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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights.

  Copyright © March 2015 L.M. Pruitt

  Cover Art: Najla Qamber

  Printed in the United States of America

  OTHER WORKS

  JUDE MAGDALYN SERIES

  HOLE IN THE WALL

  SHADES OF GRAY

  SHADES OF DESIRE

  SHADES OF BLOOD

  SHADES OF LOSS

  MOON RISING SERIES

  NEW MOON RISING

  HARVEST MOON RISING

  COLD MOON RISING

  FRANKIE POST SERIES

  IRISH ROVER

  TAKEN

  WINGED

  WINGED

  UPRISING

  LOST

  HUNT

  ALLIANCE

  BATTLE

  DUTY

  HONOR

  BIRTHRIGHT

  LEGACY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I would like to thank all my readers for their continued support. Here’s to the next great adventure.

  Contents

  OTHER WORKS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  APPENDICES

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  PEARLS

  PROLOGUE

  New Orleans, 1875

  I sat at the long dining table, not quite able to believe the headlines which screamed from the front page of The Picayune. I rubbed my eyes, blinking rapidly, sure when my vision cleared I would see things differently. But no—the bold font never wavered.

  War Over!

  United States of American People Surrender!

  King Bienvenu orders execution of President Lincoln!

  I studied the black and white pages, my lips curving in a reluctant smile. Bienvenu—at least our new vampire king had a Creole surname. My parents—may the Virgin Mary bless and keep their souls—would have approved.

  It was, without doubt, one of the few things they would have approved of concerning the strange new world born in the last few years.

  Setting the paper down, I picked up the latest notice from the doctor, exhaling a slow, steady breath. The doctor, the butcher, the grocer… every account which had been opened on credit was in danger of defaulting. Despite the provisions made by my father before he left for the War, the money was almost gone.

  The only thing left in my possession—the only thing which could not be taken from me—was the house.

  Unfortunately, if the character of the neighborhood continued to slide in to the gutter, even the house would be worth next to nothing all too soon.

  Adelaide bustled in, humming under her breath, her wide hips swaying with every step. She drew up short before reaching the table, clucking her tongue and shaking her head, the bright red tignon slipping dangerously to one side. “Oh, Miss Marguerite, you haven’t even touched your breakfast.”

  “I’m sorry, Addy.” And I was. I knew how precious every bite of food was, even more so now that the paying of the household accounts fell on my head. I forced myself to smile at her, pulling the plate toward me. “I’ll eat now.”

  “Worrying yourself down to skin and bones, that’s all you’re doing, Miss Marguerite.” Addy continued to shake her head and cluck her tongue as she made her way around the room, dusting the few objects d’art either Mother or myself hadn’t sold. “And on such a joyous day, too.”

  “Just because the War is over doesn’t mean we have anything to celebrate.” The eggs were only lukewarm but I ate them steadily, mentally calculating the cost of every bite. Even though I had told Cook only one egg was necessary, she still insisted on feeding me two. I could either waste them or eat them and though neither option was appealing I knew which one would bother my soul less. “I’m sure King Bienvenu will be enacting new laws soon, placing more of his type in command. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an announcement tomorrow about new city leadership.”

  “You’re so full of salt and vinegar.” More tongue clucking, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. “Your mama and papa would be so disappointed.”

  “You are more than likely correct.” Against my will, I glanced over at the oil painting hanging above the mantel. My father, so tall and proud and solemn, his dark brown hair slicked back from his patrician face, his pale hand glowing where it rested on my mother’s café au lait hued shoulder. My mother, chin raised high, full lips curving in a glorious smile, chocolate brown ringlets framing her face. The artist, a man my four-year old self remembered vaguely only as a nervous, twitchy sort, had managed to capture her energy, his regality, their love. I sighed, rubbing my eyes again. “I have disappointed them greatly.”

  “Oh, now, Miss Marguerite, you know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Addy.” Unable to force myself to eat even one more bite, I gathered the papers together before pushing to my feet. “If you need me, I’ll be in Father’s office.”

  “Your office now, Miss Marguerite.” Adelaide corrected me out of habit, still wielding her dust cloth with barely contained ferocity. “Cook said to let you know she’s busy working on your favorite for dinner tonight, in celebration of the end of the War.”

  I stepped into the hall, my kid slippers making little noise as I trod over the large winter rug. In a few weeks when the weather warmed, it and all the others would be beaten clean, rolled up, and put in to the attic. If we were still in the house.

