Page 1 of French Quarter Heiress

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BEAU

1923 NEW ORLEANS

Istride into the dimly lit club, my boots echoing against the concrete floor. The scent of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor hangs heavy in the air as I make my way toward the stage at the far end of the room.

One of the dancers, a blonde bombshell with more curves than a mountain road, breaks away from the pack and slinks toward me. Her heavy-lidded eyes rake over my body as she runs her hands down my chest. "Hey there, daddy-o," she purrs, her words slurred by contraband giggle water. "Buy a girl a drink?"

I flash her my most devilish grin. "Maybe later, sweetheart," I murmur, my voice a velvet rumble. "Got a bit of business to take care of."

With a wink, I turn away and swagger toward the main stage. Catcalls and raucous laughter follow in my wake - I never could resist putting on a show.

"Beau!" Luc's gravelly voice cuts through the din like a gunshot. A feral grin spreads across his face as he beckons me over. "Get your pretty ass over here, you son of a bitch."

At the far end of the warehouse, Luc Sauvage holds court, the king of this squalid realm. He’s shirtless, his muscles bulging as he lounges on his favorite battered velvet armchair, one thick arm draped over the back as he nurses a glass of smoky bourbon. Despite his laid back posture, an aura of feral power rolls off him in waves, commanding respect and obedience from his wolves.

I push my way through the crowded lobby, my trademark smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "You called for me, boss?"

Luc snorts blue smoke and takes a swig of his bourbon before responding. "Listen up, pup. Tonight. Tonight we’re going to hit them dirty good for nothing blood suckers where it hurts. Tonight, we're going to hit The Blue Moon."

A hush falls over the raucous crowd as Luc's words sink in. Nobody runs a hit on the vampires' clubs. It’s just not done. You don’t fuck with the fae, and you never attack a vampire at home.

"About damn time we put those bloodsuckers in their place," I say with relish. "What's the plan?"

Luc sets his glass down and fixes me with those piercing amber eyes. "You and your crew are gonna hit 'em hard and loud out front, a nice big distraction for the pigs and those fang-faced guards. They’ll be caught with their pants down. Nobody attacks the vampires on their home turf or the Blue Moon. It’s genius! They will never see it coming, I can guarantee it!"

He nods toward a husky bruiser standing sentry by the stage. "We'll bleed those leeches dry." Rising from his chair, Luc crosses to a battered trunk sitting in the wings and throws it open, revealing an impressive arsenal of Tommy guns, sawed-off shotguns, and tail-kicking revolvers. "Lock and load, boys," he growls. "It's hunting season."

I snatch up a sawed-off and a sleek, pearl-handled pistol and tuck them both into my waistband, the familiar weight reassuring. As the rest of the pack begins arming up, I turn back to Luc with a feral grin.

I can't deny the thrill that coils in my gut at the prospect of hitting them where it hurts most. This is what I live for. The thrill of the hunt, the rush of power… Tonight, we will strike a blow against the vampires that will be felt throughout the Big Easy.

Later that night, I lead my pack through the winding streets of the French Quarter. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and the sound of jazz music spilling from the open windows of the crowded bars and clubs. The vampires are everywhere in this damn neighborhood, and they barely try to hide it from the mortals. The locals know to give them a wide berth.

They always have.

We approach the Blue Moon, a sleek, modern building that stands out like a beacon among the faded elegance of the surrounding structures. Two burly vampire guards stand at the entrance, their eyes glinting with suspicion as we draw near.

I smile, a predatory flash of teeth. "Evening, gentlemen," I drawl. "I believe we have a reservation."

The guards exchange a glance, their hands tightening on their weapons. "I don't think so, mutt," one of them sneers. "This is a private establishment."

I chuckle, low and menacing. "Oh, I beg to differ. You see, my associate here..." I nod to the hulking figure of my second-in-command, Marcel. "...He's got a special invitation. Don't you, Marcel?"

Marcel grins, cracking his knuckles. "That's right, boss. A very special invitation."

In a blur of motion, Marcel launches himself at the guards, his fists connecting with bone-crushing force. I leap into action beside him, my own claws and fangs bared.

The guards put up a fierce fight, but they're no match for the raw strength and speed of the Crescent City Wolves. Within moments, they lie unconscious at our feet, their blood staining the pavement.

I straighten my suit jacket, smoothing back my hair. "Shall we, boys?" I ask, gesturing toward the entrance.

Inside, the Blue Moon is a vision of decadence and excess. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the polished marble floors, and the air is heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and top-shelf liquor.

The patrons, a mix of vampires and wealthy humans, turn to stare as we make our entrance. I can feel their eyes on us, some curious, some frightened, some angry.

I raise my voice, addressing the room at large. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" I call out, my tone dripping with false cheer. "I'm afraid there's been a change of management. The Blue Moon is now under new management."

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