“Jesus! Garrett hissed.
“We have to protect her,” I said, adding some steel behind my words. It wasn’t a request and by the flash of green in his eyes from his wolf, Garrett knew it too.
Two of Garrett’s wolves entered the kitchen, silent and foreboding. Outnumbered and fighting the drive to protect me, Niyati bristled and her haunches went up. I could defend myself and she knew it but wolf instinct couldn’t be reasoned with. So not only was she outnumbered but handicapped by her Alpha’s human mate. Oh well. There wasn’t anything I could do about her instinct and several millennia worth of werewolf conditioning. I could slice a man to shreds. So, I had that going for me.
I glanced over my shoulder at them. Aubrey was short with a buzz cut around her head and three inches of growth on top. Her dark-blond hair was tousled in jagged spikes. She was built like an upside down egg and I wondered if she resembled a bulldog when she shifted instead of a wolf. Roger was just her opposite. Tall and lanky, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders. They seemed comfortable enough together but were not comfortable in the space. Aubrey’s eyes kept darting to me and Niyati. They might all be wolves but not Pack.
“Aubrey! Steve! Your new objective is that girl.” Garrett pointed out the French doors to Brittany outside. “Don’t let her out of your sight. For the duration of our stay, you are on her like glue,” Garrett ordered. He ran his Pack like a military unit which I had to admire.
“Yes, Sir,” they answered in unison, which was kinda creepy, honestly. I turned my attention back to the yard and considered all the shit we didn’t know. About the Lieges already in New Orleans. About the purpose of this little get together. And hell, about the city. I hated sitting on my hands. So, I wouldn’t, no matter how much Patrick and Dean grumbled, and they would. Patrick had said to be fierce. I could do that.
“I want to get a better feel for the city. I don’t like not knowing my way around or the flow of people,” I said, glancing back at Garrett. “After the sun sets, I’m going out.” As if any one of them would even attempt to stop me. I was Alpha. My word was law.
The real problems with this plan were still upstairs chatting. What were Patrick and Dean doing up there anyway? Probably planning how to secure me in bubble wrap for the rest of my life. Not gonna happen.
“Going out to cause some trouble, huh?” Garrett snorted. “Want some company?”
“No, but I think Dean would feel better knowing you were there.”
“But you wouldn’t?”
I sighed, really thinking about his question. I didn’t have anything against Garrett, not really. But I couldn’t shake the image of Nova’s last pleading moment before I put a bullet through the base of his skull. Nova had been there from the beginning. He’d seemed dedicated to Patrick . . . to me. But in the end, he’d betrayed us. The thought of it still turned my stomach into knots. After that, Patrick had gone through his entire colony, making sure their sires were either within our fold or dead. If they weren’t, Patrick had given them the choice of banishment or death. Luckily, there weren’t that many. For immortal beings, a lot of their sires were dust.
“I don’t know you,” is all I said. Dean’s repeated mantra of ‘they’re not pack’ ran through my mind and I couldn’t quite shake this queasy feeling of wariness.
“So young to be so cynical.” Garrett gave me a sad smile. Over his shoulder, Niyati watched us. Evaluating Garrett, she smirked at me. He had no idea.
“Maybe,” I said, “but I’m also still alive so I’ll continue to do things my way.” I gave a quick nod to Niyati. She’d seen me live through more than my fair share of shit. She nodded back. It was nice to have reassurance, even if it was silent.
“Understood but I think I’ll still come along. I’d like to see you in action.”
“Suit yourself.”
Chapter 3
Celeste leaned over, careful not to slosh the tea all over the tray. As tempting as it was to dump the pretentious tray of hot liquid into Raine’s lap, she couldn’t jeopardize her place in the Board member’s colony and household. If that meant shining the vampire Liege’s shoes or sewing her into another dress, she’d do it.
