Fire Maidens: Paris

by Anna Lowe

  Tristan’s eyes blazed. “We can. We have to. There’s no one else.”

  “But he’s a vampire!”

  Tristan took her arm and stepped around, blocking the others from view. Confusing the hell out of her, dammit, because he was doing that protector thing again. Was he on her side, or was he turning her over to vampires?

  “Yes, Morfram is a vampire. An ally in good standing for centuries.”

  Natalie frowned. Centuries? How long did vampires live?

  “The big guy is Hugo, a wolf shifter, and the other one is Albiorix, a gargoyle.”

  She peeked around Tristan’s thick arm. Gargoyle fit the first man’s short, wizened body. And as for Hugo — his honest eyes were those of a loyal canine’s. She pictured a huge wolf, staring at her over a flickering bonfire in a wintery campfire.

  “But…but…”

  “They are the good guys,” Liam promised, coming up beside Tristan. The two of them formed a solid wall that should have made her feel boxed in. Instead, she felt safe and secure, huddled in her own private place.

  But then Liam ruined the effect completely by adding, “Of course, good is relative…”

  “Relatively good?” she all but shrieked.

  Liam leaned closer. “I wouldn’t trust Marcel further than I could throw him, but the others—”

  “Dammit, Liam…” Tristan growled.

  A low chuckle sounded, and Tristan turned, annoyed.

  “At least he’s being truthful, Miss Brewer,” Hugo, the wolf, said. “Good and bad depend on what side you’re on. I can assure you we mean you no harm. Not even Morfram here.” He thumped a huge hand on the vampire’s shoulder and squeezed. “Right, Morfram?”

  The vampire winced and slid away. “Right.”

  Hugo’s huge, scarred hands hinted at a violent past. The sharp lines of his white, buzz-cut hair and sculpted goatee point of a beard added to the edgy, dangerous impression he made. Still, something about him reminded Natalie of her favorite grandfather — the one who’d always been there for her through thick and thin.

  So Hugo, she could imagine trusting. But a vampire? She eyed Morfram skeptically.

  Hugo nodded firmly. “I can vouch for Albiorix, as well. Come, Miss Brewer. You’re better off trusting us than those two.”

  Those two meant Tristan and Liam, and while neither uttered a word, Tristan’s blistering expression practically screamed, She’s better off with me.

  On instinct, Natalie edged closer to Tristan, and the angry glow of his eyes dimmed.

  When Hugo’s eyes darted between them in an expression that said, Well, well, Natalie stepped away from Tristan. No, they were not an item. She barely knew the man. The fact that she’d fantasized about him didn’t count. Tristan dated the likes of Jacqueline, not plain old her. Plus, he was a dragon, for goodness’ sake!

  But Hugo’s eyes went right on studying, and a smile played over his lips.

  “Enter,” a grumpy voice boomed from the inner chamber. “I don’t have all day.”

  Natalie cringed, but when Tristan touched her arm, she took a deep breath, ready to step forward. However, Jacqueline swept into the room first, giving a regal nod to the men at the door.

  Natalie wasn’t overly competitive, but Jacqueline rubbed her the wrong way, and she squared her shoulders and stepped in. If she’d learned anything over the past twenty-eight years, it was to accept who she was and be proud of the little things. So, in she went, directly past the wolf shifter, gargoyle, and vampire. God, was she nuts?

  “Good gracious,” Albiorix murmured as she went by. “She looks just like Amelie.”

  Who was Amelie? And was that a good or bad thing? Natalie swallowed hard as she stepped into the chamber — an oversized study, where a man sat in a chair. It was just a leather desk chair, but he managed to make it look like a throne. Jacqueline breezed forward, but he dismissed her with a curt gesture, commanding her to step aside for Natalie.

  Jacqueline’s eyes shot daggers, and Natalie hid an inner cringe. She didn’t need another supernatural enemy. What was Jacqueline anyway? Snake shifter would have been her first guess, though it was probably something sleeker and more graceful.

  Meanwhile, the king — er, the Guardian — watched her approach with laser-sharp eyes, and it took everything she had not to skitter away.

  “Natalie, this is Alaric,” Tristan murmured.

