The Crescent Queens

Chapter One - A Lone Wolf

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Waverly Brousseau had disturbing dreams every time the full moon drew close. She thought after fleeing her hometown of New Orleans they wouldn't bother her any more but seven years on and she still sees the faces of her pack and the other tribes of the Crescent City.

They'd been getting worse over the past few months. Once they were dark and murky and muddled, now they were clear, vibrant and in glorious technicolour. There was only one thing to be done. Waverly needed to return.

The desertion from her pack had been nasty. She had broken hearts as well as laws and oaths sworn in blood. Life as the Packmaster's daughter had never been easy, she'd always been the centre of attention and she was expected to do things that she believed barbaric. Including the witness of a marriage consummation. A marriage to wolf from another pack. A wolf she didn't love. This, among many others, was the reason why Waverly fled.

"Pull yourself together, Wave." She breathed, looking into the rearview mirror of her car as she cruised into town. "Now's the time to be brave not scared."

Her pale brown eyes stared back at her with nought but dread and the lines showed how fatigued she truly was. Not a figure of strength but of weariness. Not the leader of a pack but a lone wolf.

Eventually she found herself pulling into her old parking space outside her apartment. It was still hers, empty and waiting for her return as her father had promised when last they spoke about a year before he passed. He'd been angry but missed his only daughter. She was his heir, his successor to the throne. With her gone, it was left to her potential mate. An arrogant fool.

Waverly knew there were wolves nearby. They could always sense each other. Besides, this was their part of the city. Well, a meagre share of it, the wolves ruled the bayou more than anything. Before stepping out, she picked her bag up of the passenger seat and applied some fresh make up, tracing thick eye liner over her hooded eyes and red gloss over her long thick lips. She pulled a brush through her long raven hair before pinching her cheeks to bring some life into them.

But she wasn't spotted by anyone nor did she see any familiar faces on the way into the building of her apartment. She hadn't been there five minutes when she heard the tell tale sounds of jazz leaking from a bar down the street. A place she used to frequent before her desertion. A place likely filled with her wolves and other secret citizens of New Orleans.

She dropped her bags in the corner of her dusty parlour room and crossed to the windows, throwing open the shutters with chipped green paint. She leaned on the rail, looking down into the street then over the rooftops of the city. Before long she felt eyes on her and knew she'd been noticed and recognised.

On a corner a man quickly averted his gaze from her and crossed the street to the bar playing jazz loud enough for the next block to hear. She recognised his gait more than his features. Stooped, limping, the right foot faltering due to an injury she had caused as a mere pup. It had been a long time since she'd last seen Gautreau and new the dangers he posed to New Orleans. May be he was the reason for her disturbed nights?

Before she could think too much on it, she left the sanctuary of her apartment behind and crossed the street to the bar. It was a small place but it was packed and she searched the room for his familiar face, bumping into the bar and knocking over a patrons drink as she searched.

"Oops." She said with an apologetic smile at the bum on the stool.

"Are you going to order or just wreck the place?" the woman behind the bar said angrily.