CHAPTER ONE

 

 

Etienne crossed to the far end of his office and stood before the fireplace. “Good evening, Amalia.” He’d commissioned the portrait as a birthday present for his wife. After he’d presented it to her, he had hung it in what he considered the most prominent location in his home. Amalia was where he could look up from his desk and gaze upon her throughout his day.

He smiled as he recalled how pleased she was the first time she saw it hanging there. That pleasure lasted a mere three days. His smile faded to be replaced by a stoic, unemotional expression.

The focal point of the room was a pale comparison to the place the woman had once held within his heart. A place she no longer wanted to occupy. Truth be told, He was ready to let her and her memory go. She was right. It was time.

Closing his eyes, he rummaged through his emotions and analyzed what feelings he still harbored for Amalia. Guilt. All he found was guilt. He still held onto the blame for her untimely and brutal demise.

Had he put off the meeting with a representative sent by his brother Ivan, he would have been with her when a mob of pitchfork-wielding humans caught his queen in town. He would have slaughtered them all, and she would still be alive. Instead, he had laid his wife to rest and exterminated every person guilty of harming her. Slowly. Painfully. Since that day, he’d endured with nothing but an oil painting and his memories. A masterpiece it may be, but the portrait provided pitifully little solace.

Damn Ivan and his machinations.

Mercifully, Cade Le Beau had come upon the scene, though not soon enough. He hadn’t been able to save Amalia, but he had held her and comforted her until the end. Cade had then carried her in his arms, walking the entire five miles to the mansion to return her body to him. Etienne was thankful for his kindness and would be forever in Cade’s debt.

Her death robbed him of the only woman he had ever loved. Knowledge of the pain and agony she suffered was all that remained. Were it possible, he would have died in her stead. Unfortunately, there was no way to change history. No way to give her back the life she should have lived.

I forgave you a long time ago, my love. Amalia’s voice whispered through the room.

Shock stilled his heart. With her words of forgiveness, he found he was finally able to release the weight of his condemnation. Lightness filled his heart. He sucked in what felt like his first deep breath in a century.

Etienne reached up and touched the likeness of her face. “Thank you. And, don't worry,” he said to her image. “I will open myself to the possibility of new love. I promise.” It was a promise he had made to her in Savannah. He never broke a promise. Once he gave his word, he was honor bound to keep it.

He turned and walked to the small stepladder sitting before his floor to ceiling library. He picked it up and set it below the portrait and climbed the few steps. In this position, he was face to face with the exact likeness of Amalia. The artist he had commissioned captured her flawless beauty in great detail. So much so, it could have been a photograph. But that technology had yet to be invented when she was alive.

Though he’d tried, he’d never been able to bring himself to remove the painting. Now he found he could. Sighing, he gripped the frame with both hands, lifted the painting from the wall, and descended the ladder. There was no point in leaving it there any longer.

He carried it to the attic where he stored things he didn’t have the heart to sell or giveaway. She was a beautiful addition to the works of art that never saw the light of day. He stepped back and gave it one last look. She was moving on to a new and better existence, one where she would be more than masterful strokes of oil on a canvas.

Etienne inclined his head to her image. “Goodbye, Muierimei.” It was the last time he would address her with the vampire word for wife, spouse, heart, life, and soul. Then he turned on his heel and locked the door.

 

 

Willamina Witt, nicknamed Billie or BJ and her three friends, Teresa Andersen, Helen Jones, and Karen Hall strolled down Decatur Street. Four best friends, new to New Orleans and the French Quarter. Like many freshmen at Tulane University, they were eager to check out the nightlife.

Billie along with Karen trailed behind Teresa and Helen. The sidewalk was congested to the point that they had to work their way single-file through the crowd.

Out of nowhere, the sensation of ice-cold water ran down Billie’s spine. Someone was watching her. Trying to look natural, she touched Karen’s arm to get her attention. She didn’t want to alert their watcher to the fact she knew he was there.

“What?” Karen asked as she turned and stiffened. “Ah-ho, you have that look on your face. You felt something, and that always means trouble.”

“I’m not sure. But I think we’re being watched. Why would we be singled out in a crowd as large as this?”

