Charleston Past Midnight Read online

  Charleston Past Midnight

  Christine Edwards

  The Past Midnight series, Book 1

  Seattle, WA

  Fanny Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

  www.christineedwardsauthor.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  Charleston Past Midnight

  Copyright © 2014 by Christine Edwards

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-556-7 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-557-4 (eBook)

  Produced in the United States of America

  To Kathy, my beautiful, lion-hearted friend

  who made life in Charleston so thrilling.

  This one’s for you.

  Special Thanks

  I’d like to especially thank Emily H. of Fanny Press for your divine editing precision. It’s such a pleasure working with you.

  Thank you to Jennifer M. and Catherine T. for assisting me in bringing this book as well as several others to life. It’s a wonderful honor to work with you talented ladies.

  To my loving family, thank you for always bringing joy into my life.

  To Sia for her inspirational song “Dressed in Black.” With every listen I envision Severin and Calla’s intense love for each other.

  Prologue

  Present Day; 1:45 a.m.

  Chalmers Street, Charleston, SC

  The girl’s fear is so blatant that it’s practically pouring off of her. It cuts straight through the heady scent of jasmine and burns my nostrils with the harsh potency of smoke from a raging fire. With my usual detached interest, I watch her from my second story rooftop vantage point.

  Even in the haze of the dense shadows I can see her clearly. She rushes past the back entrance of the Blind Panther Pub, heading for her parked vehicle. The girl’s length of honey colored hair is streaming behind her in wild abandon. She suddenly breaks into a flat out sprint. I can hear her heart pounding in her chest now. The girl’s completely terrified. She’ll never make it. They’re too close ….

  The men are jogging as they close in on her. The larger of the two glances quickly over to his friend and then back toward the girl. “C’mon, darlin’, it’s all good. You remember me and my buddy here from the restaurant the other night. You waited on us, remember? We’re not gonna hurt ya. We just wanna talk, baby. Hold up now, girl.” He talks to her like she is a skittish animal he’s trying to tame.

  She holds her keys with the sharp ends pointed out between each of her slight fingers as she races across the uneven cobblestones. Attempting some form of self-defense is admirable, but in this case, nearly laughable. She’s no match for their size. The two intoxicated humans appear to be athletes, each well over a foot taller than the petite female and at least a hundred pounds heavier.

  I step up onto the narrow ledge before dropping down into a low crouch to study the scene, my palms splayed across the top of my black slacks. I arrived only minutes ago, curious to observe our hunting grounds from above.

  Her quivering voice cuts through the summer air, “I-I told you already, I’m not interested! Now leave me be!”

  Even trembling, her magnificent voice thrills me like the opening of a Puccini aria. It’s beautifully melodic, unlike the majority of those I hear on a nightly basis. I can’t quite place the accent, which isn’t one I’m very familiar with. My eyes continue to track her.

  Nearly there ….

  She twists her keys around in her hand and has the one for her car front and center, primed to slide into the lock that’s now merely ten feet away. It might as well be a mile away because the larger of the two is now sprinting hard for her. Too fast … she needs to move.

  “Whoa, girl. I said hold up! Don’t you got no manners, baby?”

  He’s got her.

  He clutches her upper arm in a firm, unyielding hold.

  “Ow! Let go!” she cries out in despair while trying to break away.

  “Get off me!” The brave girl struggles valiantly, like a wildcat, but it’s no use.

  She’s hauled forward and lands against his wide chest as he peers down and speaks to her in a different, more menacing tone, “Now why you gotta be so fuckin’ rude, darlin’? See, me and my buddy here just wanna have a good time with ya tonight. Ain’t that right Kane?”

  His friend nods. He is swaying from foot to foot, his excitement obvious.

  Of their own volition, my fangs descend. It is difficult to enrage me, but for some perplexing reason I’ll have to examine later, that is now the case. Inside of a nanosecond I have made my decision. There is going to be some major mayhem on this historic street tonight.

  The friend moves fast and cages her in from behind, twisting a handful of her glorious hair around his fist. He pulls down forcefully and she cries out in pain. The man named Kane smiles excitedly. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Let’s get her to the truck right quick.”

  I can see it in her eyes. She knows she doesn’t stand a chance against both of them. She begins to scream loudly for help. The lead man grabs the back of her head and shoves her face into his dark t-shirt to muffle her cries. I watch her writhe violently against his inescapable hold. She’s kicking and twisting. It’s no use.

  She tries to knee the larger man in the groin but he shifts before she can connect. The man behind her takes over, spinning her around before he tosses her up and over his thick shoulder. He calls out in a cruel hiss, “Hurry up! Bar’s closing. Someone might see. Truck’s not far.”

  I sense that they’ve done this before. My rage reaches a boiling point.

