5. Simone

Iquirk an eyebrow as I take in the lavish surroundings of the bathroom Auguste has led me to. ”My my, aren”t we fancy?” I drawl, running a finger along the edge of the obsidian clawfoot tub. ”Looks fit for a queen. Or at least a very well pampered mistress.”

Auguste chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of something more heated. ”Nothing but the best for our special guests, chérie. And I have a feeling you”re going to be very special indeed.”

I take a slow sip of my cocktail, letting the smooth burn linger on my tongue before cocking my head coquettishly. ”Oh? And what exactly makes me so...special, Monsieur?”

”Call it a hunch,” he murmurs, stepping closer until I can feel the warmth radiating off his broad chest. ”And that blood… intoxicating.”

I scoff lightly, even as a traitorous shiver races down my spine at his proximity. ”A rare gem, hmmm? Is that fancy talk for a bedraggled swamp rat? isn”t that what you called me?” I gesture wryly at my torn, muddy garb.

”Ah, but you see, that”s just a temporary disguise.” Auguste”s voice lowers to a rumbling purr. ”Underneath the dirt and rags, you”re a diamond in the rough. And I intend to see you polished to perfection.”

I can”t suppress the frisson of awareness that crackles between us and take a hasty gulp of my drink for fortitude before aiming for an arch tone. ”Careful, Auguste. A girl might start to think you”re trying to collect her.” I run my fingers over an ornate Tiffany lamp on a side table. ”Just another objets d”art.”

He catches my hand, turning it over to trace the delicate blue veins of my wrist with the pad of his thumb. ”You”re worth more than any dusty antique, my sweet southern belle.” His dark eyes burn into mine, threatening to liquify my bones. ”And I only collect the very best.”

My pulse flutters wildly as I force myself to step back, slipping my hand from his mesmerizing grasp. ”Yes, well, your collection will have to wait,” I declare airily, mustering up a saucy smirk. I sashay towards the tub, throwing a wink over my bare shoulder. ”If you”d be so kind as to give a lady some privacy?”

Auguste sketches a courtly bow, a wicked smile playing about his sculpted mouth. ”But of course, ma reine. I shall eagerly await your... emergence.” His gaze is scorching. ”But before I leave you, there”s one more thing you should know.”

He stalks closer, his movements fluid and predatory. I instinctively back up until I feel the cool edge of the pedestal sink pressing into my lower back. He braces his hands on either side of me, caging me in with his much larger frame.

Leaning down until his lips nearly brush the shell of my ear, he murmurs, ”That blood of yours, ma petite? That ”hexeblood” thrumming through your veins? It”s more than just rare.” His voice drops to a low rasp. ”It”s dangerous. And in a city like New Orleans, danger is a highly sought-after commodity.”

I feel a frisson of unease snake down my spine, even as some reckless part of me thrills to his nearness, to the blatant hunger in his gaze. ”W-what do you mean?” I curse the slight tremor in my voice.

He pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes, his own glittering with dark promise. ”I mean, my sweet Simone, that you are a very lucky little witch to have stumbled into my den first. There are...factions in this city that would bleed you dry, just to possess a drop of that intoxicating power in your blood.”

I swallow hard, my heart rabbiting against my ribs. ”And you? What do you want with me and my ”intoxicating power”?” I meant it to come out challenging, but it emerges as little more than a breathless whisper.

His mouth kicks up in a wolf”s smile. ”I want to protect you, ma chérie. I want to polish you to a blinding shine and unleash you on this unsuspecting world.” His fingers find my chin, tipping it up so I have no choice but to drown in the fierce intensity of his gaze.

”The blood is strong in you, Simone. Stronger than any I”ve encountered in all my years.

And together?” His thumb drags slowly, deliberately over my lower lip and I shudder helplessly.

”Together we will bring this city to its knees.”

He releases me abruptly and I sag back against the sink, my knees watery. He strides to the door, glancing back as he turns the handle.

”Enjoy your bath, little queen. When you emerge, your throne awaits.” And with a mocking bow, he slips through the door and is gone. I let out a shaky breath, my skin still tingling from his heated touch.

And his words.

Turning slowly, I take in the unparalleled luxury of the bathroom, a far cry from the rough-hewn privies and tepid tin baths of my bayou upbringing.

