Page 22 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines (The Vampire Cartel #2)

Chapter 21

The Challenge

T he Pink Pussy - Las Vegas, Nevada

April 17, 2018

(4 Days Before Death)

Amidst the thick anticipation in the air, the club vibrated like an overcharged speaker drum. The lights dimmed, and a pink fog from the floor machines swirled upward, casting the stage in an ethereal glow. The music’s tempo rose to a deafening level, and the beats echoed the vibrant hip-hop culture in New Orleans.

The Pink Pussy was stacked and packed to the brim with her highest clientele. Every chair was claimed. Sophie had invested countless hours with an on-ground street team who spread the word about the club’s expansion. She sulked as a shadow, not her physical self. She remained in the furthest corner of the club.

DJ Spinz handled the message.

An eclectic mix of clientele filled the room. Supernatural beings—vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, djinn, sirens, witches, and those who could pass for humans but carried an air of danger and dark energy—were all present. The energy was electric. Everyone seemed eager for one of Sophie’s special shows.

The DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers, “Alright, you freaks and freakettes, I smell pussy in the air… Ho’s and Bro’s, vamps and tramps, witches and bitches, prepare yourselves for a wet, nasty, sexy, and unforgettable experience. Direct from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, I present to you the baddest bitch in the pussy game… the one and only Creole Seraphina!”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as the spotlight focused on the center of the stage. The song “Shake Dat Ass” blasted through the sound system. Sonya, now fully transformed into Creole Seraphina, strolled from the shadows onto the stage in pink platform stilettos.

She wore a pink bikini thong adorned with sequins that slipped through her butt cheeks and covered her sex. The undergarment sparkled like stars under the lights, and star-shaped sequined pasties covered her large nipples. Her breasts were lifted by youth, and her curves were modeled right out of a man’s dream.

Bambi had helped her tease her hair to an exotic vibrance, it framed her face. She chose a pink lone-ranger mask that revealed only her long-lashed amber eyes. Sonya had waxed her entire body with a golden shimmer lotion.

“Stay with me, my guardian,” Sonya pleaded to her inner self as she scanned the vicious, predatory faces of the men and women who leered at her. Suddenly, her newfound power granted her the ability to hear their thoughts. Each one wanted a piece of her, their murderous desires darker than the next. But none of them were more interested than the man seated in the shadows of a booth near the DJ stand.

“I see him, my guardian. I am ready. I accept you,” she said.

As I do you, Sonya.

Sonya took a deep breath. The familiar rush of adrenaline thundered in her chest over the raunchy lyrics. She wrapped her hand around the pole. The cool metal grounded her as she began a twerk performance. She held on and dropped low on the dance floor. Her hips gyrated, and her buttocks shook, one up and own down with bounce and shake.

The rhythm took hold of her. Sonya's eyes closed as she slipped deeper into herself, feeling the darkness, enticing it to come for her. It did. Dark energy swirled around her legs, between her thighs, over her pussy, and then up to circle her breasts as a pink fog. She knew many in the audience were using the supernatural mix of powers to caress and stroke her. She allowed it and unleashed perfumed essence into the club. The enchantment took hold of every visitor, mortal or immortal.

Shakespeare sat in his booth. He scanned the text messages from Raven and Phoenix. He would respond to Domencio’s summons only. He cared about nothing and no one else now. The music played on, and he barely looked up.

Sophie was nearby.

Shakespeare could sense but not see her. She would probably attack someone soon, her madness now elevated over his rejection. He didn’t care. Sophie’s exile from his heart was permanent.

Instead, he was irked that Lucio would dump some new female vamp in his club for him to tend to. Only Sophie could prepare the young woman for the life she faced with a Draca now consuming her soul. And then he smelled pure, unfiltered femininity. It came over him like a cool breeze. Shakespeare’s gaze slowly lifted from his phone. He fixated on the beauty on the stage.

Creole Seraphina moved with the fluidity of water. Her body twisted and turned into a beautifully choreographed routine. She slid down the pole, her strength in her thighs added to her grace now on full display as she scaled back up it, hung upside down, her legs wrapped around the steel like a vine. She twirled and spun out like a windmill, her movements a blend of sexual sensuality.

Throughout her performance, Sonya’s power sprayed the darkness with her essence, releasing an intoxicating pheromone that brought several supernatural’s to their feet. The danger mounted as a few snarls ripped through the crowd. Money guns lifted into the air and sprayed dollar bills all over the stage.

Shakespeare’s nails dug into the wood of his table. His fingers clawed down the surface in a long drag that made slithers of the wood curl up under his pointed nails. He had seen countless performances, but there was something different about her—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then he did.

His phone beeped. His gaze dropped to the message from Phoenix that said: Guardian.

