Chapter 1

April probably wasn't the best time to return to New Orleans, what with the Jazz Festival going on along with various other street fairs, music events, and general exuberance that spring brought to the Big Easy. But Remy Lafitte was still happy to be in his hometown, despite the reason he'd come.

The crowds and noise and raucous atmosphere were a welcome distraction after the sterilized quiet of the hospice facility. The chaos was as much a part of the city as he had once been, and it put a smile on his face.

The beignets he was currently eating helped his mood, too. He'd needed something comforting, and beignets did the trick. He was a vampire; he didn't need food. But it could still bring him pleasure.

He sat with his back against the fence that surrounded Jackson Square so that he faced the St. Louis Cathedral. He was closer to St. Peter Street than he was to St. Ann, a spot he'd chosen so that he could enjoy the music being played in front of the gates of Jackson Square.

He sat slightly hunched over, his knees bent, his upper half leaned forward between them as he ate. All in an effort to keep the copious amounts of confectioner's sugar on the beignets off of his person. It was working. Mostly. No one ate Café Du Monde's beignets and came away unscathed. The dusting of fine sugar was a small price to pay for a taste of the delicious fried doughnuts.

His position by the fence meant he was looking at the backs of the musicians, four energetic teenagers and one older man, maybe their teacher. Teachers were good people. The man seemed to be encouraging the boys as they played.

Remy leaned back. He liked having the wrought iron behind him and a good view of the swirling crowds. There was a sense of security in his positioning.

Nighttime in New Orleans meant keeping an eye on those around you. Regardless of whether or not you were a two-centuries-old vampire.

The city was nothing like it had been when he'd first arrived. Then it had been much wilder, much more dangerous, and a lot less civilized, in some ways.

In other ways, it had been a little too civilized, but he hadn't been one to socialize with that crowd. They wouldn't have accepted him even if he'd wanted to join their ranks. Might have been interesting, but even then he'd had to be careful about becoming too familiar with anyone. Which wasn't to say he hadn't done his fair share of socializing.

He'd just associated with a much different crowd. One that didn't care about status or breeding, just that you had money to spend and were willing to do so.

As the grandson of pirate Jean Lafitte, Remy had seen the bustling port of New Orleans as his personal playground. Wine, women, and song, he'd lived the life.

He leaned forward again, ate the last bite of beignet, brushed his hands off, then crumpled up the bag and set it next to him to throw away later. He stretched his legs out and leaned back, taking in the night air and enjoying the music.

People-watching wasn't bad, either. Some of the outfits the women had on could barely be described as clothing. The drunk people were pretty entertaining, too. More than half the crowd carried a hurricane, a daiquiri, or a yard of beer.

He shook his head. Some of those people were going to have a bad night. He'd seen it plenty of times.

A man fell into another man, sending both of their drinks flying. The two men laughed. Those around them who'd been splashed with the drinks didn't think it was so funny. Sharp words were exchanged, and some of the men squared up.

"And so it begins," Remy muttered.

A uniformed police officer on horseback quickly intervened. He separated the men, defused the situation, and sent them on their way. Crisis averted. Having a twelve-hundred-pound partner certainly helped.

Remy nodded all the same. As an officer of the law himself, he appreciated the man's quick response and obviously effective words. Beautiful steed, as well.

They didn't use horses in Nocturne Falls, even though it could get hectic sometimes, like during parades or festivals. Anyplace that had a large influx of tourists was susceptible to such nonsense. But nothing really compared to the French Quarter after dark. In his day, tourism hadn't been anything like it was now.

Mostly the Vieux Carre had been filled with men looking to drink, gamble, and carouse with the women who worked the gentlemen's clubs. Because all of that was so readily available, the Quarter attracted its fair share of shady characters. Men specifically looking to take advantage of the first group.

And, of course, it had been a haven for vampires in search of an easy dinner.

His stomach rumbled, and his fangs protruded. He ran his tongue over them before retracting them. He would need to feed soon. There were plenty of places to get legal blood in town.

But that would mean announcing his presence. He'd only come to New Orleans to say goodbye to Professor Boudreaux. The man was suffering with cancer in St. Boniface's Hospice. Remy could not let the man pass without seeing him one more time.

Remy had never gone to college, but he'd sat in on Boudreaux's evening classes at Tulane for three years. Lemuel Boudreaux had known Remy wasn't registered, but he'd said nothing, letting him attend whenever he liked.