Karen shook her head. “Are you sure it’s not something you ate? It could be heartburn. Personally, I’m voting for the heartburn because getting your spidey sense triggered never ends well.”

Billie shot her a look. “Yes, I’m sure. And for your information, my firehouse burritos don’t give me heartburn or set off my alarms.”

Karen snorted. “With the number of jalapenos and hot sauce in them, I’m sure they set off something.”

“Hey now. No one badmouths my burritos.” Billie shivered and looked around. “I just felt it again.”

For as long as Karen could remember, Billie had possessed an innate ability to sense things. Billie’s strange spidey sense freaked her out until she learned to trust her friend’s instincts.

Karen turned her attention to the people surrounding them, trying to see what her friend sensed. Out of the corner of her eye, movement at odds with the crowd caught her attention. A well-dressed man, someone no one would suspect, rushed toward them.

Dread held Karen frozen in place. His scrutiny was just a bit too focused, and it creeped her out. The man shouldered his way through the last few people between himself and Billie. The way Mr. Creepy fixated on her friend’s purse exceeded extreme, to say the least. Before Karen could yell a warning, he tried to yank the purse from Billie’s shoulder.

The force of Billie’s assailant's attack threw her to the sidewalk. Somehow, Billie managed to hang onto the strap with one hand. The uneven sidewalk scraped and bloodied her knees. The hem of her skirt tore. Still, she held on.

Mr. Creepy backhanded her hard and yanked again. “Give me the purse, bitch, or I’ll cut you.”

Billie snarled at the man and tried to yank her bag from his hands. Karen knew there was no way that bastard was getting Billie’s favorite purse.

As his free hand went for his back pocket, Karen jumped on him from behind and pummeled him with everything she had. She might as well have been a flea for all Mr. Creepy noticed.

What felt like an eternity lasted mere seconds. Funny how time stretched when you were in danger. Just as Billie’s fingers slipped and the mugger started to turn and make a run for it, a tall, wide-shouldered man leapt from the doorway where Billie had fallen.

Karen jumped from his back as the stranger jerked the mugger away from her. Billie noted intensity, like a flame blazing in his eyes, that wasn't quite normal as he put himself between her and the mugger. The man looked as if he could undoubtedly kill her attacker and not think twice about it. She sensed he wouldn’t unless provoked.

Billie slumped wearily and watched in astonishment as her hero fought her attacker with skills gained only through a crap-load of experience. A blade flashed in the waning sunlight but never had the chance to gain purchase. Her hero captured the mugger’s wrist and squeezed until he cried like a little girl and dropped it to the sidewalk. Then he slammed the man back so hard, the attacker bounced off the brick exterior of the restaurant before slumping in a heap at his feet.

The wail of sirens cut through the excited, frantic voices that blended into a single incoherent din.

Billie gratefully accepted Karen’s outstretched hand. Her shaky legs wouldn’t get her upright without assistance. She noticed Karen eyeing the mugger and her hero as she helped her to her feet. Once upright, she brushed the dirt and filth from the sidewalk off her clothing.

The man who had saved them, turned slightly, only enough to address them but still keep his attention on the mugger.

“Have any of you ladies been harmed?”

“No. I don’t think so,” Billie answered in a shaky voice. “A little scraped and bruised but nothing life-threatening.”

Teresa and Helen broke through the crowd with frantic expressions on their faces.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” Teresa cried, examining Billie as thoroughly as any doctor would.

Billie saw Helen’s focus jump from her to the men against the wall, and then her friend’s eyes narrowed menacingly. Billie elbowed Karen, then nodded at Helen.

Karen grabbed Helen’s arm, and in a quiet voice, she warned, “Don’t do it. The police will be here any second. This isn’t the time for a brawl. Come on, Helen, let it go.”

Typically, Helen had an even temper. In actuality, she was a timid, empathetic person. So much so, her parents sent her to a martial arts school to gain confidence. Years of training in the dojo instilled the badly needed self-esteem and also taught her how to fight. She also learned never to use her training to initiate an attack. But defense of self or loved ones? Oh yeah, that was allowed. Threaten her friends or family and kiss your ass goodbye.