  She made a mental note to have a word with Tristan about any further surprises. He’d mentioned someone who could help her, but not the size and intensity of the man.

  Alaric’s dark, weary eyes suggested he’d witnessed the follies of humans for centuries. His long, unkempt beard was streaked with gray. Even sitting, he had an edgy energy, like that of an evil wizard crossed with a…a….

  Dragon, a voice in the back of Natalie’s mind said.

  She blanched.

  Marcel took up position at Alaric’s side the way an heir might, mimicking the older man’s expression.

  “Let me look at you, child,” Alaric barked.

  She raised her chin, determined not to be cowed. But the man was downright terrifying. And he was one of the good guys?

  Tristan shuffled closer, and part of her exhaled at the subtle show of support. When Alaric scowled, Tristan didn’t back down, and Alaric’s expression darkened. An entire argument seemed to rage between them, though neither said a word. All their communication took place in a series of angry, flashing eyes and facial tics. Clearly, Alaric resented the challenge to his authority, but Tristan refused to step away.

  In a way, the men were similar, separated more by age than character. They both had the same sense of coiled energy. The same intensity, the same brooding presence, and the same powerful stature.

  Tristan, she wanted to say. Be careful. I think he could be a dragon.

  But, crap. So was Tristan, and getting caught in the middle of a firefight did not seem like a good idea. The air filled with crackling energy, and even the others exchanged worried looks.

  Natalie paled, ready to run. Her legs refused to budge, though, and it dawned on her that she wasn’t caught in the middle of someone else’s altercation. She was the cause of it. Tristan was standing up to a superior for her sake.

  Summoning all her nerves, she slid between Tristan and Alaric.

  “So nice to meet you, sir,” she blurted in her best French. “Tristan said you might be able to help me.”

  Everyone in the room froze, and Alaric’s chin jutted with an expression that said, How dare you interrupt my stare-down?

  From the corner of her eye, Hugo gave her a subtle nod.

  “Why would I want to help you, mademoiselle?” Alaric’s voice cut into the frigid silence.

  Natalie bit her lip, telling herself it was a test and not outright rejection.

  “Because you don’t like prowling vampires any more than I do. Because you don’t want the city overrun by forces out of your control,” she said, hazarding a guess from what Tristan had mentioned.

  Alaric raised his bushy eyebrows at her then at Tristan, who stood perfectly still. Then he turned back to Natalie. “One vampire attacking a mere human hardly constitutes a force outside my control.”

  Natalie ignored the sting in his words. “But that’s how trouble always begins, isn’t it? With small, creeping problems. Little threats that come back to bite you if you wait too long.” She winced and added, “No pun intended.”

  Thank goodness Hugo stepped forward. Was he hiding a grin?

  “She’s right, and you know it, Alaric. Paris is gradually slipping out of our control—”

  Alaric jumped to his feet, roaring, “Paris is not slipping out of my control.”

  Everyone backed away — except Hugo, who leveled his steady eyes straight at the man. Everything about him screamed loyal lieutenant — the kind of man who could point out stark truths no one else dared utter.

  Tense seconds ticked by, then a full minute. Natalie pictured a fuse racing toward a bomb, really
to explode.

  Finally, Alaric spun away with an angry hmpf.

  Hugo shot Natalie a bolstering look, then stepped toward Alaric and spoke softly.

  “You’ve dedicated yourself to the city for decades, my friend. Paris is in your debt for the stability it enjoys. Not that any humans realize it. But even you cannot keep the dark forces at bay.”

  Another quiet minute passed, and Natalie stuck close to Tristan’s side.

  “Increasing numbers of vampires… Rogue shifters… The return of the Lombardi clan…” Hugo shook his head sadly. “We’ve done our best, but you know as well as I do that it’s been a struggle. And when our world destabilizes, the human world does too.”

  Natalie didn’t know about the supernatural problems Hugo mentioned, but she knew about the issues Paris had faced in recent years — terrorist attacks, riots, the rise of right-wing groups. Were they related to the problems of the shifter world?

  The less stable the shifter world, the more human conflicts escalate, Tristan had said.