Boudreaux had taught forensic science, something Remy had been fascinated with even before he'd gone into law enforcement. Maybe it was all the blood.

Or maybe it had been the girls on Tulane's campus. He knew that wasn't true. It had been one girl in particular.

Remy rolled his shoulders, an odd heat rising through him. Funny how an old memory could evoke such a response.

Didn't matter why Remy had found the man's classes so interesting. Boudreaux had been kind and understanding. They had developed a friendship. Especially after Boudreaux had sussed out what Remy truly was.

Unlike most, Boudreaux had not been terrified. He'd been fascinated and full of questions. Blood became their common ground.

They had kept in touch over the years. Boudreaux's last correspondence had come from his daughter, telling Remy about her father's failing health.

And so, Remy had used some of his accrued vacation time to see the man once more. He'd spent as much time as he'd been able to with his friend. Last night, around 3 a.m., Lemuel had slipped into a coma.

Brokenhearted, Remy had left. Humans didn't live long enough. Not the good ones, anyway. And going to Boudreaux's funeral wasn't possible, as it would be during the day. Even if Remy could go, there was a chance he might be seen and recognized by someone who would have expected him to age the way everyone else did. There would be questions.

He wasn't here for any of that. He did not need to anger the other vampires in town by causing problems, nor did he want to get himself into trouble with the local vampire council.

He would send flowers, though. That was at least something he could do.

His stomach rumbled again. Going to one of the sanctioned blood banks was really his only option. Wouldn't do for a Nocturne Falls deputy to get pinched for treating a tourist like a walking juice box. Not only that, but that kind of behavior was no longer who he was.

With a soft sigh, he picked up his beignet bag and stood. The closest blood bank was several blocks away and fronted by an unassuming used bookstore.

As he stood there, a group of obviously intoxicated women dressed in all shades of pink and wearing feather boas went by. A bachelorette party in full swing. The bride-to-be, easily identified by the tiara and white sash she wore proclaiming her status, smiled at him, as did several of the other women.

He smiled back. None of them were his type, and a woman promised to another man already wasn't even a possibility, but it cost nothing to smile.

When they stopped, he realized he shouldn't have made eye contact. The alcohol was making them bold.

He used a little vampire speed to slip away, disappearing into the crowd. The only woman he'd ever truly felt something for was in his past. It was no wonder that visiting Boudreaux had brought her to mind again. More than usual, anyway. She had a way of sliding into his thoughts when he least expected it.

Losing her was his fault, too. He'd fallen hard and scared her off. She'd already been a shy thing, unaware of her own beauty and charm, struggling with her fledgling powers as a new witch.

He'd professed his love and offered to turn her to keep them together for eternity. He'd proposed with a gold ring designed to look like a pansy made of sapphires and diamonds. It was a sweet, delicate piece that had seemed a fitting tribute to her beauty and refinement.

The ring had been selected from his grandfather's pirate horde. Which had not been buried in the bayou, despite what the legends said. The entirety of that treasure had been divided amongst the remaining family. Remy's share resided in a safety deposit box at the Nocturne Falls branch of the Georgia Federal Credit Union.

Not surprisingly, his love had bolted like the devil'd been chasing her. He often found himself wondering what had happened to her. Probably married with kids by now. Probably never thought about him.

And why should she? He was the one who'd made a mess of things. She'd probably sold the ring, too. He didn't mind. Especially if the money had helped her in some way.

With a sigh, he tossed the crumpled bag into a trash bin, shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for the nearest blood bank. He could get blood at the hotel, but the prices were nearly double what the bank charged.

Just because he had a healthy bank account didn't mean he was going to spend it unwisely. He preferred to live on the salary his job with the sheriff's department paid and leave his reserves untouched. So the blood bank it was.

What he needed was a full belly and a good sleep. He had an eight-hour drive home tomorrow night, which couldn't be done comfortably in one shift, since there were just barely enough hours of darkness. He didn't like to cut things too close, not when something unforeseen like a traffic accident or car trouble might happen.

That meant spending the day in a cheap motel along the way. Not his favorite thing to do, but it couldn't be helped.

Soon enough, he'd be home and back at work, thoughts of old friends and former flames tucked away in his memory banks, where they belonged.