I lifted an empty hand, as though raising a toast. “To mutually beneficial disasters?”
She clinked her imaginary glass against mine with a grin. “The very best kind.”
Chapter
Five
LUCIEN
At first glance, Isadora Laurent had her work cut out for her.
I hadn’t realized just how far from grace the building had fallen. And if the exterior was this bad, I could only imagine the state of the interior. Truly, any reasonable person would have taken one look and walked away.
Curious that Miss Laurent hadn’t. It made me wonder what about this place interested her. I hadn’t met the vampiress yet, but I knew the type. Born into legacy. Raised on reputation. Groomed to dazzle in ballrooms. Her kind didn’t rebuild dive bars barely standing on their last leg. They looked pretty and climbed social ladders. When scandal struck, it was always performative. Dramatic haircuts, extreme wardrobe changes, impulsive vacations for months on end until the drama died down.
Not…this.
So, what was her angle then? Seeking attention from her daddy? Her friends? Had she left New Orleans to force someone to find her? I’d seen it all before—privileged daughters making dramatic changes all while secretly praying someone, somewhere, was watching.
She’d last a month. Two, if she was stubborn. Then she would move on, and things would return to normal. As they always did.
I’d intended to stop by earlier. Handle the formalities during the light of day. But The Veil had demanded my attention—two staff conflicts, a shipment of delayed bloodwine I required immediately, and an unfortunate scheduling overlap between a siren chanteuse and a banshee percussionist that Elias should have caught but missed.
The hour was later than I preferred for unannounced visits, but I refused to allow another day to pass without introducing myself to Miss Laurent, then promptly insisting she leave town.
This wouldn’t take long. Once I put the fear of the St. Germain name into her, I could return to my kingdom.
I adjusted my suit jacket and stepped off the curb, slowly crossing the street. The front door hung open, saving me the trouble of knocking. Not that I would’ve bothered to begin with. Everyone in town knew who I was. Miss Laurent would learn quickly enough.
My heels tapped against the wooden floorboards as I walked in, the scent of dust and rot welcoming me. Candlelight flickered weakly from a nearby table, dimly illuminating the room. I took a slow glance around and let out a low, unimpressed whistle.
This place wasn’t just abandoned. It was forsaken. A damn tragedy. One strong wind—or aggressive sneeze—and the whole building would collapse on itself.
“No knock? No hello?” came a voice—cool, composed, and slightly mocking.
I turned.
And there she was.
Isadora Laurent.
She stood halfway up the staircase, one hand resting lightly on the rail, her gaze locked on me.
I blinked, instantly caught off guard. I’d expected to find Miss Laurent dressed in heels and silk. I’d anticipated jewelry that whispered status, perfume that clung to her like a second skin. Truly, I’d expected someone who looked like my mother.
Except, Miss Laurent looked nothing like my mother. In fact, she looked the exact opposite, standing there in her tailored jeans and slightly wrinkled blouse.
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin but didn’t smile. She didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of me. It was almost as though she’d been expecting me.
Gods, she was…striking. Not in the polished, glossy, flawless way I was used to. She looked real and so fucking beautiful.
The sight of her damn near stole my breath.
Curious.
And utterly unacceptable. I didn’t fawn over women. They fawned over me.
Yes, Isadora Laurent was gorgeous—infuriatingly so—but all legacy daughters were in my experience. There was no reason for this one to affect me so.
