License to Bite

by Carrie Pulkinen

  License to Bite

  New Orleans Nocturnes Book 1

  Carrie Pulkinen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  License to Bite

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Carrie Pulkinen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: www.CarriePulkinen.com

  Cover Art by Rebecca Poole of Dreams2Media

  Edited by Krista Venero of Mountains Wanted

  First Edition, 2020

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

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  Also by Carrie Pulkinen

  About the Author

  Drinking blood sucks.

  Governor’s daughter Jane Anderson is used to getting what she wants. When a girls' trip to Mardi Gras thrusts her into the arms—and fangs—of New Orleans' hottest vampire, he gifts her with immortality, super strength, and a complexion to die for.

  There's only one tiny problem. Jane faints at the sight of blood.

  When Ethan Devereaux meets Jane, his cold, lifeless heart learns to beat again. Convinced she's his late fiancée reincarnated, he turns her, claiming her as his own. But when Jane wakes up dead in Ethan's attic, she's loud, obnoxious, and downright ornery. He doesn't know if he should kiss her or stake her, but one thing's for certain…

  She is so not his long-lost love.

  But Ethan turned her, so he's stuck with her. Jane has three weeks to learn the ways of the vampire and get her license, or she'll be staked. If Ethan can't help her overcome her aversion to blood, his undead life might also be on the line.

  Join the supes of New Orleans Nocturnes as they lighten up the darker side of the Big Easy in this fun romantic comedy.

  Chapter One

  “I hate Mardi Gras,” Ethan Deveraux grumbled as he stalked along the bank of the Mississippi River. It was cloudy, cold, and slightly damp, and while the weather had no effect on him physically, combined with the cacophony of drunken revelry, it made him ornerier than a werewolf with mange.

  Six college-age women cackled, nearly tripping over themselves as they stumbled toward him, reeking of wine and sugary daiquiris, and he crinkled his nose. “It’s impossible to find a decent meal anywhere near the French Quarter this time of year.”

  “Lighten up, young one.” Gaston took one of the women into his arms, planting what looked like a passionate kiss on her neck, as her friends stopped to stare. The woman let out a moan, sliding her arms around him to grab his ass, unaware of the fangs sinking into her neck—and the meal she provided for the vampire—before he pushed her away.

  “Can I at least get your number, sweetheart?” she drawled, rubbing her neck where Gaston had bitten her. Not even a scratch remained in the spot he’d pierced with his fangs.

  “I’m not looking for a regular meal, ma chère. Just a snack.” Gaston winked and turned toward Ethan. “She’s better than decent. I’m sure her friends are too.”

  Ethan shook his head. “No, thanks. Have a nice night, ladies, and be careful out there.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped open at the rejection, but her friends linked arms with her and dragged her away.

  Staring out over the muddy river, Ethan took in the peaceful scene, trying his best to ignore the vexatious festivity behind him. Artificial lights dotting the suspension bridge stretching from the east to the west banks of the river cast an orange glow on the dark water, and a bird of prey silently swooped down from the sky, snatching a rodent from its hiding place in the brush—much like his mentor had done to the unsuspecting drunk woman. Like Ethan would do to someone sober before the night ended. He shuddered.

  The unmelodious noises behind him contrasted with the picturesque view of the river. Out of tune instruments blasted out something that was supposed to sound like jazz, and the shouting and laughter of dozens of inebriated partiers grated in his ears like sand between his butt cheeks.

  Why had he agreed to come here this evening?

  “You’ve got a little…” Ethan wiggled a finger at the corner of his sire’s mouth, where a drop of red marred his otherwise perfect pale skin.

  Gaston chuckled. “Whoops.” He licked the blood from his lip as he smoothed his dark hair back, closing his eyes and swaying slightly while a vampire Ethan didn’t recognize stalked toward them.

  A long black trench coat flapped around the man’s ankles, revealing pinstriped pants and polished black shoes. He wore a bowler hat, and wispy blond hair splayed around his ears. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said with a British accent. “I need to see your license and identification, please.”

  “My license?” Gaston stepped toward the man, puffing out his chest like a pissed-off peacock. “Have you no idea who I am? I’ve been in New Orleans as long as it’s been a city.”

  The man swallowed hard, but he held his ground. “You bit within the city limits; therefore, it’s within my jurisdiction to require proof of licensure.”

  “I did no such thing.” Gaston flicked his wrist dismissively. “You’ve no proof.”

  “On the contrary, I have the evidence right here.” He flashed his cell phone and tapped the screen, revealing a video of Gaston and the woman.

  “Hell’s bells and buckets of blood, I despise this new-fangled technology.” Gaston crossed his arms, lifting his chin defiantly. “Who are you? You don’t work for the Magistrate; you have no power here.”

  The man flipped open a leather wallet to reveal the golden badge of the Supernatural World Order and a plastic card identifying him as Constable Watson. “Your dominion is under audit. I’m here to make sure World laws are being enforced properly.”

