Page 35 of French Quarter Heiress

Mimi nods, her expression turning serious for a moment. "Then we must act quickly. Meet me in the lower kitchen at midnight. Come alone, and tell no one of this plan."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. "I'll be there. But Mimi, if this is another one of your games, if you're playing me for a fool..."

Mimi holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin returning. "Relax, Elise. I'm on your side for once. Besides, I've always had a soft spot for star-crossed lovers. It's all so terribly romantic, don't you think?"

"You're impossible, Mimi. But... Thank you. I won't forget this."

Mimi winks, turning to leave with a swish of her skirts. "Don't thank me yet, darling. We still have a very long way to go before this is over."

"Fine," I say, my voice firm with resolve. "I'll meet you, but Mimi, if you're leading me into a trap..."

Mimi places a hand over her heart, her expression one of mock offense. "Moi? Never! I am a vampiress of my word, Elise. When I say I will help you, I mean it. Now, run along and try to look a little less pathetic, will you? We have a jailbreak to plan!"

As Mimi saunters away, humming a jaunty tune under her breath, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amid the darkness. It's a dangerous gamble, trusting Mimi, but it's a gamble I'm willing to take. For Beau, for our love, I would risk anything. Even putting my fate in the hands of an eccentric, mischievous vampire with a penchant for trouble.

24

BEAU

Iwake to the sound of metal clanging against the bars of my cell, the harsh noise echoing through the dank, musty dungeon. My body aches from the cold, hard stone floor, and the weight of the magic collar around my neck feels like a constant, suffocating presence. It's a cruel reminder of my powerlessness, the way it suppresses my ability to shift, leaving me trapped in this weak, vulnerable human form.

"Rise and shine, dog," a guard sneers, his face twisted into a cruel smile. "Time for your daily dose of misery."

I slowly sit up, my muscles protesting with every movement. The guard unlocks the cell and tosses a leash around my neck to walk me to the courtyard. He turns me loose out the front door and I step out into the courtyard, the morning sun doing little to warm the chill that has settled deep in my bones. The collar around my neck feels heavier with each passing moment, a physical manifestation of the shame and humiliation that now define my existence.

As I make my way toward the front gates, I can feel the eyes of the other servants and guards upon me, their gazes a mix of pity, disgust, and morbid curiosity. They whisper among themselves, their voices carrying on the cool morning breeze.

"Is that the enforcer? The one who used to be the princess's lover?"

"Look at him now, paraded around like a common dog. How the mighty have fallen."

I clench my jaw, trying to block out their words, but it's impossible. The weight of their judgment, their condemnation, settles upon my shoulders like a physical burden.

The guards at the front gate smirk as I approach, their eyes gleaming with a sadistic sort of glee. They know the humiliation that awaits me beyond these walls, the ultimate degradation of being forced to walk among the masses with my shame on full display.

"Off to fetch the master's paper and coffee, are we?" one of them sneers, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "Better hurry along, dog. Wouldn't want to keep your Master waiting." With a wave of his hand, the gates swing open, and I step out into the bustling streets of New Orleans.

I keep my head down as I walk the streets I once haunted, my eyes fixed on the ground before me, but it does little to alleviate the sense of vulnerability, of exposure. I am a spectacle, a cautionary tale, a once-proud warrior reduced to a collared slave.

As I step into the coffee shop, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods fills my nostrils, but it brings me no comfort. I take my place in line, acutely aware of the shocked and disgusted looks being thrown my way.

"Mommy, what's wrong with that man?" a little girl asks, her voice carrying across the crowded café. "Why is he wearing a collar like a dog?"

Her mother quickly hushes her, pulling her close as she shoots me a look of mingled fear and revulsion. I can feel the heat of shame rising in my cheeks, the humiliation of being treated as something less than human, something to be gawked at and ridiculed.

Finally, I reach the counter, my voice barely above a whisper as I place the Don's order. The barista's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of my collar, her hands trembling slightly as she prepares the coffee.

"I... I'm sorry," she mumbles, her gaze darting away from mine as she hands me the cup. "I didn't mean to stare."

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and make my way back out onto the street.

The journey back to the Delacroix manor feels like an eternity, each step a reminder of how far I have fallen, of how much I have lost.

But beneath the shame and humiliation, a flicker of defiance still burns within me. I will endure this, I tell myself, I will survive this nightmare. For Elise, for the love of my pack.

I step into the Don's chambers, the morning paper clutched in one hand, the steaming cup of coffee in the other. The collar around my neck feels like a noose, tightening with every breath I take.

The Don looks up from his desk, a cruel smile playing across his lips as he takes in the sight of me, the once-proud werewolf reduced to his personal servant. Just a snap of his fingers and I die, the bound collar giving him total control.

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