by Anna Lowe
“That’s Bijou,” Tristan sighed. “He came with the place.”
Natalie stuck a hand against her thumping heart. A cat. It was just a cat. A slim, black feline who arched and hissed at Tristan. Tristan cursed back in French and weaved down a narrow hallway. Natalie helped him along until they reached a huge, arched doorway, where she couldn’t help but pause.
Wow.
That was the penthouse, all right. A span of four gilded rooms formed the front of the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing views of the Luxembourg Gardens. She could see the palace, the tidy tulip beds, and even the pool where kids sailed model boats by day. Beyond the park, the lights of Paris stretched in every direction, some in neat rows, others curved. A dark, serpentine line marked the course of the river Seine, and when Tristan leaned left—
“Wow,” she breathed, staring at the Eiffel Tower.
But Tristan nearly toppled over, and she rushed to help him to the next room. All four were connected by wide, graceful archways, giving the place an open feel. But the apartment echoed with every step she took, and her reflection ghosted through a series of mirrors that reflected the dim light from outside. The bedroom was the last in the row of four, and when they got there, Tristan collapsed onto the unmade sheets of a huge four-poster bed.
Natalie bent over him, wringing her hands. “What should I do? Can I get you something?”
His deep voice was muffled by the sheets. “Nothing. I just need some rest.”
Carefully, she peeled back his jacket, afraid it might stick to his wounds. But any blood on his shirt had already dried, and the gash across his back didn’t look quite as bad as before.
“I should clean the wounds…”
He shook his head, then groaned, and his voice grew fainter. “Don’t do anything. It’ll be fine.”
She bit her fingernail. Should she help or leave him be? What exactly was the protocol for dealing with vampire cuts?
“I could look for some bandages.” She motioned vaguely. There had to be a twenty-four-hour drugstore somewhere, right?
He clutched the sheets. “Not safe out there. Not now. Stay here.”
Staying here meant staying the night, and her heart pounded as she looked around. The tiny place she rented was all the way out in the seventeenth arrondissement, and the thought of traveling across Paris alone terrified her now. On the other hand, she could hardly spend the night with a perfect stranger.
“But your wounds… They won’t make you turn into a vampire, will they?”
He gave a shaky chuckle. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” His voice grew weaker with every word. “I promise I’ll explain…tomorrow.”
Natalie stood, totally at a loss. Should she clean his wounds? Run for her life?
She settled for touching his shoulder and murmuring, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Tristan barely dipped his chin. Was that a nod?
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
He flapped a hand as if vampire attacks were an everyday occurrence in his life.
She stepped back. “I’ll be close if you need me.” She cocked her head, and even though Tristan looked out for the count by then, she whispered, “Bonne nuit.”
Something brushed against her leg, and she jumped. But it was only Bijou blinking up at her with huge, green eyes. The cat opened its mouth to meow, revealing laughably thin fangs.
Natalie bent to pet it. “Nice kitty…”
To her surprise, the cat was friendly — to her, if not to Tristan. And boy, was it comforting to run her hands over that soft fur. Soon, the cat’s eyes closed in sheer pleasure, and Tristan’s did in sleep. Natalie crouched, holding her breath, watching him.
Strangely, it all felt very déjà vu. As if she spent every night in a fancy Paris apartment watching a wounded warrior sleep. As if she’d known Tristan for ages and belonged at his side. Watching over him… Watching over Paris, even. She closed her eyes, letting her senses drift away.
And zoom! Just like that, she was flying like a dragon — in her imagination, at least. High in the air, with Paris laid out before her in a dazzling pattern of lights. Swooping over the streets, she would keep a keen eye below. Vampires would take one look at her and flee, and the City of Lights could truly slumber in peace.
She sighed then sniffed. Was it the rose-laced scent of the sheets that seemed so familiar? She could have sworn she recognized the chevron pattern of the hardwood floors and the vines shaped into the fine plaster ceilings. Even Bijou felt like an old friend.
