Dragon Passions: Three fiery & suspenseful paranormal romances!

by Anna Lowe

  Natalie stared back, eyes wide and full of wonder. Did she feel it too?

  A magical sensation filled the space around them. Without thinking, Tristan reached out to take her hand…

  Their fingers had barely brushed when Bijou meowed and butted Natalie’s shin. The little brat might as well have banged a fist on a table and growled, Feed me.

  “Oh, sorry.” Natalie spun, blushing all over again. “Poor kitty.” She knelt and opened the cat food.

  Bijou shot Tristan a smug look. The cat was just a cat, not a shifter of some kind. But, damn. There were times Tristan swore the little monster was possessed.

  “Look, Bijou. Beef.” Natalie spooned the food into the bowl. “Yummy.”

  Tristan normally turned up his nose at the overly juicy, artificial smell that filled the kitchen. But Natalie made cat food sound delicious, and Bijou looked smugger than ever before.

  She likes me, the cat said with a flick of his black tail. Then he lowered his head and nibbled daintily at the food.

  The thing was, Tristan had leaned in, and when Natalie stood, she would have fit right into his arms. As it was, it took everything he had to keep them locked at his sides. Which was a damn shame, but at least she didn’t skitter away. She just stood there, nice and close, making him marvel at the lavender in her scent. Why did it seem so familiar?

  Provence, he realized. One of the many places his mother had dragged him to live as a kid — one of the few he’d enjoyed. Detroit had come next, and that hadn’t smelled half as nice as the south of France. Neither had Lyon, where they’d moved afterward, nor New Jersey, where they’d continued on to in his mother’s constant, gypsylike search for the perfect place.

  This is perfect, his dragon said. Our mate is perfect. Perfect for us, at least.

  “I’m Natalie. Natalie Brewer,” she murmured, as if destiny were prompting her to get to know her mate.

  But humans didn’t know about mates, and only a rare few were tuned in enough to recognize their life partner from any other Joe who wandered along.

  “Tristan Chevalier.”

  The pale morning light caught in the hollows under her eyes, and she looked more vulnerable than before.

  “Thank you.” She gulped. “Thank you so much. You saved me last night.”

  “You saved me.”

  Her lips twisted. “All I did was get you on the Metro.”

  He wished he could explain why it felt like so much more. She’d essentially lifted his sad, battered soul, dusted him off, and set him on a whole new direction in life.

  But then she covered her mouth and reached out as if he might keel over. “Oh God. Your injuries. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “But you were hurt. Really hurt.”

  He shrugged, wondering how much to admit. “I heal quickly.”

  “That quickly?”

  He pursed his lips. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Sorry to scare you.”

  “But…but…” She frowned. “Were those really vampires, or am I going crazy?”

  And just like that, it all came back. His job. Strict orders to report on vampire activity without getting involved. Instead, he’d killed one vampire and sent three others packing.

  Oops, his dragon murmured, not all too earnestly.

  “They really were vampires.” He hated to scare her, but she had to know what she was up against. The problem was, that explanation would overlap with who he was, and he wasn’t ready to go there yet. “But you’re safe now.”

  Her eyes shone — so bright, he could have taken it for a supernatural shifter glow. But her scent was pure human — heavenly, but still human — so it must have been a trick of the light.

  “Safe for how long?”

  Forever, he wanted to say. But, hell. Even if she was his destined mate, there were no guarantees. History was full of tragic, star-crossed lovers.

  So, we fight for her. We make our own history, his dragon growled.

  He reached for her hands, and that time, Bijou didn’t interfere. They stood facing each other, knowing so little about each other, yet so much passed back and forth without a word. Trust. Hope. Humility. A zing went through his veins, and his gaze dropped to the soft, pearly lips he longed to kiss.

  Maybe someday, we can. Maybe someday, we will, his dragon breathed.

  Most of the time, someday was right up there with sometime and somewhere for guys like him — all of them over the rainbow, an impossible dream. But looking into Natalie’s eyes — holding those warm hands, so perfect in his — he nearly believed. Enough to lean closer and reach for her lips. Natalie leaned too, and he held his breath.

