Page 4 of French Quarter Heiress

I pour over the intelligence reports, marking the locations of the speakeasies and dens that the wolves have established. They will learn the folly of their arrogance, the price of daring to challenge the House of Delacroix.

I rise from my desk and move to my weapons cabinet, selecting my arsenal with great care. Silver-plated daggers, each one perfectly balanced for throwing. A matching pair of semi-automatic pistols, their grips molded to fit my hands precisely. And of course, a sleek and deadly sword, its blade honed to a razor's edge and imbued with powerful enchantments to slice through flesh and bone with ease.

As I arm myself, I catch my reflection in the mirror - a vision of deadly beauty and unwavering resolve. A slow smile curves my lips, a predator's grin full of hunger and anticipation.

The wolves believe themselves to be the apex hunters, but they have never faced a true daughter of the Delacroix bloodline. I stride from my chambers, my heels clicking like gunshots against the polished marble.

My father's words echo in my mind, a litany of duty and vengeance.

For the glory of our house, for the memory of my beloved mother, I will hunt the wolves to the last and grind their wretched pack beneath my heel.

The night belongs to us, and I will not rest until our mastery is absolute once more.

3

BEAU

The acrid scent of gunpowder and spilled whiskey hangs heavy in the air as the last echoes of gunfire fade away. I crouch behind the shattered remnants of a once-grand piano, my heart hammering against my ribs as I take stock of the carnage that surrounds me.

The Blind Tiger, one of our most popular speakeasies, lies in ruins. Bullet holes riddle the walls, the elegant art deco fixtures now little more than shattered glass and twisted metal. The bodies of my fallen packmates lie strewn amidst the debris, their blood mingling with the expensive liquor that seeps across the floor.

It's a scene of utter devastation, a testament to the ruthless efficiency of the Delacroix clan's retaliation. They struck hard and fast, without mercy or hesitation, leaving us scrambling to mount a defense.

Across the room, I see Luc, his face a thundercloud of rage and grief as he kneels beside the fallen form of his most trusted lieutenant, Remy Lacroix. Remy was a fierce warrior, utterly devoted to the pack, and his loss is a blow that will be felt keenly by us all.

"Beau!" Luc calls out, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "Get over here. We need to talk."

I rise from my cover, picking my way through the shattered glass and splintered wood to join my Alpha. Around us, the surviving members of the pack are regrouping, tending to the wounded, and taking stock of our losses.

"This was a goddamn massacre," Luc growls as I reach his side. "The leeches hit us with everything they had. Silver bullets, tommies, rolled out the damn red carpet."

I nod grimly, the taste of ash and defeat bitter on my tongue. "They're sending a message, boss. They want us to know that they're still the top dogs in this city."

Luc's eyes flash with barely contained rage. "Like hell they are. We're not going to roll over and die just because they got in a lucky shot."

He turns to face the assembled pack, his voice rising with passion and determination. "Listen up, all of you. The Delacroix clan thinks they can break us, that they can crush our spirit with one cowardly attack. But they're wrong. They’re cowards. They hit us and ran."

A murmur of agreement ripples through the gathered wolves, a spark of defiance kindling amidst the ashes of defeat.

"We're the Crescent City Wolves," Luc continues, his words ringing with conviction. "We're the meanest, toughest sons of bitches in this whole goddamn city. And we will not be cowed by a bunch of pale-faced parasites who hide behind their money and their fancy titles."

I make my way to his side, stepping over the bodies of fallen comrades and shattered glass. The once-vibrant speakeasy is now a scene of destruction, a testament to the viciousness of our enemies.

Luc grips my shoulder, his eyes burning with intensity. "This ends now," he growls. "The Delacroix clan thinks they can break us, but they're wrong. We're going to hit them back twice as hard. Those fang fuckers want to play? Then we’re going to play."

I nod, my jaw clenched with determination. "What's the plan, boss?"

Luc's lips curl into a snarl. "We're going to cut off their supply lines, starve them out. I've got a guy, Lucien, owns Le Sang out of the French Quarter, you know the guy. He's got connections with smugglers and black marketeers. With him on our side, we can choke the life out of the Delacroix's empire."

A grin spreads across my face. "I like the sound of that. When do we start?"

"Right now," Luc replies. "I want you to lead a raid on one of their key suppliers, a wealthy plantation owner named Bouchard. He's got deep ties to the Delacroix clan, and he's been funneling them resources for years. It's time we send a message that no one is untouchable."

I lean forward, my eyes narrowing. "Bouchard, huh? I've heard of him. They say he's got an army of private guards, all armed to the teeth. It won't be easy getting to him."

Luc nods, a grim smile on his face. "I never said it would be easy, Beau. But I have faith in you and the pack. You're the best we've got, and if anyone can take Bouchard down, it's you."

I feel a surge of pride at his words, mixed with a healthy dose of anticipation. "What about the vampires? They won't take this lying down. We can expect retaliation."

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