There were more than a few boys back home who could tell tales that would curl your hair. The idiots were continually harassing one of Helen’s friends to egg her on, sure that once they got her to fight, they would be able to take her and claim bragging rights. Helen didn’t lose. Ever.

Their hero nodded to the open doorway of the bar. “Why don’t you ladies go inside and take a seat, I’ll join you in a minute. The police will want a report, and in my opinion, you would enjoy a stiff drink more than an interrogation.”

Billie groaned as Teresa studied her knees like she was ready to do major surgery. “Good idea. Let’s wait inside and see if we can get your knees taken care of.”

Billie rolled her eyes. Sometimes Teresa took her desire to be a general practitioner a bit too far.

“Yeah, okay.” She followed her friends toward the door. She wanted to thank her hero, but she had the feeling he wanted her out of sight, so her gratitude would have to wait.

One last glance at her attacker revealed her hero’s rage-darkened eyes. His gaze was fixed on her torn skirt and bloodied knees. Billie watched as his grip tightened on the mugger’s throat. The last thing she heard as she disappeared into the cool interior of the restaurant were gurgles and sputtering.

The instant she took a seat at the bar, Teresa launched into doctor mode. She ordered the wait staff around like she owned the place. In seconds, she had them rushing to get soap, water, and a clean cloth. Billie had to hand it to her friend; she knew how to take charge of a situation.

About five minutes later, the crowd dispersed. The police cars pulled away with the mugger in the back seat, and her hero sauntered through the door as if nothing happened.

Richie gave the one called Billie a smile as he walked around the end of the bar and tucked a bottle opener into his back pocket. “Are you all right, cher?” he asked as he reached across the bar to shake each of their hands. “I’m Richie.” One by one the ladies introduced themselves.

Richie turned his attention back to Billie and waited for her response to his question. He was concerned she may be more injured than she was letting on.

“It all happened so fast. One second we were walking down the sidewalk and then suddenly I was yanked off balance by my purse strap. Thank God you came when you did. The asshole had a knife. He could have hurt someone.”

Richie blushed slightly. She looked at him like he was a superhero and that embarrassed him. It was time to shine the spotlight on something else.

“How about that drink to calm your nerves. And if you’re interested, I can give you a few safety pointers. Please, don’t let this incident color your opinion of the Quarter. Believe it or not, muggings rarely happen around here. Violent crime is usually reserved for the seedier parts of town. Sure, pickpockets are common, but straight up mugging is very unusual.”

“Okay, I’ll take a kamikaze,” Billie said.

Richie chuckled and mixed her drink. The other ladies had soda. He wondered if it was from frayed nerves or if they always ordered soft drinks.

“You said you had advice for us?” Helen asked.

“I do. With a few changes, you will be much safer than you were today.” Richie held up his hand and ticked off his suggestions as he said them. “Whenever possible, carry what you need in your pockets. If you must carry a purse, hold it in front of you, not beside you or behind you. If you choose to carry a purse, take all unnecessary items from it, and only take what you need. Regardless of what you decide to do, make sure to leave any extra credit cards and IDs such as Social Security cards at home. And never store personal information on your cell phone.

“If you stop to eat or have a drink, keep your purse in sight at all times. After the sun goes down, stay to well-lit sidewalks and roads. And never walk alone at night. I promise that if you follow these suggestions, you’ll have a lot less trouble.”

“That doesn’t sound so difficult,” Teresa said, nodding.

“Sure, we can do those things,” Karen agreed.

 

 

Four years flew by in the blink of an eye. Richie couldn’t believe the girls were already graduating. Tonight, they were coming to the bar for one final toast to best friends and a night on the town before Teresa got hitched and Billie started her master’s degree program.

A melancholy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his heart ached. Dang, he would miss those ladies. At least Karen had decided to stay in New Orleans, and Billie would be around a couple more years. He leaned against the back bar and recalled the many memories of the time they had spent together. There weren’t many restaurants the five of them hadn’t tried. Of course, Café Du Monde was always good for a few laughs. He’d lost count of the number of times they had gone for late night Beignets and chocolate milk to soak up the alcohol they’d consumed. He closed his eyes and easily pictured the powdered sugar flying. They learned early on not to wear dark colors if they were going clubbing.