  But the doorbell rang with a heart-stopping buzz, and they jumped apart.

  “Um…you expecting someone?” Natalie murmured, tense.

  He sniffed the air and groaned. “Madame Colette.”

  Natalie’s eyebrows shot up. “Madame who?”

  He nodded wearily. “The housekeeper.”

  The lock turned, and the door rattled on its hinges as Madame Colette came up against the dead bolt. He was tempted to keep it that way, but a moment later, the woman started hammering on the door.

  Natalie looked around the empty apartment. “Housekeeper?”

  Tristan heaved a sigh. “She came with the place.” Bracing himself for a verbal onslaught, he slid the bolt and opened the door. “Madame Colette. Bonjour.”

  He’d caught the diminutive sixtysomething in mid-knock, and her fist would have whopped his chest if he hadn’t pivoted back.

  “Monsieur Chevalier,” she cried, laying right into him. “It is ten o’clock — and a weekday — if you didn’t notice. Every respectable man in Paris has been up for hours.” All that came out in a single blast of rapid-fire French, delivered as only Madame Colette could. “If I’m to do my job — and I assure you, I will — you must open the door immediately. I’m sure the neighbors don’t appreciate the racket—”

  Tristan nearly muttered, So don’t knock so loud. Then again, there were no neighbors. Not on his floor. And anyway, Madame Colette was inhaling sharply, ready for her next volley.

  A volley that never came, because she spotted Natalie and froze.

  “And who is this?”

  Her voice was as severe as the bun her gray hair was winched back in, and a frown cut deeply into her face.

  Tristan folded his arms and bristled. Madame Colette could be as bitchy to him as she wanted. Lord knew, there was no stopping her. But he’d be damned if he let the woman get on Natalie’s case.

  Bijou appeared, purring, and leaped right into Natalie’s arms. Natalie ran her chin over the cat’s soft fur, offered a hand to the housekeeper, and introduced herself in slightly accented French.

  “Natalie Brewer. It’s a pleasure, madame.”

  She even went as far as giving a half curtsy, and Tristan exhaled. Apparently, Natalie had been in Paris long enough to know how to handle blustery older women with bees in their bonnets.

  Madame Colette continued her inspection, unimpressed. Natalie stood her ground, sticking to her smile. A bright, happy one that didn’t hint at the nightmare she’d survived. What other trials had she been through that she hid?

  Finally, with a stern look at Bijou, Madame Colette shook Natalie’s hand. Just for a microsecond, but more than she’d ever offered Tristan.

  “Hmpf,” the housekeeper grunted, sweeping past them and into the kitchen — where she halted in her tracks.

  Natalie winced. “I fed Bijou. Just one packet. I hope it’s all right.”

  Madame Colette hmpfed again and set off on a close inspection of the apartment. Tristan watched her go. Madame Colette might be a housekeeper, but he had the sneaking suspicion she was there to snoop for his employers — the shifters who had offered him the apartment and the security job. The one that had sounded so simple and straightforward until last night.

  Natalie looked about to whisper something when Madame Colette reappeared with a look of sheer
horror.

  “The couch? You demanded that your guest sleep on the couch?”

  Tristan pursed his lips. Should he admit to passing out on his bed first? Probably not.

  “It was fine. I slept like a baby,” Natalie said, coming to his rescue again.

  Madame Colette ignored her and stuck a finger in Tristan’s face. “Monsieur Chevalier, I believed it beyond the realm of possibility that even a man with as poor an understanding of etiquette as you could be so rude as to relegate a guest to the couch. Alas, I fear I am wrong.”

  Alas, I had a run-in with some vampires, he nearly said. But Natalie didn’t need the reminder, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “It really was fine,” Natalie insisted.

  “It could not possibly have been fine,” Madame Colette declared as if she’d been the one on the couch.

  “No, really…” Natalie tried, then stopped when her stomach growled.

  Madame Colette froze. “No bed… No shower… No breakfast? Monsieur Chevalier—”

  You are an utter failure, he could have filled in. You are corrupting this young woman — and probably Bijou as well. How you ever hope to become a permanent hire, I cannot imagine.