  The doorbell sounded and I paused, turning to face the stained glass door. It was far too early for visitors, even if anybody had felt so inclined. The bell rang again and I moved to answer it, laying the collection of bills on the foyer table.

  Opening the heavy wood and glass, I stared at the individual on my front stoop. “May I help you?”

  “Miss Marguerite Saint-Laurent?” The question was delivered in rich French tones ending on the faintest of lilts. “Am I speaking with Miss Marguerite--.”

  “Yes, yes, that is me.” I clasped my hands together at my waist, suddenly very self-conscious of the morning gown which had seen far too many washings. “And you are?”

  “Duke Grégoire Barthélemy.” He swept his hat off, sketching a short bow. Straightening to his full height, something which left him able to look me in the eye even with the difference caused by the steps, he inclined his head ever so slightly. “I am the new… I believe the term is alderman, for your district.”

  “Congratulations, Duke. I hope you find the area easy to govern.” Something about the man put my nerves on edge. Perhaps it was his highly polished style of dress, the cut and color undeniably European. Perhaps it was his own brilliant coloring, the
golden blond hair glinting in the early morning sun. Or maybe it was the large shadowed glasses obscuring the majority of his features. Whatever it was, I had no desire to continue my conversation with him any longer than necessary. “If you’ll excuse me--.”

  “I must ask you for a few moments of your time, Miss Saint-Laurent.” The Duke offered another short bow, his lips curving in a smile. “If I may.”

  “Of course.” I stepped to the side, my own smile automatic and without any joy. Lifting my voice, I said, “Adelaide, some tea, please. We have a visitor.”

  “There’s no need to trouble yourself on my account, Miss Saint-Laurent.” He stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind him. We stood there for a moment before he cleared his throat, nodding to the opened double doors to my left. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” I led the way, gesturing to one of a set of wingback chairs. Perching on the edge of the other, I clasped my hands together in my lap, waiting for him to speak. After long minutes, I asked, “What did you need to discuss, Duke?”

  “I’ve been given to understand you are the sole owner of this property, Miss Saint-Laurent.”

  “Yes, I am.” I wet my lips, clearing my throat. “My father, Alexis Saint-Laurent, bought the property and presented it to my mother, Gabriele LeClerc. Upon her death, it was passed to me.”

  “And I was also given to understand your father has passed as well.” The Duke paused, withdrawing a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, opening and studying it before continuing. “In the Second Battle of Gettysburg, yes?”

  “Yes.” I clutched my hands together, swallowing hard. “He was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Lincoln. Posthumously.”

  “That was a particularly heinous battle. One hundred thousand lost by the United States of the American People, roughly twenty thousand lost by King Bienvenu….” The Duke sighed, shaking his head. “A heinous battle indeed.”

  “Indeed.” I cleared my throat again, wondering where exactly this line of questioning was headed. “So as you have surmised, I am alone in the world.”

  “My apologies for bringing up such a difficult topic, Miss Saint-Laurent. I do like to make sure all of my information is correct.” He folded the paper, returning it to his suit pocket. “With the surrender of your president and the ascension of King Bienvenu to his rightful place as the ruler of this country, there are certain changes which will be implemented in all cities.”

  “You’re a vampyre.” I started to lift my hand to make the sign of the cross, freezing as religious upbringing warred with hospitality and manners. In the end, I lowered my hand, raising my chin. “We were told your kind didn’t walk in the light of day.”

  “False and hysterical propaganda spread by the various religious organizations of your country.” He crossed his legs, resting his hands in his lap. “If your military had trusted your churches less and done more recon of their own, the War might have turned out differently.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.” Taking a deep breath, I tugged at the folds of my dress. “Remove your glasses, please.”

  “If you insist.” He did as I asked, tucking the glasses in a jacket pocket. He arched a pale gold eyebrow. “Better, Miss Saint-Laurent?”

  I studied his eyes, a lovely sky blue with a thin inner rim of blood red. “I suppose.”

  “As I was saying, certain changes will be implanted in all cities, one of which is the creation of a, for lack of a better term, pleasure district.” The Duke cleared his throat, his face slipping into a mask which, while polite, was utterly unreadable. “Multiple pleasure districts, actually. One for humans and another for vampyres.”

  “Charming.” If I had any doubt the Duke had missed the disdain in my tone, his lifted eyebrow erased it thoroughly. “I fail to see what this has to do with either me or my house, Your Grace.”

  “All humans, regardless of race, will be moved west of Canal Street, into the area previously referred to as the ‘American’ district.” He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, leaning back in his chair. “All vampyres will take up residence in the eastern, more French part of the city.”

