Shadows of Bourbon Street (31 page)

They all stood as Marc guided me down the aisle, and when I met Mom’s tearful eyes, I almost lost it myself. I paused and reached out, squeezing her hand briefly. Last year at this time, there had been no hope of her being at my wedding. Nor my stepdad. My heart swelled, and nothing in this world could’ve made me happier—except the love shining back at me when Marc handed me off to Kane.

“You’re gorgeous,” Kane whispered as he leaned in to brush a kiss over my cheek.

“So are you.” I scanned his body, taking in his tailored suit that showed off his wide shoulders and slender waist. My body started to tremble with the reality that this was truly happening.

“Relax,” Kane said, squeezing my hands. “It’s just you and me now.”

“For always,” I said, getting lost in his gaze.

The minister cleared his throat.

Kane and I turned to face him, and a huge smile broke out on my face. He couldn’t have been a day under seventy-five. He wore bright green golf pants paired with a button-down rainbow-striped shirt, argyle socks, and Birkenstocks. He even had a knitted cap to top off the outrageous outfit.

The minister winked at me and then addressed our small crowd. “We are gathered here today to join this witch and this incubus in holy weddedness. Is there anyone here who thinks this sounds like a good idea?”

Everyone laughed.

“Yeah. Me neither. But they look like they like each other, so who are we to judge?”

Kane chuckled, and when he smiled at me, everything else disappeared.

By the time our quirky minister got to the vows, our guests were teary eyed from laughter, and I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate our union.

“Do you, Kane, love this woman?”

“I do,” Kane said, humor lighting his eyes.

“Do you promise not to steal all her power?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise to feed her cheesecake in bed at least once a week?”

He laughed. “I do.”

“Good. And you, Jade, do you love this man?”

“I do,” I said through tears of joy.

“Do you promise to give it up when he needs your strength?”

I choked and sputtered on a bubble of laughter. “Yes. I do.”

“And do you promise to remember to keep the fridge stocked with beer, especially during football season?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, we have an agreement. The beads please?” He held his hands out, and Shelia ran up to the makeshift altar holding two strands of plastic heart-shaped beads. The minister smirked at us. “It’s not a wedding on Mardi Gras without beads.”

“You can say that again,” I said and nodded in Shelia’s direction. She toasted me with a large hurricane glass.

The minister handed each of us a strand of the heart beads and had us repeat after him.

Together we said, “With the beads, we do wed.”

“Excellent!” The minister clapped his hands together. “By the great state of Louisiana, I now pronounce you a married witch and incubus.” He turned to Kane. “You may now kiss your bride…but don’t get too crazy.”

Kane swept me into his arms, tilted me backward, and kissed me so thoroughly I forgot where we were…that was, until all the whooping and hollering brought me back to myself. He carefully placed me back on my feet and tucked my arm into his. “That’s it, it’s official,” he said into my ear.

“Yes, it is.” I wrapped my hand around his neck and leaned in. “And I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

“Yes!” Pyper came bounding up and wrapped one arm around each of us. “Finally! Now let’s party! It’s Mardi Gras, bitches!”

I laughed. “You heard her. What better way to celebrate a wedding than Mardi Gras?”

We didn’t have to say it twice. They all started to file out to their cars. Ever since Pyper had mentioned celebrities and the names Brad and Gerald, they’d all been more than ready to go.

I started to follow, but Kane grabbed my wrist and held me back.

“What is it?” I asked.

He scanned my body, his eyes roaming over my gorgeous, silver-beaded dress. “I just wanted to get one last look at you before we join the masses.”

“And something else, perhaps?” I rose on my tiptoes and brushed my lips over his.

He chuckled. “You know me all too well, Mrs. Rouquette.”

“Oh, I love the sound of that.” I traced my fingers over his jawline.

“So do I, pretty witch.” His tone was low and husky. He glanced out the window at our friends climbing into their cars. “Do you mind being a little late to the party?”

The desire humming just beneath the surface of his skin sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine. “No. Not at all.”

He pulled me to him, pressing me to the hard length of his body, showing me just how much he wanted me. And as the sound of cars starting and driving off toward the city wafted in through the front door, my husband kissed me again. Then he swept me off my feet and carried me back up the grand staircase.

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Defining Destiny Excerpt

Chapter 1

Dear Reader,

The Destiny series is set in an alternate reality that is just like ours with the exception that everyone really does only have one true soul mate. And that connection has a magical element that affects not only the couple, but the people around them. This is Lucy and Seth’s story.

Lucy

Exhilaration. It’s the only word to describe the post-concert high. At least for me. The cheering audience is in another state altogether. Peaceful. Joyous. Enlightened. It still amazes me that this is our gift to the world.

“Amazing show!” Les calls over the roaring crowd and gestures to Cadan and me. “I swear, that connection you two have gets stronger every day.”

Cadan gives me a self-satisfied smile. “See, Lucy? I told you they’d love the new songs.”

Irritation sours my good mood and I snap, “They would’ve been just as happy with the old ones.”

His smile turns patient as he puts an arm around me. “Oh, come on, babe. They’re great songs. We had to debut them at some point.”

I slip from his grip. “No. We didn’t. Besides, they’re mine. It was my call, not yours.” We have a bunch of songs we’ve written together that are fan favorites, but in the last twenty minutes of our set, Cadan had started singing the new ones I’d written. He’d managed to get the band to practice the music without me even knowing.

“It was a surprise. For you.”

When I don’t respond, he frowns. “What’s wrong, Luce?”

