Prologue
New Orleans, Louisiana 1858
Roarke slipped into the darkened room and listened. He couldn’t stay there long. The band of vampires after him would surely barge into every room in the house in order to find him.
He was irritated that he had to be there in the first place and now found himself in this predicament. For one, he despised these damn quadroon balls, the very notion of them despicable—mothers selling their daughters to French men, who would just make them their whores, their placees . Their greed and shame for who they were was the very reason why some had begun to exploit the situation. They thought their daughters were being kept as wealthy mistresses of French settlers, but they were being sold. Free women, of the gens de coleur de libre , were being kidnapped and sold to plantations in the South, their education and beauty making them treasured commodities.
The New Orleans Supernatural Crime Bureau were convinced a vampire had lured these women, seduced them with the kiss of the Vampese , then sold them to human slave traders for a hefty profit. Roarke had taken this assignment, his last one, and when he was done he would head north to Philadelphia for a well deserved break. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to wrap up this case.
There was a commotion down the hall, and he knew he had to get out of there quick. He turned towards the window but froze, his gaze glued to the revolver pointed at his chest.
He looked up. A woman. He couldn’t see her face, her face hidden behind a mask, and the tiny window left the room shrouded in almost complete darkness, but he sensed she was probably a beauty behind her disguise.
“ Pardon moi, Mademoiselle . Can I trouble you for a favour?”
“A favour?” Her eyes widened. “You’re in my boarding room. You need to leave.” She emphasised her point by lifting her gun higher.
“Please.” He jerked his head towards the door. “You hear that noise on the other side? There are some men out there, and they will kill me if you don’t either let me go or help me.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why would someone be trying to kill you?”
He didn’t have time for this. He was seconds away from knocking her unconscious and jumping through that window. But if he fled, he’d cause enough commotion to arouse suspicion, and if he were a criminal, that would be enough to make him pack up shop and move on to the next town. Roarke refused to let that happen. He touched her emotions using his empathic abilities. She was frightened, but that was it. She seemed trustworthy enough. “Those guys out there are protecting a man who is kidnapping women and selling them into slavery. I’m here to stop them and if you help me I can—”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to have to wrestle that gun from you, knock you out, and escape out that window behind us, but the guy I’m after will probably get away if I have to do that. So I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
She hesitated and seconds ticked by before she slowly lowered her gun. He breathed a sigh of relief, although suspicion was still etched across her face.
“How can I help you?”
The raucous sounds were getting closer.
“You can lie down on that bed, lift your skirts, and pretend that we are making love.”
“ Pardon moi !”
He really didn’t have time for this. They were only one door away. He moved with supernatural speed, wrenching her gun from her hand and setting it on the floor by the bed, out of sight. Before she could utter a protest he had her flat on her back, her drawers off, skirts up and was between her thighs.
She pushed at his chest, ready to scream, and that just wouldn’t do. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, using every skill he’d learned from the courtesans in India to seduce her. She resisted, and he was impressed—women never resisted him, but he was determined.
Still probing her sweet mouth, his hands slid up her
New Orleans, Louisiana 1858
Roarke slipped into the darkened room and listened. He couldn’t stay there long. The band of vampires after him would surely barge into every room in the house in order to find him.
He was irritated that he had to be there in the first place and now found himself in this predicament. For one, he despised these damn quadroon balls, the very notion of them despicable—mothers selling their daughters to French men, who would just make them their whores, their placees . Their greed and shame for who they were was the very reason why some had begun to exploit the situation. They thought their daughters were being kept as wealthy mistresses of French settlers, but they were being sold. Free women, of the gens de coleur de libre , were being kidnapped and sold to plantations in the South, their education and beauty making them treasured commodities.
The New Orleans Supernatural Crime Bureau were convinced a vampire had lured these women, seduced them with the kiss of the Vampese , then sold them to human slave traders for a hefty profit. Roarke had taken this assignment, his last one, and when he was done he would head north to Philadelphia for a well deserved break. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to wrap up this case.
There was a commotion down the hall, and he knew he had to get out of there quick. He turned towards the window but froze, his gaze glued to the revolver pointed at his chest.
He looked up. A woman. He couldn’t see her face, her face hidden behind a mask, and the tiny window left the room shrouded in almost complete darkness, but he sensed she was probably a beauty behind her disguise.
“ Pardon moi, Mademoiselle . Can I trouble you for a favour?”
“A favour?” Her eyes widened. “You’re in my boarding room. You need to leave.” She emphasised her point by lifting her gun higher.
“Please.” He jerked his head towards the door. “You hear that noise on the other side? There are some men out there, and they will kill me if you don’t either let me go or help me.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why would someone be trying to kill you?”
He didn’t have time for this. He was seconds away from knocking her unconscious and jumping through that window. But if he fled, he’d cause enough commotion to arouse suspicion, and if he were a criminal, that would be enough to make him pack up shop and move on to the next town. Roarke refused to let that happen. He touched her emotions using his empathic abilities. She was frightened, but that was it. She seemed trustworthy enough. “Those guys out there are protecting a man who is kidnapping women and selling them into slavery. I’m here to stop them and if you help me I can—”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to have to wrestle that gun from you, knock you out, and escape out that window behind us, but the guy I’m after will probably get away if I have to do that. So I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
She hesitated and seconds ticked by before she slowly lowered her gun. He breathed a sigh of relief, although suspicion was still etched across her face.
“How can I help you?”
The raucous sounds were getting closer.
“You can lie down on that bed, lift your skirts, and pretend that we are making love.”
“ Pardon moi !”
He really didn’t have time for this. They were only one door away. He moved with supernatural speed, wrenching her gun from her hand and setting it on the floor by the bed, out of sight. Before she could utter a protest he had her flat on her back, her drawers off, skirts up and was between her thighs.
She pushed at his chest, ready to scream, and that just wouldn’t do. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, using every skill he’d learned from the courtesans in India to seduce her. She resisted, and he was impressed—women never resisted him, but he was determined.
Still probing her sweet mouth, his hands slid up her
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