by Anna Lowe
No way was he taking it easy. Not with something as precious as Natalie’s life.
“You used vampires?” he shouted.
Alaric’s brow folded. “We sensed the presence of a Fire Maiden, but as her powers are still weak, we could not locate her.”
“So you allowed vampires to do that?”
Alaric looked smug. “That was the idea, yes.”
“Good idea,” Marcel, ever the brown-noser, agreed.
It was a miracle Tristan didn’t explode, given the way his blood pressure rose. “You didn’t tell me. You put Natalie at risk.”
“We told you what you had to know. Besides, we didn’t expect the vampires to find her so quickly,” Alaric said, clearly annoyed. “The idea was for you to report the vampires to us, and for Hugo to take over from there.”
Tristan opened his mouth, then closed it, because he was about to roar and possibly spit fire. Sulfur was already stinging his throat as his fury increased.
“If I hadn’t been there, Natalie would be dead.”
“For which we are grateful, Monsieur Chevalier — if indeed she is the one we seek.”
Tristan’s mouth hung open. If Natalie didn’t turn out to be a Fire Maiden, would Alaric simply abandon her to her fate, whatever it may be?
Liam quietly raised his hand. “Um… If I may intrude?”
Alaric turned to him with a sour look. “Intrude? Appropriate choice of words.” Then he sighed and flapped a hand. “Yes, Mr. Bennett?”
“Why do you need her so badly?”
“Don’t you see? We’ve been waiting — hoping — to find our Fire Maiden for so long,” Morfram said. “We need her.”
Tristan didn’t like the sound of that. “Need her to what, exactly?”
Morfram looked down his nose at Tristan. “To revive the ancient spell set to protect the city. Simply by taking up residence, a Fire Maiden can accomplish that.”
“A Fire Maiden can accomplish much more,” Hugo added in a low, reverent voice.
Alaric nodded gravely. “Indeed, the greatest of the line have accomplished many important public works. But we can hardly expect someone of such watered-down blood to match the legends of her ancestral line.”
Tristan wanted to snort. Obviously, these men didn’t know Natalie.
But Alaric spoke first, shaking a finger at Tristan. “I warn you not to test the limits of my gratitude. You will not question my authority, is that clear?”
No, it isn’t, Tristan nearly shouted. Not with his vision going red and steam about to come out of his ears.
Hugo pursed his lips, and his voice tapped at the edge of Tristan’s mind. Keep your cool, son. Force isn’t always the way. Try finesse.
Keep his cool? How the hell was he supposed to keep his cool when his mate’s life was at stake?
Hugo’s eyebrows jumped up, and Tristan winced. Shit. Had Hugo picked up on that thought? The wolf shifter studied Tristan closely, then looked in the direction Natalie had gone.
Tristan forced himself to look straight ahead, pretending he was as detached as a good soldier ought to be. But all the while, his inner dragon raged.
For the next few minutes, he endured Alaric’s tempestuous speech about protocols employees were expected to follow and how long a man could expect to remain employed if he failed to comply. And on and on…
So blustery. Worse than a lion, even, Liam sighed.
Then there was Marcel, who’d always rubbed Tristan the wrong way. The man stood at Alaric’s side the whole time, mimicking his uncle’s facial expressions.
As if he’ll ever rule anything, Liam scoffed.
Tristan tuned out, eying Hugo. The wolf shifter was Alaric’s most trusted adviser. Was he going to rat Tristan out? Alaric had never found a mate, so he wouldn’t understand how deep that bond ran. And, damn. Alaric would never stand for a commoner like Tristan mating with a Fire Maiden, if Natalie truly was one. That was like a pauper pining for the princess’s hand. She was way, way out of his class.
Totally out of your class, Marcel’s haughty expression agreed. Not like me, Alaric’s own nephew.
Tristan stood sweating bullets, watching Hugo from the corner of his eye. Wishing he could beg the wolf shifter for mercy, because he desperately needed time to figure out how to win over his mate.
Finally, Alaric finished his tirade with another blustery, “Do you understand?”
Tristan forced out the obligatory, “Yes, sir,” sick as it made him feel.
Hugo clapped once, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Fine. Now that that’s sorted, let’s move on.”
