Black Magic Bayou Read Free

at this point I’d made her so uncomfortable she was willing to let me speak to someone with authority. I’d take it.
    “Please.”
    She waved to a man exiting the alley. “Detective Perry, can you come here for a minute?”
    I heard him mutter, “What fucking now?” under his breath.
    Werewolf hearing was super fun sometimes.
    When he spoke at a volume we were meant to hear, he said, “What is it? I’m just about to head back to the station.”
    “There’s a gir…a woman here about those two werewolves in custody.”
    “A lawyer?” His gaze brushed over me, but the question was for the officer and not me, so I didn’t answer.
    But seriously, way to bury the lede, lady.
    “Actually, she says she’s the Alpha of New Orleans.” She had trouble keeping the incredulity out of her voice as she stared at me.
    Whatever.
    The bedraggled but handsome detective in his early thirties came to stand next to her on the opposite side of the tape from us. His shirt and auburn hair were equally rumpled, and it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in several days. The dark circles beneath his bright blue eyes matched those of the young officer. Not a lot of sleeping going on around these parts. He pulled a pair of dark-framed glasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on, obscuring the signs of exhaustion. The lenses were smudged and in desperate need of cleaning.
    I wanted to put this whole man into a washing machine on the delicate cycle and help him sort himself out.
    “Eugenia McQueen?” the man asked, giving me a wary once-over, like he was hoping he’d picked the right woman. To be fair, Mags did have a more regal first-glance appearance to the human eye. To a werewolf, though, there’d be no mistaking who was the leader here. My power would dwarf both hers and Wilder’s. A wolf with its eyes closed would have no problem figuring out which one of us to bow to, even in human form.
    I offered my hand to the adorably human detective. “Please call me Genie.”
    “Aren’t we supposed to call you Your Highness or something?” The detective wasn’t trying to be a jerk—I could tell from his tone—but the question was still annoying. The news broadcasts, loving a chance to mix royal-watching with the supernatural, insisted on using my full title. Her Royal Highness Eugenia McQueen, Alpha of New Orleans, Heir to the Southern Pack.
    It was a mouthful, to say the least.
    I felt, more than saw, Wilder smirking next to me. Apart from outsiders who didn’t know better and formal gatherings where tradition was essential, Wilder was the only one who called me Princess and got away with it.
    “Genie is fine.”
    He shook my hand, having settled on what my name was. “Detective Bryce Perry.”
    His skin was dry and faintly rough, but his handshake was firm. I liked it when men didn’t shy away from a good grip with me. Truth be told, I was the one who had to hold back, lest I accidentally crush someone’s fingers. When alphas met each other it was like a contest to see who could shake hardest and longest. I’d seen two particularly stubborn men go an hour once before one yielded, on the verge of losing a finger to lack of circulation.
    “You’re in charge of the supernatural cases?” I asked.
    Perry gave a curt nod and pushed his thick copper-tinged hair back from his face, making him look five years younger in an instant. “Yeah, I’m on the night beat and Detective Mercer does the day shift. Guess I’m keeping this one though.” He smiled apologetically when he saw my confused expression. “This one was a bit… Well. It’s been a long night.”
    I could win a who has had the longest night contest without even getting into the super-grim stories, but Detective Perry was obviously exhausted, and I just wanted to know my wolves were okay.
    He lifted the police tape and indicated we should follow him as he headed in the direction of the weather-beaten bar. “I met your sister once,” he said, making friendly