Seduced by a Cajun Werewolf
By Selena Blake
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Copyright ©2008 Selena Blake
Dedication
To my Word War buddies. You know who you are. Thanks for all the pushing, cracking of the whip, and support. You guys rock.
Prologue
France, 200 years ago
As beauties went, Violet de Barbarac was the loveliest of them all, inside and out. Laurent Deveraux watched, spellbound, as she cuddled a barn kitten to her chest. Jealousy filled him as she nuzzled the little feline’s fur.
Oh, how he longed to feel her affections himself.
She looked up and as their gazes locked the world and all the problems in it melted away. As if seeing him had made her day, she offered him a smile that made his breath catch.
Laurent’s heart beat faster as she approached. The brown ringlets of her hair shone in the late afternoon light. The lilac muslin of her dress molded her curves, complimenting her fair skin and her brilliant blue eyes.
He was fairly certain that she could have worn a sack and looked just as beautiful. In fact, he lost all notice of anything but her eyes and the smile that lit his soul on fire.
“Bonjour.” Her voice was soft, pure. A solace in a crazy world.
“Bonjour, belle dame,” he greeted her. Her smile grew wider. He dreamed of that smile. Of those lips. Thoughts of her kept him awake at night. She was also the one thing that haunted his dreams when he did manage to fall asleep.
Unable to help himself, he reached for her hand, kissing the back. She’d removed her gloves and her skin was so soft, so warm against his, scented by rose petals. He turned her hand over and kissed the palm. Such perfect hands. Small, elegant, yet strong.
She seemed to glow with happiness.
The beast inside him demanded he carry her off and make her his. But the man knew he must win her. Woo her. Court her properly.
But propriety was the last thing on his mind when she reached up and caressed his cheek.
How could she touch him like that, knowing what he was? Humbled, he closed his eyes and soaked in the moment. She wasn’t afraid of him. She’d told him as much. He found her bravery in the face of danger amazing.
He was the most blessed man in all of France.
“I can’t stay long,” she murmured regretfully.
“I know.” They never seemed to have enough time together. Each moment he spent in her company was bittersweet.
One day soon he would leave the Pack and make her his wife. And then he’d never have to be parted from her. Not for a single moment. She would make him laugh for hours at a time, they would talk as long as they wished, and at last, he wouldn’t have to keep his hands to himself.
Lovesick, his brother called it. Laurent was happy to be lovesick. It was the most wondrous of feelings. One he prayed he never lost.
“Someone to keep you company.” She held the kitten to his chest. The tiny creature let out a delicate mew.
“Quoi?” He frowned. He didn’t need the company of a kitten. He needed her.
He cupped the kitten in his palm and looked down into tiny, trusting green eyes.
“Just until we can be together.”
Until we can be together. Such wonderful words.
“Violet…”
She held a finger against his lips. It took everything he had not to scoop her up into his arms. Forget the kitten, he wanted to hold her. He wanted to feel her skin against his. A purring feline could never take her place, no matter how sweetly it snuggled against his chest.
She started to say something but her mother called from a distance.
Violet’s cheeks turned a delightful rosy shade. What was she thinking?
“Cheri…” He sighed, not wanting to let her go.
She lingered for several long moments, obviously not wanting to leave him. Then she raised up on her toes. He dipped his head as his heart hammered in his chest.
He’d been waiting for this kiss forever it seemed. But he didn’t want to rush her, scare her away. He slid his free hand around her waist.
“Laurent…” She sounded breathless. That made two of them.
“Oui?”
“Je—je t’aime.”
And there they were. The words he lived to hear. Sweet words of love. “Oh, mon amour.”
He leaned in to steal that kiss when her mother called again.
“I must go,” she whispered quickly and stepped back. The only thing that kept his world from crumbling was the tiny smile curling her lips upward.
“Until we’re together again, cheri.” He kissed her hand again, bereft to let her go.
She stepped away slowly, until their fingers barely touched. Her gaze dropped to the little orange kitten against his chest. Then she offered him one last smile before turning toward home.
Laurent knew he’d dream of that smile tonight. Her touch, her words would feed him until he could see her again.
He stood there, rooted to the ground until he could no longer see her lovely form striding across the earth. The kitten let out a soft mew and snuggled closer.
He stroked the kitten’s soft fur and held it out to look it over. Orange all over with a white belly and paws.
“Il est juste toi et moi mon petit,” he murmured. Just you. And me. Until they could make Violet a permanent part of the family.
The kitten purred.
A noise woke Laurent from a blissful dream.
“Vite vite. Come quick!” his brother called.
The urgency in his voice brought Laurent awake. He tugged on his trousers, shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed a shirt on his way out the door.
Burke was already in the yard. A warm glow lit the sky, bringing Laurent to a stop. Non. Dieu, non.