Everyone looked relieved, including Morfram and Albiorix, who had probably witnessed enough of Alaric’s tirades for a lifetime.
“Move on?” Alaric furrowed his brow.
“Move on,” Hugo said firmly. “First, we have to trace the young lady’s lineage to be completely sure.”
Alaric stroked his beard, and everyone nodded sagely.
“Good idea,” Marcel said. Then he leaned closer to Alaric. “Allow me to investigate.”
Tristan barely swallowed a snarl. Marcel’s favorite form of investigation took place in the bedroom. That was about the only thing Alaric’s nephew showed any prowess in. No way would Tristan let that happen.
Luckily, Hugo stuck up a hand, halting Marcel. “More important is the question of protecting her while she settles in. If she accepts her role as a Fire Maiden.”
Alaric’s frown deepened. “She’d better accept her role.”
Tristan bristled, and his mind spun with crazy schemes to help Natalie escape if she didn’t choose to stay. He and she could catch the first train to Calais, then head to London. Liam could find someplace for them to stay—
Hey, man. This is your mess, not mine, Liam muttered.
But Tristan was on a roll. After covering their tracks to London, he and Natalie could acquire forged passports and fly to America, where he would find a place to hide her from dragons or vampires. Then he and she would… They would…
He stalled out there, because it hit him how crazy it all was. Maybe Natalie wanted to stay in Paris. Hell, he sure did, but he would leave if it meant remaining at her side. But what if Natalie wasn’t drawn to him the way he was drawn to her? What then?
Suddenly, he realized that Hugo had said something and that everyone was waiting for him to answer. He looked at Liam for help.
Oh, for God’s sake, Hugo grumbled into his mind. Then he spoke aloud. “I said, congratulations, Monsieur Chevalier. You’ve been promoted.”
Tristan frowned. Was that some kind of trick?
“Promoted to…?”
“Bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard.” Alaric heaved a heavy sigh. “We used to call them knights.” His face took on a Those were the days expression.
Tristan and Liam exchanged glances. Exactly how old was Alaric?
“In any case,” Hugo went on, “the young lady will need protection. And as my dear mate points out…”
Clara wasn’t in the room, but Tristan figured she had to have used the private, mind-to-mind connection all mated shifters shared.
“…the young lady will need space and time to grasp the enormity of her new role. Since it might overwhelm her to stay here, the apartment on Boulevard Saint-Michel is a suitable place for her to stay. Temporarily, of course.”
Tristan gulped. Had he just been granted his deepest desire or sentenced to a living hell? Protecting Natalie meant protecting her from vampires, gargoyles — and from himself. He was a hired gun. She was a goddamn princess, descended from royal blood.
“Is the apartment really suitable?” Marcel interjected with a deep frown aimed at Tristan.
“It’s perfectly suitable,” Alaric retorted. Then he pinned Tristan with his fiercest look. “Temporarily. Your job is to protect her until…”
Alarms clanged in Tristan’s mind. “Until what?”
Alaric waved. “Until we find her a suitable mate, of course.�
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Tristan clenched his fists as his inner dragon roared. No!
Marcel stood a little straighter, and his eyes gleamed.
“Our Fire Maiden must remain in Paris, and she must be protected,” Alaric declared. “Then she must produce an heir. A daughter, ideally. Several, in fact.”
Marcel nodded eagerly, but Tristan couldn’t believe his ears. “What if she doesn’t approve of the mate you select?”
Marcel scoffed. Alaric tilted his head like he’d never considered such a thing.
“What she wants is not important, Monsieur Chevalier. What you think does not matter. What matters is the future of the city and the safety of its citizens.”
Says the guy who dangled a woman in front of vampires as bait, Tristan nearly yelled.
But Hugo pinned him with a look of warning, and Liam spoke into his mind.
Shut up while you’re ahead. We’ll figure something out.
We. At least he’d have Liam’s help. But did he have Hugo’s?
He glanced at Hugo, beseeching him. Please tell me you’re not on board with this barbaric plan.
But Hugo’s gaze was distant, his thoughts firmly shut off from Tristan’s mind.
“I’ll send my nephew over to check on the woman soon,” Alaric added.
