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Chapter Five

LUCIEN

At first glance, Isadora Laurent had her work cut out for her.

I hadn’t realized just how far from grace the building had fallen. And if the exterior was this bad, I could only imagine the state of the interior. Truly, any reasonable person would have taken one look and walked away.

Curious that Miss Laurent hadn’t. It made me wonder what about this place interested her.

I hadn’t met the vampiress yet, but I knew the type.

Born into legacy. Raised on reputation. Groomed to dazzle in ballrooms. Her kind didn’t rebuild dive bars barely standing on their last leg.

They looked pretty and climbed social ladders.

When scandal struck, it was always performative.

Dramatic haircuts, extreme wardrobe changes, impulsive vacations for months on end until the drama died down.

Not…this.

So, what was her angle then? Seeking attention from her daddy? Her friends? Had she left New Orleans to force someone to find her? I’d seen it all before—privileged daughters making dramatic changes all while secretly praying someone, somewhere, was watching.

She’d last a month. Two, if she was stubborn. Then she would move on, and things would return to normal. As they always did.

I’d intended to stop by earlier. Handle the formalities during the light of day.

But The Veil had demanded my attention—two staff conflicts, a shipment of delayed bloodwine I required immediately, and an unfortunate scheduling overlap between a siren chanteuse and a banshee percussionist that Elias should have caught but missed.

The hour was later than I preferred for unannounced visits, but I refused to allow another day to pass without introducing myself to Miss Laurent, then promptly insisting she leave town.

This wouldn’t take long. Once I put the fear of the St. Germain name into her, I could return to my kingdom.

I adjusted my suit jacket and stepped off the curb, slowly crossing the street. The front door hung open, saving me the trouble of knocking. Not that I would’ve bothered to begin with. Everyone in town knew who I was. Miss Laurent would learn quickly enough.

My heels tapped against the wooden floorboards as I walked in, the scent of dust and rot welcoming me. Candlelight flickered weakly from a nearby table, dimly illuminating the room. I took a slow glance around and let out a low, unimpressed whistle.

This place wasn’t just abandoned. It was forsaken . A damn tragedy. One strong wind—or aggressive sneeze—and the whole building would collapse on itself.

“No knock? No hello?” came a voice—cool, composed, and slightly mocking.

I turned.

And there she was.

Isadora Laurent.

She stood halfway up the staircase, one hand resting lightly on the rail, her gaze locked on me.

I blinked, instantly caught off guard. I’d expected to find Miss Laurent dressed in heels and silk. I’d anticipated jewelry that whispered status, perfume that clung to her like a second skin. Truly, I’d expected someone who looked like my mother.

Except, Miss Laurent looked nothing like my mother. In fact, she looked the exact opposite, standing there in her tailored jeans and slightly wrinkled blouse.

She crossed her arms and lifted her chin but didn’t smile. She didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of me. It was almost as though she’d been expecting me.

Gods, she was…striking. Not in the polished, glossy, flawless way I was used to. She looked real and so fucking beautiful.

The sight of her damn near stole my breath.

Curious.

And utterly unacceptable. I didn’t fawn over women. They fawned over me.

Yes, Isadora Laurent was gorgeous—infuriatingly so—but all legacy daughters were in my experience. There was no reason for this one to affect me so.

I’d certainly broken prettier things.

She would be no exception.

I cleared my throat. “Good evening, Miss Laurent,” I said once I got my wits about me again. “My apologies. I’ll take care to knock next time.”

See? I could be polite when the situation called for it.

“I would appreciate that. This is my home. I certainly wouldn’t stroll into yours unannounced. I would expect better manners than that. Even from you, Mr. St. Germain.”

My lips curled. “You’ve heard of me then?”

“Hard not to in this town,” she said.

True. Nodding, I studied the room again before turning back to her. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

Her brow arched faintly. “Oh?”

“That you haven’t fled screaming.” I looked back at her. “Most legacy daughters wouldn’t survive an hour in a place like this.”

“Yes, well, I’m not most legacy daughters.”

Still nothing. No flinch. No blush. No bratty defensiveness or smug pride. She didn’t puff up at the implication or shrink beneath it—just delivered the line like a fact she’d known all her life.

My lips twitched and I took a slow step forward. Then another.

Her eyes tracked me, but she didn’t move.

She didn’t descend the stairs or offer me a drink.

She made no attempt at decorum. Most would’ve tripped over their own feet by now, desperate to impress a St. Germain, especially one stopping by for an unscheduled visit.

It was the supernatural equivalent of royalty dropping in for tea.

But Isadora Laurent just stood there.

And if I wasn’t mistaken, she looked more annoyed than awed.

“Tell me, Miss Laurent,” I said. “What is it you expect to get out of this place?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she began descending the stairs one step at a time, her hand skimming the railing.

I watched her. Closely.

She moved with quiet confidence, and the flickering candlelight lent her skin a glow that I wanted to taste. No—that way led dragons. I needed to keep my head about me. Remind this vampiress who she was dealing with.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she walked up to me and came to a stop. She tipped her head back—which only came to my chest—and studied me, sizing me up. Almost like she was gauging me.

My grin began to form until she sighed. A deep, almost bored exhale, like she’d just taken my measure and found me lacking.

