Bloodshed: The BlackGuard Society

By SF Benson

A secret society. Rogue paranormals. A vampiress with a grudge.

A crimson trail paints Bourbon Street as a recently turned vampiress looks for revenge. But the BlackGuard Society has deemed that the murderous bloodsucker and her sire can't be touched.

Too bad Morgan Vladislav doesn't follow the rules.

Will the dhampir's recklessness be enough to put an end to the callous rogues?

Or will Morgan's rash behavior pit her against the BlackGuard?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avanturine Press
• Release date: May 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223032762

SF Benson

SF Benson, a Michigan native, resides in Southern California with her husband, a human daughter, and a couple of miniature fur kids (two female short-haired guinea pigs). At one time, she wrangled a household which included three Samoyeds, saltwater fish, a hamster, and three guinea pigs. She’s an avid bookworm who appreciates a well-written book regardless of genre. SF prefers writing stories about strong, diverse protagonists set in dystopian, science fiction, or paranormal worlds. Connect with Author SF Benson: Be the first one to find out news about releases and giveaways! Email List https://bit.ly/3GnDYCk Facebook www.facebook.com/bensonsf Twitter @bensonshantella

Book preview

Prologue

Bishop

From the Nether Region...

Fuck! I didn’t really think I’d end up on the other side of the Veil. Not an ideal spot for someone like me to land. I had enemies. Lots of them. In fact, they were probably celebrating my arrival. But I had a bargaining chip. Portals. I opened so many gateways around the Quarter that the BlackGuard Society would be busy for months. They’d assume Mother was responsible. Too bad Tavi Mercier wasn’t that smart.

But I am fucking brilliant.

I just needed a spot to lay low while my son carried out the plan. Honestly, I didn’t like having to rely on someone else to do my bidding. Not that I didn’t trust Colby. He was my flesh and blood. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be a sniveling child following behind my weak-ass brother. No. My son owed me his life. And if he didn’t honor my demands, he’d find out how little his life was worth.

But Colby is smarter than that.

He won’t disobey me.

Worrying about my son’s loyalty, however, wasn’t my primary concern. The pissed-off witch stalking toward me, carrying her head beneath her arm, was my main issue. Not that I desired to undo the damage. I just didn’t want her bellyaching about the situation. Tavi Mercier had a tendency to shoot off her mouth to anyone who’d listen. But can she engage in gossip when her mouth is literally in her hands?

You do realize this is your fault? Mother bitched.

Part of me wanted to laugh at the surprised expression on her frozen face. Seriously, she should have anticipated miscalculations. I did, and my head was still intact.

Tavi paused long enough to plop her skull back in place. Don’t you have anything to say to me? You fucked up! This wasn’t supposed to happen!

No, Mother, it wasn’t. But your severed head isn’t my problem.

Wrong thing to say!

Even in her disjointed condition, my mother read me the riot act. Lost souls quickly scurried past us, not wanting to witness the degradation. Letting Mother ramble was easy. Frankly, there was nothing she could do to hurt me. When I grew tired of her endless jawing, I checked my watch. I had work to do, and it didn’t include her.

Bishop, are you listening to me?

Technically, I wasn’t. Her headache wasn’t my concern. At last, I was free of Tavi Mercier’s inane demands. Then I remembered that Uncle Gavin was in the realm. Isn’t that funky-ass brother of yours nearby? Why don’t you go find him?

As she stood there with her head slipping off her neck, I turned on my well-shod heel and stalked away. I had a meeting to attend and was pretty sure I was late.

Does being in Hell bother me? Not as much as it should have. It wasn’t my first journey to the southern tip. I looked at it as a much-deserved time out. While I waited for the proper moment to make my grand reappearance, I’d spend my too-long days and nights with more than one female beneath me. But there was a female that I would give my left nut for. Hell, I’d consider sex with an imp just to fuck her.

Hecate.

But the goddess wouldn’t let me touch her. I’d tried on numerous occasions, starting when I was a teen. Back then, Tavi indoctrinated me in a ritual that should have been my father’s domain. But he was weak and clueless while she had money and connections.

