Page 1 of Savage Devotion (Savage Reign #1)

ARABELLE

T he next hour of my life will either rip my soul from my body, or give me another wave of false hope.

My gut says be prepared for both.

By looking at me you would never know the smile on my face is fake.

I’ve sorta been the kind of girl who would rather hide my pain than talk about shit I can’t fix–like my drug addict sister.

Bless her, because when I find her again, we will have a serious come-to-Jesus moment because I can’t take this stress anymore.

I fish out the container of Tic-Tacs from my back pocket and suck on the sweetness to help calm my nerves.

Inhale.

Exhale.

All I have to do is hold my heart and soul in place a little bit longer and no one will know I’m slowly dying inside out of fear.

Of the unknown, of life, of being alone. All the above, really.

Dios, ayúdame.

I send up a quick prayer to whoever is up for lending me a hand and hope my guardian angels are listening, too. I need all the help I can get.

My heart gives a small quiver but I force the emotions out of my expression. My poker face has been my greatest asset. That, my spine of steel and my unwavering determination.

And my curse, if you ask me.

I’ve been chasing after my sister for months, and it’s wearing me thin. And between you and me, it’s getting hard as hell to keep my emotions from leaking into my expression at every hour of the day.

I don’t care about many things these days. Just me, my sister, and my little bank account.

The last time I ran after my sister like this was back in New York City.

I found her before my fears became reality.

She was passed out inside a hollowed-out warehouse known as Needle City with its cracked glass windows and rat infestation.

Believe me when I say, it was not how I imagined finding my older sister a day before my birthday.

A twisted knot takes up the place where my stomach should be and tightens to the point I can’t keep anything down lately.

A tatted-up arm slings around my shoulder and I’m drawn in for a side hug. “Hey, come on, Bells. Smile a little. You look like death rolled you out of a speeding car and then kicked you in the tits for laughs and giggles.”

I huff out a sound that is somewhere between exhaustion and acceptance.

My best friend is the most direct person I’ve ever met.

She doesn’t stop to think about the words that come out of her mouth and never regrets saying a single word.

It must be pretty damn freeing to live so openly and with so much confidence.

Meanwhile, I have trouble deciding on which coffee creamer flavor I want in the morning.

But not Laila.

“We are going to identify a body, Laila. I can’t say I’m in a laughing mood.”

My kitten heels click on the craggy stone pavers while Laila’s steps give off a decisive smack. The gritty scrape of her thick tread grips the rain-slicked ground and resonates like a muted heartbeat.

Every step she takes is filled with an irritating confidence I don't feel in the slightest.

We are different in almost every way but we have been through shit and hunting my sister down is just part of life for the both of us.

I cast a quick glance at Laila. Worry grips her pretty face. I blink, and it’s gone. “We’ll find her. We always do.”

Most of the available light comes from muted streetlights and the full moon overhead. I drop my head back and draw in a lungful of humid-laced air. “This game of Where’s Adora is nothing new, but I’m scared it’s come to the end I always dreaded. She’s never been gone this long.”

“No shit. But that’s not the case. It can’t be. We can’t think like that.”

There's a long pause of just putting one foot in front of the other. New Orleans summer humidity sticks to my skin, thickened only by the incoming rain. Sweat beads at the nape of my neck, rolling slowly down my spine beneath my halter top. The sensation is almost unbearable.

“After we meet Detective Lafleur and verify the body, she wants us to see is in fact not your sister, let’s get hammered and find some good dick.”

This time my huff is one hundred percent humor and my chest doesn’t hurt as much.

All the same, I shot her an unamused look. “To be you, my sweet friend… to be you…”

I let my words trail off. What else can I say?

She doesn’t want to face the reality that bad things happen all the time to good people.

It’s the way the world works. Ugh. I sound like the biggest pessimist in the world right now, but facts don’t lie.

I would give good money to switch places with just about anyone right now.

Instead of focusing on that, I turn my attention to Laila.

She can make a dead man laugh and somehow finds humor in just about everything. A trait I wish I could master.

“It’s just that this is the longest she’s been gone. Let’s just get to the police station and get this over with.”

Laila tightens her arm around me and gives a squeeze. “Yes. Let’s get this done with Detective Lafleur and then I wanna take you somewhere I heard recommended in a group chat.”

She slips her arm from around me and slides her hand into mine as I ask one more time, “So, you don’t think it’s her? Adora, I mean?”

Laila stops mid-stride, dragging me back with her.

She worries the inside of her lip, and for the first time in my life, I see my best friend hesitate for a heartbeat before speaking.

Serious eyes hold mine. “I don’t know for sure, Bells, okay?

I wish I could take this whole situation from you and erase all the worry and sadness, but let’s not give into our fears, okay? ”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this. Where is she, Laila?” My voice is a broken whisper, swallowed up by the murmur of traffic and distant laughter spilling from open bar doors. “What if she—” I choke back the words, unable to say them aloud.

Laila shakes her head, her silky hair a mess over her shoulders.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve gone through hell for our family. Let’s get this done and then we can get back to looking for your sister.”

I draw in a lungful of hot air and release it slowly. “We don’t have much of a choice do we?”

The last time I was doing this feels like a lifetime ago, but really seven months since I dragged my sister off a urine stained mattress and dropped Adora into a rehab.

The second she finished her program I packed our book collection in a car and pointed our borrowed pickup south.

We made promises to each other. She promised there would be no more of ruining her life for bad boys.

I promised to make us enough money to open our own book store.

We swore to each other we would be different from our mother.

Hello, fresh start. Goodbye junkie mother and prison-bound step-father.

It was easier to keep her clean in a new city and rebuild our lives.

Or so I thought. Hoped. Wished.