Shakespeare’s eyes stretched. His eyes followed her every move. His shock and amazement over the discovery froze him on the spot. Phoenix had taught them about Guardians. Their power and their appeal were the greatest aphrodisiacs to the Draca. It was just one of the old-timers’ stories. Make-believe in a world of the unbelievable. But Shakespeare knew in an instant what had a hold of him. A guardian had entered his club. The intensity of her presence hit him again like a heatwave. His Draca was alert.

Then she executed the perfect handstand on the pole, her body graceful and straight, and her stilettos walked the air. She used strength he didn’t think a mortal woman could possess to control her upside-down maneuvers. She was a tantalizing mix of sweetness and danger that drove his blood thirst to the brink of insanity.

When Sonya concluded her performance with a breathtaking finale, a long slide down the pole that landed in a graceful split, Shakespeare was already out of his booth and headed toward the stage with his fangs dropped. The crowd stood, money flying in every direction. Some wolves charged at the stage, but the guardian shielded herself and no one could get close. Though she wore a mask, her beautiful eyes locked on him and only him. He didn’t see fear, but defiance, before she turned and fled, not picking up a single dollar.

Did she know what he was?

Sonya hurried, feeling his dark presence behind her. She kicked off her stilettos and ran for her locker. Greta looked up when she burst through the door with a frown. The girls responded with excited wonder.

“Bambi!” Sonya yelled. “Collect the money on the stage. Split it with the girls! It’s yours.”

“We can’t go out there!” Bambi said. “It’s against the rules.”

“The stage is safe. It’s sealed. Get your money,” Sonya yelled back, and the Guardian sent a wave of energy to Greta that caused her to slip to the floor in an unconscious state. She grabbed her things and went into the bathroom to dress for battle.

From inside the club, Sophie’s eyes followed Sonya’s flight and Shakespeare’s pursuit. Her face contorted with jealousy and rage. She decided to join the fun.

“Is he in here?” Sonya asked, her voice shaking.

You are right. Shakespeare cannot breach the seal. Not yet. I have covered the girls, the locker room, the hall, and the stage. But he is consiglieri, and it will not hold for long. Much has happened at Bellagio. The consiglieri have tried to capture Liora. They know who you are and they are coming. No one told me we had a Magistrate in this realm.

“A what? So it’s going to happen. The moment I step out of the locker room, he’s on me.”

It’s time for you to choose. There is no more time to explain.

“Choose? I already chose. We did the dance together,” Sonya said. “I accept you.”

We are partners, but we are not one. The choice comes from the release of fear and the facade you carry. It is a becoming. A complete acceptance of yourself, not me, the good and the bad. No more barriers, no more secrets. Your brother's death is your fault, but you can atone for it. Accept your role in it.

“I can't help but be afraid. There are wolves, vampires, and everything out there. I saw them on the stage. I saw their eyes. I felt their lust. And my brother… I… he…”

When you are ready, we will unite.

Sonya smiled at Kaida, who watched her dress from the mirror. She pulled on the leather tights, put on the leather halter, and went to the sink to clean her face of makeup. She had to feel cleansed. When she looked up at her guardian, she believed in the woman she saw. For the first time in her life, she had someone to protect her, and it was herself.

That’s right, Sonya. I will always defend you. No matter the choice.

Sonya pressed her hand to the mirrored surface. She inhaled deeply and appreciated the lesson. She inhaled deeper and released the regret. It was not just her fear, but all the doubts and insecurities she carried. Without warning, she felt the release of her energy as Kaida pressed her hand to the mirror and slipped through.

A beam of warmth and light went into her, and she rejoiced. She was not different, but she felt changed. All the ancient wisdom and gifts were bestowed upon her. She was the Guardian, Defender of the Pain.

Sonya opened her eyes and smiled. “Let’s kick his ass.”

The girls in the locker room buzzed with excitement, carrying in loads of money.

“Thank you!” Bambi said and touched Sonya’s arm. A blast of shared memory hit Sonya fast. Bambi was a foster kid, running away from Montana, and headed to Vegas. The horrors of a young girl in a city of degenerates had robbed her of all innocence. Sonya, not used to her power, nearly recoiled from the pain, but something within her made her respond. She sent a healing through Bambi and another protective seal, a release from all the injustice in her life, and a defense against any darkness that might come for her in the future.

Bambi’s eyes stretched wide, tears glistening as happiness claimed her. She hugged Sonya, and Sonya hugged her in return. “You and Tootie get out of here, you hear me? Run. And don’t stop running. Everything in your dreams are as real as your nightmares.”

“I know,” Bambi said.

Sonya smiled. She glanced at the door. The darkness waited. “Goodbye, Bambi.”

“Bye, Seraphina,” Bambi smiled.

The girls all watched her go. No more fake smiles. She lifted the enchantment that was put on them by Sophie and gave them hope. She wished she could heal all of them. The best she could do was defend their pain. The choice was theirs. Sonya went out the swinging door into the darkness. In the dimly lit hallway, Shakespeare caught up to her. She gently grasped her arm.