They raced up the ridge. Laurent’s heart stopped when he saw Violet’s home swallowed by flames. He staggered but for a moment. Burke placed a steadying hand on his shoulder as he gasped for breath, every fiber in his being ready to shrivel with panic. But he couldn’t. He had to get to her.
Laurent ran down the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. His cousins were already there. Sebastian looked grim. He dispatched André and Jules to search for the De Barbaracs.
Laurent started after them but came to a halt when he saw a crumpled form only a handful of steps outside the front door. Smoke burned his eyes as he approached. Violet’s father, throat slashed, blood soaking the soil.
“Non!” he roared and charged toward the house. Sebastian and Burke caught him by the shoulders, holding him back. “Non.” He struggled against their hold, his very life flashing before his eyes.
“Violet! Violet!” The beast inside him pushed forward, cracking his bones, stretching his muscles, giving him strength.
Sebastian wrapped an arm around him from behind, holding him stationary. Tears filled Laurent’s eyes as he fought. He had to save her. He could save her.
“Let go,” he ground out.
“You can’t save her,” Burke shouted over the roar of the fire.
Laurent felt sick to his stomach. He could smell burning flesh on the air.
“They’re looking for her, cousin,” Sebastian offered. “Surely she escaped.”
Sebastian’s quiet words soothed his beast for an instant. Yes. She was smart. Strong. She would have escaped.
But no sooner had his cousin spoken than André came around one side of the house. Jules,
the other.
“Did you find them?” Sebastian called.
“Non,” Jules called. André shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.
“No! Let me go. I can find her,” Laurent cried. He strained, reaching for the house as if he could reach inside and pluck them out.
But inside he was dying. Shriveling. He sank to his knees, sobs wracking his body, tears blinding him. “No! Dieu. Non.”
And then the heavens opened and rain poured over the earth. The Fates cried with him.
Chapter One
New Orleans, present day
The Smokestack bar on the corner of Iberville and Decatur overflowed with locals, tourists, and thick cigarette smoke but Laurent Deveraux still felt alone. Seated at a small round table in the back corner of the dark room, he nursed a glass of whiskey. A moody blues ballad reverberated off the walls and soaked into his bones.
“Slow down there, buddy,” Burke said as Laurent drained his glass. “Leave some for the rest of us.”
“I doubt New Orleans is suddenly going to run out of whiskey, brother,” Laurent said wryly.
Burke cut him a look. “What crawled up yer butt and died?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
He envied his brother's easy going attitude. Burke sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He moved his feet to the music and smiled when the waitress stopped by their table for the fifth time that night.
Laurent took another sip of whiskey. Would he ever be happy like that again? Most of the year he managed to shake himself from his funk. But not today.
His inner wolf felt caged. He wasn’t known for keeping his temper leashed. What he needed was a good fuck.
He surveyed the crowd, his gaze falling on the females. He worked his jaw back and forth as he looked them over and dismissed them all just as quickly.
None of them were her.
And this close to the anniversary of her disappearance, no one else would do.
With Sebastian and Jules mated, their pack was growing larger, and at the same time, shrinking. Each time he saw his cousins with their women, Dieu, they reminded him of what he'd never have.
It was damn near impossible to go a whole day without hearing the women’s laughter or see the love shining in their eyes. Laurent didn’t blame them, didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but he couldn’t help but think of everything he’d lost.
Laurent shoved the thought into the back of his mind and gulped down another sip of the amber liquid. Relishing the fire that scalded his throat, he prayed for forgetfulness. The band’s lead singer strummed the guitar with old weathered hands and sang from his soul—of loss, hope, and loneliness.
All things Laurent was intimately familiar with.
A mellow jazz tune filled the room and the hot breeze blew into the space like a blow torch. A single figure cloaked in darkness entered and crossed Laurent’s line of sight. The woman kept to the shadows and settled at a table in the opposite corner. She was dressed in black from head to toe, and Laurent immediately discarded her as Goth or a wanna-be vamp. Plenty of those lived in the city.
But then the scent of roses wafted under his nose, tickling his memory. He crossed his arms over his chest and pushed the recollection away. Only, it didn't want to go. It remained as fresh in his mind as it had the first time he'd smelled that sweet floral scent. Two hundred years did little to erase the memory of that day.
Or of her.
Long brunette curls framed her angelic face, and she had the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. They changed with her mood. And her smile, Dieu, her smile could charm even the most chaste saint. Her image flashed before him like a blip on the television screen.
Laurent shook his head.
“You all right, cousin?” André asked in that quiet, deep voice.
Laurent nodded. “You guys should go on home. You don't have to stay with me.”
“You sure?” Burke finished off his beer.
He nodded. “I’ll get the bill.” After all, he’d done the most drinking.
They stared at him for a moment, and then got to their feet. He watched them depart. Lifted a hand to wave goodbye. Then tossed back another shot of whiskey.
Damn his high metabolism.
