4. Auguste

“It’s always so humid,” I grumble. Though that is to be expected in New Orleans, even at night.

The air hangs thick in the Le Voile de Sang with the mingled scents of cigar smoke, the dampness of the Mississippi river, and the cloying sweetness of the absinthe favored by my eccentric patrons.

Candles in wrought iron sconces cast flickering light over the faces of criminal riffraff, corrupt politicians, besotted artists and world-weary aristocrats all seeking escape or intrigue under my discreet aegis.

The burnished mahogany bar gleams under the muted light, its surface reflecting the array of crystal decanters filled with amber liquors and jewel-toned cordials. Smoky mirrors line the walls, multiplying the room into an endless labyrinth of shadow and intrigue.

As I mix a Sazerac, the ritual soothes me - the precise measures of rye, bitters and absinthe, the fragrant curl of lemon peel. I listen with half an ear to the whispered conversation of two grifters at the bar, filing away mentions of a lucrative con.

Information is the true currency here. Everyone is on the make, the hustle, looking to get ahead or just stay afloat in the city”s churning underworld currents.

I make sure my trusty thompson is close.

A bullet is much faster than any magic or shifting on the spot. Even if it’s only to give me enough time to do one of the latter.

The door swings open and a trio of dangerous-looking men enter, making a beeline for the back room. I give an almost imperceptible nod to Léon, my head bouncer. Trouble is the last thing I need tonight with half the city”s aldermen getting soused in the VIP lounge. The last thing we need is any undue attention from the authorities.

Everyone is on the edge tonight. And Lucien is extra moody tonight; I just don’t feel like dealing with any of anyone’s shit.

A commotion at the door draws my gaze. Colette, one of my hostesses, is trying to bar entry to a bedraggled creature, more river rat than woman. The rag-clad woman is putting up a surprisingly spirited fight, cursing and clawing like a wild thing.

”For God”s sake, Colette, let her in before she causes a real scene,” I call in a bored drawl.

Never let it be said I turn away strays.

At least the pretty ones.

As she stumbles inside, I peer closer, stunned by what I see. Beneath the mud and rags, she”s breathtaking - fine-boned and lushly curved, with luminous skin and eyes of an unearthly violet. The kind of beauty that empires go to war over. There”s something about her scent too, something wild and elemental that has my wolf side clamoring to hunt, to claim. I tamp the beast back down. This is no place for that kind of wildness. At least not out in the open.

Ugly bruises mottle her creamy skin, but they can”t dim the fierce, almost feral light in those entrancing eyes. A runaway from one of the Garden District”s fine houses, or a dockside doxy who flew too close to the flame and got burned? No matter. I know a prize when I see one.

And this little bird, bedraggled though she may be, will be mine. All that remains is to coax her into my gilded cage.

I offer her my most charming smile as I guide her to a plush velvet settee in the back room. ”Well now, chérie, you certainly know how to make an entrance. I must say, it”s not often we get such...exotic beauties washing up on our doorstep. Wherever did you come from, my bedraggled river nymph?”

She lifts her chin defiantly, a move somewhat undercut by the streaks of mud on her face.

”That”s none of your concern,” she snaps, her musical voice roughened by fatigue and wariness.

I chuckle, holding up my hands in mock surrender. ”Easy, minette. You”re safe here.” I pour her a snifter of brandy from the side table, pressing it into her hands. ”Here, this will take the chill off.”

She eyes me suspiciously but accepts the drink, downing it in one long swallow. I watch the smooth line of her throat work, the alcohol bringing a becoming flush to her cheeks. ”Let”s try again, shall we?” I settle on the settee beside her, close enough for our thighs to brush. ”I”m Auguste Delacroix, one of the proprietors of this fine establishment. And who might you be, my sweet southern belle?”

”Simone,” she says shortly. ”Just Simone. And you can drop the fancy talk, Mr. I’m not interested.”

”Enchanté, Just Simone,” I purr.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Now little lady, what backswamp did you crawl out of to grace this fine establishment?”

Her eyes flash violet fire and for a moment I think she might claw me. ”I”ll have you know I come from one of the finest packs in Babylon!” she hisses. Then she claps a hand over her mouth, already regretting the outburst.

I smile, cocking an eyebrow. “Babylon, you say.” The packs there are an insular bunch.

What could drive a young female to flee so far alone? ”You”re a long way from home, loup-garou. What brings you to my wicked city?”

”I...I can”t...that is, I”d rather not discuss it,” she stammers, dropping her gaze.

I tip her chin back up with a gentle finger, drowning in those haunting violet eyes. ”Keep your secrets then, for now, darlin. You”re welcome in my den as long as you like.”

What darkness drove you to my door, precious Simone? No matter. You”re mine now. And I take very good care of what”s mine...

My nostrils flare as her intoxicating scent hits me again under all that swampwater and grime; a bouquet I haven”t encountered in centuries. Witch”s blood, hexeblood... call it what you will, but there”s no mistaking the heady, spiced sweetness tinged with ozone and night-blooming flowers. A scent that sings of ancient magic and untold power.

I stare at her, unblinking, my eyes devouring every curve, each delicate feature. My tongue traces the sharp edge of a fang as visions of her lithe body undulating beneath me flood my mind.

”You have no idea what you are, do you, precious?” I murmur, my voice a low rasp.

“Don’t call me precious,” she hisses.

I step closer, trailing a finger down the graceful column of her neck. Her pulse flutters wildly beneath the creamy skin. Fear and desire war in her violet eyes.

”Hexeblood,” I breathe reverently, inhaling another intoxicating lungful. ”A witch of the ancient bloodlines. And if I”m not mistaken, one whose power has only just begun to awaken.”

I circle her slowly, a wolf eyeing a lamb. ”The things I could show you, ma belle. The places I could take you.” I lean in, my lips grazing the delicate shell of her ear as I drop my voice to a sinful whisper. ”The heights of ecstasy we could reach together.”

She trembles against me, a heady mix of virginal terror and wanton hunger. I smile slowly. This will be a seduction like no other, a dance as old as time itself. And in the end, she will be mine - body, blood and bone.

“My Bayou princess.”

”Flattery will get you nowhere, sigh. I”m not one of your cabaret girls to be sweet-talked and pawed. And in case you haven’t noticed, I am quite covered in mud, now aren’t I? Is that how you so called gentlemen treat a lady in distress in this wicked town?”

I chuckle, my eyes sparkling with amusement as I slowly release her hand. ”Ah, ma douce, you wound me!” I circle her slowly, my gaze raking over her form appreciatively. ”But can you blame me for being tempted by such a delectable morsel?”

Her breath hitches at my bold declaration, a becoming flush rising to her cheeks.

”You are incorrigible!” She aims for scolding but can”t quite banish the smile tugging at her lips.

”Guilty as charged,” I grin roguishly, rising to my feet. ”Come let’s get you cleaned up.”