The city of New Orleans was a sultry beast in late August, its air thick with humidity and the scent of bourbon-soaked revelry. Neon lights flickered over the French Quarter, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the cobblestone streets. Evangeline Dubois leaned against the wrought-iron balcony of her family’s centuries-old townhouse, her crimson silk dress clinging to her curves like a lover’s desperate touch. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her emerald eyes scanned the crowd below with the precision of a predator. At thirty-two, Evangeline was a woman who commanded attention without ever asking for it—a voodoo priestess by blood, a seductress by choice, and a queen of secrets by necessity.
She sipped her Sazerac, the bitters and rye whiskey biting at her tongue, when a shadow detached itself from the throng of tourists and drunks below. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored black suit that screamed money and menace, looked up at her with a smirk that could melt steel. His eyes, a piercing gray, locked with hers, and Evangeline felt a thrill she hadn’t anticipated—a challenge.
“Well, damn,” she muttered to herself, setting her glass on the railing. “Looks like trouble just found me.”
She descended the spiral staircase with the grace of a panther, her heels clicking against the ancient wood. By the time she reached the courtyard, he was already there, leaning against a pillar as if he owned the place. Up close, she could see the faint scar tracing his jawline, a story of violence etched into otherwise perfect features. His name, she’d heard through the grapevine, was Lucian Blackwood—a man with a reputation for getting what he wanted, whether it was a business deal or a woman’s surrender.
“Evangeline Dubois,” he drawled, his voice a low rumble of Southern charm laced with something darker. “I’ve been told you’re the woman to see if a man’s got a problem only magic can solve.”
She arched a brow, crossing her arms under her chest, deliberately drawing his gaze downward before snapping it back up to her face. “And I’ve been told you’re the kind of man who brings problems wherever he goes, Mr. Blackwood. So, tell me—why should I waste my time on you?”
His smirk widened, undeterred by her sharpness. “Because I’ve got a curse on me, darlin’, and I hear you’re the best at breakin’ ‘em. Plus, I’m willin’ to pay a pretty penny for those… talents of yours.”
Evangeline stepped closer, her scent of jasmine and amber enveloping him. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Oh, sugar, my talents don’t come cheap. And I don’t just break curses—I break men who think they can handle me. You sure you’re ready for that kind of ride?”
Lucian’s eyes darkened, a flicker of raw hunger passing through them. “I’ve ridden worse storms than you, Miss Dubois. Question is, can you keep up with a man who doesn’t play by the rules?”
She laughed, a throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “Rules? I wrote the damn book on breakin’ ‘em. But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t play games. You want my help, you’ll do exactly as I say. And if you step outta line…” She trailed a crimson-painted nail down his chest, stopping just above his belt. “I’ll carve that pretty scar of yours into somethin’ a lot less charming.”
He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not bruising, and pulled her just a fraction closer. “I like a woman who takes charge. But don’t think for a second I’m the type to roll over. You want control, Evangeline? You’re gonna have to fight me for it.”
Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Oh, I don’t fight, Lucian. I dominate. And when I’m done with you, you’ll be beggin’ for mercy—or more. Your choice.”
She pulled back, her gaze icy and unyielding, though the heat between them was undeniable. Lucian released her wrist, his smirk returning as if he hadn’t just been bested in a battle of wills. “Alright, priestess. You’ve got my attention. Name your price.”
Evangeline turned on her heel, gesturing for him to follow her into the shadowed interior of the townhouse. “Price comes after I see what I’m dealin’ with. Strip off that fancy suit jacket and shirt. I need to see if this curse of yours is as bad as your reputation.”
He chuckled, following her without hesitation. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that. But don’t think I’m shy, darlin’. You want a show, I’ll give you one.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Save the theatrics, Blackwood. I’ve seen plenty of men bare their souls—and their bodies. Impress me with somethin’ I haven’t seen before.”
As they entered her ritual room, adorned with flickering candles, dried herbs, and a heavy altar draped in black velvet, Lucian shrugged off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. Evangeline watched, her expression unreadable, though her mind raced with the possibilities. A cursed man in her domain was dangerous—but so was she. And if Lucian Blackwood thought he could charm his way into her good graces, he was in for a rude awakening.
“Alright, pretty boy,” she said, circling him like a shark as the last button came undone, revealing a chest marked with strange, dark runes that pulsed faintly with an unnatural light. “Let’s see just how deep this curse runs. And don’t get any ideas—I’m not here to play nurse. I’m here to own your ass until this is done.”
Lucian met her gaze, unflinching, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. “Own me, then. But don’t be surprised if I turn the tables, Evangeline. I’ve got a few tricks of my own.”
She smirked, stepping close enough that their breaths mingled. “Tricks? Oh, honey, I invented the game. Now, shut up and let me work.”
As her hands hovered over the cursed marks, a surge of dark energy pulsed through the room, and Evangeline knew this was no ordinary hex. Lucian Blackwood wasn’t just trouble—he was a storm waiting to break. And she was the only one who could decide whether to tame it or ride it straight into chaos.
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