  “Look,” Hugo finished, touching Alaric’s shoulder. “She’s here now.” Then his voice dropped to the lowest possible whisper. “And I believe she may be The One.”

  Natalie frowned. The one what? Her knees trembled, because Alaric was staring at her. She edged toward Tristan, doing her best to conjure up her tough, business side. How many times had she appeared before the board of directors to propose a new community service project or to extend the level of staff insurance coverage? Those guys were blustery too, but she’d always held her ground.

  She took a deep breath and ordered her hands not to tremble.

  “We’ve searched for a Fire Maiden for so long,” Alaric whispered.

  Natalie didn’t know what was more frightening — his haggard expression or the flicker of hope in his voice. Did he mean her?

  “Fire Maiden…” Marcel echoed.

  And, damn. Even Tristan gave her a funny look. Her and the crystal that dangled from her necklace. Natalie looked down. It was glowing a golden yellow, but so what? Crystals reflected any light they caught.

  But Hugo nodded as solemnly as if she’d marched in with the Holy Grail.

  “Fire Maiden,” Morfram whispered. “Finally, our efforts have been rewarded.”

  “Her? You must be joking,” Jacqueline muttered.

  Albiorix wrinkled his nose. “But she’s a foreigner. How can that be?”

  Natalie looked around, bewildered. What was going on?

  Hugo shook himself a little and shot her a thin smile. “Apologies. This is all new to you, no?” Then he called out. “Clara?”

  Light footsteps tapped into the room, and Natalie turned to see a gray-haired woman — the type who defied nature and grew more beautiful with age. A warm smile played over the woman’s lips, and her eyes sparkled.

  Hugo’s face warmed. No, it beamed. Clara had to be his wife, confidante, and lifelong lover. Nothing else would make a man glow at a woman in quite that way.

  Natalie found herself glancing at Tristan and, whoa. He was looking at her — plain old Natalie, whom he’d only recently met — the same way. Her heart skipped, and a sequence of images flashed through her mind. Scenes she’d dreamed of her entire life, featuring her and a man, both impossibly happy, sharing joyous days and steamy, satisfying nights. Working side by side, growing old, not regretting a thing. But her dreams had always kept the man’s face blurry.

  Until now. She held her breath and nearly breathed, Tristan…

  Everything but Tristan’s glowing eyes grew dim and distant, and her heart thumped.

  The older woman touched her shoulder, and Natalie blinked.

  “I think Clara will do a better job explaining than any of us can,” Hugo said. “Will you, my dear?”

  Clara patted Natalie on the arm. “Oh my. You look like a doe in headlights.” She pinned each of the men in the room with a stern look — even Alaric, who didn’t seem to faze her one bit. “How many times have I reminded you not to treat everyone like a foot soldier in Napoleon’s army?” Clara sighed and turned away, pulling Natalie with her. “Never mind them. Come with me, sweetheart. I’ll explain.”

  Natalie looked back. As kind as Clara seemed, the only one who really put her at ease was Tristan. Then again, he confused her, too.

  Clara followed her gaze and chuckled. “Ah, I know that feeling.” Her eyes bounced over to Hugo and sparkled.

  Then Jacqueline cut in, claiming center stage again. “I’ll help explain.”

  Her words held a menacing edge, and Natalie got the impression explaining might mean scaring away.

  “Jacqueline,” Tristan growled.

  Jacqueline turned toward him, giving her skirt a flirty spin. “Yes?”

  But Alaric waved them away, and Natalie had no choice but to go.

  Clara patted her hand and whispered, “Believe me, they’re all bark and no bite.”

  Natalie studied the older woman’s face. “I hope that’s a figure of speech.”

  Clara laughed, and nervous as Natalie was, the sound put her a little more at ease. “I promise, I’ll explain.”

  Chapter Ten

  Half an hour later, Natalie stood stiffly, staring at Clara. Shifters? Dragons? Fire Maidens?

  “Fire Maidens,” Clara repeated from the couch in the sumptuously appointed parlor they’d moved over to for their talk. “Women descended from Liviana, the mightiest dragon queen of all.”