The flickering gas lamps cast a warm, buttery glow over the black and white hexagon tiled floors, so glossy I can almost see my reflection. A plush Turkish rug in rich burgundy and gold sits before the centerpiece of the room - a magnificent clawfoot tub in obsidian porcelain, steam rising invitingly from the scented water within. Gold fixtures gleam, and I can”t resist running my fingers over the scrollwork details.

I wander over to the ornate marble-topped washstand, gaping at the dizzying array of crystal perfume bottles, satin pouches of fragrant bath salts, and fluffy white cotton towels, stacked higher than my head. Tentatively, I unstop a faceted ombre bottle, wafting a heady mix of jasmine and sandalwood that speaks of far-off lands and exotic temptations.

Gingerly setting down my empty coupe glass, already sticky with sugared absinthe dregs, I start shedding my tattered layers. Even that simple motion feels decadent in such lavish environs, a snake sloughing off its old skin to emerge shiny and new.

I step into the high-sided tub, submerging myself into deliciously scented depths. The heat seeps into my travel-weary bones and I can”t stifle a groan of pure bliss. Tipping my head back against the porcelain lip, I let my eyes flutter shut, the events of the last twenty-four hours swirling behind my lids.

How did I even get here? An outcast, an aberration, now soaking in the lap of luxury?

Has my nascent blood somehow conjured this as an illusion? The water laps at my skin and I splash some over my shoulders. No, this is real. The marble is cool and solid under my pruned fingertips, the olive oil soap slick as sin. Somewhere, music starts up - the plinking notes of a piano tuning up for the evening. The dulcet tones wash over me like an aural caress and I shiver, despite the enveloping heat.

My mind returns to Auguste”s hands, the way they engulfed mine so completely, the way his touch seemed to sear straight through to my marrow. I imagine how they would feel moving over me now, in languorous strokes, mapping every wet inch.

I push the thought away with an unsteady huff, dunking down to wet my hair, holding myself under until my lungs burn. I surface with a gasp, reaching for the vial of garde hair creme, the likes of which I had previously only glimpsed in magazine advertisements peddling aspirational femininity.

As I work the luxurious creme through my tangled curls, I feel the past start to unspool, rinsed away with the bayou muck and the acrid scent of fear. My mate”s cruel rejection, the pack”s betrayal, the blind terror of the chase - all of it swirls down the burnished drain, leaving only the drumbeat of now echoing through my bones.

I emerge from the bath flushed and radiant, swaddled in a decadent robe of Egyptian cotton that makes me feel like a silver screen siren. The woman gazing back from the ornate mirror is a revelation - cheeks glowing, violet eyes sparkling with the promise of reinvention.

With trembling fingers, I slide into the beaded ruby dress, the swish of silk against my thighs a sinful delight.

Stepping back into the boudoir, Auguste”s coal-dark gaze rakes over me, igniting my skin.

”Well now, aren”t you a vision, ma belle?” His velvet baritone ripples across my nerve endings.

”I”ve half a mind to pick you up and just spirit you away.”

Heat blooms in my cheeks as he stalks closer, the spice of his cologne enveloping me.

”But first, let”s get some food in you. A proper creole feast fit for our sweet bayou princess.” He brushes a kiss to my knuckles, lips searing my flesh. “Cindi, bring us some of the duck confit and that red I liked!” he yells.

I shift nervously, my grandmother”s warning echoing in my ears. ”I don”t know...Gran always said too much spice is the demon”s playground.”

Auguste”s wicked chuckle rolls through the room like distant thunder. ”Darling Simone, in this town? Demons are the very least of your troubles. Now come, let me show you the delights of my little kingdom.”

Suddenly, a commotion erupts from downstairs - raised voices, the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. I jolt, eyes wide with alarm, but Auguste merely sighs, as if this is just another tiresome Tuesday.

”Forgive me, chérie. I need to see what mischief my brothers have gotten into this time.”

Cupping my face, his expression softens. ”Rest here. You”re safe within these walls. My home is your sanctuary now.”

With a last smoldering glance, he strides out, leaving me to marvel at the sudden turn my life has taken. The plush room spins around me as I collapse back onto the bed, cocooned in silk and shadows and a tantalizing new world just beyond the door.