Michele Hauf - Moonlight and Diamonds

Though he wouldn’t mind hooking up with a pretty Parisian werewolf while here. The available females back home were slim-pickings, and his werewolf had never had the pleasure of dating another of his breed. It was what he most desired. That, and starting a family that he could call a pack.

Finding a woman had actually become necessity since Stryke’s father had given him the task of starting a new pack. Malakai Saint-Pierre was ready to retire and travel the world with his wife, Rissa. The Saint-Pierre pack consisted of only family. They needed a strong new pack in the area. A diverse pack made up of many families. It was how the werewolves in Minnesota would finally grow their numbers.

The Saint-Pierre pack’s scion was currently Trouble, Stryke’s eldest brother. Trouble hadn’t the calm control to step into his father’s position as principal and lead others. Malakai had said as much to Stryke. His oldest brother was a loose cannon, who picked fights at the drop of a shifty glance and reveled in partying all night. Slightly ADD? Always possible with Trouble.

Stryke was eager to head a pack and had the confidence to do so. But to grow a pack a man needed a good woman at his side.

“So you said you were going to stay on a bit after your family heads home?”

“A few days, for sure.” Stryke returned his attention to Rhys, who owned Hawkes Associates, a sort of bank/savings/storage conglomerate that catered to all paranormal species. “My parents and brothers and sister are here for five days. But Grandpa Creed said we could stay in the apartments as long as we like, so I’m going to fit in some touring when the wedding is over.”

“When you’re not wandering and checking out the sights I’d love it if you’d consider helping me out. I’m shorthanded and have a lot of work in the office. My assistant is out of town on his honeymoon. I’ve a pickup with the Order of the Stake. It would be simple. You’d meet Tor and he’ll hand over the artifacts.”

“Is the Order of the Stake what I think it is?”

“Yes, they are an ancient order of mortal knights who hunt vampires. But they’re cool. Vail informs for them on occasion. Torsten Rindle does their spin. He also handles exchanges with Hawkes Associates. Sometimes the knights in the Order come upon treasure or, let’s just say...their victims’ belongings have to be cataloged. They’ve recently acquired a demon artifact that I bought for my own collection. It wouldn’t take long. But I don’t have the time to run over there myself with all this wedding stuff.”

“I can do that. Doesn’t sound too difficult. Tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll text you the information and provide Tor with your name. Thanks, Stryke. I appreciate it. Oh, and now that I think of it... Here.” Rhys tugged out two tickets from his jacket pocket. “You have any interest in gallery showings?”

Stryke shrugged. “I do hope to catch some of the museums and culture while I’m in town. Always willing to put new ideas in my brain and learn what I can about art and history.”

“I think this is a seventeenth-century jewelry collection on display. I got the tickets weeks ago, but won’t be able to make it tonight. As grandparents of the groom, my wife and I have to attend a rehearsal dinner tonight. Tedious.”

Stryke accepted the tickets. He wasn’t much for jewels, but he’d made the decision to take in as much of the city as he could while here. This was the first time he’d been overseas. He wasn’t sure he could survive being cooped up in an airplane for nine hours to ever make the return visit, so while on land he would do the town up right.

“Maybe one of my brothers will go along with me. Do I have to dress up?”

“You’ll probably want to wear the suit Vail sent to your place. Thanks, Stryke. I’ll call you in the morning with details on the job.”

Rhys clapped a hand across Stryke’s shoulder then wandered back inside the six-story black granite building where he did business.

Stryke tucked the tickets in his back pocket and shook his head as a bright pink Vespa scooted by. A gorgeous woman wearing a skirt commandeered the scooter. She even wore high heels. The women here were so different from back in the States. They liked to look good, no matter what the activity.

He didn’t understand a single word of the language, so he had gotten more sneers and snide side glances than he’d experienced in a lifetime. He was taking it in stride. He wasn’t the sort to anger easily. That was his brother Trouble’s forte. Maybe by the time he boarded the plane for the return trip home he’d actually know a bit of the language and have found that fantasy werewolf he dreamed about meeting?

Then again, he’d be thankful to not starve—because he couldn’t ask for what he wanted in French—not get arrested, and not make a fool of himself if a pretty woman did glance his way.

And if he was lucky he might happen upon some danger. Because before he started the dream family and pack, he needed to satisfy a soul-deep craving for adventure. His brothers always seemed to find danger and excitement in spades.

Stryke had survived a near-death experience last winter. Time to live his life and make the most of it.

Private gallery, 10:00 p.m.

Two hundred people wandered about the airy gallery off the Rue de Rivoli. Excellent turnout. The champagne flowed, and the silver-dusted vanilla macarons catered from Pierre Hermes were nibbled even by those women who would never deem to smudge their lipstick. It wasn’t the calories, chéri ; it was the humility of being seen chewing in public.

Blyss Sauveterre had owned the gallery for two years and it wasn’t so much a labor of love as her means to keep tabs on society. By featuring a new exhibit every month she ensured the flow of the rich and famous in and out of the gallery doors never ceased. The diamonds on display this evening were once Marie Antoinette’s prized possessions. Gifts from her lover, Count Axel von Fersen.

Blyss wasn’t sure she believed the provenance. Axel Fersen had been a rake, a solider, an opportunist. Had he really garnered enough wages to afford such elaborate diamonds for the queen? History painted him more a lover than a businessman, which she was inclined to agree with. Whether or not he’d had an affair with the doomed queen? She certainly hoped that part was true.

The fantasy of it all intrigued her, and no one this evening had questioned the story behind the beautiful gemstones glinting within their rococo silver-and-gold settings.

The exhibit tonight was a preshow to the grand event Blyss and her assistant planned to feature perhaps next month—the unveiling of Le Diabolique to the public.

Le Diabolique was a fifty-carat black diamond that glinted red from within. History told that it had been given by a seventeenth-century Belgian duke to the French Queen Anne. It had been stolen less than a week after she’d taken it in hand. The diamond had been recovered and stolen throughout history many times over, and rumor told that anyone who possessed it faced great torment, wickedness and terrible evil. If not the ultimate misfortune of death.

Blyss believed the rumors. The diamond would prove her greatest torment should she not pull off the heist properly this evening. Part one had already been accomplished. Now the handoff.

“Blyss!”

Her assistant, Lorcan Price, was bedecked in a pink bespoke suit and bright purple bow tie. He adjusted his thick black-rimmed glasses and crossed the room, weaving between patrons and wielding champagne flutes in each hand. He gained her side and pressed a cool champagne glass into her hand.

The man seemed to possess a sixth sense about how to please her. Bon mots uttered at the precise moment she was beginning to doubt herself, a compliment about her designer shoes, even a conspiratorially catty wink from across the room during such events as tonight.