Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 by Lorraine Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page B

head. “They might be able to make you think something for a second, maybe even plant a vision, but nothing that detailed. The vision would be more like seeing an instant in time.”
    Laurel began pacing the floor. “What if he comes after me? I’m not really safe as long as he knows where I am.”
    The thought of facing Marcos was terrifying, especially now that she knew what he might be. But even as fear blossomed in the pit of her stomach, so did that strange exhilaration she’d felt when he kissed her.
    She was being haunted, not just by demons, but also by her own desire.
    Mora draped an arm around Laurel’s shoulders. “You have to calm down. To beat a demon you have to be sharp,” she said, pointing to her head. “If you panic, he will have already won.”
    “I think we have to find out why this is happening to her,” Arlene put in, getting up from the bed.
    Mora nodded. “Give me a couple of days to think on this. I know someone who might be able to help.”
    Laurel wasn’t sure she could last a couple days, especially if she continued to see him lurking in the cemetery.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Mist rose from the earth to blanket the streets of New Orleans. It was a strange, almost unearthly fog. Those who stopped long enough to notice, might see that the fog seemed to have glowing red tinge to it, but unless you were paying close attention, that detail would be missed.
    Most of the population didn’t pay it any mind. It was weird for this time of year, but their lives were too busy to worry about something as insignificant as night fog. Those who did notice, simply shrugged it off.
    The red glow must be too much pollution in the air.
    It was autumn after all.
    Though New Orleans was typically warm at this time of year, the nights had turned unseasonably cool. With so many people burning their fireplaces to warm their homes, there was bound to be more pollution.
    That had to be why the night fog was different.
    At least that’s what most people assumed.
    Marcos knew better.
    The door to the Underworld was open. What people were seeing was pollution, but it wasn’t because of burning coal or wood. This pollution came right from the depths of Hell.
    As soon as the door to Hell opened, the demons and foul spirits of the Underworld began flooding into the city. Now the city was littered with toxic evil.
    The soft glowing light in her bedroom window went out.
    His angel witch was slipping into sleep. The connection between them was so strong, he could actually feel her drifting away. That connection was the same reason he could feel her fear, as well as her desire.
    She would never be safe until he’d planted his seed in her womb. Even then, there were no guarantees. The Dark Prince would be furious, but he may let her live to ensure the bloodline continues.
    He might let Laurel live, but had little doubt the Dark Prince would turn his fury on his son.
    That was a risk he was willing to take. What did it matter if he were dragged into Hell? In the end, that would be his final destination anyway.
    For now his nights would be spent watching over her.
    Bending his knees slightly, he jumped fifteen feet into the air, landing on top of a white crypt.
    To the human eye it would look as if he’d simply disappeared and reappeared, but it was a series of movements.
    Superhuman strength was just one of the abilities that came to him through his father. Springing from the ground to the top of a crypt was nothing.
    Marcos had many advantages over the average human. He could manipulate the mind, and touch their soul without them ever realizing it. But despite all these talents, he still found no success in persuading the witch to his bed.
    She wanted it.
    He could sense it. She craved his touch almost as much as he did hers, but still she managed to withstand those cravings.
    Laurel had to come to his bed willingly or the child he sired would not live. It was the order of things. One must succumb to the darkness of