The expression on the faces of single men when he walked in with four beautiful women never got old, either. They had no idea he hadn’t dated a single one of them, but that was his secret. Let them eat their hearts out wondering.

Richie rubbed his aching chest. Pain stabbed his heart again. Two of the women he considered little sisters were moving away. Earlier that morning he had helped them pack up their apartment and load their cars. Thank Goddess; Billie and Karen were staying a couple more years. He couldn’t take losing them all at once.

How much longer? He twisted his wrist to check his watch. Dang it, there was still an hour before they showed. At least the bar was busy enough to supply a distraction.

The blasted hour was finally dragging its rear end to a close. Any second, his ladies would walk through the door.

Billie’s voice broke through his downhearted thoughts. “Can I get a little service over here?”

Then he heard Helen ask, “Are you all right, Richie?”

His gaze zeroed in on his friends seated across the bar. Running around the twenty-foot behemoth would take too long. He vaulted over the dang thing and swept as many of them into his arms as he could manage.

“Hey there, big guy. Are you okay?” Teresa asked as she extracted herself from his grip.

“I never thought this day would end. I’m going to miss you gals so dang much!”

“What are we? Chopped liver?” Billie and Karen blustered. “And here we brought new friends to introduce to you.”

Richie pulled Billie and Karen into a rib-cracking group hug. “You have no idea how grateful I am that you’re sticking around.”

Billie laughed. "Well, all right then. You’re forgiven.” Then she mock scowled at Helen, Teresa. “Since my old friends are abandoning me, let me introduce our new crew. These lovely ladies are Pam Altman, Amy Olson, Jessie Clemons, and Jackie Allman.”

Richie said hello to each in turn and shook their hands.

“They’re our cohorts in crime. Pam is particularly gifted with cherry bombs. Watching her blow up a toilet is a thing of beauty.”

Richie barked out a laugh. “As long as you stay away from my bathroom with your explosives we will get along great.”

“Don’t write me off completely,” Teresa hurriedly said. “I want you at my wedding.”

Richie pulled Teresa close and kissed her cheek. “Screaming banshees couldn’t keep me away.”

“Good, you had me worried. It wouldn’t be right if you weren’t there.”

“Can we get this party on the road?” Billie asked as she slid from her bar stool.

“Absolutely. Let me clock out and change. I’ll only be a minute.”

Everyone began talking at once. What should they do on their last night in town?

Billie watched Teresa look left and right, taking in her best friends, then a grin pulling at Teresa’s lips as she pushed back from the bar. “You know, I think we should do something crazy and touristy as a goodbye to this great old city.”

“Like what?” Helen asked.

“I know what we should do,” Billie squealed. “Why don't we take a vampire tour?”

“A vampire tour? That’s stupid.” Karen frowned.

“Karen is just scared a real vampire is going to jump out and bite her,” Helen teased.

“I am not,” Karen mumbled. But they all knew she hid under the covers when they watched scary movies.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Teresa said, backing up Billie’s suggestion.

“What’s a great idea?” Richie asked when he rejoined them tucking in his shirt.

“A vampire tour,” Billie answered excitedly. “We’ve been here for four years, and we’ve never taken a tour.”

“Okay, if you really want to. In my opinion, those tour guides don’t know shit, but this is just for fun, so I’m in.”

“Vampires aren’t real,” Karen said. She looked at Helen. “Right?”

“No, silly,” Helen said firmly as she grabbed her purse. “They’re just teasing you.”

Karen sighed. “That’s what you think. I met a gang of them in Savanah,” she mumbled under her breath.

Richie checked the time. “It’s six. I vote we buy the tour tickets, then find dinner and maybe a drink or two. We have a couple of hours to waste before the tours start for the night. A few cocktails might spice up the tour and make it more interesting.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Teresa agreed. “Where should we eat?”

“Since it’s your last hurrah, how about dinner at Irene’s. I love their Lamb à la Provence.”

“Awesome! There’s a ticket office between here and there,” Helen interjected.