My mother made a deal with the devil—so to speak—and rented out the Inner Circle Club’s VID room. I was allowed to lose my virginity with a she-demon riding my dick. But when the sexy goddess strutted through the door, I forgot all about my partner—a former stripper.

My eyes went to the vision of loveliness. She had everything I liked in a female—full tits, curvy hips, and long legs. I wanted to cut my teeth on her. But Hecate smiled broadly and told me she had shoes older than me. Mercier males didn’t give up. I created any excuse to return to Hell. Sadly, Hecate still wouldn’t fuck me. She didn’t even want to be in a room while I did someone else.

You’re a pig, Bishop Mercier. If I’m going to lie with animals, there are satyrs better hung than you.

Yeah, that hurt.

But I still salivated over the female. It was why I found myself outside her door, adjusting my throbbing cock before announcing myself. Hecate, it’s me.

The fireproof barrier slid open, and I nearly came in my tailored pants. The goddess’s black dress was so sheer I didn’t have to imagine a damn thing. I licked my lips as I stared at her pert nipples.

Well, well, she said in a breathy voice. It’s true. You got yourself a one-way ticket to Hell.

Not hardly. I pushed past the female, shuddering as my flesh touched hers. That’s why I’m here.

For what? Hecate folded her arms beneath her breasts, making them spill over the scandalously low neckline. Do you think I’m going to keep you busy? I have no intent—

Save it! As much as I’d love to bend you over that chair and fuck you silly, I didn’t come for pleasure, I lied. I need your help.

That’s a switch. She sighed and closed the door. What do you need me for?

Rubbing my dick until I come all over you.

I reminded myself to focus. A resurrection.

Hecate’s eyebrow shot up. Whose?

Mine, I said with a smile.

Lose the slacks.

Oh, fuck! The tide had changed for me. Finally, I was going to get what was coming to me.

1

The Aftermath

Morgan

After the ordeal with the Merciers, our lives still hadn’t normalized. Thanks to the departed matriarch, Tavi, and her son, Bishop, the BlackGuard still battled random demons. Daily we investigated so-called sightings of supernatural beings. Most of them were hoaxes, but sometimes the accounts were real. Unfortunately, we had to check every report. One night, Ace and I were chasing down a revenant when we ran into a pack of hellhounds.

Ace pointed down the street and yelled, What the fuck?

Up ahead were three hulking beasts dressed like bikers, but they didn’t belong to any gang. The stench of brimstone cut through the usual smell permeating Bourbon Street. The largest one, a male with jet-black braids and brown skin, looked in our direction.

He’s gonna run, said Ace.

Don’t run, I thought.

He ran.

They always did. So we called for backup. Even with help, it took hours to trap the beasts and send them back to their maker. Sadly, the decrepit creature we were after got away. Later, we met with Hank Richards, a former Falls Creek detective who ended up working with the BGS.

It’s the same asshole that plagued Falls Creek a few years ago, said Hank. He caused problems for a human named Grace Martinez before slipping out of town. I had hoped the bastard had moved to an eternal address.

According to BGS records, Everly was the revenant’s name. Other than a consistent pungent funk and a propensity for corrupting females, Everly was a hard creature to apprehend. He seemed to change his first name and appearance everywhere he went. Practically every state had an outstanding warrant for a male fitting his description, but somehow, he evaded capture. With his distinct aura and acridness painted all over the French Quarter, I was sure we’d find him.

Sooner or later.

The BlackGuard Society always caught our prey.

Unfortunately, losing Everly didn’t help our case with Council. Ever since my hapless encounter with the Merciers, the assembly of supernatural leaders scrutinized each misstep the BGS made—and we made plenty. Rather than speaking to me about the occurrences, Council took their grievances to Kragen Bonaparte.

The angular vampire wasted no time calling my ass out on the carpet like I was a recalcitrant child. I spent more time driving back and forth to his mansion in the Garden District than I’d done in over a year.

Baldovino, his manservant, opened the glass and wrought-iron door. The towering, dark-skinned vamp never cracked a smile. He just stepped to the side and allowed me to enter.

The master is in his usual spot, Miss Vladislav, the butler’s booming voice bounced off the foyer walls.

