Logan's Acadian Wolves

Chapter Six

The Directeur watched the Alpha lead his beloved feminine scientifique into the crowd. As he suspected, the beta followed as did a few other wolves. What little they knew. Try as they might, they couldn’t keep her from him forever. No, she was his to command as he wished. The little fool thought she could escape him by running? Perhaps she was able to weasel her way out of the physical structure, but the city itself had walls. She’d go nowhere without him.

The Directeur was amused that they thought they could avoid his touch. The dimwitted wolves would never see his great Stratégie coming. And the vampires were far too arrogant to see their weaknesses, let alone acknowledge them. He considered the witches. Surely they thought they were above it all with their potions and spells. But they, too, would have their due. There needed to be limits. Discipline. Too long he’d waited on the sidelines.

When the Mistress had approached him, he’d sworn his allegiance. Beautiful, brilliant and deadly, she was far superior a being than anyone he’d ever met. And now he served at her side, creating the Stratégie. He had to admit she was correct about choosing his historic city as the premier location for the attack. There were far more supernaturals centrally located in New Orleans than any other city on the East Coast.

In truth, the Directeur thoroughly enjoyed creating. He fancied himself an artiste. For too long, Kade, Marcel and Ilsbeth, the witch, had enjoyed their shared ownership of his city. His patience wore thin as he cultivated a picture of an avant-garde New Orleans. Under his direction, he’d transform the city into the vanguard of supernatural supremacy. Soon he’d drag his wide brush of destruction across the city, until whitewash covered every surface. Then he’d paint his masterpiece.

His dick grew hard as he imagined his coronation. Sucking a breath, he ducked into an alley to adjust himself. He wished there was time to relieve the pressure, but he needed to focus on the task at hand. The little bitch. Yes, that is why he was here. To keep watch. Soon, he’d seize the opportunity to take her.

Noticing how they surrounded her, it became obvious to him that the Alpha was aware of the precious nature of his commodity. Indeed, they thought they could protect her, even in the open streets? Interesting, he thought. Why, indeed, would the Alpha take such a liking to the scientifique? Perhaps she’d told him what she’d been working on? And by now, her illness would have set in, taking root in her DNA. A wolf claiming to be a human? Unheard of; he’d think she was insane. And the stories of viruses? Well, she could have been working for anyone in the country. They’d never find the lab, and she knew it. Of course, it’d been moved. She knew their methods and processes. Any breach in security warranted relocation. They frequently moved locations, never staying in one home or city for very long. They couldn’t risk discovery.

She laughed at something the Alpha said, and he seethed. She knew her blood was his. Her pleasure and pain were his as well. Breathing deeply, he smiled at the old man playing the trumpet and tossed a twenty into his plastic jar. He stood a mere fifty feet from the Alpha and as usual, went unsuspected. So perfect was his place within New Orleans society, they’d never suspect him. Delightfully ignored, he sat at the French Market bar and flirted shamelessly with the lovely barkeep. He stole a glance as the scientifique blushed. How dare the little slut wantonly bat her eyelashes at the Alpha?

The Directeur laughed out loud, watching as his feminine scientifique stood to leave with the Alpha. Silently, he vowed to inflict the harshest of punishments on her. The betrayal stung his cold dark heart. Not only had she lied when she began her employment, now she appeared to be taken with Reynaud, throwing herself at him. Perhaps he’d whip her mercilessly, drain and fuck her before setting her pretty feet back in the lab where she belonged. Ah, he wished he could do all that and more, but the Mistress would never allow it. No, the Mistress was so much more disciplined than anyone he’d ever known. Work came first over earthly desires without a doubt.

No bother, he’d wait. Soon, she’d finish her project, perfectly as expected. Then he’d have her all to himself as the reward he deserved. The Mistress would allow it then. As long as he didn’t kill his scientifique, the Mistress would let him play with his toy. With the Alpha finally out of sight, the Directeur made the decision to remain in the quaint café. Invigorated by his reconnaissance, he slipped through the back entrance to the kitchen in search of his barmaid. As usual, the meek human never sensed his approach. With his hand over her mouth, no one heard the stifled scream as his fangs stabbed into her neck.