  Satan’s balls. If the SWO was in town, there’d be hell to pay for anyone who so much as sneezed on a human without the proper paperwork. Ethan slipped Gaston’s wallet from his back pocket and showed it to the constable. “Here it is. He’s been licensed from the beginning. Registered resident of New Orleans.”

  “Give me that.” Gaston snatched it and shoved it back into his pocket. “I’m the oldest vampire in Orleans Parish, older than the Magistrate himself. I identify to no one.” When he tipped to the left, unable to hold himself upright, Ethan grabbed his arm, steadying him.

  “You might consider limiting the number of drunken tourists you consume, Mr. Bellevue.” Watson gave him a disgusted once-over. “You certainly live up to your reputation.”

  Gaston growled, and Ethan patted his back, tugging him away from the constable. “We’ll just be on our way then.”

  “I need to see your license and registration as well, good sir.” Watson widened his stance, clasping his hands in front of him and straightening his spine.

  “He’s with me.” Gaston loomed toward the unshaken officer, and Ethan pulled him back.

  “I didn’t bite anyone.”

  Watson raised his brow and typed something on his phone. “You’re not licensed, then? That is a problem.”

  Ethan blew out a breath. This was exactly why he didn’t come to the French Quarter during Mardi Gras.
As if drunken tourists weren’t bad enough, every vampire constable within a hundred miles swarmed the festivities, hoping to catch other vamps behaving badly. And now the SWO had sent in their own troops?

  “I have a license.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and showed the identification to the officer. “But if I’m not biting, I don’t see why it would be a problem if I didn’t.”

  Watson squinted at the ID and typed the information into his phone. “Haven’t you heard the new mandate?”

  Ethan shook his head and glanced at his sire. Gaston rolled his eyes, threw his hands in the air, and stumbled toward a bench before plopping onto the seat.

  “All vampires living within one hundred miles of a populated city must be licensed,” Watson said. “The grace period ends tomorrow.”

  “And if they’re not?”

  “Why, they’ll be staked, of course. Have a good evening, gentlemen.” Watson tipped his hat and strolled away.

  “Did you know that?” Ethan sank onto the bench next to his sire.

  Gaston waved an arm. “It may have been mentioned at a meeting of the elders last month.”

  “Last month? And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

  “You receive the Magistrate’s email newsletter, do you not? It’s his first attempt at harnessing twenty-first-century technology. Rather bold, if you ask me.”

  Ethan clenched his teeth. “It probably went to my spam folder.” Leave it to him to miss an email from the ruler of supernatural Louisiana. He’d have to whitelist the Magistrate’s address.

  “Precisely why he should resume sending paper letters. The post office is much more reliable.”

  “It’s actually not.” He fisted his hands on his thighs. “You could have mentioned the new mandate. It seems like a big deal, getting staked for not having a license, even if you’re not biting.”

  “You have a license. Trained by the best damn vampire to ever walk this continent, I might add.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “You haven’t sired anyone, so you’ve no one to teach. Our bases are covered. It’s of no concern.” He opened one eye. “You haven’t sired anyone, have you?”

  Ethan let out a sardonic laugh. “I never will.” He couldn’t even think about cursing another human to this endless macabre lifestyle.

  “No harm done, then.” Gaston straightened. “I’m thirsty. Let’s find a tequila bar. I’m in the mood for some Cuervo-tainted O negative.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “We’d better get you home before the sun comes up, old man. You’re drunk.” He reached for Gaston’s arm, but the senior vampire jerked from his grasp.

  “I’m not drunk! You’re boring. If I’d known what a bore you would be, I never would have turned you.”

  Ethan’s jaw ticked. “If I’d known what a drunk you were, I never would have let you.” He ground his teeth, quelling the ancient memories. “You promised to end my suffering.” Now, he’d have to live with the pain for all eternity.

  “And I did.” Gaston rose to his feet. “You were a lonely, miserable wretch when I found you. You were out of your mind, nearly killed when you stumbled into traffic, and if I hadn’t been the one who’d run you over, you’d be an invalid now. Or dead.”

  “You should have let me die.”

  “But you wanted to live.” He took Ethan’s face in his hands. “I gave you a choice, and you chose life, my friend. It’s a gift. Embrace it.”

  He looked into his sire’s ice-blue eyes, and the memory of that fateful night twenty-five years ago came into crisp focus. Gaston was right. He didn’t want to die then any more than he wanted to now. He’d only wanted the pain to stop.

  Gaston patted his cheek. “I can ask the Magistrate for permission to stake you, but I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

  Ethan sighed, resigned. “I don’t want to die.”

  “That’s my boy.” Gaston wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him down the riverbank, toward Jackson Square. “The emotional pain will heal with time. You’re young, and you have your entire undead life ahead of you. Now, how about that tequila shot?”