Before I even crossed the drawing room’s threshold, the ever-present musty odor wrinkled my nose. The lingering smell, a mixture of vintage books and an old attic overstuffed with primitive artifacts, permeated all corners of the stately mansion. But some of the stench belonged to the centuries-old, handsome male in the oversized wing-back chair. Kragen Bonaparte was an exquisite creature with perfect golden skin—a sign of feeding often—silky shoulder-length black hair, and a trim black mustache. The wicked throne he sat upon was as black as the clothing covering his emaciated frame.

Kragen oversaw the BlackGuard Society and enjoyed a leisure-filled existence mostly confined to his empty house. He was an old-fashioned vampire, just like my father—his best friend. No one would ever catch either of the males outside during the day. They didn’t believe in daytimer rings or any other trinket that would allow a dalliance in the sun.

He waved his long thin fingers toward a gold damask-covered chair. Not waiting for me to sit, he said in a deep Southern drawl, Council is complaining again.

What is it this time? I crossed my legs and tried to get comfortable on the stiff furniture dating back to the Renaissance.

Tourists have overrun the Quarter.

Yes, the money-hungry humans had exploited the BGS’s mishaps—letting humans think supernaturals existed in our city. Producers and their crews flocked to New Orleans, searching for the next big story. Daily, new scouts descended upon the Quarter, prospecting a reality-show idea. My beloved town had become a veritable zoo of outsiders. Although I was so tired of the circus, I didn’t see the situation as a terrible thing.

How is that a problem? Tourism is good for business.

Not good when we still have renegades trolling our streets, Kragen droned.

Council realizes we’re working hard to eliminate the problem. Right?

It’s not fast enough for them. The members and a few of the Elders are concerned a human might stumble upon the truth.

Can’t have humans knowing supernaturals are real, I said in a snippy tone.

Honestly, there was nothing I could do to appease Council. The BGS worked as fast as possible. Agents spent every waking hour patrolling the area. Ace, my partner in crime and in my life, had even called in his wolves to help with the state of affairs. We had sealed Hell’s gateway, but more demons seemed to slip through the cracks each day. The steady influx made me wonder if the surviving Merciers assisted the fiends.

Seemingly unaffected by the ruckus was my son. Colby appeared as unfazed as a kid his age would be. Problem was, he wasn’t a seven-year-old anymore. Technically, my son looked like a twenty-one-year-old man, which made him only four years younger than me. I struggled to wrap my damn mind around the fact.

Overnight I went from single female to Mom. It boggled my senses and created an issue whenever I introduced Colby. I couldn’t say he was my son without inviting questions and stares, but it wasn’t his fault. Although I was fortunate the boy didn’t still hate me—he had thanks to his father and grandmother—his presence upset my life.

Ace and I sat down with Mother and discussed the matter.

Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if we just reversed the acceleration spell? I asked, thinking more about my own predicament.

She crossed her shapely legs and swung her stiletto-clad foot. It’s not so easy, my dear. Would you make the child suffer just to assuage your guilt?

Guilt? What guilt?

Ace eye-balled me briefly and then asked, How would Colby suffer?

We don’t know what his body endured when Tavi transformed him into an adult. He could have experienced a great deal of pain. We can’t forget the psychological ramifications. Morgan, we don’t know how long Colby has been in that body. Imagine if someone turned either of you into a child. How would that make you feel? How would you deal with your new reality?

Not well. I’d be utterly pissed off and resentful of the person who did it.

After weighing the pros and cons, we concluded my son had had enough tampering done to him. Tavi’s spell wouldn’t be reversed. Somehow, he’d manage as an adult. We’d figure a way to give him the freedom he craved while not forgetting about his tendency to think like a child.

To make that happen, I had to give Colby a normal life. Hanging out at Club Sensualle with him seated nearby, however, redefined rational thought.

The gentleman’s club in the Quarter was Clint Bonaparte’s idea. Kragen’s son and Colby had become fast friends. Clint helped by teaching my son everything he should know about being a young man. Apparently, watching scantily clad females making spectacles of themselves was part of the latest lesson.

Stop being so judgmental, Morgan, Ace said. He’s looking at almost-nude women. Not learning how to kill anyone.

