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Jason arrived at my side.
“She’s somewhere close, I can still smell her.” Her light, floral scent was strongest at our booth, but it was elsewhere in the restaurant, too. “What if that bastard Francois…?” While I’d been upstairs, pursuing our deal, the deal he’d fucking agreed to—ah, but he’d made me wait. He’d fucking made me wait, the fucker. “What if he double-crossed me?”
Jason shook his head slowly, like he was considering the idea.
“I think I can track her. If someone took her, I can find her.” I headed toward the doors. “Stay here and search. Don’t leave any room out. If she’s here, we need to find her. She’s mine.”
I ground out the last two words, my jaw painfully tense. There was no fucking way I was leaving New Orleans without Leia. No way at all.
I pushed through the door onto the street, careless of anyone standing on the other side as I thrust it to bounce from the wall. I only had one thought in my head. Leia.
I inhaled deeply, trying to detect her floral scent, taking in the mixture of swamp, stale urine, vomit, and coffee before shaking my head and trying again.
My mate was here somewhere, and I’d find her. She wasn’t safe on the streets in New Orleans by herself, and anger cleaved me that I hadn’t protected her better.
Then it was there. Something delicate. Something floral. Something mine.
I darted between groups of milling tourists, their vision hampered by both the night and too much booze, losing then finding her scent again as different odors clamored for attention.
Suddenly Leia’s scent changed, blooming into something bitter and acrid. Fear so strong I could almost taste it, and my gut became a tangle of knots. I picked up my pace, almost knocking people down as I pushed them out of my way. I had no time to go around stupid fucking humans who wandered into my path.
I needed to go through.
The scent grew stronger, and I focused in on three males huddled around my mate, caging her into a doorway. I watched as their eyes reddened, their fangs descending as they laughed and hands wandered over Leia’s body. One dipped his head like he might bite her, fangs grazing across the delicate skin of her neck, and rage flared inside me. Primal rage tainted with something that tasted a lot like fear.
I roared my fury and hurtled toward them, intent on their destruction, my pact with Francois be damned.
Only Leia’s safety mattered.
Chapter 9
Leia
So many different sounds and smells surrounded me as I stepped onto the street and left the quiet interior of the restaurant. It would have been easy to get swept up in the crowds of laughing people making their way between bars and restaurants, but I’d long since learned how to move between drunk people while maintaining minimum damage to myself.
I glanced at the colors of the different bars, at the people spilling from the doors and the happiness that seemed to roll along the street like a wave. Snatches of foul smell were over-powered by cheap cologne and seafood. From somewhere, I smelled sweetness, like powdered sugar and beignets, and even after the meal I’d just devoured, my mouth watered in anticipation of tomorrow’s breakfast.
Neon signs glowed in a rainbow of colors, and wrought iron filigree balconies packed with tables and chairs seemed to contain an impossible number of people. Their shouts and chatter echoed over my head as they leaned their heads increasingly close to one another to hear conversation while they occasionally cast their gaze on the busy street below, where I walked.
Maybe Nicolas would have liked to see this too. But truthfully, I didn’t know what he enjoyed or if he wanted to play at being a tourist. It wasn’t something in my contract. I’d only stepped out because I wanted to experience something in New Orleans that wasn’t the inside of a restaurant. And if I only took a short walk and went back, Nicolas never even needed to know.
The little shops packed between the bars were closed now, but I drifted closer to the windows to peer at the wares. There were traditional tourist shops selling ball caps with bold slogans emblazoned across them and plastic pens and trashy keyrings that would break off in pockets or purses, but the one with the alligator eating the beignet made me laugh—it was the kind of thing I would have picked up for Harry or Pierre.
I moved along, stepping around a drunk guy emptying his stomach against the wall—apparently making room for more because the night was still young—and walked past the open door of a bar where the music was still jazz, but not the smooth kind that had accompanied my meal with Nicolas. No, this was raucous and almost made me want to dance, my muscles finding a new rhythm as I walked.
Something about the energy here seeped into my soul, and if my roots hadn’t been in my rundown home and bar in Baton Rouge, I could maybe have seen myself walking this street as a local.
I wandered toward another of the tiny stores before recoiling slightly as the word voodoo caught my eye. Fascination drew me closer, even as a cold shiver worked through me at the multitude of skeletons in the window. Some of them were comical, but some of them looked downright fierce.
Perhaps it was a good thing the store was closed—I wasn’t sure I could have resisted the allure of the unknown, even though the detectable thrum of power bade me stay away.
I turned from the store, ignoring the prickle at the back of my neck as I continued walking, heading toward a giant geode showcased in a third window. The energy here felt cleaner somehow, and my chest loosened as I blew out a deep breath. A range of pretty stones and gems gleamed from glass cases, and I allowed my gaze to wander over them—then took a step back as I met someone’s eyes on the other side of the case.
The lady raised her hand and beckoned to me, her gnarled fingers crooking in indication that I should go inside.
The opening hours on the door stated that the store had closed long before, but when I pulled gently on the worn handle, it opened easily enough, and the scents of sage and patchouli raced out onto the street.
“You shouldn’t be here.” The woman’s voice was cracked and as dry as her frizzy gray hair as it escaped the bun at the top of her head to wave in a wild mist around her face.
