License to Bite

by Carrie Pulkinen

  “Get them out of here.” The bartender pointed to Ethan and jerked a thumb toward the door.

  Jane rested peacefully on the bar, while Sophie leaned a forearm against the wall, dry-heaving into the trash can.

  “I think I’m done.” Sophie stepped toward Ethan and doubled over.

  She was definitely not done. Vomit hit the floor, splashing onto his shoes, the sharp, tangy scents of alcohol and pineapple juice burning his nostrils. Jane’s head slipped off the bar, and he caught her before she could fall out of her chair.

  “You know how to pick them, my friend.” Gaston touched Sophie’s arm, and she yanked away.

  “We’re not going anywhere with you. C’mon, Jane.” She reached toward her friend, and Jane slid off the stool, stumbling into Ethan again. They wouldn’t make it to the door without help, much less all the way back to their hotel.

  Gaston shook his head, making a tsk sound as he brushed his fingers to Sophie’s temple, activating his glamour. “You will allow us to escort you to your hotel.”

  Sophie’s expression went blank for a moment before she blinked, scrunching her forehead and turning to Jane. “Maybe we should let them take us. Our rental house is all the way on Esplanade. We can’t walk that far.”

  “We don’t need an escort,” Jane said as adamantly as her current state of inebriation would allow. At least she had some of her wits intact, but how long would it last before someone took advantage of her vulnerability?

  Ethan wiped his shoes with a napkin as Gaston gestured with his head toward Jane, but he hesitated to use his glamour. She, and this entire situation, reminded him so much of Vanessa, he wasn’t sure his undead heart could handle being so close to her.

  But he had to see these women to their hotel. If he could get them back safely, maybe he could atone for his sins. He slid his fingers into her soft, dark hair, focusing his magic to ensure her trust in him. “We’ll take you to your rental house. I promise you’ll be safe.”

  Jane’s face slackened, and a pang of guilt shot through Ethan’s chest. He would have preferred she trust him willingly, but with the pair of bouncers approaching from the left and the manager giving him the stink eye, he didn’t have time to woo her with his charm. Not that he had any to begin with.

  He pulled her to his side, lifting her slightly to feign the appearance that she could walk, and carried her out of the bar. Too many monsters lurked in the shadows of the French Quarter, most of them human, and he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to the women.

  Especially since—judging by the way his body was reacting—this Jane could very well be his Vanessa reincarnated.

  His body hummed at the thought, and his fangs instinctively elongated, his mouth watering with the desire to taste her. If she’d been sober, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself, but he’d spend eternity rotting in hell before he’d ingest another drop of alcohol.

  “Keys, Gaston.” He held out his hand as they approached his sire’s jet-black Maserati Quattroporte in the parking lot.

  Gaston hit the key fob, unlocking the car, but he kept the keys clutched tightly as he lowered Sophie into the back seat. Ethan settled Jane in the front passenger side and buckled the seatbelt across her lap before zipping over to the driver’s door and blocking Gaston’s entrance.

  “Step aside, young man,” Gaston said.

  Ethan held out his hand again. “Keys.”

  “You, sir, are mad as a hatter if you presume I’ll allow you to drive Genevieve. She’s the only bit of modern technology worthwhile in this day and age.”

  “And you’re batshit crazy if you think I’m letting you drive.” He snatched the keys from Gaston. “This was part of the deal. You bring Genevieve into the city, but I drive her home, remember?”

  Gaston narrowed his eyes. “Even drunk out of my mind, my senses are a hundred times sharper than a sober human’s.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You really aren’t any fun at all, my friend.” He touched a fang with the tip of his tongue as he eyed Sophie in the back seat.

  “Don’t even think about drinking from her. We promised to get them home safely.”

  “Boring,” Gaston sang as he sank into the back seat. “I’ll oblige you this one. I’m still rather full from the bar, and I’m not sure what kind of magic she possesses. If she belongs to the coven, I’d hate to break our truce.” He gently shut the door, running his hand along the leather armrest, caressing his precious car. “I do miss the taste of witches.”