“Creole Seraphina,” he said, his voice a low but a seductive growl. “What’s your hurry? Guardian.”

The moment his hand brushed her skin, everything unraveled. Sonya was torn from the present, flung violently into the past—the 1940s. A juke joint, just outside New Orleans, in the humid depths of Houma, Louisiana. It was alive with the thrum of music and sweat. The spotlight bathed a man in shadows, a towering presence commanding the stage. Shakespeare. He moved like the music itself, weaving poetry between notes of a saxophone that wept under his breath, painting stories in the thick, smoky air. Every time he spoke, his words danced over the crowd like a spell.

Beside him, his wife—hauntingly beautiful, with a voice as rich and aching as the blues she sang. Her resemblance to Sophie was eerie, unsettling, but she was softer, earthier and black. She bared her soul to the crowd as they drank her in, a mix of desire and reverence. Their love was raw, pure, but stained with the endless brutality of life in the swamp, of the segregated South. It clung to Shakespeare like a wound that never healed, a scar deeper than anything physical. That pain... Sonya felt it now, searing into her as if it were her own.

She blinked, and the scene shifted.

A grand mansion in New Orleans, decadent and dripping with old money. A scarlet hallway stretched out before her, portraits of stunning women lining the walls like a gallery of lost souls. One portrait, framed in glistening gold, stopped her cold. It was the songbird, Shakespeare’s wife, captured in mid-performance, pouring her heart into the microphone. The sorrow in her painted eyes was a weight Sonya could barely stand.

Push him away. Break free. Break free!

But this time, it wasn’t the Guardian. It was her own voice. A whisper of survival, screaming at her to resist, to sever the connection. But instead of pulling away, she found herself drawn back, sinking deeper into Shakespeare’s memory. She was back in the swamp. Back with a younger Shakespeare, his soul still tethered to his wife, desperately in love. He was playing again, the saxophone crying out for her, for something lost.

Sonya stepped forward, her heart heavy with the weight of his despair. She reached out, hand trembling as it rested on his shoulder, trying to summon whatever power she had left to protect him—to protect them both. Take your wife and leave before he comes , Sonya warned, her voice soft but urgent.

Shakespeare stilled. His body went rigid beneath her ghostly touch. Slowly, his head turned toward her, as if seeing her through the fog of his own memory. His eyes met hers, filled with a terrible mix of kindness, sorrow, and shattered hope. And then... she saw it. The moment that had broken him—the moment Lucio had taken his wife.

The battle. The rage. Shakespeare, fighting a Master vampire and losing, his body beaten, his eye torn from his face. Her heart clenched as she witnessed his agony, but the warmth she felt toward him quickly chilled. His gaze darkened, one eye gleaming like molten silver, the jagged scar slashing across his face a vivid reminder of his torment.

His lips curled back, fangs sharp and glistening as he snarled. In an instant, he lunged at her.

Sonya’s scream ripped through the air like a banshee’s wail, dark and electric. A surge of black lightning shot from her, crackling with raw, untamed power as it slammed into Shakespeare. He was hurled backward through the shadowy corridor, his body crashed into the walls with a sickening force. The echo of the impact lingered, but Sonya didn’t wait.

She was free.

Her feet hit the ground running, heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. As she bolted for the exit, she yanked Nzinga’s staff from her satchel. The sleek weapon snapped to life in her hands, extending like a living thing, ready for the fight. Sonya burst through the alley door, stumbling into the pale wash of moonlight, her breath ragged, her senses on fire.

Sophie was waiting. The vampire had slipped out of the club ahead of her, standing tall in the alley like a predator who had been tracking her prey for far too long. Sonya’s pulse quickened. She glanced over her shoulder—Shakespeare was rising, his form still smoking from the blast. His eyes gleamed with rage and pain, but she could tell. She wouldn’t be able to summon that kind of power again. It had drained her, left her body humming with exhaustion.

But she wasn’t defenseless.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Sonya spun the staff. The lighted ends flared to life, burning white-hot, extending into sharp beams of laser energy. She cocked her head and gave both of them a smile—dangerous, sweet, and edged with defiance.

“Get away from him, bitch!” Sophie’s voice dripped with venom, her eyes wild and unhinged.

“Sophie, don’t.” Shakespeare’s voice cut through the tension. “Stay away from her. Let me handle this. You don’t know what she’s capable of!”

But Sophie was beyond reason, her fury blinding. “She can’t have you! You think you can just throw me away? You think I’ll let you leave me for her ?” Her scream was feral, full of rage and heartbreak, the sound of a woman scorned and losing control.

“Sophie! Noooo!” Shakespeare’s shout was drowned out as Sophie launched herself into the air, claws outstretched, her speed blurring with supernatural ferocity.

Sonya’s heart raced, but her grip on Nzinga’s staff was steady. She turned on her heel, eyes locked on Sophie’s oncoming form, every muscle primed for the fight.