Marcel flashed a lecherous grin.
Morfram nodded solemnly. “Meanwhile, we will track down the individuals who attacked her.”
“I will find the gargoyle involved. One of the young ones, no doubt.” Albiorix sighed.
Tristan made a face. Young for gargoyles meant less than a century or two.
“They will be punished,” Albiorix finished gravely.
That was fine with Tristan. But what about Natalie? He stood mutely, horrified at what he’d led Natalie into. She’d trusted him to find help, but he’d never imagined this…this…
Mess? Liam finished, chipper as can be.
Tristan swung his jaw until it popped. Mess was right.
But the door swung open just then, and the women entered. Clara’s eyes met Hugo’s and glowed. Jacqueline licked her lips in open invitation, though Tristan hardly noticed, because Natalie entered next, and his vision narrowed, turning everything else into a blur.
Mate, his dragon rumbled so loudly, Liam coughed.
“Miss Brewer,” Marcel said, stepped quickly to Natalie’s side. “Allow me to see you out.”
“No,” Tristan growled, beating Marcel to Natalie’s side. “Allow me.”
Her expression was grateful, and her hand went straight to his arm. Best of all, she didn’t so much as glance at Marcel. She just leaned against Tristan and headed for the door.
Then she squeaked, turned back to the others, and managed a polite Au revoir and even Merci. For what, Tristan wasn’t sure.
“Tristan?” she whispered, turning quickly toward the door.
“Yeah?”
“Get me out of this place.”
“With pleasure,” he breathed.
Chapter Twelve
Natalie speed-walked back to the Metro, barely noticing the over-the-top displays of the red-light district. Her mind was spinning with everything she’d learned. Dragons…vampires…Fire Maidens. Her?
She felt numb, and she didn’t notice how close she stuck to Tristan until they bumped for the second or third time. He didn’t seem to mind. Thank goodness, because she desperately needed someone to lean against.
Which she did — literally — once they entered the subway car and took a seat. She sank against his shoulder, wrapped her arms around Tristan’s in a sideways hug, and tried not to think as Paris’s hidden depths rushed by. Bright stations alternated with dark tunnels, an apt reflection of her thoughts. For fleeting moments, she convinced herself that everything would be all right. But seconds later, she fought tears of despair.
We’ve searched for a Fire Maiden for so long…
Natalie squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe Alaric and the others were all crazy. Maybe there was no such thing as shifters or vampires. Even Tristan — who knew? He and Liam could be suffering from some rare form of PTSD that made them believe they could change into animals.
But then she remembered Olivier in the alley. The teeth. The fangs. Tristan’s burst of fire.
So, no. They weren’t crazy. But that was even worse. And as for the Fire Maiden part… What would happen when Alaric and the others found out they’d made a mistake? That she was plain old her, and no one special at all?
But then the crystal warmed against her chest, and echoes of past dreams darted through her mind. All those times she’d imagined flying. Her uncanny resistance to fire. The way Paris had called to her over the years…
Could it really be?
Her only solace was the soft brush of Tristan’s hand on her shoulder and the steady murmur of his deep voice, telling her everything would be okay.
Liam, bless him, stood before them with his back turned, glaring at anyone who came close. He was the moat to the walls of Tristan’s keep — another line of defense keeping her safe. But how safe was she, really?
You’ll always be a target. All those vampires… Gargoyles…
She burrowed closer to Tristan. If she was a Fire Maiden, she would spend a lifetime looking over her shoulder, wondering when the next vampire might attack. Or would that lifetime be cut painfully short?
She glanced up at the subway map, tempted to transfer lines and rush to the airport. The subway car rattled around a turn, and the lights flickered, making her tense. The problem was, vampires could track her to Philadelphia. She slumped, burying her face in her hands as the metro car rattled along.
At some point, Tristan helped her up, and they transferred to a different Metro line.
“Not long now,” he murmured.
She nearly laughed. Every second felt like a lifetime. But eventually, a garbled voice came over the intercom, announcing Luxembourg station, and soon after, she was back in the sun, striding briskly to Tristan’s apartment.