  With the slightest pressure on the gas pedal, the car zipped through the streets, cornering like it was on rails. Speed and power. It was a car fit for a vampire, much more appropriate than Ethan’s sensible Ford Taurus.

  Ethan’s glamour had sobered Jane enough for her to give him directions, and she sat quietly in the passenger seat, grinning at him as he rolled to a stop in front of the rental house, a white, two-story Second Empire style with green shutters and a balcony. Jane had a disarming smile, and his overwhelming need to see her to safety convinced him this was fate. He’d been given another chance, and he would not fail this time.

  “Shall we rid ourselves of the baggage and return to the fun?” Gaston slid from the car and carried Sophie to the front door.

  Ethan rolled his eyes and helped Jane out of the car.

  “Did he just call us baggage?” she asked.

  “Ignore him. He’s old and ornery.”

  She giggled. “I like you. You’re funny. Sweet too.”

  If that were only true. “You don’t know me.”

  “I’m an excellent judge of character.” That had to be the glamour talking. She’d completely misjudged him.

  He’d seen her home safely tonight, but even through the alcohol, the scent of her blood sang. She’d be a temptation for any vampire who got near her, and the thought of another person’s fangs piercing Jane’s neck made his muscles crawl beneath his skin.

  He couldn’t let anyone else have her, so, brushing his fingers across her forehead, he marked her. The temporary magic would glow in her aura for a week, making her off-limits to any other vamps while her body replenished her blood supply. Some of the SWO regulations had their merits.

  As he pulled his hand away, something in his core snapped, like a glow stick cracking and coming to life. Funny, he’d never felt that sensation before. Then again, he was supposed to drink from her before he marked her. It had been against the law to mark humans without consuming their blood for the past hundred years, ever since some asshat decided he wanted every woman in New Orleans for himself and went around marking them all, leaving the rest of the vamps to fight over the men.

  Still, it was a minor law to break, and it wasn’t like anyone would find out. He scanned the sidewalk for signs of the British constable just to be sure.

  No one saw him do it, so no harm done.

  By the time he walked her to the porch, Gaston had returned to the car and laid on the horn. Impatient bastard.

  “Goodnight, sweet Jane.” He kissed her hand, and the light that she’d sparked inside him glowed a little brighter.

  “Thank you. You’re a good man.” She smiled and closed the door.

  Chapter Two

  “I can’t believe how badly my head hurts.” Jane stared into her café au lait and gingerly pressed her fingers against her temples. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and she finally felt well enough to venture out of her room. They’d waited in line half an hour to get a table under the famous green and white awning of Café Du Monde, but the nausea churning in her stomach killed her appetite for the beignets she’d been dying to try.

  “It feels like I’m giving birth to a bowling ball through my nose. Are my nostrils dilated? I think it’s crowning.”

  “I can’t believe we got in a car with two strange men and let them take us to our house.” Sophie bit into a beignet, and sugar rained down on the table. “They could have murdered us.”

  Jane pressed her thumb be
tween her eyes to counter the pressure in her skull. “I know. What were we thinking?”

  “We weren’t.”

  She sank deeper into her chair. Her memory of the events that led up to meeting the men was a blur, but the car ride back to their rental house remained vivid in her mind. She couldn’t explain why she’d let her guard down, aside from drinking way too much, but the man had been sweet, nothing but a gentleman. “At least they turned out to be nice guys. Especially the one who drove.”

  “We got lucky.”

  “Damn lucky. I wish I could remember his name.”

  “I’m surprised you remember anything.” Sophie sipped her coffee. “You were trashed.”

  How could she forget a man like that? He stood half a foot taller than her, which made him at least six-foot-three, and he had the kind of wavy, dark hair a girl could run her fingers through for hours. His eyes were blue…or maybe green…and his muscular arms and broad shoulders that tapered down into a narrow waist alluded to time spent in the gym. Nice view, but probably not much going on upstairs. A man that good-looking couldn’t hold up his end of a conversation if The Rock himself was his spotter.