The air between us shifted, and my smile slipped.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr. St. Germain,” she said in a smooth voice. “And would you like to know what I see when I look at you?”

“By all means,” I said.

She took a slow breath, like she was savoring the moment before she struck. “I see a man who walks into a room and expects everyone to fall at his feet. I see a man who commands with his name and title. Someone who is utterly baffled when someone doesn’t bow or fear him.”

I didn’t speak, allowing her to continue, curious to hear more of her insight. She’d spent two minutes in my presence and thought she had me all figured out.

“I suspect you’re the strongest presence in any room. I see polish and power. A carefully curated persona built to keep everyone at arm’s length, because, gods forbid, they look too closely at you.”

A slight smile pulled at her lips, and I caught a peek at her fangs—the bite behind the words.

“And it’s all a lie,” she said, her voice dropping.

I blinked, my lips parting.

She continued before I could speak.

“Eternity Falls might kiss your feet, Mr. St. Germain,” she said, every syllable cutting through the air. “But I will not. I’m not from here. I didn’t come here to fawn. And whatever games you’re planning, let me be clear. I. Am. Not. Interested.”

Pity. I did enjoy a good fawning now and then.

Her lovely hazel eyes bored into mine. “You came here tonight to intimidate me. But you don’t frighten me. Nor does your name. Or your reputation.”

I almost laughed. I’d heard all this before. Countless times from countless people over my four hundred years of life. They always thought they could stand up to me, beat me at my own game, but they never did.

I itched to seize control of this conversation, to prick her back with my own insults. But I restrained myself. It wasn’t often someone spoke so openly and honestly in front of me anymore. I found her rather refreshing. Amusing, even. And I wasn’t often amused these days.

“I know vampires like you,” she said.

I lifted my brows at that.

“My former mate for instance. Like you, he’s charming and elegant. Everyone worshipped him. But he was also power-drunk. Sound familiar?”

A familiar accusation. And truthfully, one I wore with pride. As far as descriptions went, it was fairly complimentary.

But then her tone shifted.

“Eventually, his mask came off,” she said. “And he revealed his true nature. I learned that under all that silk and polish, you’re all the same.”

I doubted that.

“You’re all monsters in well-tailored suits.”

And just like that, I froze.

Others had called me a monster before—enemies, rivals, even lovers in the end. I’d never cared. Not once. But hearing it from her , in that voice, with such certainty…

It hit deeper. Sharper.

Not because I thought she was wrong. But because, for the first time in a very long time, I cared if she saw me that way.

And worse…she hadn’t only called me a monster.

She compared me to him.

Her former mate. The one who’d bankrupted her family and ruined her reputation—all things I’d done in the past. But he’d also cheated on her, broken the trust of the person he was supposed to love the most. That was something I would never do.

That level of cruelty surpassed anything I had ever done before.

I never pretended to be a good man, but that she could look at me and see him —well, it twisted something in my chest.

It also gave me a sudden urge to crack that bastard’s skull open for hurting her.

“I’m not here to dance around egos,” she said, her voice dragging me back to the present.

“I’m not here to charm or claw my way into your good graces.

I’ve played that game—and lost. More than I care to recount.

So, if you think you can waltz into my bar, my home , and try to intimidate me? You’re sorely mistaken.”

She turned away from me and walked behind her bar. I tracked her every step, not out of suspicion, but because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, damn it. She was riveting, and I honestly wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“I’m here to build something for myself, Mr. St. Germain,” she continued, picking up a smudged glass and inspecting it. “Something that’s mine. If that steps on your little toes, then I apologize. But your life, your business, your existence , has nothing to do with me.”

She glanced up, and the candlelight caught her hazel eyes.

“Miss Laurent—” I started, finally breaking my silence.

She set the glass down, once again cutting me off, and leaned lightly against the counter. “You have your kingdom, The Crimson Veil. Let it remain yours. I’ve no intention of trespassing.” She nodded toward the door—just slightly. “And I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”

Her meaning was clear. This was her territory now, and I wasn’t welcome.

She offered no smile. No parting threat. Just her unshakable confidence, like she had no doubt I would do as she suggested and leave.

And I?—

I didn’t speak.

Which was…unusual.

This was the part where I smiled and said something sharp and devastating.

Where I laid my adversary bare with words and threats that had brought many others to their knees.

I could have done it too. I could have destroyed her with a few simple words, ruined her dreams of restoring this bar within hours, left her standing in the rubble of her confidence.

But I didn’t want to.

Because that damn word kept echoing in my head. Monster .

For all her grandstanding and pretty speeches, I saw—and scented—the hurt beneath the surface. Her ex had clearly broken her. And for the first time ever, I wanted to protect rather than destroy.

I just wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

So, instead of reacting, I let the moment stretch while I adjusted my cuffs with slow, deliberate grace. Then finally, I smiled.

Isadora’s breath caught, though I wasn’t sure why.

I met her gaze and held it. “I’ve also heard a fair bit about you since you entered our town, Miss Laurent. But I must say, no one mentioned your biting wit and sharp claws.”

She didn’t reply, but a smile played at the edge of her lips.

I let my gaze linger on her. Not leering, but to assess . “I look forward to seeing you use them.”

And with that, I walked out.