Laurent savored the darker hours, when he felt most at peace, closest to his true self. These were the hours during which he didn't have to work so hard to hide.
Electricity sizzled through the bar, and cold fingers tried to reach into his mind. He slammed the door shut on his thoughts and looked around the room suspiciously, his gaze falling on the newcomer in black. A ray of light sliced across the room, briefly highlighting the woman's face. Brilliant blue eyes met his, and he sucked in a breath.
No. It wasn't possible. He struggled with the reality of what he'd seen...and of what he knew to be true.
And just like that, the light was gone—and so was she.
What the hell?
He narrowed his gaze on the empty chair, and then glanced around the room. Was it possible she wasn't just a gothic chick? Was it possible...no, he wouldn't put a name to it. Wouldn't think that thought. It was better for his sanity if he told himself she was dead.
He finished his whiskey, tossed several bills onto the table, and headed for the door.
Even in the middle of the night, the streets of New Orleans were bathed in heat and humidity; both wrapped around him like a wet wool coat.
Sex, sweat, and exhaust swirled together in a combination that was distinctively French Quarter. Thunder rumbled overhead as he started down the uneven sidewalk and the hairs on the back of his neck tingled in warning.
He stuck to the shadows; his hands in his pockets, his pace decidedly laggard. Ever since he'd moved here from France, he'd been amazed by how alive the city was even after dark, with dangers lurking around every corner. Bars were open till dawn, and party goers danced all night.
Stepping across the street, he headed northwest through an alley. The wind picked up, and he lifted his face to the sky. It would rain soon; he could smell it and he welcomed it.
The city lights blocked out most of the stars, but he could just make out the moon as it danced through the clouds.
A raindrop hit his cheek. Then another. And slowly more and more droplets rained down. Big, fat, Texas-sized drops. Commotion filled the streets as people ran for cover. He forged on, not even bothering to quicken his steps.
As he crossed another cobble-lined street, a stealthy figure in his peripheral view caught his attention. He turned and took in the curvy form in the long black coat. The hood hid her face from the light, but two aqua eyes glowed at him from the inky darkness. Cool fingers tickled his mind again, and he decided to let her in just enough to find out what she wanted with him.
What do you want?
She said nothing. Not aloud, nor in his mind.
Instead, she stepped from the shadows and strode into the middle of the street, her boots coming together as she stopped with almost military precision. She seemed almost a silhouette. Not quite real, but not an illusion, either.
Laurent’s breathing quickened, as did his heartbeat. His body tightened, going on full alert, and his inner wolf crept forward, slowly taking over his human senses.
He couldn't hear her heartbeat. Perhaps she didn't have one. She clearly was in no rush to tell him why she was stalking him.
The rain fell in heavy drops, but she didn't seem to notice. In the dim light of the street lamps, he could see her clearly now. Slowly, she lifted her hands and pushed back the thick fabric hiding her face. She was almost too beautiful to look at—and yet, Laurent couldn't look away.
He knew that face as well as he knew his own.
His breath left his lungs in a rush. Her skin was still dewy and perfect, like that of a fine porcelain doll. Ethereal. Her brows were perfect arches, the same charcoal brown he'd been fascinated by all those years ago. Even in the darkness, he could make out the thick
lashes that fringed her eyes.
Those eyes...so blue, so beautiful. He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut by a mule. Damn, she was beautiful.
What was she doing standing in the middle of a street in New Orleans when she'd died two hundred years ago in France?
His arms and legs felt heavy; he was getting drenched. But it didn't matter. He'd stand in a hurricane if it meant finding out if she, if Violet, were real. Or if he'd finally lost his mind and was only envisioning her.
Her lips were just as rosy as he remembered; her nose as perfectly shaped, her face oval and oh so familiar.
She remained silent. Did she recognize him?
He stepped closer, silently praying to the gods, Fates, and anyone else who would listen. Sniffing the air, he tried to catch her scent but she was downwind.
“Violet?” He didn't like the husky tone of his voice. Hated the weakness in his knees, the soreness that resided where his heart had once been. Loathed the desire he still felt for a woman long dead.
Could his eyes be playing tricks on him? Could this woman really be his little Violet? After all these years?
Not trusting himself or his luck, he took another step. She lifted her hands to her lips, almost as if she were praying. Her fingernails were long and polished a glossy red.
A sharp ache erupted inside his chest, and he reached up to rub it. His hand brushed something, and he looked down to see a dart sticking out of his skin. Plucking it out, he stared at the woman before him. Then she and the rest of the world went dark.
Chapter Two
Laurent woke slowly. His arms and legs were numb, and his joints ached. He propped one eye open, then the other, and found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling made of concrete, with a fan high overhead. Pain spiked in his temples, and he ground his teeth together. What the hell had happened to him?
Disoriented, he tried to remember where he was and how he'd gotten here. He lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large bedroom, by the looks of it.
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