  “You looked pretty cozy with his friend in the back seat.” Jane arched a brow and immediately wished she hadn’t when pain sliced through her skull.

  Sophie laughed and then winced, resting her fingers on her temples. “The goth-looking dude with black hair in a man bun? You know me better than that.”

  Jane shook her head. Damn. They were both smarter than that. In their defense, it had been their first night in New Orleans, and it was Mardi Gras. Everyone went a little crazy their first time, but still. “That was pretty stupid of us.”

  “Very stupid. They could have been vampires.”

  Jane scoffed. “Not this again. Ever since you found out about your grandma supposedly being a witch, you’ve been harping on all this magic shit.”

  “I found her grimoire in Pop’s attic.” She crossed her arms. “She was a witch.”

  “So you found a book of spells. Big deal. You can’t get any of them to work.”

  “Because she was the witch. Not me. Anyway, that palm reader said I’d find magic in New Orleans. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Right, well, vampires are about as real as your boobs.”

  Sophie’s mouth formed the shape of an O as she clutched her chest. “How dare you insult my girls. They’re real.”

  “I drove you to the surgery.”

  “They’re enhanced, not fake.” She grinned. “Like vampires.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. When she first told Sophie she was planning a month-long stay in the Big Easy, her friend had droned on and on about the secret magical societies in the city, as if witches and werewolves, and…God forbid…vampires actually existed. They hadn’t been in town two hours yesterday when Sophie squealed like a stuck pig and ran inside a store that claimed to be run by witches.

  The employees had been tight-lipped when she plied them with questions about shapeshifters and creatures of the night, which only made her more convinced they were real.

  “You’re twenty-five years old, Soph. The only monsters lurking in the darkness are of the human variety.”

  Sophie shrugged. “You never know. The green-eyed one kept looking at you like he wanted to eat you.”

  So his eyes were green. “If I’d known my head from my ass last night, I might have let him. He was hot.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. “His friend was way too slim and pale for me. I want a big, tanned, hairy guy to warm my bed. I’ve got to figure out where the werewolves are hiding.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Jane’s phone buzzed on the table, her brother’s name lighting up the screen. “Ugh. It’s Justin. They’re bringing out the big guns if he’s calling.” Her other three older brothers had already called twice today, which she’d neglected to answer, but Justin knew better. Two years older than Jane, he was the only one who attempted to understand her. To treat her like an adult.

  “You better answer it, or your dad will send the Texas Rangers out looking for you.”

  Jane grinned. “The baseball team or the police? I could learn to be a sports fan.”

  Sophie snickered. “Seriously, though. They’re not going to leave you alone until you pick up.”

  Jane groaned and grabbed the phone, pressing it to her ear. “Hello, dear brother. What can I do for you?”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were going to New Orleans?” He sounded resigned and not at all happy about making this call. At least he knew he was doing her wrong. No doubt their dad had badgered him until he’d agreed to do it.

  “I’m fine, Justin. And how are you and Amy? Any luck in the baby department yet?”

  He sighed. “C’mon, Jane. Don’t make this hard.”

  She straightened her spine, despite the fact he couldn’t see her indignance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I needed permission to live my life.”

  “It’s a dangerous city. You know Dad worries about you.”

  “All fathers worry about their daughters. Most recognize when they become adults.” She’d purposely kept quiet about the trip for this reason. Her dad would have done everything in his power to stop her from going. And as the Governor of Texas, he wasn’t lacking in the power department.

  “He saw your Instagram posts. Here, he wants to talk to you.”

  Her mouth dropped open at her brother’s betrayal. “He’s there with you?”

  “I’m sorry, Jane.”

  “You traitorous bastard.”

  Shuffling sounded through the receiver before her dad’s booming voice filled the line. “Jane, sweetheart, what are you doing in New Orleans unescorted?”