I scoffed. There are some things mothers shouldn’t know about.

The sounds of Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion blared from the sound system. The heavy bass vibrated off the crimson walls and made the tables bounce. Half-naked servers kept the drinks flowing to the parasites in pervert row—the seats closest to the stage. I polished off my Sazerac and considered ordering a second one. Maybe intoxication would drone out the explicit lyrics.

Besides my discomfort, I was too damn hot. Attempting to create a breeze, I waved my hand in front of my face. Sweat etched a trail between my breasts and pooled in my bra. Management was notorious for turning up the heat to keep patrons buying drinks. Good for business, but I didn’t appreciate funking up my clothes just to stake out a renegade.

Everly wasn’t the only reason we were in the club, though. The BGS received a tip that Alexander St. John, the opprobrious nineteenth-century vamp who turned Edwina Devereaux Richards, was in the States. Although she’d tracked the predator for years, the female never caught up with him. Edwina promised if she ever found St. John, she’d behead him. The infamous male must have grown weary of existing if he’d returned to New Orleans. Or maybe he’d taken leave of whatever good sense he possessed.

He had to have known appearing in the Quarter would draw Edwina’s attention. The witch slash vamp desperately wanted her revenge. If I said we’d spotted him, the female would kill him for the BlackGuard. Case closed.

The Elders, however, wanted us to leave the matter alone. They figured if we didn’t bother St. John, he wouldn’t do anything stupid—like siring new vampires. But if we ignored his presence, what good was the BlackGuard? After all, we existed to keep rogues in line. We’d owed it to our lifelong mission to at least let St. John know we were watching him.

But I’d never been one to follow the rules. As soon as I learned about St. John, I met with Edwina to discuss the matter.

We have intel your sire is back in the States. What can you tell me about him? I asked as I sipped a glass of Crimson Ridge.

The hybrid topped off her portion of blood. I met Alexander after I ran away. Being mulatto, I could pass, but finding employment was still difficult. The authorities could have arrested me and sent me back to my granddaddy’s plantation. Marie Laveau came to my rescue.

The voodoo priestess?

The same. She knocked back more of her drink before adding, Marie set me up in a tiny-ass cottage. I signed a contract and unknowingly became Alexander’s concubine.

She was a placée. Part of an extralegal system allowing white men to form unions with free women of color.

Did you know he was a vampire? After all, she was a witch. Something should have tipped her off about Alexander.

I had my suspicions, but ya have to realize I was a young witch still learning ‘bout my powers. Alexander warned me if I broke the contract, he’d go to the authorities. Claim I was a runaway who broke into his house. Edwina reached into her jacket pocket and removed a faded drawing of the man. A daguerreotype wasn’t possible, but I made this sketch. Carried it around Europe and showed it to everyone I ran across.

Other than providing the image, Edwina couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell me much more. Was her experience with St. John that bad? Maybe it was shame that held her silence.

Ace tapped my arm. Check out who’s walking toward the stage.

Looking up, an imposing man with midnight-black wavy hair sped across the room. Too fast for a human.

He paused for a moment and glanced over his shoulder, giving me a good glimpse of a strong jawline, deep-set blue-gray eyes, and a five-o’clock shadow. Edwina said Alexander was handsome beyond belief. She hadn’t lied.

The vampire resembled a businessman—not a killer—in an expertly cut black suit, crisp white button-down shirt, and dusty-blue silk tie. His gaze scanned the room for a moment before he slipped into one of the red leather chairs by the stage. His behavior, other than blurring into the room, was almost innocuous.

Then he grinned. Vampires knew better than to reveal their fangs in public. What was he up to?

He watched the young dancer, a pretty brown-skinned girl with lecherous eyes and curves to rival any rap queen. His steely blues followed her every move, caressing her with invisible fingers. I sensed his quickening pulse. If that was Alexander, he’d either found his next victim or experienced genuine lust.

Could a vampire feel passion?

Dumb question.

My father exhibited his ardor for Mother regularly.

