1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Etienne Tremblay

"Yes, we have reservations available for tomorrow night. What time and how many in your party?"

I hated taking reservations. Rory knew that, but he'd been out late the previous evening on a hunt and had asked if I'd handle it so he could rest. He was the youngest of my family, and I couldn't say no to those big green eyes and that button nose.

Rory was turned at seventeen by my former sire, Killian, who I subsequently destroyed for the act. Rory was a child who was homeless after Hurricane Florence hit Port Eads in 1988. He'd been visiting the lighthouse to take pictures for a high-school photography class and was swept away from his group by the heavy winds, thought to be lost at sea.

Not being from New Orleans and unable to remember anything about himself due to a head injury, Rory wandered the streets of The Big Easy, as humans called our corner of the world, and Killian found him half-starved, wearing rags, and begging for change from the tourists. He turned Rory right there in front of St. Louis Cemetery Number 1.

After the change, Rory remembered his name and that he was from Saginaw, Michigan, but it was too late for him to go home. I looked after him and showed him the ways of our kind, and he stayed in our coven under my care.

Killian's actions had been such a vulgar display on such a lovely summer evening that it proved what I had come to believe—Killian had no concern for anyone beyond himself. Concealing our existence was crucial to our survival, but at one millennium in age, my maker no longer saw the importance of the rules we lived by. That was why he had to be eliminated.

"Hello? Are you still there?" The female voice was shrill, and impatience wasn't an attractive quality for anyone.

"Gimme the phone. They'll do unspeakable things to our food if I let you make the reservation. Hello? I apologize for Alexa's harsh tone. Spoiled doesn't begin to describe her." The voice was deep and sensual. It was pleasing to my ear, and my beast perked up to listen.

"Ah. All is forgiven. Your name and the number in your party?" I could be merciful.

"Name is DeWitt. There will be six of us, but you can put four at one table and two at another." The male caller's voice was a smooth bass, making me wonder if he was tall. It flowed over me like clover honey.

"I have an opening for a table for six at seven-fifteen or an opening for a split party at eight. Which would you prefer?" It was a Friday night, and we were booked solid after eight, but I'd delay the other reservations to allow the DeWitt party to enjoy their meal. The young man's tone was quite enjoyable and put me in a benevolent mood.

"We'll take the split-party reservation for eight, please. Again, it's for DeWitt." Exemplary manners! A plus in humans these days. That was the beast commenting . He popped up when he wasn't wanted or needed.

"Perfect. Are there any food allergies I should pass along to the kitchen?" Such fragile creatures.

"Anyone have any food allergies?" The phone was pulled away from the caller's mouth, but I had paranormal hearing on my side.

"No shellfish." I had no idea who that human male might be.

"Why the hell did you agree to go to a French-creole restaurant?" That was DeWitt, and he didn't sound happy. His common sense had me curious about the rest of him, and I didn't want them to cancel the reservation.

I wanted to meet DeWitt, so I cleared my throat. "We have entrées that do not contain shellfish, Mr. DeWitt."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you heard that. I don't believe he's allergic. Lance simply doesn't like it. Don't mind him. He'll probably just drink anyway. I think we're good with no allergies."

"Perfect. Are you celebrating a special occasion?" I did love a good celebration, and our pastry chef could whip up something special to commemorate the occasion.

"We all graduated from Tulane Law, and we're getting ready to go our separate ways, so it's a last-night-together celebration."

DeWitt had never come into The House of Tremblay before because I would have recognized his voice immediately. "Wonderful. Congratulations, Mr. DeWitt. We'll see you at eight on Friday night. Please have your party together. We can't seat you until everyone's here."

"Of course. Thank you for your patience. We'll see you then."

I hung up the phone and turned to stare at the staff assembled at the tasting table. "We'll have a party of six for dinner tomorrow night for a celebration. We'll seat them in the music conservatory. One of you please tell Eugene we need a special dessert for the new alumni of the Olive and the Blue."

The House of Tremblay was the property of my coven. After Killian was destroyed, I became the de facto leader because I was the oldest, but more importantly, because I'd killed Killian and had earned his place as head of the coven. I hated to admit it, but I couldn't have done it without my beast. He was the aggressor between us, and it was becoming harder to contain his appetites, all of which I didn't share.

Killian had been a powerful vampire who had lost control of his beast, and it nearly cost me my immortality to eliminate him, but I survived. I also earned the respect of my brothers and sisters. Therefore, I didn't have to walk through eternity looking over my shoulder.

The kitchen staff members were human, a necessity since we vamps couldn't cook human food because we had no sense of taste for their dishes. We could follow a recipe, but we wouldn't know if it was edible because it all tasted like flavorless goo. Our palette was more fluid leaning, as you might guess.

The humans who worked with us either didn't know or didn't care that we were undead. Their paychecks were generous, and it seemed that was enough to satisfy any curiosities they might have regarding our peculiar peccadillos.

We did our best to make it appear as though we consumed food and drink as humans did—to our disgust much of the time, but it aided in us fitting in. That was the most important thing to us—fitting in and remaining undiscovered by humans, our food source.

The second and third floors over the restaurant were off-limits to staff because that was where we all lived. The shutters over the windows on the first floor were closed at the end of the night and not opened until three in the afternoon when staff began arriving for the evening.

We vampires worked in the restaurant, starting at nine in the morning. Our head chef, Gerard, and the pastry chef, Eugene, were the only two allowed in the kitchen before we retired to our rooms in the afternoon as the remainder of the staff prepared for the dinner service.

Usually, we took to our resting places—in my case, a coffin—during the bright sunny hours, but when it rained, we assisted with restaurant prep. The bright sunlight during the day wouldn't kill us as lore professed, but it made things uncomfortable for us because our eyesight was extremely sensitive, as was our skin, though we wouldn't incinerate as had been speculated by Hollywood. Being exposed to the sun's rays was similar to the sensation of a bad sunburn, but it healed in a few hours.

As I stared at the DeWitt reservation on the tablet before me, I was a bit giddy that I had something to look forward to the next night. It was a rare occasion when anything regarding humans intrigued me—except their blood, but I left that to the beast.

I had been a ball of excitement since I'd spoken to Mr. DeWitt on the phone Thursday evening. Something inside me—not the beast—told me this meeting was important. It was a sensation I'd only experienced once before, but the results of that encounter were less than desirable, thanks to the beast, for which I'd never forgive him.

Friday evening at five-thirty, I excused myself from the restaurant to my quarters on the third floor of the building to change into more appropriate attire. I went to the refrigerator in the bar area, grabbing a bag of B-negative to tide me over until I hunted after the restaurant closed that night.

I retrieved a crystal tumbler from the shelf over the bar built into the wall of my sitting room. I poured half the bag inside and set it in the small microwave to take the chill off. It wasn't my preferred way to enjoy a drink—fresh from the source was always best—but it took the edge off the beast to get us through the evening.

"Listen to me. Do not make the evening difficult. We are going to behave when DeWitt arrives. His voice is intriguing, I agree, but we can't do anything to frighten DeWitt or the other guests."

As you wish, Etienne, but I won't be denied forever.

The discussion with my beast was essential because if I allowed him any freedom except when hunting, the beast would take over as Killian's beast had done. I couldn't allow the carnage, and I wasn't ready to be destroyed by my coven as I'd destroyed Killian.

There was no response from him, just a low rumble of compliance.