  Her eye twitched at his choice of words. Resting an elbow on the table, she cradled her head in her hand. “My job, Daddy. I’m a travel blogger. It’s what I do: travel and blog.”

  “I’m not going to argue about your so-called occupation. We’ll discuss finding you a real job later, but you and Sophie need to come home right now. It’s not safe there.”

  If her eyes rolled any harder, she’d have seen the back of her skull. “We’re fine, and we can take care of ourselves. You raised a fighter, not a victim.”

  “I know you can defend yourself, but there are criminals there you can’t even imagine. Two women alone in a city like that is asking for trouble. Your self-defense skills are useless against…” He sighed heavily. “Come home, sweetheart. You can blog about somewhere safe, like Friendswood.”

  She ground her teeth, quelling the urge to go off on her father. Justin or Jared, or any of her brothers, could travel to the middle of a war zone, and the old man wouldn’t bat an eye. But Jane was a woman. Fragile. Less than. “I’m staying in New Orleans.”

  Silence filled the line, and Jane’s heart pounded as she awaited his response. “Okay. Have it your way,” he said, “but I’m sending Paul to keep an eye on you. If you don’t have a spare bedroom, he can sleep on the couch.”

  Now he’d crossed the line. She was not a child, and there was no way in hell her father was sending a babysitter to look after her. “I don’t need your bodyguard following me around, and if you send him, I will never forgive you. In fact, I won’t come home for Easter. Good luck getting one of the guys to wear that awful rabbit suit on the Capitol lawn.”

  “Jane.”

  “No, Daddy.” Her head pounded even harder. She was way too hungover to deal with this shit. “I’m twenty-six, an adult. You have to trust me and let me live my life.”

  “What would your mother think about you running all over the place and never settling down?”

  Oh, he wanted to play the dead mother card, did he? He must have forgotten how good Jane was at this game. “She would think you raised a strong woman who can take care of herself.”

  He sighed again. The man always sighed around her, like she was the biggest disappointment in his life. “All right, sweetheart. But if you get into any
trouble at all, you call me. Understand? No matter what it is.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “I love you, Janey.”

  “I love you too.” She mashed the “end” button and shoved her phone into her purse. “I’m going to strangle Justin next time I see him. I swear my dad acts like I’m an idiot.”

  “Do you think he’ll send the babysitter anyway?” Sophie asked.

  “He better not.” Her phone buzzed, and a text from Justin read Don’t worry. I won’t let him send Paul. Stay safe. She flashed the screen to Sophie.

  “Maybe we should skip the shots tonight?” Sophie stretched her arms above her head, dropping them on the armrests as if they were heavy. “Keep our wits about us better.”

  Jane clamped her mouth shut as the phantom flavor of those syrupy drinks crept up her throat, triggering her gag reflex. Okay, maybe she was an idiot every now and then, but she wouldn’t let it happen again. “Good idea. I can hardly stomach this coffee. Excuse me, ma’am.” She flagged the waitress over. “Can I get a shot of morphine in this?”

  The waitress gave her a sympathetic smile. “The best cure for a hangover is a Bloody Mary. Tujague’s across the street makes a great one.”

  Jane groaned, her stomach turning. “Don’t even mention blood.”

  Sophie snorted. “There’s no actual blood in the drink. It’s tomato juice and vodka.”

  “I know what it is, but is alcohol really the cure for too much alcohol?” She shrugged. When in New Orleans… “Why the hell not? I’ll try anything at this point.”

  They paid the tab and crossed Decatur Street toward the restaurant. A few tables lined the wall across from the bar, but all the chairs were taken, and not a single bar stool offered her aching feet relief from all the walking she’d done since arriving in New Orleans.

  “Where are all the chairs?” She leaned her elbows on the bar and propped one foot on the metal railing near the floor. “Can’t a girl take a load off in here?”

  The bartender finished pouring a thick green liquid into a fancy glass and nodded at Jane. “This is a standing bar.” He ran his hand across the polished wood surface. “Oldest bar in America, in fact. That mirror is older than the country itself.”