became fascinated by the slight sway of his body as he played. Glancing at the piano, Jazzmyn noticed that there was no sheet music displayed above the keyboard. His eyes were closed as he played, and she marveled at the way his hands danced across the keys as if he had been born to master such an instrument.

How could this be a monster
? She mused.
How could this beautiful man be the master of such ugliness?

Julian opened his dark brown eyes and saw her inching her way toward the bench, but he never stopped playing.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

She motioned to the piano. “What is that tune?”

“I have no idea. It comes out when my hands touch the keys. I’ve never had lessons, but since the day I was changed I could play.” He showed her his profile. “Music soothes me. When I’m troubled, I play.”

“Are you troubled?”

“Are you still afraid?”

“No,” she admitted, knowing that it was the truth. Despite her apprehensions, she sensed that he would never hurt her. She did not understand that feeling, but she knew she could trust it.

“Those women you killed…who were they?” Jazzmyn asked as she stepped behind him.

His hands glided along the keys. “Some were women I thought were you, the chosen one who could free me of this curse.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Some were women I knew, women I wanted to be with. Every time I would take them to bed, I prayed things would be different. But I would blackout, and then the nightmares would begin. Ugly dreams about killing and tearing people limb from limb.” He stopped playing and turned to face her. “Then I would wake up, covered in blood, to discover that my nightmares had come true.” He wrapped his arms about her and pulled her to him. “I want this to be over, Jazzmyn. I have lived too long as this monster, and I want to have peace with you.”

At first her body arched away from him, but as he rested his head against her chest, her resistance evaporated. She lightly ran her fingers along the dark curls atop his head. “For this to be over, for no more women to die, I must marry you?”

He leaned his head back. “You must commit to me in a voodoo ceremony, which means you declare your love for me, and it will end.”

She analyzed his features for any hint of deception. “And that’s it? No bloodletting, killing of chickens, or making me drink some putrid potion?”

“You just need to say the words. The words are their own magic, Jazzmyn.”

She took in a deep breath and slowly nodded her head. “All right, Julian. If that’s what you need me to do, then I will do it, as long as you promise me that this will end, and no more women will die.” 

He stood from the piano bench and picked her up off the floor. He laughed like a schoolboy as he happily twirled her about. “I promise it will end, and when I am free of these infernal bonds, I will take you away from here and show you the world.” He placed her feet back on the ground.

“Then what? Do we come back here and live as husband and wife, like nothing ever happened?” She took a step back from him. “What about your home? Who will you transfer the Devereau Trust to when there are no more Julians to live in The Satyr House?”

His deep brown eyes became round with surprise. “You knew about the house?”

“Never underestimate the power of city hall. There’s a guy there who has traced every Julian that has owned The Satyr House back to you, or the former you.” She scratched her head. “This will take some getting used to,” she muttered.

“Where do you want to live?” he excitedly asked.

“I have no idea, but I know I don’t want to live in that house of yours. I don’t want to be constantly reminded of what you once were and all the things you have done.” She looked him over with a renewed interest. “Are you really over a hundred and fifty years old?”

He nodded his head. “A hundred and eighty this year, actually.”

“But you look like you’re in your mid-thirties.”

“I was younger and a lot thinner before I was cursed. The curse changed my features, making me appear older and bigger than I was.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Took me a decade or two to get used to the face I saw in the mirror every day.” 

She hesitated and then asked, “How does it feel to live for so long?”

“Time is immaterial to someone like me. It is the people in your life that make it worth living, not the time you have to live it.”

“But you have seen so much history. Did you ever meet any famous people from the past? What did you see? Where did you go? Did you fight in the Civil War, or the First World War, or even World War II? What about electricity, the telephone, and the automobile?” The questions began to tumble forth from her like a waterfall.

“I’ll tell you everything in time.” He pulled her into his arms again. “Right now, I have something else I desperately want to do with you.”

Julian hungrily kissed her, and Jazzmyn’s restless mind stilled. His lips meandered over her round cheeks to the nape of her neck.

The arousal in her swelled as she clung to him. “I can’t believe this. I’m sore as hell from before, but all you have to do is touch me and I want you all over again.” She ran her hands over his hairy chest. “It’s like you’re some irresistible force and I’m helpless against you.”

“We are meant for each other. That’s what you feel,” he whispered as his kisses moved down her neck.

“It’s as if I’m enchanted by you.” She leaned her head back as he untied the belt on her robe. “Am I enchanted by you? Have you put some spell on me?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m not the one with the magic, Jazzmyn.”

    “Do you think it will always be like this between us?”

He eased back from her. “What are you talking about?”

She placed her hands about his face. “What happens to us after, when you’re human again? What if after this curse is lifted, we drift apart?”

He cocked his head to the side. “There will be no drifting apart, Jazzmyn. We must stay committed to each other for the rest of our mortal lives; otherwise the curse will return.”

She let her hands fall to her sides. “Return? What do you mean?”

He sighed as he held her in his arms. “It means that if you ever rescind your vow of love for me, I will turn back into what I am. Your love must be permanent and everlasting, like Odette’s.”

“Wait, are you telling me there are conditions after this curse is lifted?”

“Yes, of course. But what difference will it make? We will be committed to each other.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Not to worry, Jazzmyn.” He traced his fingers along her right cheek. “You are so much more than I could have ever hoped for. To accept what I am and commit to me, that takes great courage.” He pulled her body close. “No wonder I love you.”

Jazzmyn’s heart sputtered. “You love me?”

“I’ve been in love with you since you were a little girl. I’ve watched you grow and marveled at the woman you’ve become.”

Jazzmyn contemplated his words as he slipped the blue silk robe from about her body. “But were you in love with me, or in love with the idea of me?”

“The idea of you?” He frowned as he stepped away and unzipped his pants. “Love is love, Jazzmyn. It’s what we feel for each other.” He tossed his slacks aside and pulled her back against his body. “It’s what I feel from you when I hold you in my arms.”

As Julian lowered her to the floor, Jazzmyn considered her feelings for him. Was this love or was it need? She was not one of those women who fell in and out of love like a change of seasons; she was more guarded with her emotions than that. But Jazzmyn could not explain this strange compulsion she had for Julian. Was this the madness that poets had penned torrid sonnets to since man first put his thoughts to paper? Or was this something based on a more primal instinct? And what of Julian’s feelings? Did he really love her, or was his love really his need to be free of his curse? She wondered if there was something more sinister than supernatural going on with Julian.

But as Julian moved his hands over her naked body, her overwrought mind was inundated with images of Kyle. Her thoughts crept back to their night together and the way Kyle’s hands had felt on her skin. Kyle. His name made her body quiver with regret.

“Relax, my love,” Julian purred.

As Julian’s fingers teased her sensitive folds, the rising tide of desire bounding in her veins erased all visions of Kyle from her head.

“This time, I promise I will be gentle,” Julian pledged and kissed her right breast.

Jazzmyn closed her eyes and groaned as that desperate yearning took over her senses, and once more she felt herself slipping into that mindless abyss of pleasure that only Julian Devereau was able to create.