Then a car horn tooted in the street below, and she puffed out a breath, ruffling Bijou’s fur. Who was she kidding? She’d helped an injured stranger home, not moved in with him.
Still, she remained at his side for a good half hour. Watching. Thinking. Wondering. Tristan’s breath was like a metronome, and it eased her ragged nerves to see his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Other than the hum of cars on the street, Paris seemed totally at peace.
Except Bijou, who meowed and stepped away in a hint. Natalie followed the cat through the echoing apartment. The place was stunning, but there wasn’t a stick of furniture apart from the bed at one end and a red velvet couch all the way at the other. No paintings. No carpets. No chairs or tables. It was as if Tristan had just moved in — or was about to move out. She couldn’t tell which.
He came with the place, he’d said of Bijou.
That suggested Tristan had recently moved in, she supposed. But still. So many mysteries remained…
Meow, the cat called, urging her along.
Natalie sighed, tagging along. The only thing that made sense to her was the cat’s name. Bijou — jewel — was fitting, given those luminous eyes that kept turning back to check if she was following him into the kitchen at the back.
Natalie clicked on a light and looked at the empty bowl that stood on a gleaming tile floor. “You hungry, kitty?”
Bijou meowed as if to say, Mais oui — but of course. He wound around her legs, a soft figure over the strict pattern of black-and-white tiles on the floor.
The first cabinet Natalie tried was empty. The second had a single pack of spaghetti. The third held a set of gleaming cutlery — solid silver, from the look of it. The fourth practically overflowed with packages of snack food — mountains of it. Enough to feed a dozen hikers for a week in the woods. At the fourth cabinet—
She smiled. “Jackpot.”
Stacks of aluminum cat food tins filled the entire space. Apparently, Bijou ate better than his master. Or did Tristan dine out?
Natalie grabbed several tins and turned them in the light.
“You want poulet, boeuf, or saumon?”
Bijou meowed.
Whether that meant chicken, beef, or salmon, Natalie wasn’t sure, but she went with chicken, and Bijou gobbled it up. While he did, she ran warm water over a kitchen towel, returned to the central room at the front, and gazed out over the city. Then she tiptoed over to Tristan. The poor guy was out like a light, but he couldn’t be comfortable. So she eased his shoes off and dabbed gently at his injuries with the damp cloth. Every bit of exposed skin was smeared with blood. But once she cleaned that off, his wounds were minimal — or they’d already healed, which was strange. Very strange. On the other hand, her whole evening had been strange. And since he didn’t seem on the brink of death, she left it at that.
Then she paced through the apartment. Every room had a view of the Eiffel Tower, Sacré-Coeur, and the Louvre. Views you saw in postcards but never in real life — not unless you had millions to spend.
She glanced back at Tristan. Had he inherited the place? Was he borrowing it from a friend? And, wait. Did the man patrol Paris every night looking for vampires?
Quietly, she peeked from room to room. The apartment was sparkling clean but totally empty — even the single closet she peeked into. The bathroom could have housed a family of four, but all it contained were th
e basics for one — a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a shaving kit. No perfume, no second toothbrush, Natalie noted with some satisfaction. Apparently, there wasn’t a woman in Tristan’s life. Not at the moment, at least. Then again, a man like him probably didn’t suffer long dry spells between hot dates with rail-thin, supermodel types. She frowned into a mirror, plucking at her wrinkled shirt and ragged hair.
The entry hallway had a narrow table where he’d thrown his keys beside a jar that gleamed with coins — a miniature treasure trove of copper, silver, and gold.
She wandered the apartment a few more times, wondering what to do. It was late — very late — and since she wasn’t going home…
“Do you mind if I, um…” she whispered, slipping Tristan’s jacket away from where it lay under his arm. Then she covered him with a blanket and stood at the bedside, whispering, “Good night.”
Good night, she imagined Tristan saying, though the silence of the apartment was undisturbed.