  Natalie’s mind spun. She’d tried protesting that she was from Philadelphia and an unremarkable family line — a little Irish, a little German, a smattering of French…

  But Clara had just shrugged. “Fire Maiden blood can slumber through generations before it flowers.”

  Jacqueline muttered something Natalie didn’t quite catch, but she got the gist. Flower? This woman? Don’t make me laugh.

  Clara went on stirring her second cup of tea. Natalie’s was still on the ornate ebony table, as cold as her fingers felt.

  “Liviana…” she whispered. “That was my great-grandmother’s name.”

  Clara nodded. “Families tend to carry on traditions without even realizing it.”

  “Coincidence,” Jacqueline muttered from beside a huge Oriental vase in a corner of the room.

  Natalie was inclined to agree, but somehow, her gut told her otherwise.

  “The name goes back to Roman times,” Clara explained. “The root word is jealous. Not that Liviana was jealous. Rather, other women were jealous of her power.” Clara slid a sidelong glance at Jacqueline. “The Liviana of legends lived in medieval times. Back then, the greatest dragons were females, with male consorts to do their bidding.” Clara’s eyes twinkled. “Those were the days.”

  If circumstances had been different, Natalie would have laughed. But she’d just been informed dragons were real and that royal blood ran in her veins. Not enough to make her a shifter, but enough to be detected by a vampire’s sensitive nose.

  It would explain why the vampires wanted you, Clara had said.

  But Jacqueline had just huffed. Maybe they just wanted a quick meal.

  Natalie shook her head, reeling. “Vampires…shifters… Where did they come from?”

  “Some, like my mate, Hugo, are born shifters,” Clara explained with a warm glow in her eyes.

  Mate. The word kept jumping out at Natalie. What exactly did it mean?

  “Others are humans turned shifter, like me…”

  Natalie was too frightened to ask what that entailed.

  “Other than wolf shifters, there are bears, lions, and eagles. Gargoyles too, like Albiorix. And dragons—”

  “Like me,” Jacqueline said, tossing her chin.

  Clara waved a hand, unimpressed. “All kinds. Like humans, shifters were embroiled in feudal wars throughout the Dark Ages. But occasionally, a leader emerged who used his or her power to unite all shifters in a common cause. They repelled evil forces, established law and order, and raised the quality of life for all — including humans.
Liviana was the mightiest of those shifters, and she placed her daughters in each of the major cities of Europe to continue her work.”

  Natalie nodded dumbly, still shell-shocked. But it did make sense. The royal families of Europe had done a similar thing, preserving their power by intermarrying with other royal families. Marie Antoinette had been a Hapsburg, and Catherine the Great was born a Prussian princess. The Windsors of England stemmed from German royalty. Of course, those efforts were mostly to preserve power and royal bloodlines.

  Natalie gulped. Did power and royal bloodline apply to her, too?

  “Those were the days of powerful witches and warlocks…” Clara continued.

  The blood drained from Natalie’s face, but Jacqueline laughed. “Don’t worry, they’re all gone now. None but a few with very weak powers. Not like dragons.”

  Clara heaved a theatrical sigh. “If only dragons still had the power — and wisdom — they did in Liviana’s day.”

  Jacqueline seemed to miss the dig, and Clara went on.

  “Liviana hired the best witches of the era to cast a spell of protection for her daughters — and her daughters’ daughters, and all female descendants of her family line. As long as one of Liviana’s descendants resided in the city, shifter power remained strong, and a single good leader, like Alaric, could keep things running smoothly. But without one of Liviana’s descendants…” Clara trailed off, frowning.

  “Wouldn’t the descendant have to be a dragon for the spell to work?” Natalie asked.

  Clara tilted her head from side to side. “Yes and no. The spell is at its strongest with a female dragon shifter descended from the royal family. Alas, female dragons are few and far between. Dragon shifters have a notoriously difficult time breeding, and when they do, their offspring are usually males.”

  “There are, of course, some fortunate exceptions.” Jacqueline fluttered her eyelashes. “Like me.”

  “True,” Clara conceded. “But you are not of royal blood.”

  Jacqueline’s eyes grew stormy, but Clara chuckled.

  “It’s not an insult, my dear. Just the truth. Alas, you are no more noble than me.”