Jesus. He never listens. “I wasn’t ready yet, Cadan. I told you that.” Those songs are important to me. They’re the ones I wrote a few months ago after my father died, and while I’m proud of them, they’re deeply personal. They’re for me. I’m not even sure I want to release them.

“Oh, babe,” he says softly and pulls me to him. “I didn’t realize this would be so hard for you. But look at what happened out there. Everyone was deeply moved. Think about what you gave them.”

It’s the only thing that got me through the three songs he’d sprung on me. Twenty seconds into “You’re Always Here,” the crowd hushed as the bittersweet lyrics and melody wound their way into their hearts. The connection with the audience had touched me to my core. But that was beside the point. I was tired of Cadan steamrolling me. “I admit—”

“Encore,” Les yells over the noise and pushes us back onto the stage.

Cadan’s amber-flecked eyes flash with triumph, then he leans in close to my ear. “I knew you’d come around.”

It’s too loud for me to correct him. I’d been about to say I was pleased with the reception, but I hadn’t been ready and I was still pissed as hell he’d forced the situation. Not to mention how utterly violated I feel by the way he’d exploited something so personal to me.

We take our positions center stage. The deafening volume of the crowd ratchets up a few decibels. I beam at them. This is what makes being on the road three out of every four weeks bearable. The soul-mate connection Cadan and I share is meant for them. Not me. And not Cadan. Though I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s all about him. He’s twenty-four and full of rock-star ego. Reining him in is impossible most days. It’s only during the rare, quiet moments we get together that he’s anything like the guy I fell in love with two years ago, before our records hit any charts and before our lives were turned upside down by success and fame.

Cadan gives the cue, and I mentally prepare for “After the Fall,” our most popular song. It’s how we close every show. But instead of the strum of the guitar, the keyboard player starts a slow, haunting melody. My heart stops, and I gape at Cadan.

He pretends to not notice my reaction, but his knuckles are turning white from his death grip on the mic. He’s worried. And he should be. Because I’m frozen. The words are clogged in my throat.

Tears are already burning my eyes as emotion chokes me. Cadan cuts his gaze to me, waiting for me to sing the first lines of the song. I shake my head violently. How could he do this to me? I can’t do this. I’ll never make it through the lyrics. My heart will burst wide open on the stage.

But then I glance at the rapt audience. Their faces are turned up expectantly, already drawn into the sad music filling the club.

And when Cadan takes over, singing the part that I can’t, he hits every note perfectly with his clear tone. Haunted by memories and the melody, I want to bolt. To be home, hiding under the covers the way I had for almost three weeks straight after Dad passed. But I won’t leave the stage with the audience expecting more from me… and Cadan knows that. The bastard.

He holds out his hand to me, and I have no choice but to take it. The media frenzy if I dismiss him during a concert would be a shit-storm resulting in official statements to the press where no one wins.

The moment our fingers touch, something inside me calms. Cadan is my soul mate. And I don’t just mean he’s someone I have a deep connection with. He’s my destiny in a magical sense. The one supposed to understand me better than anyone. And together, we make music that is beloved by millions of people around the world. Everybody has one true soul mate. I’ve been told we’re lucky. We found each other three years ago.

The first notes of the chorus start, and with Cadan’s emotional support, the words come out as a whisper. It’s enough for the magic to take over, and the effect is instant. A collective sigh reverberates through the crowd, followed by a few gasps. Tears are streaming from one of the fans in the front row, and I have no doubt she’s not the only one. It’s a stronger reaction than usual, but it’s because of me. My emotions for this song in particular are too raw. I’m giving too much. How can I not?

I’m counting the days until I see you again.

Until then, keep an eye on me.

There are no good-byes. Not today.

For now I’ll say

Until we meet in heaven, until I see you again.

My voice catches on the last line, and Cadan gives the signal to wrap up the song. It’s too much for me. I’m not ready for this. Not this song. He knows and pushed it anyway. Why?

The crowd is on their feet, though instead of the roar, they are silent, waving their arms back and forth to the painfully gorgeous melody our keyboardist is still pounding out.

Cadan takes the lead and pulls me into a bow for the audience. It’s the signal the show has ended. I’m barely conscious of what’s going on as Cadan gently tugs me backstage. His arms come around me, and he pulls me close, cradling my head with one of his hands. “Shh,” he says through my sobs. “I’m sorry, babe. I messed up. Don’t cry.”

I sob harder, memories of Dad flashing through my mind like a slideshow. Christmas morning as Dad dishes up pecan pie for breakfast. Dad laughing as we race personal water crafts across Lake Shasta. The way his eyes crinkle when he makes up stories of his childhood. And a million other memories of him coming to every singing recital and competition within a two-hundred-mile radius. Then the days when he lay in the hospital while I waited for him to recover.

Only he hadn’t. And I’d been left alone.

I still have family. My mom isn’t too far away. Then there’s Cadan and my best friend, Jax. But none of those relationships come close to the one I shared with Dad. He was my rock. The one I long to talk to when I have news, good or bad. He was my anchor.

Now all that is left is his house on the side of the cliff.

Cadan walks me backward until we get to the couch. Then he sits and tugs me into his lap, whispering how much he loves me and how sorry he is.

He’s always sorry. But that never stops him from hurting me.

A knock sounds on the door. Cadan ignores it, all his intensity focused on me as he rubs my back and kneads the base of my neck. This is what he’s good at. Keeping me from losing it in front of millions of fans. Lord knows there’s been plenty of opportunity lately. I’m not exactly handling things well.