Page 14 of French Quarter Heiress

He knows why I'm here and what I represent.

And he's daring me to make a move, to try and take him down.

But I'm not so easily intimidated. I am Elise Delacroix, heir to a dynasty of blood and shadow. And I will not rest until I have brought Beau and his pack to heel.

The game is on, and the stakes have never been higher.

But I control myself and force a smile onto my face as I saunter over to his table. He looks up as I approach, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing in suspicion.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, his voice dripping with condescension. "If it isn't the little princess herself, slumming it with the common folk. To what do we owe this dubious pleasure?"

I bristle at his tone, my voice laced with venom as I reply. "I'm here to see what all the fuss is about, wolf. To see if your little clubhouse is really as impressive as you seem to think it is."

He laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that sets my teeth on edge. "Oh, I think you'll find that The Lunar is more than just a clubhouse, sweetheart. It's a revolution, a new era dawning in New Orleans."

I feel my anger rising, my control slipping as I lean in close, my voice a hiss of rage. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, Beau. No idea of the forces you're meddling with. The Delacroix have ruled this city for centuries, and we will not be usurped by a pack of mangy dogs."

He grins, a flash of sharp white teeth in the dim light of the club. "Well, that was hurtful, princess. I’m wounded. Really. But I think we both know that your time is running out. The wolves are the future of the South, and there's nothing you or your daddy can do to stop us."

I'm about to reply, to put this arrogant bastard in his place once and for all, when he does something that stops me dead in my tracks. With a subtle flick of his wrist, Beau summons a waiter, a young man in a crisp black tuxedo who materializes at our table as if by magic.

Beau leans in close, his lips brushing against the waiter's ear as he murmurs something too low for me to catch. The waiter nods, a look of quiet understanding passing between them, and then he's gone, disappearing into the throng of revelers with practiced ease.

Moments later, he returns, bearing a single glass of wine on a silver tray. But this is no ordinary vintage. Even from a distance, I can see the deep, ruby hue of the liquid, the way it seems to shimmer and dance in the light. The bottle that the waiter presents to Beau is a work of art in itself, the label a masterpiece of intricate gold filigree and bold, elegant script.

"Chateau Margaux, 1900," Beau says, his voice low and reverential as he examines the bottle. "One of the rarest and most exquisite blood wines in the world. Only a handful of bottles remain in existence, each one a priceless treasure." He takes a sip of it, letting it roll around his mouth before nodding.

He nods to the waiter, who deftly pours a measure of the precious liquid into my waiting glass. The aroma that wafts up from the wine is intoxicating, a heady blend of dark fruit and rich, earthy notes that makes my mouth water and my fangs ache with desire.

Beau takes the bottle and fills his own glass, swirling the wine gently before taking a slow, appreciative sip. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a look of pure bliss crossing his handsome features. "You really need to learn to relax, Elise," he says, his voice suddenly soft and low. "Why are we even doing this if we can't have some fun? We're off the clock, and there's more to this world than work, no?"

He must be trying to play with me. Nothing else seems possible. My eyes narrow at him, trying to uncover the truth beneath his easy going expression, but I’m getting nothing in return.

He smiles, obviously content with the situation. That smile sends a pang through my body, enough to make the average person’s knees buckle if they’re not careful.

I stare at him, my mind reeling with confusion and suspicion. What game is he playing, this infuriating wolf with his smoldering gaze and his honeyed words? Is this a trick, a trap designed to lure me into complacency?

But as I take the glass from his hand, our fingers brushing together with a jolt of electric heat, I can't help but be drawn in by his charm, by the sheer magnetic force of his presence. I raise the wine to my lips, inhaling deeply before taking a delicate sip.

The flavor is extraordinary, a symphony of complex notes that dance across my tongue like a chorus of dark angels. The rich, velvety texture of the blood wine is unlike anything I've ever tasted before, each sip a revelation of pure, decadent pleasure.

As I savor the wine, feeling the warmth of it spreading through my veins like liquid fire, I can't help but be swept up in the moment, in the intoxicating rush of sensations that Beau's presence evokes. The club seems to fade away around us, the music and the laughter receding into the background until there is nothing but him and me and the exquisite elixir that binds us together.

"This means nothing" I murmur, my voice husky with a desire I can't quite suppress. "But it is good wine."

"Oh, I'm sure it means absolutely nothing," Beau says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just like this club is nothing more than a humble watering hole, and I'm just a simple, misunderstood wolf trying to make my way in the world."

I can't help but laugh, a genuine, unguarded sound that feels strange coming from my own lips. "You? Simple and misunderstood? Please. You're about as subtle as a sledgehammer, dog. And this place..." I gesture around at the opulent surroundings, the glittering chandeliers, and the priceless works of art. "It's a monument to your ego, a temple of excess and debauchery."

Beau clutches his chest in mock offense, his eyes wide with feigned hurt. "You wound me, sweet princess. And here I thought you were starting to warm up to my charms. I guess I'll just have to try harder."

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he fixes me with a smoldering gaze.

"Tell me, what does a man have to do to earn a kind word from the ice queen of the Delacroix clan? Slay a dragon? Capture a unicorn? Bring you the head of your worst enemy on a silver platter?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't quite suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. "You're ridiculous," I say, shaking my head. "And for your information, I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me. I'm perfectly capable of slaying my own dragons and capturing my own unicorns."

He lets out a snort of laughter. The bastard is enjoying every moment of this. "Ah, but where's the fun in that?" Beau asks, his grin widening. "Wouldn't you rather have a dashing, roguishly handsome wolf by your side, ready to sweep you off your feet and carry you away from all this tedious bloodshed and intrigue?"

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