Fuck. Whatever. The cold reality of it is, once an addict always an addict. A hard lesson I wish no one ever had to learn, but here we are.

Back home I knew people and people recognized me and my sister.

It never took more than a day to find my sister when she eventually got pulled into some shit with her trashy boyfriend.

But I have no one to call here. Leaning on the cops to actually find my missing sister among the tens of missing daily reports is going about as well as expected until detective Lafleur called.

I was not ready for her to ask me to come in to help rule out the unidentified body in the city morgue could be my sister.

Lucky for me Laila was already here to offer support and help me find my sister.

I pause mid-step when the flurry of color catches my eye.

“What?” Laila follows my line of sight to a small table

We are between Saint Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square.

A small group of women gather around a rickety table with a purple and red cloth thrown over it.

On top is a set of solitary cards. Behind the table sits a beautiful black woman with an array of colorful dreadlocks settled over one shoulder.

She slowly pushes up from a chair when our gazes lock.

I swear with everything I am made of that the woman ten paces away from me radiates love which gives authenticity to her friendly smile.

Madame Celeste. Her name floats through my mind though I’ve never met her.

But I’ve heard her name whispered a few times between the customers at the diner where I wait tables six days a week.

They say she’s an intuitive. Some use the word magical and that she foretells events before they happen.

It seems all like a big wild story to me, but the longer I look into her brown eyes, the more I want to believe.

I can’t tell you how many nights I have wondered if I should search for her. Countless.

We move across the street dodging pedestrians and street vendors all looking to grab our attention.

“There you are, child. I’ve been waiting for you. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I press a hand to my stomach, willing it to settle. “Madame Celeste?”

The energy around her lures me closer while the voice in my head says for me to run the other way. Not because she will hurt me, but because she knows the truth and I don't know if I’m ready.

“We?” Laila asks for the both of us since my brain hits the breaks for a second.

Chills erupt down my arms, and what my brain wants to tell me she means. But I’m not going there.

“Hm-hm” she hums. “Spirit has been waiting for you.” Madame Celeste picks up the cards, shuffling them slowly, never taking her eyes from mine.

“Oh, interesting. I didn’t know you enjoyed getting your cards read, too.” Laila nudges my shoulder with her. She pushes us closer to the table but I dig in my heels.

“Whoa. Wait. No.” I grab at my chest and rub my fingers over my racing heart that suddenly wants to beat its way out.

“What’s wrong?” Laila nudges me gently.

I roll a shoulder, not really wanting to put a voice to my fears.

My throat is suddenly dry, too. I wanted answers all the way until five minutes ago.

Now, not so much. Not knowing leaves room for hope.

But if the tarot reader is as gifted as everyone in the diner claims, there’s a fifty percent chance she’ll shatter the fragile hope I have that my sister is okay.

I’m not strong enough for that.

The older woman holds a hand out and the rocks tumbling around in my stomach suddenly become a boulder of dread. I steer my friend away from the table. “It’s okay, we have to be going.”

I don’t see how a bunch of cards with drawings on them has the power to predict the future. Yeah, I’m going to roll with that.

A warm hand comes to rest on my upper arm, but I gently shake loose and move to cross the street. “Sorry, lady. We have to be somewhere.” I glance at my watch. Detective Lafleur is waiting. “Seriously, Laila. We need to go.”

I glance behind me. There’s nowhere to run. No place to escape. I’m cornered.

My heart pounds against my chest.

Laila’s brows crease with worry. “What’s wrong? What has you so spooked?”

“Your sister has a message for you, sweetheart.”

My lungs seize and for several heartbeats I can’t draw a breath no matter how hard I try. Laila’s fingers tighten around mine.

“Hey, talk to me.” Laila places her hands on my shoulders. My breath catches, panic sliding icy fingers up my spine despite the oppressive heat. Laila shakes me gently, eyes widening. “Breathe, okay? Talk to me.”

Madame Celeste moves in behind Laila and holds out the deck. With red-tipped fingers she flips over the first card, but my focus latches onto the one tumbling to the ground. I stare at the bold, black letters scrawled across the bottom.

DEATH.

It takes a gargantuan amount of effort to fight back the burning tears rimming my eyes to see the second card Madame Celeste clutches between her fingers.

I shift my hardened gaze from the card on the ground to the one held before my face, and then to my friend. Finally, I fix my attention on the woman who is slowly shattering my soul.

“The Tower, chère . I’m so very sorry.” Madame Celeste steps around Laila with enough sympathy in her expression to force another wave of tears into my eyes.

“What does that mean? It’s just a castle looking thing and some skeleton on a horse. What can you possibly be sorry about?”

“Spirit is being very direct this evening. I’m sorry you have to receive the news like this.”

Just as the tarot reader places a hand on my shoulder a warm air moves over us and with the slight breeze comes the smell of honeysuckle…and freshly moved dirt.

“Adora.” I whirl on my heel, expecting to find my sister smiling at me as she crosses the square. But I find only darkness and strangers. “That is her perfume...the honeysuckle.”

“I know, my child.”

Hair raises on the back of my neck and I’m already shaking my head before words start pouring out.

“This isn’t real. Nope. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but real people are involved here.

Real hearts and feelings. Besides,” I gesture to the cards she holds.

“That's not how the cards work, right? I need to pick the card. Not you? So you have it wrong.” I don’t believe in this stuff, anyway.

But the icy dread in my stomach tells me Madame Celeste is not a fake and the message she is giving me is very real.

Laila’s eyes flicker with confusion. “What just happened here?”

My hands shake as I say the words my heart will never acknowledge. My voice cracks with desperation, betraying the brave face I’ve been struggling to maintain as I say, “My sister is dead.”