  “You cannot force me to vacate my home.” I clenched my fists tight, hoping he wouldn’t notice the shaking I couldn’t control. “Not even the Union soldiers—before the country was reunited, I mean—dared quarter troops here or even threaten to evict me.”

  “I can, Miss Saint-Laurent, and although I find the idea of dragging you out in front of your neighbors more than a hint distasteful, please believe me when I say I will do so.” He paused again, cocking his head. “You have two options. The King has stated all homeowners who are forced to relocate must be given fair value for their homes.”

  “I see.” Fair value would only provide me with money. With available housing soon to be in short supply, I doubted any sum given would go far in the way of purchasing new property. “And my second option?”

  “Your house lies on the very outskirts of where the new vampyre pleasure district will be located.”

  I stared at him, not quite understanding. When understanding did dawn, I lifted my hand to my mouth, sucking in a quick breath. “How dare you. If I were a man, I would call you out.”

  “Although I believe your maidenly outrage to be quite real, I also find it to be quite ridiculous given your parentage.” The Duke chuckled, shaking his head. “I am not suggesting you participate in the business yourself, Miss Saint-Laurent, simply house others who do.”

  “Which would be seen as equally sinful by the Church.”

  “Something which is not my concern.”

  “No, I would think not.” I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “And when is this forced move to take place, Your Grace? Will I be allowed time to find new lodging or must I leave by the end of the day?”

  “There’s no need to be childish.”

  “Isn’t there?” I rose, pacing to the window and turning back to face him. “This is my childhood home, Your Grace, and you speak of displacing me without so much as the slightest inkling of guilt.”

  “Why should I feel guilt, Miss Saint-Laurent? As the district’s new alderman, this is simply part of my job, one which I must execute with all due haste.” He stood, crossing the room and stopping a few inches from me. “If, however, I were your friend….”

  “My friend.” I lifted my chin, firming my quivering lips. “What kind of friend do you speak of, Your Grace?”

  “How old are you, Marguerite?”

  “Wasn’t it in your papers, Your Grace?”

  “It was but I would prefer to hear it from you.” His fingers brushed over my cheek, the tips startlingly cold. “Your age.”

  “Twenty, Your Grace.” I prayed he wouldn’t notice my pulse hammering in my neck, for multiple reasons.

  “And you have never had a suitor?” The Duke’s fingers trailed lower, resting in the hollow of my throat. “A protector?”

  “No, Your Grace.” I swallowed again, working to control my breathing. “The War….”

  “Yes, the War, of course.” He stepped closer, bending his head toward mine. “Can I also assume, despite your parentage, you’ve led something of a sheltered life?”

  My nod was shaky, something I tried to tell myself was the result of fear and not the strange knots in my stomach. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Like so many of my kind who have lived for an extended period of time, I find innocence… alluring.” Those cold fingers closed over my chin, lifting it higher. His gaze bored in to me, somehow mesmerizing. “And so I offer you this third option, one not available to anyone else.”

  Before I could ask him what the third option was, he pressed his lips to mine. Like his fingers, they were cold, firm and soft at the same time. I braced myself for the blood thirst, the ravishment the good priests had said was part of the vampyres’ savage nature.

  So when the Duke drew back with a long, deep sigh, I could only stare at him in confusion. “Your Grace?”

&n
bsp; “For one year, you belong to me. Or rather your body.” His second hand rose, his fingers flirting with the edge of my demure bodice. “In return, I will pay you a more than generous allowance, in addition to paying for all of your expenses, both past and future.”

  “And after a year?” My throat was dry, almost painfully so, and I wondered where Adelaide was with tea. “What happens then?”

  “We will renegotiate.” He smiled down at me, his eyes sparkling. “I suspect you will come out on the winning end of those negotiations, Marguerite.”

  “May I have some time to think about it, Your Grace?” I wet my lips, conscious of the way his gaze followed the path of my tongue. “Please?”

  “If the decision was solely in my hands, I would give you all the time in the world. However, it is not.” He tucked a loose curl behind one ear, his nail scratching the delicate curve. “I’m afraid I can only give you the afternoon.”

  “Only the afternoon?”

  “Yes.” He lowered his hands, stepping back. Reaching in to his coat pocket, he withdrew a small card, laying it on the desk which had belonged first to my father and now to me. “You may send me a message at this address.”

  I nodded dumbly, able only to watch in disbelief as he showed himself out.