Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

GAGE

G age Tremblay stood in the center of his new loft, surveying the open, sun-drenched space with a mixture of satisfaction and uncertainty. It was an upgrade, for sure. The soaring ceilings and exposed brick walls gave it an industrial charm that suited him, while the massive windows framed a perfect view of the bustling street below. The polished concrete floors gleamed beneath the sunlight filtering through the glass, giving the whole place an airy, open feel.

He let out a breath, his gaze sweeping over the instruments carefully placed around the loft—his guitar leaning against the wall, the upright grand piano positioned against the far side of the room, the cello, violin, and concertina nestled in their designated spots. His hands flexed, fingers itching to play, but he resisted the urge. There was still too much to settle.

The loft was simple but functional. There was a single bedroom with a walk-in closet and a small laundry nook that held a stacked washer and dryer. The attached bath was more utilitarian than luxurious, with no tub but a large, modern shower that fit his no-frills style. A small powder room was tucked near the entryway to the loft. He liked the minimalism, the rawness of the space. It felt… honest. A clean slate. Something he sorely needed after leaving Baton Rouge behind.

With a grunt, Gage shifted his upright bass closer to the piano, making sure it was positioned just right. He had a habit of rearranging things until they felt perfect—a byproduct of the musician in him that craved harmony and order. His hands brushed over the smooth wood of the instruments, a brief moment of calm in the storm of his thoughts.

The knock on the door interrupted the moment, sharp and deliberate. Gage tensed, his body instinctively on alert. Few people knew he had moved here; fewer still would come knocking on his door unannounced.

He crossed the loft in a few easy strides and opened the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the man on the other side.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Muscular, with a commanding presence that filled the doorway. He had to be about ten years older than Gage, though his features remained youthful, his caramel-colored hair with dark streaks peppered with just enough gray to suggest wisdom rather than age. The man’s eyes were sharp, appraising, and just a little amused.

“You must be Tremblay,” the man said, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that carried a weight of authority.

“I am,” Gage replied evenly.

The man cocked his head to one side. “I don’t find you frightening in the least. You don’t appear to be some misshapen beast subject to the whims of the moon.”

Gage already knew who this man was—Jean-Michel Gautier, the Alpha of New Orleans. Venerated. Respected. Feared, even. He could be no other. His presence here was no accident.

Jean-Michel leaned casually against the doorframe, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “So, you’re the one who’s decided to invade my territory.”

Gage resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew the man was half-joking, but there was an edge to the words, a subtle reminder of who was in charge. “I’m not looking to invade anything,” Gage said, keeping his tone level. “Just trying to live a quiet life.”

Jean-Michel’s smirk deepened. “A quiet life? In my city? That’s a tall order, Rougarou.”

Gage stiffened at the word. Rougarou—half-wolf, half-demon. It wasn’t a title he wore with pride. He wasn’t like Jean-Michel, whose pure wolf-shifter blood made him an alpha, a leader of his kind. Gage was something else entirely. His wolf blood was tainted, diluted by his demon half. And it made him a threat to other shifters, even to other wolves. His mother had been attacked by a demon and, when she found herself pregnant, had been banished from her pack.

“I’m not the same kind of wolf as you,” Gage said carefully, meeting Jean-Michel’s eyes with a steady gaze. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Jean-Michel studied him for a long moment, then let out a low chuckle. “I know what you are, Tremblay. Half-demon, sure. But you’re still a wolf, and that means you’re part of my pack whether you like it or not.”

Gage’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to be part of any pack. He’d left that life behind even before he’d been born. Still, he knew better than to openly challenge Gautier. The alpha’s power radiated from him like a storm waiting to break, and Gage wasn’t interested in starting a fight. Not here. Not now.

“I just want to live in peace,” Gage said finally, his voice calm but firm.

Jean-Michel’s expression softened slightly, though the sharpness never left his eyes. “I believe you. Peace in New Orleans is hard to come by.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over Gage’s loft, taking in the instruments, the open space. “Still, if you need anything, you know where to find me. You may be a Rougarou, but you’re welcome in my pack anytime.”

With that, the alpha pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Gage watched him go, a mixture of relief and unease settling over him.

