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The redhead just said it’s almost morning again. Morning of what day? Did I miss my flight?
“What did Egan want from you? Why did he and his pack ambush you on the street?” the third vampire asks.
Almost as tall as the Viking, this guy has hair as dark as mine, with cold, deep-set eyes, and an old-world vibe.
He seems to be their leader. “Miss Dumont… you’d do well to answer my questions. I’m not a patient man.”
Right, focus on the problem at hand, Josie.
Except I can’t focus on anything with this vampire glaring at me—his pale blue eyes unblinking and beyond creepy.
Vampires themselves are beyond creepy.
I’ve never met a vampire face-to-face before. I was hoping I could go my whole life without running into one. My almost thirty-year streak has ended.
The leader seems almost familiar, somehow, though I can’t place his face. Maybe it’s the alluring lilt of his voice, or the way he holds himself, his very presence exuding power and dominance.
“Answer him!” The Viking demands, his voice booming through the space and making me flinch.
I recognize the push of will as he tries to catch me in his thrall. Defiance swells within me, winning out against the terror of facing three deadly vampires. After dealing with the wolves, I decide to play my hand differently this time.
I keep my eyes averted and my mouth shut.
The moment of silence stretches into minutes as we size each other up. Finally, the shortest of them speaks, keeping his tone soft as he addresses me. “Josephine… it’s important. What did Egan want from you?”
I shake my head. “What’s important is for me to figure out what you want from me. Who are you? What do you want?”
His expression softens. “Aye, I suppose we forgot to introduce ourselves. It’s rare we have new witches in town who don’t already know of us.”
The Viking folds his thick arms across his chest, muscle bulging against muscle. “Plus, we were a tad busy rescuing you from those nasty wolves.”
“Thanks?” I put as much snark into the single word I can.
“You’re welcome.”
“Rune, please,” the redhead chides. “At the very least, she deserves our names. I am Fintan MacBochra, but yer welcome to call me Finn.” He rests a palm over his chest before gesturing to each of his companions. “This is Rune Leifson, also known as the Viking, and the man in charge, there, is Sebastian Fontenot.”
Sebastian Fontenot? The Vampire King of the French Quarter? Gaia give me strength.
Of all the things Grand-Mère warned me about in New Orleans, Sebastian Fontenot was at the top of the list. She said he is the scariest of all the nightmares lurking in New Orleans.
I’m in deeper trouble than I originally thought.
He must sense my horror at the realization, because he turns a bone-chilling smirk my way. “Do they know of me across the pond?”
No. Not they… just me.
Sebastian Fontenot is my personal Boogeyman. He is the one I was told stories about. He is the one Grand-Mère was protecting me from. And I landed myself right in his clutches.
Impossibly. Idiotically.
That’s pee-my-pants-terrifying. I tackle that like I tackle everything else in life: with an explosion of uncontainable emotions. Only this time, it doesn’t come with the usual symptom of uncontrolled bursts of magic.
For the first time in forever, I’m allowed to feel fully. And right now, I feel an overwhelming amount of resentment.
“Sorry to bruise your ego, King, but you’re not that famous. A kid tends to remember the name of the man who killed her parents.” The words are punched out of me as I confront both my pent-up emotions and the infamous Sebastian Fontenot. “Celine and Gilbert Dumont? Do you even remember them, or were they just two more nameless, faceless victims? A drop in a bloody sea of the thousands of souls you’ve taken?”
The two behind Sebastian go stiff, eyes flicking to their leader and then each other, a silent conversation passing between them.
