Villere House (Blood of My Blood) by CD Hussey, Leslie Fear Page B
Authors: CD Hussey, Leslie Fear
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across this place because…" Now it was her turn to stutter. "I was just outside and saw you walk in. Do you know anything about this house?"
Shaking his head in tiny, jerking movements, he swallowed, and then cleared his throat. "No, but the owner…"
At that, a tall, very scary, very good-looking man approached them. His courteous but reserved smile revealed what looked like vampire teeth. Ones that looked very real and very sharp. "May I help you with something?"
Dr. Anderson immediately rose. "Sorry I can't stay, Charlotte…" He didn't bother to elaborate, quickly ducking out of the bar.
She stared after him. What happened at this place that had him so freaked? Was it a fetish club or something? It didn't matter. She really didn't care.
"You're the owner?" she asked, turning back to the man before her. He was huge, at least six-foot-four—like Xavier, she thought—and she had to crane her neck to look at him. Unlike Xavier, he did not seem eager to entertain her questions.
"Yes. Armand Laroque."
"You've owned the building for a while?"
"It's been in the Laroque family for centuries."
"Oh."
That couldn't be. This was the house, she knew it. Even with the changed décor and layout, she could envision the sitting area where a stage now sat. And the fireplace, now painted black, was exactly where she expected it to be. She could even see Henry standing beside it...
"I just... I've been having these dreams and I thought..." She rubbed her face wearily. "I think I'm going nuts."
She could feel his hazel eyes scrutinizing her. But she wasn't too worried about what a guy with vampire teeth thought of her. "You seem…frazzled. Perhaps we should go back to my office where it's a little quieter. I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."
"Sure. Why not."
In spite of his menacing look, he didn't make her particularly nervous. A couple of her foster siblings routinely wore "fangs" and they were some of the nicest, coolest people she'd grown up with. A little angsty at times, but so were most foster kids. She certainly wasn't the exception.
It wasn't until the noise of the bar became muted behind thick velvet curtains that she realized if she was here because she truly believed a ghost was haunting her or she was having dreams of a past life, a real life vampire might not be that much of a stretch.
The room they walked through, a room she recognized as the original mudroom, was lined with stacked beer boxes and looked very similar to the backroom of the bar she worked at her freshman year. And the office at the opposite end was just that—a normal, mundane office.
She couldn't imagine a man like him shuffling paper, or answering the phone, or paying invoices...things this desk was obviously designed for. The desk contents might be meticulously stacked and arranged, but they were still normal desk items.
Maybe it was naïve of her to assume his attention to routine office details meant he couldn't possibly be what she thought he was, but she was going to go with it.
The vampire Armand—she snickered a little at that thought—sat behind the desk and invited her to sit opposite in a smooth leather chair. The arrangement was like the office of every psychologist, principle, counselor, or boss she'd ever met.
"Still feel like you're going crazy?"
"More so than ever."
His smile was faint. "What can I do for you Miss...?"
"Boyd. But just call me, Lottie. Um, well..." Now that she was in such a normal environment, away from the Gothic bar patrons, away from the too familiar New Orleans streets, the reason for her coming here seemed too ridiculous to utter.
"You mentioned dreams. Can I assume you're having dreams about my bar?"
"The whole house, really. But I must have been mistaken. The woman I've been dreaming of would have lived here in the early nineteenth century, but you said the house has been in your family for hundreds of years."
"Since shortly after the Battle of New Orleans."
She tried to
Shaking his head in tiny, jerking movements, he swallowed, and then cleared his throat. "No, but the owner…"
At that, a tall, very scary, very good-looking man approached them. His courteous but reserved smile revealed what looked like vampire teeth. Ones that looked very real and very sharp. "May I help you with something?"
Dr. Anderson immediately rose. "Sorry I can't stay, Charlotte…" He didn't bother to elaborate, quickly ducking out of the bar.
She stared after him. What happened at this place that had him so freaked? Was it a fetish club or something? It didn't matter. She really didn't care.
"You're the owner?" she asked, turning back to the man before her. He was huge, at least six-foot-four—like Xavier, she thought—and she had to crane her neck to look at him. Unlike Xavier, he did not seem eager to entertain her questions.
"Yes. Armand Laroque."
"You've owned the building for a while?"
"It's been in the Laroque family for centuries."
"Oh."
That couldn't be. This was the house, she knew it. Even with the changed décor and layout, she could envision the sitting area where a stage now sat. And the fireplace, now painted black, was exactly where she expected it to be. She could even see Henry standing beside it...
"I just... I've been having these dreams and I thought..." She rubbed her face wearily. "I think I'm going nuts."
She could feel his hazel eyes scrutinizing her. But she wasn't too worried about what a guy with vampire teeth thought of her. "You seem…frazzled. Perhaps we should go back to my office where it's a little quieter. I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."
"Sure. Why not."
In spite of his menacing look, he didn't make her particularly nervous. A couple of her foster siblings routinely wore "fangs" and they were some of the nicest, coolest people she'd grown up with. A little angsty at times, but so were most foster kids. She certainly wasn't the exception.
It wasn't until the noise of the bar became muted behind thick velvet curtains that she realized if she was here because she truly believed a ghost was haunting her or she was having dreams of a past life, a real life vampire might not be that much of a stretch.
The room they walked through, a room she recognized as the original mudroom, was lined with stacked beer boxes and looked very similar to the backroom of the bar she worked at her freshman year. And the office at the opposite end was just that—a normal, mundane office.
She couldn't imagine a man like him shuffling paper, or answering the phone, or paying invoices...things this desk was obviously designed for. The desk contents might be meticulously stacked and arranged, but they were still normal desk items.
Maybe it was naïve of her to assume his attention to routine office details meant he couldn't possibly be what she thought he was, but she was going to go with it.
The vampire Armand—she snickered a little at that thought—sat behind the desk and invited her to sit opposite in a smooth leather chair. The arrangement was like the office of every psychologist, principle, counselor, or boss she'd ever met.
"Still feel like you're going crazy?"
"More so than ever."
His smile was faint. "What can I do for you Miss...?"
"Boyd. But just call me, Lottie. Um, well..." Now that she was in such a normal environment, away from the Gothic bar patrons, away from the too familiar New Orleans streets, the reason for her coming here seemed too ridiculous to utter.
"You mentioned dreams. Can I assume you're having dreams about my bar?"
"The whole house, really. But I must have been mistaken. The woman I've been dreaming of would have lived here in the early nineteenth century, but you said the house has been in your family for hundreds of years."
"Since shortly after the Battle of New Orleans."
She tried to
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