Setting the tray delicately on the side table, she stepped over the lounging tiger queen at Raine’s feet—lazy bitch—and back into the shadows. Celeste attempted to blend in with the other decorations in the room. Ornate Louis the IVX furniture in soft blues and yellows with gilded edges, heavy draperies shielded the last rays of the sun from the room, and the overly feminine Little Bo Peep porcelain figurines placed ever so carefully on every viable surface, made the sitting room claustrophobic. Blending was impossible. Her only hope was to remain still enough that everyone forgot she was there.
Raine was not ashamed to parade her Frenchness about as if that somehow made her more attractive or sensual. Sex was her game, her stock and trade. Sex was the only way Raine knew how to barter. Then again, maybe Raine understood something she didn’t. The woman was on the Lebensblut board after all, and Liege to one of the largest colonies in the south. But none of their territories could hold a candle to Patrick Cavanaugh’s and that was the problem, wasn’t it? That vampire, the Gaoh, and their bitch had everyone’s loins girded and hackles raised; even the smooth as silk Isidro Grimaldi.
Against the soft, sunshine yellow fabric covering the wall, Celeste stood stark still, hoping to go unnoticed, just another ornament in the room. She hoped to avoid Grimaldi’s notice. That bastard saw everything. Noticed everything. His scheming eyes saw too much and Raine let him have too free a hand in her business, let alone dipping his fingers into the business of other board members. She darted her gaze a fraction of an inch to find his eyes were on her. Watching. Evaluating. Assessing. A dangerous smirk played across his lips.
“I don’t like it,” Grimaldi said, casting his gaze back to Raine. “Konyam must be concerned if he would attempt such a blatantly desperate maneuver. And now this? What does he hope to gain by bringing the Chalice out into the open?”
Celeste met the tiger queen’s gaze, willing her not to move an inch. She’d waited too long for all the pieces to be in play to be ruined by the inability of Savannah to keep from telegraphing what she knew. Grimaldi would see any move she made.
“Sending in Logan was foolhardy. No?” Raine’s French accent was unusually thick as she poured two cups of tea. The fear in Raine’s voice jolted Celeste from her thoughts and, thankfully, Grimaldi’s attention. With perfect posture and an ingratiating twitch of her lips, Raine handed Isidro Grimaldi his cup and saucer.
“That’s what concerns me, dearest,” Grimaldi said, glancing over at Celeste and then back at Raine. “He’s not listening anymore. He has underestimated them at every turn. And now, he’s dangling the Chalice which holds unimaginable power out in front of Cavanaugh and The Blushing Death’s noses. It’s unwise. And dangerous.”
Celeste caught him in profile. His long perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones were beautiful, almost too pretty. She much preferred a warrior with bulk and fierce determination but she could see the appeal of a man like Grimaldi. In fact, she had once for a very short time. But never again.
“You mean her, of course.” Raine’s voice was sharp and peevish. “I cannot wait to meet this piquet who has so captured your attention. A woman that has you so enthralled must be something incredible to behold, no?” Raine said, quirking a single eyebrow up at the vampire who had been the woman’s lover, among others, for too many years to count.
Savannah, still perched at Raine’s feet, growled at her mistress’s distress. Raine absently reached down and stroked the woman’s auburn hair, quieting the weretiger.
“Are you jealous?” he asked, a small devilish grin turning up the corners of his mouth. Reaching over, he plucked her hand from around her teacup and pressed her knuckles to his lips in a gesture that was famili
ar and intimate.
“Of course not,” she snapped, indignation thick and making the ‘r’ almost disappear from the word. “I’ve never seen you so . . . distracted. Especially with Konyam and the other Board Members in the area.”
“I’m not distracted,” Grimaldi snorted. “We must proceed with caution and safeguard the Chalice of Isis. Let them have their battles and power plays. We will advance our agenda as we planned and in the end, hopefully, we will be the only ones left standing.”
“Hopefully? Are you no longer confident on our course?” Raine’s voice was soft but held a gasp of astonishment.
“Meet her. Meet them,” he answered softly, glancing beyond Raine to where Celeste stood against the wall, stalk still, and met her gaze. “Then, dearest, you will understand.”