Finally, she took his jacket, walked to the velvet couch at the far end of the apartment, and sank down onto it. The couch was set at ninety degrees to a fireplace — a mirror of the hearth at Tristan’s end — and angled to face the lights of Paris. Natalie lay down and curled up, soaking in the view. The city looked peaceful, but somewhere out there, vampires roamed.
Shivering, she pulled the jacket around her shoulders. It smelled of leather, smoke, whiskey…and Tristan. She snuggled inside it, trying to block out fear so she could sleep.
Moments later, she opened her eyes, sensing someone watching her. But it was just Bijou, gazing up from the floor.
“You want to join me?” she whispered.
Bijou jumped up, landing smoothly in the space between Natalie’s knees and arms. Then he curled up, rearranged his paws and tail just so, and settled in.
Natalie smiled. If only it were that easy to curl up with a friend. Unconsciously, she glanced over at Tristan and all the space in that huge bed. Then she forced her eyes back to the design molded into the plaster ceiling.
Go to sleep. Relax. Tristan wasn’t far, and she was safe. Or so she hoped.
But a short time later, her mind filled with ugly visions. Men with fangs reached for her, calling her name. Tristan groaned, still covered in blood. She watched her own hands fend off vampires and heard her screams filling the night. And those weren’t even nightmares, because she was still awake. Were they visions of the future, or was she imagining things?
She curled up tightly, trying not to shake. Counting seconds, minutes, and what felt like hours. Praying for dawn and salvation. But Olivier’s voice cackled in her nightmares, and she kept nodding off then waking in a cold sweat. Bijou had moved over to the windows and was sitting silhouetted by the lights of Paris, not moving except for precise lashes of his tail. She watched for a while, telling herself he was a sentinel. Eventually, she fell asleep again, and in her dreams, she ran. On and on, running for her life. But no matter how fast she went, she couldn’t outrun the vampire’s voice. The one that kept insisting, You are mine.
Not yours, she wanted to scream, but no sound came.
You are mine, princess, a voice taunted in her mind. And soon, I will find you. I promise I will.
Chapter Five
Tristan woke slowly, not sure where he was. He flexed his hands, finding silk sheets…a soft mattress…a pillow. Home? He sniffed, catching the scent of floral laundry detergent and pine cleaner.
He groaned. Being home was good, but if the housekeeper, Madame Colette, had come in to clean around him with her usual mercenary vigor, he might as well head back to that alley. The housekeeper was thorough, but he had the sneaking suspicion she’d like to scrub him right out of the apartment along with whatever filth he’d tracked in.
Then it hit him. Solidarité du Coeur — the soup kitchen. Alley. Vampires.
Natalie, his dragon cried.
He sat up quickly — too quickly — and jumped to his feet. He wobbled there for a moment, waiting for his head to stop spinning. Beams of golden light streamed through the windows of the long, lonely apartment, but his world didn’t brighten until he spotted Natalie curled up on the couch, all the way over in the last room of the four spanning the front of the building.
My mate. Must keep her safe, his dragon puffed.
Sometimes, he really did feel like a big, mighty dragon. But occasionally, life had a way of making him feel awfully small — like now. Because if the shaky memories filtering back into his conscious served, Natalie was the one who’d kept him safe and helped him get home.
His dragon mourned. And now she’s huddled up as far away as possible.
His spirits sank, and the wounds that crisscrossed his body all throbbed at the same time. Thanks to accelerated shifter healing, they might not show, but all he felt was pain — throughout his body and deep in his heart. Which was crazy, because he’d never given much thought to finding his mate. Older shifters talked about a smack of realization, a bolt of lightning to the heart. But fate didn’t bless everyone with that kind of luck — especially not guys like him, who were more skilled in fighting than the mysterious art of love. His mother had warned him about that a thousand times.
You’re just like your father, the poor woman would sigh. Promise me you’ll stick to what you were born for. Promise you won’t go breaking a nice girl’s heart.
