Page 18 of French Quarter Heiress

10

ELISE

Isit at my vanity, applying the final touches to my makeup with a steady hand. My mind is still reeling from the events of the shootout, from the way Beau's words had thrown me so off balance.

The audacity of him, to suggest that there could be anything between us beyond hatred and violence.

And yet, even as I try to dismiss his words as mere manipulation, I can't shake the nagging feeling that there was something more to them.

A sincerity, a depth of emotion that I've never seen in him before.

I shake my head, banishing the traitorous thoughts from my mind. I have more important things to focus on, like the fact that I've just dealt a major blow to Beau's operation.

With a few well-placed bribes and promises, I've managed to seize control of one of the wolves' key supply lines. Lucien and his gang, once loyal to Beau, are now firmly in my pocket, swayed by the promise of triple the profits they were making under the wolves' banner.

It's a small victory, but a satisfying one nonetheless. I can't wait to see the look on Beau's face when he realizes that I've outmaneuvered him, that I've cut off a vital resource for his fledgling empire.

And speaking of Beau... I glance at the clock, my lips pursing in a frown. He'll be expecting me soon. A part of me still balks at the idea, at the thought of breaking bread with my bloodsworn enemy. But another part, the part that thrills to the challenge and the danger of our game, knows that this is an opportunity I can't afford to pass up.

Beau has a weakness, a chink in his armor that I'm determined to exploit.

And what better way to do that than by getting close to him, by learning his secrets and his vulnerabilities?

To my surprise, I find myself growing excited at the thought of seeing him in a vulnerable state. Relaxed and unassuming under the dim lights of the restaurant ambiance, gazing at me with his half-lidded eyes.

My hands grow clammy at the thought of him enticing me with his words. He only has power if I allow him to. Yet sometimes, I feel my control over the situation waning.

I stand, smoothing the lines of my designer dress with a practiced hand. I look every inch the poised and polished vampire heiress, a far cry from the wild and reckless creature I feel like inside.

But that's the key, isn't it? To never let them see the real you, to always keep your true self hidden behind a mask of cool composure and icy control. If I learned anything from my family of vampires, this is the very mark of a dignified vampire.

I gather my purse and head for the door. It's time to face the big bad wolf, to play the game and see who comes out on top.

The restaurant is a study in opulence, all gleaming crystal and polished mahogany. The maître d' leads me to a private booth in the back, where Beau is already waiting at the bar, a glass of wine in hand and a smirk on his lips.

"Elise," he greets me, his voice a low growl. "You look stunning as always."

The waiter leads us to a secluded table, the flickering candlelight casting a warm, intimate glow over the crisp white linens. Beau pulls out my chair with an exaggerated flourish, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Your throne, my queen," he quips, gesturing for me to sit.

I roll my eyes, but can't help the slight upward quirk of my lips as I settle into the seat. "Watch it, dog. This queen has claws."

He chuckles, sliding into the chair opposite me with a grin. "Oh, I'm counting on it, kitten. I like my women with a little bite."

"Careful what you wish for," I purr, picking up my menu and scanning it with feigned interest. "This kitten might just bite off more than you can chew."

"Promise?"

I scoff, setting down my menu and fixing him with a withering glare. "You're insufferable, you know that? I don't know why I agreed to this little... whatever this is."

He leans forward, his elbows on the table, his face mere inches from mine. "Oh, come on, Delacroix. Have some fun. It's okay, I won't tell anyone that the ice queen has a sense of humor."

I bare my fangs in a hiss, but there's no real menace behind it. "Watch it, fleabag. I have a reputation to uphold."

"And what a fearsome reputation it is," he teases, his hand clutching his heart in mock terror. "The great Elise Delacroix, scourge of the supernatural world, reduced to trading barbs with a lowly werewolf over dinner. What would your father say?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't quite suppress the flutter of heat in my belly at his words. Damn him and his silver tongue, always knowing just what to say to throw me off balance.

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