Read Online Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) by Jennifer Blackstream - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Blackstream
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passed.
“It was no accident. Their ship was tampered with, I know it.” She fisted the sheets beneath her, a familiar anger rushing to fill her with its heat, to offer the reassurance of the only embrace she’d had in those horrible, black days after she’d gotten the news. “They feared her too much. Feared her because she was a bokor .”
“A bokor ?”
“You’re surprised?” Dominique laughed, a short, humorless sound. “I thought everyone knew. They certainly loved to talk about it—some of them still love to talk about it. Talk about how I might turn out to be just like her.”
“I didn’t know.” He resumed caring for her wounds, movements slow and sure, comforting in their rhythm.
“I’m not a bokor .” Dominique turned, studying his face, searching for the judgment she saw everywhere else. She may have to take it from her community, but she would not take it from him. “I’m not. Nor will I ever be. I am a priestess. I serve the loa only with good intentions.”
“I believe you. Though you should know, it matters little to me. As I told you, I have never been one to put stock in theories of good versus evil. The world is full of grey, and those who realize that, who accept it and acknowledge that sometimes life gets messy, will be better suited to the tasks they are called to do.”
“How nice for you that you can believe that, that you can live that way. I suppose when you’ve got the fastest ship and a thousand hiding places—and no attachments holding you anywhere—it’s easy to do as you please. You can simply bolt before you have to deal with the consequences. Before you have to face up to the stares of other people, before you have to see the judgment on their faces, the pity in their eyes…”
Dominique trailed off. Heat suffused her cheeks, not just temper anymore, but embarrassment. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost the plot, forgotten what she was talking about. Two pains had become one.
“Why do I get the feeling we aren’t talking about being a bokor anymore?” Julien’s voice was soft, non-judgmental.
“What we are talking about,” Dominique ground out, “is the fact that not all of us have the luxury of escaping the consequences of poor choices. I live here. These are my people. I have to look them in the eye, I have to stand before them as the priestess of this community.” She slid her arms up and rested her head on them, her body feeling heavier now as though a lead weight had been laid over her shoulders. “There was a time I dreamed of leaving this place. A time when nothing sounded so wonderful as a life of freedom, a life of moving from one place to another, never settling down, never…” She snapped her mouth shut, too late to bite back the words she hadn’t meant to share.
“But I left you behind.”
“Best thing you could have done.” She stared at the wall, refusing to look at Julien or that blasted painting. “Those dreams of leaving with you, sharing a life at sea with a handsome pirate—they were the fantasies of a foolish girl. What I have now is real.”
“And is there none of that foolish girl left?”
Dominique stiffened as Julien slid his arms beneath her body, lifted her up into his arms and sat down himself, cradling her on his lap. The sheets tangled around her lower body, but her upper body was bare. Only her stubborn pride kept her from crossing her arms over her chest. She summoned her best glare, wishing a look was all it would take to burn him to ashes for the next breeze to take away. He offered a soft, wistful smile, but wisely kept his eyes on her face.
“You aren’t the only one who still thinks of that night. I remember too.”
“I never said I—”
“Midsummer. The greatest celebration of them all.” Julien lifted a lock of her hair, twirled it around his finger. “You were dressed in red, the color of blood splatter on a lamp, glowing in what little darkness the torches allowed. The mask over your
“It was no accident. Their ship was tampered with, I know it.” She fisted the sheets beneath her, a familiar anger rushing to fill her with its heat, to offer the reassurance of the only embrace she’d had in those horrible, black days after she’d gotten the news. “They feared her too much. Feared her because she was a bokor .”
“A bokor ?”
“You’re surprised?” Dominique laughed, a short, humorless sound. “I thought everyone knew. They certainly loved to talk about it—some of them still love to talk about it. Talk about how I might turn out to be just like her.”
“I didn’t know.” He resumed caring for her wounds, movements slow and sure, comforting in their rhythm.
“I’m not a bokor .” Dominique turned, studying his face, searching for the judgment she saw everywhere else. She may have to take it from her community, but she would not take it from him. “I’m not. Nor will I ever be. I am a priestess. I serve the loa only with good intentions.”
“I believe you. Though you should know, it matters little to me. As I told you, I have never been one to put stock in theories of good versus evil. The world is full of grey, and those who realize that, who accept it and acknowledge that sometimes life gets messy, will be better suited to the tasks they are called to do.”
“How nice for you that you can believe that, that you can live that way. I suppose when you’ve got the fastest ship and a thousand hiding places—and no attachments holding you anywhere—it’s easy to do as you please. You can simply bolt before you have to deal with the consequences. Before you have to face up to the stares of other people, before you have to see the judgment on their faces, the pity in their eyes…”
Dominique trailed off. Heat suffused her cheeks, not just temper anymore, but embarrassment. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost the plot, forgotten what she was talking about. Two pains had become one.
“Why do I get the feeling we aren’t talking about being a bokor anymore?” Julien’s voice was soft, non-judgmental.
“What we are talking about,” Dominique ground out, “is the fact that not all of us have the luxury of escaping the consequences of poor choices. I live here. These are my people. I have to look them in the eye, I have to stand before them as the priestess of this community.” She slid her arms up and rested her head on them, her body feeling heavier now as though a lead weight had been laid over her shoulders. “There was a time I dreamed of leaving this place. A time when nothing sounded so wonderful as a life of freedom, a life of moving from one place to another, never settling down, never…” She snapped her mouth shut, too late to bite back the words she hadn’t meant to share.
“But I left you behind.”
“Best thing you could have done.” She stared at the wall, refusing to look at Julien or that blasted painting. “Those dreams of leaving with you, sharing a life at sea with a handsome pirate—they were the fantasies of a foolish girl. What I have now is real.”
“And is there none of that foolish girl left?”
Dominique stiffened as Julien slid his arms beneath her body, lifted her up into his arms and sat down himself, cradling her on his lap. The sheets tangled around her lower body, but her upper body was bare. Only her stubborn pride kept her from crossing her arms over her chest. She summoned her best glare, wishing a look was all it would take to burn him to ashes for the next breeze to take away. He offered a soft, wistful smile, but wisely kept his eyes on her face.
“You aren’t the only one who still thinks of that night. I remember too.”
“I never said I—”
“Midsummer. The greatest celebration of them all.” Julien lifted a lock of her hair, twirled it around his finger. “You were dressed in red, the color of blood splatter on a lamp, glowing in what little darkness the torches allowed. The mask over your
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