Chapter 4
The moment we entered the French Quarter, the six of us closed ranks. Walking in a tight formation through the hordes of drunken idiots meandering through the streets, I scoped out the city I’d seen in countless movies and the news. The quarter was unabashedly French with wrought-iron railings, balconies draped with flowers and greenery, and a mixture of cement and cobblestone streets that were reminiscent of a world gone by long ago. Tall, floor-to-ceiling doors and windows lined the first floor of buildings that curved with the street, covering entire city blocks. Fleur de lis were everywhere, just to prove that if you couldn’t pick out the part of each building’s architecture that was France, those tiny little flowers would seal the deal for you.
The place smelled old, as if the centuries of history still lingered in each brick and made the already-narrow streets claustrophobic. Combating with the thick smell of old wood and gumbo was the stench of alcohol, urine, and lust. The three mingled together in a cocktail that reeked of desperation. I wasn’t sure if it was a desire to have a good time, or to lose oneself in the decreased inhibitions. I wasn’t willing to delve deeper to find out.
We passed bar after bar where music poured out onto the street, vibrating against my skin as revelry seekers staggered and cheered to join in the fun. I imagined this must have been what Rome was like before it fell, all debauchery and vice. I did get a couple shouts of “show me your boobs” but I ignored them. No way in hell was I flashing anyone. Too many cameras and too many overprotective males in my present group/life. Miguel, vampire soldier and bartender at Crimson back home, bristled as the drunken lout—and that’s all he could be described as—shouted at me. I touched Miguel’s arm lightly to let him know I was fine.
Miguel prized very few people and I just happened to be one of them. After Nova, he’d been particularly protective. This journey wasn’t something Miguel would normally be chosen for but he’d insisted. Forcefully. I’m not sure what was said between Patrick and Miguel, but Patrick seemed to hold my protector in a new light.
Even with the stumbling crowds of people sloshing big pink drinks everywhere, I understood it was still manageable. It could get much worse. In a few months, these streets would be impassable when Mardi Gras hit. Now, it was like an April day at Disneyland, crowded, but not shoulder-to-shoulder.
The soft glow of neon reflected off the puddles still visible from the daily hosing down of the Quarter and I hopped to avoid stepping in one. I didn’t want to ruin my boots. I didn’t know what was floating in that water and didn’t want to find out later when I got home and the literal shit was still sticking to the soles of my shoes.
“There are too many people here,” Garrett growled with just a bit too much menace.
“Good for feeding though,” Booker offered in a soft Swedish lilt. Booker had come from Darshan’s colony in Pittsburgh and showed up on our doorstep about two seconds after Patrick gave the okay.
In appearance, Booker was the exact light to Patrick’s dark. He had soft, sandy blond hair with green eyes set wide against a large brow. He was tall at 6’3” with a well-built frame as if on some long forgotten farm, he’d worked from sun up to sun down to bring in a harvest. I didn’t ask him what his life had been like before Patrick. Something in the pit of my stomach said it had been bad. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it and I wouldn’t push him. But I knew how carrying some horrific trauma could eat at a person, could destroy someone quicker than a bullet and do so much more damage.
“How you figure,” Ev snorted, shaking his head. “Everyone will see.”
“In a place like this.” Booker glanced around at the stumbling women in short skirts and the men leering at them. “It doesn’t matter. Most are intoxicated with little to no inhibitions left. Most will think what they see is a ‘hook up’,” he said, using air quotes.
I had just watched a 350-year-old vampire use air quotes and I couldn’t hide the smile that spread across my lips at the ridiculousness of it. Miguel eyed me with a question glimmering in his dark eyes. I shook my head and kept walking.
“Sheep for the slaughter,” Garrett mumbled.
“In a word,” Miguel offered. “Yes.”
