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“Of course you were,” I replied sweetly. “Because everything is in the area in Eternity Falls.”

Juliette grinned. “I do believe you’re right.”

I smiled like a good socialite and extended my hand to the two empty chairs at our table. “Would you care to join us? Unless you have somewhere terribly important to be?”

Thorne shot me a look—a mix of “Are you serious?” and “For the love of full moons, why?”

I ignored it. I had a game to play here, one I’d mastered a long, long time ago. Sometimes, the best way to take measure of your enemy was to share some blood and pastries.

“Ah. We’re expecting company,” Juliette said, “and we wouldn’t wish to intrude.”

“Might as well make yourselves comfortable while you wait for the rest of your party.”

Without waiting for Juliette’s response, Evangeline dropped into one of the chairs and immediately kicked her booted feet up onto the edge of the table.

The entire café went silent, and the furniture practically vibrated with disapproval.

But no one moved. Not even her chair. Interesting.

Did the ghosts fear the St. Germains too? Seemed the whole town did.

Juliette scoffed quietly, then sat in the last chair.

Her posture was picture perfect and her expression unreadable.

She would have done any mother proud. She took her time getting comfortable, slowly crossing her ankles—because ladies didn’t actually cross their legs—then faced me.

I got the distinct feeling she was squaring away whatever details she noted about me for later. Likely to rehash with her family.

“You’ve made quite the impression,” she said at last, folding her hands in her lap. “People are talking.”

I offered a mild smile. “People always talk.”

Juliette studied me for a long, silent beat. I lifted my cup and took a leisurely sip.

“I imagine this is all very new,” she said. “Eternity Falls has its own rhythm.”

“Seems to,” I said. “Though I think I’m picking up the tempo.”

Before Juliette could respond, Evangeline let out a mocking laugh. “Not very well if you’re allowing a mutt to show you around.”

Thorne stiffened beside me, her hand curling into a fist around her napkin. I didn’t have to be a shifter to smell the insult in the air. Even I knew one did not address a shifter as a “mutt.” It was beyond crass.

Anger rose hard and fast within me, but I managed to maintain an even tone. “I assume you’re referring to my business partner?”

Evangeline dipped her head in acknowledgement.

Very well. Guess it was time to take off my silk gloves. To show them they weren’t the only vampires in town.

I slowly leaned forward. “For the purpose of this conversation, might I suggest you keep your condescending remarks to yourself?”

She merely raised a brow, clearly amused.

I went on, my tone sickeningly sweet. “I know your family is famous for cruelty but let me assure you—the St. Germains hardly rank in my eyes. And when someone oversteps, I don’t raise my voice—I simply remind them of where they belong. Which is beneath me.”

She didn’t blink, so I let my smile widen and flashed my fangs.

“You’re loud, darling. But loud doesn’t equal powerful.

I’ve buried many far louder than you.” I glanced at her boots, then back to her face, letting my expression flatten into something cool and unimpressed.

“So, unless you’re looking to end up as a cautionary tale of what happens when a St. Germain pisses off a Laurent, I’d suggest you pick a target more… appropriate to your station.”

For a breathless beat, the café quieted.

Even the haunted teacups froze mid-hover, as if sensing blood in the water.

Then Thorne let out a delighted laugh and leaned back in her chair. “Gods,” she murmured, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “Marry me.”

Across the table, Evangeline’s gaze sharpened. Her smile had vanished, replaced by something far more dangerous.

“Careful, princess,” she said. “Keep talking like that, and I may just take your threats seriously.”

“Please do,” was all I said.

Evangeline moved, her booted feet dropping to the patio tile.

“Enough!” Juliette hissed, her voice laced with steel.

Evangeline stilled instantly, her fingers gripping the edge of the table until it moaned.

Juliette leaned back in her chair and adjusted the delicate cuff of her sleeve with slow precision. The gesture was subtle but struck a chord within me. I’d seen that exact movement before—from her brother.

“We are in public, Eva,” Juliette said gently. “And we do not cause scenes.”

Evangeline muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, says who , but leaned back anyway, teeth grinding.

Juliette lifted her eyes to me again. “Please forgive my sister. She’ll keep a polite tongue from here on out. Diplomacy is not one of her strong suits.”

I simply smiled, lifting my cup to my lips. “I noticed.”

The tension didn’t fully drain from the table, but it shifted, no longer a fuse waiting for fire. More like a truce. For now.

“You’re not what I expected, Miss Laurent,” Juliette said.

“Oh?” I asked, schooling my tone into polite curiosity. “And what did you expect?”

“Someone more…fragile.”

Now it was my turn to smile. “You’ll find I exceed expectations quite often.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she stated.

Evangeline muttered something under her breath, but Juliette silenced her with a single, pointed look.

“Do grow up,” she said coolly. “Not everything is a bar brawl.”

I shot Thorne a sideways glance. “She’d be disappointed to hear that.”

Thorne raised her cup in salute. “I live for disappointment.”

It was fascinating, really—sitting across from not one, but two St. Germains. I got the sense that Juliette was a quieter storm than her brother. But that cuff adjustment was the exact same one Lucien had used in my bar. Guess it was a family thing.

Then there was Evangeline, who was clearly more brute force than finesse.

Everything about her screamed chaos. But beneath the bravado, I saw it—raw power and a craving to use it.

She didn’t seem the sort to plot downfalls like her two siblings, but rather the sort to throw someone through a window and call it diplomacy.

At least her sister seemed to possess some control over her.

Three St. Germains, three entirely different flavors of danger.

And speaking of three St. Germains…

Movement at the edge of the patio caught my eye—polished shoes, a tailored coat, and a presence that made my stomach tighten in recognition.

Lucien St. Germain.