“Monsieur Chevalier,” the doorman greeted Tristan in precisely the same tone he’d used the previous night. Then he nodded to Natalie and Liam in turn. “Mademoiselle. Monsieur.”
“Bonjour,” Natalie mumbled, forcing a smile.
Tristan murmured a curt greeting before leading her to the tiny elevator. Then finally — finally! — they were home.
Home? Natalie stopped short. This wasn’t home. It was a near-stranger’s apartment, and a bare one at that.
Still, when Tristan closed the door with a decisive thump, she felt better. Still hollow and overwhelmed, but not quite as lost.
“Make yourself at home,” Tristan murmured. “I’ll be right back.”
She headed for the red couch and sat there, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows without registering the view. Bijou threaded between her ankles, meowing something she took to mean, You look sad, but I’m sure petting me will cheer you up.
Natalie scooped up the cat and cuddled him tightly, tuning in to his comforting purr. Out in the hallway, Tristan and Liam spoke in low tones. And out in the city…
She puffed out a long breath. It was a new day. Possibly the start of a new life. But, hell. Where would she begin?
A cup of hot chocolate and a good book, her mother used to say.
Natalie looked around. No hot chocolate, but Bijou was warm and cuddly, and Clara had given her a book as she’d left Alaric’s mansion. She stared at the leather cover with its fancy gold embossing for a while. It looked like something out of medieval times.
A History of Dragons, the swirling script declared.
Slowly, haltingly, she opened to the first page and began to read.
* * *
Two days passed — two long days and nights, during which time Tristan came and went. When he was in, he remained close, as restless and edgy as she felt. When he was out…
She shut the thought out of her mind. Mostly, he went to check in with Alaric or to hunt vampires. What if he was injured again? Worse,
what if he died? He’d claimed shifters were “mostly immune” to vampire poison, which wasn’t exactly comforting. And as for reporting to Alaric — he seemed to savor that duty even less.
Liam stopped by often, her only other link to the outside world, bringing treats, news, and good cheer. He’d picked up more clothes from her apartment, and those, together with some improvements Tristan made, helped her feel even more at home.
“Voilà,” he’d said when he set up a little nook for her with an end table and a lamp, plus thick cotton sheets and a blanket that looked brand-new.
“Still a terrible host,” Madame Colette had muttered when she discovered Natalie was still sleeping on the couch.
“She insisted,” Tristan said.
“I did,” Natalie added quickly. “It’s cozy.”
“Cozy? Impossible,” Madame announced in her thick Provençal accent.
“It is,” Natalie insisted. “The apartment is big and empty, but the couch is like its own little room. A place where I don’t feel so alone.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she winced. Oops.
Madame huffed, shooting Tristan a withering look. “A miserable failure of a host.”
Tristan glowered and grabbed his phone. “I’ll show you miserable…”
Within hours, a delivery crew was there, maneuvering in an antique writing desk with a fold-down top, plus a green, library-style reading lamp, some fluffy pillows, and—
Natalie laughed. “A beanbag?”
Tristan frowned. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it. It’s just a funny combination. A nice combination,” she hurried to add. “Thank you. Truly. I mean it.”
Madame Colette came in at exactly that moment, and Tristan folded his thick arms, daring her to comment. The housekeeper looked around with her flashing, eagle eyes, and a long, tense minute ticked by.
“I love it,” Natalie announced. “I really do.”
Tristan glowed. Bijou pawed the fluffy pillows, claiming them for himself. And as for Madame Colette…
She hmpfed and changed the subject. “I brought you a book. A good one,” she emphasized, frowning at the stack Alaric had sent over. “Here.”
She’d marked a chapter, so Natalie started there. The slanted, loopy script was hard to read, but the tome was filled with beautiful, hand-painted images. The pages were dry and ancient, and Natalie was terrified of damaging them. As far as she could tell, Une Petite Histoire des Temps Anciens was the epic saga of an eagle shifter clan. It read more like Wuthering Heights or Pride and Prejudice than history, which made a welcome change from the dry tone of Alaric’s books. The only dragon in it was a side character named Claudine who made a brief appearance in Chapter Three before running off with a poor knight in Chapter Four and eventually returning in Chapter Eleven to run off a pack of marauding wolves.