  “Stop! Heeeelp! Someone—”

  The larger of the two men matches his friend’s stride. He snakes his arm discreetly behind the man’s back, palm stifling the girl’s fervent cries. I’m about to make my move when an intoxicated couple rounds the corner. They stop and sway forward, nearly bumping into the trio, and stare curiously at the two men holding the frantically kicking girl. The college age girl speaks first, fear and apprehension in her voice. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

  I wonder if this might make them give up their quest, but then the lead man smoothly offers, “Ah, nothing, sweetheart. See, my buddy here got in a big ol’ argument with his girl tonight, and she’s still completely fired up about it. But we live all the way up in Summerville, so ya see we can’t go and leave her downtown on her own, ya know? Lots of bad things happen to women on their own down here in the city.”

  Stupidly, the smashed couple believes his asinine story, most likely not wanting any trouble from the two thugs. I watch as they simply move on, stumbling off the curb to cross over toward their car. The two men grin at each other before disappearing around the corner onto State Street.

  I scan the street and swiftly drop thirty-five feet to land silently on the rounded stones. My footsteps make little sound as I follow them.

  As I round the corner I see that one of the men is clicking the button on a key fob for an oversized black pickup truck with tinted windows. My eyes scan the street.

  Excellent. There are no witnesses. Time to make introductions … the kind they’ll undoubtedly not appreciate.

  “Release her.”

  Best to give them a chance to avoid massive injury, although I’d bet a
month’s supply of blood that they are too stupid to back down. That’s perfect for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve fought a human. I secretly crave the battle, especially against ones such as these.

  Both men turn to me just as the one without the girl is opening the door to the truck. The man named Kane’s meaty fingers dig into her squirming, bare thighs as he lifts his chin to me in an arrogant manner and says, “Fuck you asshole. Go find your own pussy!”

  I grin, my fangs flashing in the light of the gas street lamp. I watch as their brows draw tightly together in fear-laced, drunken confusion. A few seconds pass before the larger one grumbles, “Fucking freak. Let’s get the fuck outta here, Kane. This bitch had better be worth the hassle.”

  He’s going down first.

  The girl is still struggling furiously, and before they can force her inside of the truck, I’m on him. With the strength of a big cat, I attack. My hand closes around the back of his hot neck and in one smooth motion I face-plant him onto the pavement. Before he can suck in air, I pull his right arm backward and listen to the sickening crunch as it breaks like a brittle toothpick into a compound fracture. He won’t be able to silence an unwilling female for a good long while with this gruesome injury.

  His scarlet blood begins pooling out onto the light stone of the old sidewalk. It’s a good thing I’ve already fed, although knowing what I know of this vile human, I’d have to be desperate to take his blood within my body.

  His screams of utter agony ring out all around us, in a cacophony of sound that echoes through the streets. I have about fifteen seconds to get her away from them before curious humans amble over to intervene and inspect the damage. Similar to each other, both our species are capable of wreaking great violence. The difference is, we don’t stick around to languish in the afterglow.

  “Give her to me.” My tone leaves little room for doubt of what will happen if he disobeys my command.

  “Here, fucking take the bitch! Just get the fuck away!”

  He drops her down to the ground, relinquishing his hold before shoving her toward me. Her long hair is in disarray, covering most of her face as she nearly trips twice trying to race to cower behind the safety I offer. My eyes stay locked with his as the human struggles to get his bleeding friend up and off the sidewalk and into the cab of the high truck.

  The injured man is going into shock. I can tell by the way his heart is pounding. I should’ve hurt him worse, considering what he would have done to the girl had I not intervened. She would’ve been lucky to live through it. I’ve met men such as these before; they are total sociopaths, taking all they want with no regard for others. I grin inwardly at the thought of crossing paths with them again, perhaps somewhere far more remote.

  Although she’s not touching me, I can sense that the frightened girl is standing directly behind me. Reaching back, I place my palm against her forearm and connect with creamy soft skin that’s chilled despite the oppressive humidity that hangs thickly in the air tonight. She’s shaking hard and her breathing is ragged as she struggles to process what’s going on. Once the threat is gone, I’ll face her, but not quite yet.

  “Fuck, JC! Gonna get you to a hospital! Shit, this is so fucked up, man!”

  The man named Kane is both petrified and enraged over his friend’s injury and the inconvenient detour in their evening’s festivities. Only his denim-clad legs and scarred work boots are visible as he finally manages to get his friend hauled up inside of the truck.

  A car alarm goes off not one hundred yards away. I whip my head in the direction of the blaring noise, quickly assess that it’s not a threat, and turn my attention back to the man. Before I can relax, I must ascertain that he has put distance between us.

  As if in slow motion, his tall frame pulls back from the interior of the dark cab, hunting rifle poised in his large hands. Instantly my hand bands around the girl’s arm like a manacle and she shrieks out in pain. The weapon swings in our direction and the human fires. I watch the shell dispense from the chamber as his shoulder jerks back from the blast. His aim is accurate.