He scowled. He had only the vaguest memories of his father, a dragon who came and went with every passing whim. Each time his father had come home, the man had sworn to do better. And each time, he failed more miserably than before.
We don’t have to be him, Tristan’s dragon whispered.
Tristan stood still, rubbing his stiff arm. Yeah, well. Did he dare find out the hard way?
Natalie stirred, and he hurried forward, then stopped. The last thing she needed was a stranger rushing her like the vampires of the previous night. She needed rest.
Rest, his dragon agreed. Nice and cozy. Right there under our coat.
He looked closer, and indeed, she was cuddled up under his coat, bundling it around her shoulders and under her chin as if…
As if she likes it, his dragon hummed.
Tristan’s pulse skipped. Her hair curled around her face in gorgeous coppery locks, and though her eyes were closed, he could picture the rich sapphire of her eyes. She looked at peace, and he found his breaths slowing. Calming in a way he’d never felt before.
Sleep, my mate, his dragon side cooed. We’ll keep you safe.
He wanted to slide in beside her and hold her hand, but he didn’t dare move. The breeze from the open window stirred the curtains, carrying a mix of rich morning scents to his nose. Then he frowned. If Natalie needed sleep, he needed a shower. Badly.
So he padded to the bathroom and stayed there a long time, luxuriating in the kind of hot, steamy shower he hadn’t taken in years. The kind that didn’t exist in the military. The kind you didn’t take when you got home either, because you’d forgotten life could be that good.
That shower, like Natalie’s touch the night before, worked on him like a drug. Standing with his eyes closed, he let water cascade over aching muscles and joints. It was only the water turning cold that finally prompted him to step out and towel off. The mirror was all steamed up, which was probably for the better. He pulled on a change of clothes, still stiff but not as robotic as before.
We need to take more showers, his dragon said, picturing blue skies and tropical waterfalls…swaying palm trees…golden arcs of sand…
He sighed. From what he’d heard, some of the men he’d worked with in the military — Silas Llewellyn, Connor Hoving, and their shifter brethren — had landed sweet security jobs in Hawaii. Now that was the way to retire.
But then the buttery scent of fresh croissants wafted in from the street below, and he shook his head. Much as the tropics appealed, Paris had been calling to him for some time. No city really compared. If Silas, Connor, and the others had found their place in the world, he was happy
for them. As for him… He streaked a hand across the mirror and looked at his own blurry reflection. He still had to earn that right.
He stood a little straighter, finger-combed his hair, and stepped into the hallway, where he paused at the sound of a soft voice.
“Come on, kitty. Sweet kitty…”
He smiled. Apparently, Natalie was up, and she hadn’t discovered what a spitfire Bijou was. It was funny to hear English, too — but nice. A blast from his past.
“Sweet kitty. Bijou…”
Tristan smiled. Some American accents struck him as squeaky, while others were too sweet. Natalie’s was a melody pitched perfectly to his ears.
He padded around the corner then stopped, fascinated. Her hair glinted in the morning light, calling to him in a way no treasure ever had. Her eyes shone with lust for life — brighter than any jewel he’d ever seen. And her voice made him want to close his eyes and purr. No wonder Bijou liked her so much.
“You want poulet or boeuf?” she asked Bijou in the same tone she used to offer homeless people tea or coffee.
“Sounds a little heavy for breakfast, don’t you think?” he couldn’t resist interjecting.
Natalie spun, blushing. Bijou hissed.
Tristan stuck up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
He truly hadn’t, and he truly did feel badly about it. But, damn, was that blush cute.
Natalie shook her head. “It is your home.”
For a long, quiet minute, Tristan just stood there, drinking her in while his dragon crooned about love, mates, and forever — as if the beast had any clue about that kind of thing.
I do know, the beast insisted, still wallowing in bliss.
The thing was, his human side felt it too. A warm, fluttering happiness, like a hundred butterflies flying around his heart. A blur that pushed the outside world far, far away, along with all his worries and responsibilities. A sensation of his lungs filling more easily and his body warming, just from having her nearby.