  Ethan chuckled. “One more, and then we find a meal who hasn’t drunk her body weight in liquor.”

  “Deal. Although, I’m suddenly in the mood for Irish whiskey.”

  He followed Gaston’s gaze toward a tall redhead tugging her reluctant friend down a side street toward an Irish bar. “Whiskey it is, then.”

  The place was packed, as were all the bars near Bourbon Street this time of year. The final parade of the evening had ended hours ago, giving the humans plenty of time to get shit-faced and the vampires a smorgasbord of unsuspecting victims. Mardi Gras and New Year’s Eve were the only times a vampire was allowed to bite inside a bar. All other times of the year, they were required to have their meals in a secluded courtyard, an alleyway, or a bathroom stall, depending on how classy the vampire was.

  “Vodka’s nice too.” Gaston followed a blonde onto the tiny dance floor, and Ethan leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and taking in the chaotic scene.

  Patrons shouted their orders at bartenders, who rushed behind the bar, filling glasses and opening bottles, running credit cards and taking cash. An ass filled every seat in the room, but three-quarters of the patrons stood, laughing and talking with old and newfound friends.

  Twenty-five years ago, Ethan might have enjoyed it. He liked to let loose every now and then, until the night he lost his fiancée, Vanessa.

  He closed his eyes for a long blink, making room for the pain expanding in his chest. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit the ache had subsided over the years. But the pain was all he had left of the woman he’d loved, and he wasn’t ready to let her go.

  He let it resonate for another moment or two before opening his eyes and returning to the present. He’d never forgive himself for what happened to Vanessa, and he didn’t deserve happiness. Not an ounce of it.

  Shaking his head, he pushed from the wall and headed toward the dance floor. He’d given Gaston enough time to get his fill; it was time to go.

  He maneuvered through the throng of people and made it halfway to his destination before a brunette stumbled into him. She fell backward, but he caught her by the shoulders, setting her on her feet with ease.

  “Wow. Either you’re really strong, or I’ve lost a few pounds since I last looked in the mirror.” Her smile drew the air from his lungs, and though he technically didn’t need to breathe, shock brought out his human instincts, making him cough.

  She had long brown hair, chocolate eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Her voluptuous curves made his fingers twitch with the urge to run his hands along the peaks and valleys of her gorgeous body. The woman looked so much like Vanessa, his body seized. He stood motionless, staring at her as he calculated the time in his head. Could it be?

  “Are you okay?” She touched his shoulder, and something inside him burned.

  He composed himself, making sure his fangs hadn’t extended, and smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you are.” Her friend, a tall blonde, handed her two shot glasses, and they both tossed them back, one after the other. The blonde smelled like warm cinnamon and cider. Like a witch. “You should do shots with us. I’ll go get more.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, but she was already on her way to the bar.

  “She’s trying to drunk me…get me drunk.” The brunette hiccupped and stumbled again.

  “I’m afraid you already are.” Ethan tapped a man on the shoulder and motioned with his head for him to give up his seat. The guy blinked, then got up without protest, Ethan’s vampire glamour working its magic. “Have a seat. What’s your name?”

  “Jane.” She sank onto the stool, rubbing her forehead.

  “I’m Ethan.”

  “You’re right.”

  He tilted his head. “I hope I know my own name.”

  “No, I mean I’m drunk. I don’t feel very good.” She held her stomach.

&
nbsp; “Shots, shots, shots!” Her friend returned, carrying three glasses filled with bright yellow liquid. “I don’t know what these are, but the bartender promised they’re good.”

  “Sophie.” Jane squinted at her through bloodshot eyes.

  “I believe Jane has had enough.” Ethan held up his hands, refusing to accept the drink Sophie shoved toward him.

  “Fuck you.” Sophie drank her shot and the one she’d bought for him. “Nobody tells Jane Anderson what to do.” She handed Jane the glass. “Drink up, babe.”

  “Except for you, I see.” Ethan crossed his arms.

  Sophie gaped, and when Jane didn’t drink her shot, she took the glass and set it on the bar. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are with your looming presence and pecs you could bounce a quarter off of.” She pressed her fingers into his chest. “Wow. Is your ass this tight?” She shook her head. “Who are you again?”

  “Good evening, ladies.” Gaston approached from the dance floor, and Sophie gave him a once-over, cocking a brow like she wasn’t impressed.

  “It’s time to go home, Soph.” Jane leaned her head on the bar. “I don’t think I’ll make it much longer.”

  “It would be an honor to escort you both.” Gaston bowed formally, and Ethan caught a glimpse of fang as he smiled.

  “Oh, no. That’s not happening.” Sophie crossed her arms and squeezed her eyes shut. “We can make it on our own. We can…” She swayed and opened her watery eyes. “Shit. I’m starting to feel those shots.” She spun toward a trash can and spewed the alcohol and part of her dinner into the bin.