  In that instant I do the unthinkable. Instinct completely takes over, and I spin around in a blur of motion, clutching the stunned girl against my chest as I trace us away. I hope to hell she survives it.

  Chapter One

  6 o’clock p.m. April 3, 1756

  Beauvais Plantation, 12 miles SE of Charleston, SC

  “Severin, can you believe how Maman has outdone herself with the preparations for this evening’s affair?”

  “Come again?” Her lilting voice barely registers as I pore over the fascinating documents that are spread out before me.

  “Oh, Severin, please put away those dull architectural drawings that seem to occupy all your spare time. The guests will arrive any moment. Oh look, just there, out this window … I can see two boats coming up the river. You recall that papa asked that we welcome everyone into the drawing room for cocktails before dinner.”

  With a reluctant sigh, I roll up the latest renderings my cousin Adrian recently shipped me from our native France. I’ve eagerly studied them since their arrival just two days ago and am still amazed by the creativity of the latest wave of French architects. One day soon ….

  Turning to face my radiant sister, I hold out my arm, “Shall we then, Sabine?”

  She smiles brightly and tucks her white silk-gloved arm within mine. “I’m so excited, Severin! It has been over a year since we hosted a ball here. I do hope that some of the handsome, eligible men of Charleston will be in attendance this evening.”

  I remain silent at my naïve little sister’s comment. Even though she is nineteen, a respectable age for matrimony, I hope that my wise father will remain vigilant and keep her best interests in mind. For the most part, the Americans we have had dealings with since our arrival in South Carolina nearly sixteen years ago have been honest and forthright. Yet there have been a few I would have liked to strangle on the spot for their arrogant and manipulative ways. Nonetheless, I consider my only sibling’s virtue to be of the utmost importance and I will do anything to guard her from harm until a future husband takes over the important position.

  “Ah, there you both are.” My father’s low, French-accented voice calls out as we descend the long, curved staircase into the spacious foyer. “My Sabine, aren’t you a vision, my dear. Severin and I will have our hands full this evening responding to the fervent inquiries from your long list of suitors, I must say.

  “Oh, Papa, please.” She blushes furiously as she brushes a raven black tendril away from her porcelain face.

  I grin and look down at her as she runs her gloves nervously against the fine material of her cerulean blue gown. “Oh, Maman, there you are! Did you see the boats coming downriver from the city?”

  My mother, all cool grace, smiles. “Yes, darling. I did indeed, now please calm yourself and remember to have an enjoyable time with our guests this evening.”

  “Yes, of course, Maman.”

  My father addresses us. “Some will arrive via carriage from nearby plantations—the footmen are prepared to accommodate them—but most are traveling by boat. I’ve asked that the dock master insert additional posts so that we can properly tether the vessels this evening. Also, Severin, please make time to speak with Mr. Anson. He is on the architectural review board for the city planners and it is my understanding that he is the personal acquaintance of two of your collegiate professors at the College of William and Mary. It will be nice to gain insight into them before you attend their classes this fall. I believe that he has a son about your age. The young man’s name is Sterling.”

  “Yes, Papa, of course.”

  “Very well. John, please open the doors so we can greet everyone as they come up the front staircase.”

  “Yes, Mr. Beauvais.”

  Many affluent families in the area harvest cotton, but ours is exclusively a rice plantation. John happens to be one of 75 slaves who live and work on the plantation. It takes manpow
er to keep the plantations running effectively and slaves are common in this area. I’ve always found the business of slavery distasteful, and after accompanying my father to one slave auction that was held in the old slave mart downtown, I vehemently refused to attend again. I believe that every man has the right to his or her individual freedom and that no one should have control over how they live their lives. I’m definitely against the majority in my thoughts. There are some plantations that I flat out refuse to visit anymore because of their reputation for administering frequent beatings. It is sickening to me how power and money can corrupt men.

  * * *

  “Then we are in agreement over our architectural tastes, Mr. Anson. If you don’t mind, there is a magnificent rendering I would like to share with you. It is of the recently completed Place de la Bourse in Bordeaux. Jean-Jacques Gabriel really has outdone himself with his latest neoclassical design. I would really enjoy seeing this style here in Charleston.”

  “Well, Severin, I must say, after our extensive discussion this evening, we could certainly continue our chat until sunrise and never tire. I see where your passions lie. Yes, I would very much enjoy seeing your newly acquired rendering.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Anson. I shall not be but one moment.”

  I smile as I bound up the high staircase. My childhood dream of creating buildings seems closer and more obtainable with each passing day. The Neoclassical style is my favorite to date and I look forward to hearing his thoughts on the impressive design.

  I’ve just started down the hall leading toward my room when I hear an odd bang followed by a distinctly feminine, muffled cry. Both are loud enough to cut through the violin music floating up from downstairs.

  Would someone dare have relations in our home during a ball? I stop and listen. There is the cry again. My heart nearly drops down into my stomach when I realize that the cry is coming from behind Sabine’s white door.