9. Auguste

Ilead Simone through the cobblestone streets of the French Quarter, her delicate hand nestled in the crook of my muscular arm. Gas lamps flicker as we pass, casting dancing shadows on the pastel-hued buildings. The air hangs heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and distant strains of jazz drifting from hidden courtyards.

As we meander, I point out landmarks from my misspent youth - the wrought-iron balcony where I stole my first kiss from a wide-eyed debutante, the shadowed alcove where I won my first knife fight against a rival street tough.

In Simone”s luminous violet eyes, I glimpse understanding.

My wolf is going wild for her. It’s almost too hard to handle.

She’s so strong, being dropped into all this… she will make the finest omega.

But all in good time.

Ducking into a tiny Creole cottage converted into a romantic bistro, we share oysters Rockefeller and sip Sazeracs. Candlelight flickers over Simone”s elegant cheekbones, making her seem almost ethereal.

After dinner, we stroll to Jackson Square, the breeze off the Mississippi heavy and damp.

It rustles the hem of Simone”s beaded dress, molding the fabric to her lush curves. I gesture to the sights - the stately cathedral, the fortune tellers plying their trade.

”Care to have your fortune told, mon chéri?” I tease, gesturing to a wizened old woman hunched over a crystal ball. ”Maybe she”ll divine the secrets of your past...or our future.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.

Simone laughs, a throaty sound that sends shivers down my spine. ”I think I”ll take my chances with the unknown,” she retorts. ”Life”s more exciting that way.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

Then on impulse, I tug her into a smoky jazz club. ”Time to show me your moves, witchling,” I challenge as I pull her flush against me.

We spin and sway to the lush trombone and tinkling piano, our bodies molding together like two halves of a whole. Everywhere we touch, sparks ignite.

”You, Sigh, are full of surprises,” she murmurs against my ear.

”You have no idea,” I rasp back, fighting the urge to crash my mouth against hers right there on the dance floor.

As the song ends, I lead her through a hidden gate into a private courtyard draped in Spanish moss and moonlight. ”I want to show you my world,” I say softly, ”if you”ll let me.”

She meets my heated gaze, her own full of yearning and a touch of fear. ”Be gentle with me?” she whispers, sounding more vulnerable than I”ve ever heard her.

I tip her chin up, my thumb caressing her cheekbone as her eyes flutter closed. ”Always, ma belle,” I promise as I lower my lips to hers.

Magnolia blossoms carpet the ground, their waxy ivory petals luminous under the moon. A crumbling angel fountain burbles in the center. The moonshine pierces the veil of clouds and trees as I lower her onto a carpet of petals. The crumbling stone angel fountain burbles a soft serenade as I trace along her collarbone.

”I want to know every inch of you,” I confess, the words almost a prayer. ”Body and soul.” My lips follow the path of my fingers, igniting sparks.

My lips find hers again, the kiss deepening until she”s drowning in the taste of me. My hands shape the curves of her waist, her hips, as I settle my weight between her thighs. The velvety brush of magnolia petals and the scrape of my evening stubble blend into an intoxicating friction against oversensitized skin.

Simone gasps as I find the zipper of her gown, baring her to the night air and my ardent gaze. I drink her in, the darkness in my eyes flaring into molten gold.

”Mine,” I growl, capturing her wrists and pinning them above her head. I nip at her lower lip, soothing the sting with my tongue.

”Yours,” she breathes, surrendering to the heady mix of danger and desire. ”I”m yours.”

And then there”s only the ancient rhythm of our bodies moving together, the sighs and rustle of crushed petals, the burbling fountain and distant jazz trumpet, all blurring into the timeless melody of passion rising beneath the watchful eye of the moon.

I freeze at the sharp snap of a twig, my senses on high alert. In a flash, I whirl around, pushing Simone behind me as I produce my colt. My eyes narrow, scanning the shadows of the alley for any trace of our voyeur.

A dark shape slinks away between one breath and the next, melting into the darkness like a wraith. I squint, trying to make out any identifying features, but the alley is empty. No trace remains of our uninvited guest.

I turn back to Simone with a wry smile, the heat of the moment dissipating like morning mist under the sun. Her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed from our passionate interlude and the sudden intrusion.

”Looks like we”ve got an admirer,” I quip, trying to lighten the mood. ”But they didn”t stick around for an encore.”

Simone lets out a shaky laugh, smoothing her rumpled gown with trembling fingers.

”Never a dull moment with you, is there?”

”Keeps things interesting,” I retort with a roguish wink. But beneath the bravado, unease prickles at the back of my neck. In my world, coincidences are rarely accidental.

I tuck Simone”s hand into the crook of my elbow, the gesture both gentlemanly and protective. ”Come darling. Let”s get you home before someone else decides to crash our party.”

We stroll through the lamp-lit streets of the French Quarter, the romance of the evening tempered by the lingering shadow of our mystery voyeur. I keep a watchful eye on the shifting shadows, my free hand never straying far from the hilt of my gun.