Epilogue
License to Bite
“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.”