As I walked, cocooned in a circle of vampires and shifters, I kept my hand free and hovering just next to my thigh and close to the Smith and Wesson 1911 holstered at the small of my back. There were too many people, moving in and out of bars and stumbling across the narrow streets. As we circled around the back end of St. Louis Cathedral on Royal Street, the icy glide of vampiric power crept up my spine.
I froze, the muscles through my shoulders tensing as power after power with varying degrees of strength from different vampires hit me on all sides.
“What’s up?” Ev asked, and the rest stopped.
As the scent of sweat and fear filled my nose until I couldn’t smell anything else, I murmured, “We’re surrounded.”
Ev’s soft rumble of aggression twisted my stomach as the hackles on the back of my neck stood on end.
Garrett’s growl, much more dynamic, grew in ferocity as eight vampires stepped out from the crowd. They moved with a casual grace that set each and every one of them apart from the drunken humans around them. I suddenly found myself in the center of a circle of protection and staring at the backs of men I was responsible for as our enemies prowled, corralling and taunting us.
“That tall one is one of Ciro’s henchmen. I’ve seen him before,” Booker said. His voice was low enough that only our small, tight group would hear him over the soft rhythmic flow of notes from the saxophone down the street.
“Well, shit. Maybe they only want to chat. You know, get to know us,” I said, swinging my hair aside to better access Gladi’s hilt. My faithful, sharp companion strapped down my back. It was too close quarters for the Smith & Wesson.
I loved my sword. I’d discovered the gladius in Las Vegas, hanging on the wall as a decorative piece. She’d called to me, her magic humming with the need to draw blood and be used. On my way out of town, I’d taken Gladi and kept her. Since then, she’d become an extension of my arm. As I reached behind me and gripped her handle, the magic she possessed hummed through my fingers. She was ready for violence, eager for it.
“Doubt it,” Ev answered, his own growl vibrating in his words. “They don’t look like the chatty type.”
“May we be of service?” Miguel asked, his attempt at diplomacy. Bless him, still trying to avoid a fight.
“You’ve done enough,” a vampire snapped. He stepped forward, exposing himself from the circling predators. He was short, maybe only five and a half feet tall with love handles that protruded over the waist of his too-tight jeans.
“I wasn’t aware walking down the street was a crime,” Garrett snarled, his shoulders squaring as the wind blew through his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Don’t be cute,” a second vampire snorted. She was tall, lean on the verge of being too skinny. The curvature of her kneecap protruded from the line of her leg in the tight gold pants she wore. In the white tank top hugging her frame, the vampi
re’s small breasts barely filled out the cups. The bones of her sternum and ribs were visible under the skin stretched over bones and underdeveloped muscles.
“He can’t help it,” I answered.
“You’ve stolen what belongs to our Master!” The pudgy guy with the tight jeans shouted and the tourists mulling through the street stopped, eyeing the crazy guy yelling.
“You dare accuse my Mistress of the base crime of theft? Cretins,” Booker hissed, indignation made his accent thick and his words formal.
I placed my hand gently on his bicep to bring him back into focus. “Cool it, Booker,” I whispered. “Let them escalate it.”
“We don’t start it,” Ev murmured beside him. “We finish it.”
A petite brunette stepped forward. Pretty with large, round eyes making her appear innocent in a sea of ageless malice, she stood between two large vampires. A perfect Shetland pony flanked by two draft horses. “The fae belonged to Ciro.” Her soft alto drifting in perfect melody with the saxophone reverberating through the square.
“Oh, I don’t think they would agree with that,” I said, wrapping my right hand around Gladi’s handle and shifting my left hand to the small of my back for the cross draw of the Smith and Wesson. Just in case. “Besides,” I added, ready to goad just a bit. “You don’t deserve them. Look at you.”
“Dahlia,” Garrett whispered, “we’re outnumbered.”
“We are the strongest colony on the Eastern seaboard. All others bow to Ciro,” Gold Pants screeched, her frustration showing.
“Ah, that’s quaint,” I snickered. “I hear you have parades and everything.”
“We celebrate the day our Master came into his power,” she roared back at me.
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