The dark-haired beauty twirled around and performed the splits. The male licked his full lips and tossed money onto the stage. She smiled before climbing the pole, turning upside down, and grasping the shiny stick with one leg. He leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his hands together. The vampire’s adrenaline rush was intoxicating.

I swallowed hard and crossed my legs. A lusty feeling of warmth stole over me. Watching the attractive vampire ogle the dancer was lascivious.

Ace’s hand landed in my lap. He rubbed his palm over my crotch and then whispered, Dawlin’, I could put one in our bedroom. See what poses ya would do for me.

I wanted to close my eyes and picture the scene, but we were on duty. Besides, Colby was close by. I smiled and said, Focus, baby.

He chuckled. I am.

Sometimes my husband could be so inappropriate. Yeah, I said husband. We tied the knot in secret following the Mercier nightmare, but we hadn’t shared the news with anyone other than Colby.

I swatted his hand away. The male fits Alexander’s description. We should move in—

We can’t. There’s no crime in watching a beautiful woman dance. Ace lifted his beer bottle. If that’s Alexander, we can’t apprehend him without cause, so we wait. See what he does.

Hoots and hollers echoed around the room. The dancer had finished her routine and had left the stage.

Alexander was gone.

I jumped to my feet. We have to go.

On it, said Ace.

We pushed our way through the crowd, headed for the exit. It was Saturday night, and too many bodies—drunks and those on their way to inebriation—packed the streets.

I looked right and left. Ace mimicked my gesture.

I don’t see him, Morgan. He couldn’t have disappeared.

Yes, he could. It’s the nature of the species. Vampires were excellent at dematerializing. While we’re standing around, he could materialize at his destination.

We need to find the girl, Ace said.

Agreed. But where do we start?

The beefy Creole bouncer at the door called out, Ya folks looking for someone?

I walked over to the man and removed the sketch I had of Alexander. Did he come through the door?

Earlier, but I didn’t see ‘im leave. Sorry.

Why did he even bother?

I was ready to give the man a piece of my mind when Ace grasped my elbow and pulled me away from the building. If he left, he might have compelled the bouncer.

Honestly, I hadn’t considered that. Then we’re back where we started.

Not really. We can stake out the doors for the dancer. She might still be inside.

I nodded and took a position near the streetlamp pole. Ace went toward the rear of the building.

Minutes passed and morphed into hours. I checked my phone. We’d been outside for at least two hours. My feet hurt, and I was starving.

After what felt like forever, Ace stepped out of the shadows and approached me. She never came out the back.

Or the front.

Ace scratched his head. Do you think Alexander got to her first? He could have blurred by with her.

It’s possible. Can we grab some food and go home?

What about Colby?

I tucked my phone into my pocket. He left twenty minutes ago with Clint. They said something about swinging by a nightclub before calling it a night.

Ace raised an eyebrow. You good with that?

Don’t I have to be? I said I would let him stay twenty-one. Doesn’t that mean I can’t judge his actions?

My husband smiled. It does. I’m just wondering how long you’re going to go along with it.

I wondered the same thing.

2

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fine

Tabitha

Earlier that evening…

It was another typical Saturday night at Club Sensualle, a gentleman’s club in Crescent City’s Vieux Carré. The sounds of Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s WAP blared from the sound system, the bass vibrating off the crimson walls and ebony tables. From my vantage point behind the curtain, I watched the half-naked servers doling out drinks to the parasites in pervert row. Thankfully, my employer turned up the heat and kept us girls comfortable. Too bad, it pissed off the customers, but as long as the alcohol flowed, they’d be pleased.

Working a strip club wasn’t an ideal job, but dancing paid my bills. At least my parents would never see me perform. Daddy died in Iraq, and Mama succumbed to cancer a year prior. After I buried her, I started dancing. Sure, I could have taken a job at the Walmart or some other retailer, but I needed to put a roof over my head, and I didn’t want a roommate. Options were few and far between for a twenty-two-year-old without a degree and little experience. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else cared how I earned an income.

The music changed, and it was time for me to take the stage. With my back to the audience, I removed the sparkly jacket covering my skimpy costume and then bent over. Men cheered. Nothing like a little bare ass to get them to their feet. The beat picked up as I mounted the pole.

Someone once asked me how I