Being half-demon meant he was used to being on the outside, always walking the fine line between three different worlds—human, wolf-shifter, and demon. But New Orleans was different. The city was a cauldron of supernatural energy, and people like Jean-Michel made sure that balance was kept in check. Gage wasn’t sure where he fit into all of this, but he’d figure it out. He always did.

Once Gautier had gone, Gage moved to the window at the end of his loft to watch Gautier exit onto the street below. At the corner, he turned and looked back at him, giving Gage a smile and a jaunty wave before being shown into one of the horse-drawn carriages, where he sat down next to a beautiful blonde. Gage shook his head. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt as though he’d made, if not a friend, then at least an ally.

Turning back to his loft, Gage exhaled slowly and then headed down to his new place of employment, The Obsidian Lounge, an exclusive venue in the heart of the city. He wasn’t scheduled to start until later today, but he wanted to get a jump on everything. Using the keys to unlock the employees’ entrance, he moved inside and made his way to the bar that stretched along one side of the open space. Bottles of liquor lined the shelves behind the bar, all meticulously arranged.

While he always thought of himself as a musician and songwriter first, he’d become a master mixologist to pay the bills. He’d been hired away from a popular club in Baton Rouge to run the bar as assistant manager at the Obsidian. It was a good opportunity—a fresh start—but the energy surrounding his new place of employment made his skin crawl.

Gage had learned to live with the constant pull of his demon heritage, the dark undercurrent that gnawed at him, whispering temptations in his ear. But here, in this city, that pull felt stronger. Louder. Like the very ground beneath his feet was saturated with dark magic, and all it would take was one wrong step to unleash the beast within.

As he wiped down the bar and rearranged the bottles for what felt like the hundredth time, his ears caught the low murmur of voices from the back office. Gage wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but something about the hushed tones set his instincts on high alert.

Edward Falwell, the club owner, was talking to someone—a woman, her voice smooth and low, laced with authority. Gage moved closer to the door, careful to stay out of sight.

“…the project is nearly ready,” Edward was saying, his tone tinged with nervousness. “Madame Vesper, I assure you, everything will be in place by the time the lounge opens.”

Gage’s pulse quickened. Madame Vesper? The name wasn’t one you could easily forget. Madame Vesper Nightshade was a centuries-old vampire notorious for running an exclusive supernatural brothel catering to the darkest desires of the city’s elite—human and supernatural alike.

“And you’re sure no one suspects anything?” Vesper’s voice was cool, calculated.

“Not a soul,” Edward replied, though there was a tremor in his voice that suggested otherwise.

Gage’s gut twisted. He didn’t know what this "project" was, but whatever it entailed, it couldn’t be good. Not if it involved Madame Vesper. He forced himself to step away from the door before he overheard more than he should.

Just then, the front door of the lounge creaked open, and Gage’s attention snapped to the entrance. A young woman with spiked blue hair and curves to die for strolled in. Dressed in torn jeans and a black bralette top, her eyes scanned the room with curiosity. She looked out of place, her leather jacket and combat boots more suited to the gritty streets than the polished interior of the lounge. But there was something else about her—an energy, faint but unmistakable.

Supernatural.

Gage swallowed hard, an inexplicable pull forming in his chest as he watched her. She was different. Not quite human, though he couldn’t place what she was. The raw power that radiated off her was familiar in a way that unnerved him. And worse, he was drawn to it.

Shaking off the strange sensation, Gage stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Can I help you?”

The woman turned her gaze to him, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “I’m here about the job,” she said, her voice low but confident. “I heard you’re hiring.”

Gage blinked, trying to ignore the thrum of energy that coursed through him at the sound of her voice. “You’re looking for a waitressing position?” He forced his tone to remain steady, though inside, the demon in him stirred, restless.

She nodded. “Yeah. I need work.”

He took a deep breath, his senses on high alert as he motioned for her to follow him to the bar. “I’m Gage. Let’s talk,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. But inside, a storm raged.

As he asked her the usual questions, Gage struggled to keep his focus. The pull he felt toward her was undeniable, a magnetism that set his every nerve on edge. Was it her supernatural nature? Or something more? He couldn’t say. All he knew was that the fine line he walked between wolf, demon, and human felt thinner than ever in her presence.

And it was only a matter of time before he crossed it.