“Why are we still sitting here? Let’s go,” Billie said and took Richie’s arm as she marched out the door. At the last second, she turned to Karen. “Come on, sweetie. I'll keep you safe from the scary vampires and ghosts. Who knows, we might even see a werewolf.”

Richie chuckled and nudged her. “Stop it, you big meanie. You’re getting her all worked up.”

They were one shop down from the tour office when Teresa became excited. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed and pointed at the souvenir store’s window. “Vampire fangs! We should all wear them during the tour,” she shouted and ran inside to purchase enough for everyone.

Teresa was in and out in about two minutes. Her smile lit her face like a thousand watt bulb as she waved a bag full of plastic fangs. The ladies groaned, but in the end, they would all be sporting fangs, no doubt about it.

 

 

Billie sighed and rubbed her tummy. Dinner proved to be as delicious as Richie promised. They had full stomachs and a few cocktails under their belt. It was time for the vampire tour. The cashier at the ticket office said to meet on the steps of the cathedral. So there they sat, waiting for their tour guide to appear.

A few minutes later a man in a dramatic long black coat and top hat rounded the corner. Billie rolled her eyes at the spectacle he made. That had to be him. No one else was crazy enough to wear a full-length coat in the heat wave New Orleans was suffering through.

Other than their group of nine, there was a family of four and a young couple. It looked like the tour was going to be an intimate affair.

The first couple of times the tour guide stopped to talk, he told stories that were more along the lines of a history lesson than anything to do with creatures bearing fangs.

“This sucks!” Billie hissed into Teresa’s ear. “We’re on a vampire tour with no vampires.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” She nodded.

Billie’s annoyance faded as she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Damn it. She was being watched again. Screw that! If it was another mugger, bring it on. She was in the mood to kick a mugger’s ass tonight.

Surprisingly, this felt different. Not so much threatening or dangerous. Instead, the feeling was laced with intent and interest. What the heck?

Nonchalantly, Billie turned her head. There was no sign of the source of her discomfort. No one was paying attention to them at all.

Sure, there were people on the sidewalk and street. Tons of tourists and even a couple of tarot card readers with tables along the fence that enclosed the cathedrals backyard. But not a single person was looking their way.

Billie shook her head. “I must be imagining things.”

At least that's what she told herself until she spotted a man leaning against the corner of a building across the street. Goosebumps raced across her skin. He was staring directly at her. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them on her. She doubted he was even blinking. How dangerous could he be? He was dressed in a crisp dress shirt and wore sexy sunglasses. Granted the glasses were strange since the sun was down, but they sure were smoking hot on him. She shrugged. He was probably just a businessman curious about the tour group.

From this distance, she had no idea if he was handsome or ordinary. He obviously had long hair; she’d glimpsed a ponytail when he turned to watch a pedestrian walk by. The dark sunglasses he wore obscured his eyes, and the shadow he stood in made it impossible to tell much else. In fact, given his glasses, she couldn't tell for sure where he was looking, but every goosebump on her body said he was focused on her. It made little difference. Stuffed suits weren’t her type. She preferred bad boys.

Her mind wrote him off as a threat, but her intuition screamed to keep an eye on him. She couldn’t put her finger on the issue, but there was something about him. She’d never gotten a dark and dangerous vibe off a suit before. But this guy was dripping with commanding, dominant energy. But it didn’t feel like his dark energy was pointed at her. No, it was more like he was accustomed to being in charge of everything he surveyed.

She rubbed her neck uneasily, wishing he would turn his attention somewhere else.

“Is something wrong?” Richie asked.

“No. It’s nothing,” she said a little too quickly and tried to cover with a smile.

Not only did the feeling not fade, it grew stronger. The man was intense, fierce, and oozed danger. But for some reason, which Billie couldn’t explain, she knew he would never hurt her. Actually, it felt like the opposite. This guy would shred anyone who threatened her. How the heck did she know that? She hadn’t even met the guy, and he unnerved her.

If she pointed the man out, there was no telling what Richie would do. He was very protective of all the girls, and this was their last night in the French Quarter as a group. So, she kept her thoughts to herself. She didn’t want a fight or, for that matter, to get the cops involved.