  Madame Colette didn’t say as much, but her flashing eyes enunciated every word.

  Lucky for him, the Guardians of Paris valued traits other than old-world manners. Like strength. Tenacity. A sharp shifter nose and mastery of hand-to-hand combat. Not that any of that would impress Madame Colette.

  “I was about to get some breakfast,” he swore.

  For the next five minutes, Madame Colette went on scolding him. Natalie kept insisting everything was wonderful, and Tristan kept counting to ten, trying not to blow up. Then Madame Colette huffed, shooed Natalie toward the shower, and headed out the door, declaring she would take care of breakfast herself.

  The door slammed behind her, and the apartment fell into blissful silence.

  “Wow,” Natalie murmured, peeking out of the bathroom.

  “Wow,” Tristan sighed.

  Chapter Six

  “So. Vampires…” Natalie said firmly.

  It was half an hour later, and they were on the rooftop terrace, lingering over breakfast at a table for two — a luxury Tristan never knew the apartment offered until Madame Colette had ordered him to pull it out from a corner.

  I think Madame likes Natalie, his dragon sighed.

  That, or Madame felt sorry for Natalie for getting stuck with him. The housekeeper had put on quite a spread, with a basket of fresh rolls, buttery croissants, and his favorite, a rolled pastry called pain au chocolate. Not only that, but Madame Colette had brewed coffee that smelled richer than the stuff she deemed good enough for him — and served it with milk so creamy, he licked it off his lips. There was jam too, a bowl of fruit…even cloth napkins.

  He dipped his croissant in his coffee and considered. Madame liked Natalie. Bijou liked Natalie. No one liked him, but hey. He didn’t need friends, just a job.

  Need Natalie, his dragon whispered.

  With every passing minute, that felt more and more true.

  He looked out over the rooftops, stalling. Wishing that, for once, he could just relax and take in the stunning view. So far, he’d only been on the roof in dragon form, too busy taking off or landing to soak in the rich atmosphere of Paris. Even now, he felt more at work than at rest.

  “Tristan.” Natalie tapped his hand. “Vampires?”

  Her tone said she didn’t just want to know — she needed to know.

  “Vampires…” he started, trying to decide where to begin. Suddenly, the coffee tasted bitter, the croissant stale. “Paris used to be overrun with them…”

  Downstairs, dishes clattered. Was Madame Colette cleaning or hinting for him not to reveal the details of how dragons had come to dominate the city centuries ago?

  Tristan heaved an inner sigh. Did she really think so little of him?

  His dragon snorted. Yes.

  He cleared his throat and picked up again. “There are only a few vampires left in Paris these days.”

  Natalie stared into her coffee and muttered, “Not few enough.” Then she looked up, a little pale. “Do they drink blood like the stories say?”

  “Some just drink a little. Others bleed you dry.”

  Natalie blanched, and he winced at his word choice.

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Not you,” he said immediately. “Not if I can help it. But it would help if I understood what drew them to you. You, in particular, I mean.”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “What were you doing at Solidarité du Coeur anyway?”

  She gave him a stern look. “I love volunteering there. It’s important work.”

  He stuck up his hands. It was important work. In a way, it paralleled what he did — protecting the city and its people. But Olivier hadn’t given the impression of simply stumbling into that soup kitchen. He and the others had hunted Natalie down. Why?

  “What were you doing there?” Natalie asked.

  Tristan hemmed and hawed. Now would be a good time to tell her about his true nature. I’m a dragon shifter, hired by the Guardians to keep an eye out for trouble. But he didn’t want to dump everything on Natalie at once.

  “I work for a security conglomerate. Kind of like…what is that called? Neighborhood watch.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Some neighborhood watch.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t buying that, but he wasn’t quite ready to explain. Instead, he pressed on about her.

  Yes. His dragon nodded eagerly. More about her.

  “I work at Paddy’s Irish Pub, plus a few hours in an English bookstore.”

  That didn’t explain the vampires either, not with Olivier’s words echoing through his mind.

  You think blood like that comes along every day? Royal blood?

  “What about your family? Any ties to Europe?”

  “Yes, but that was generations ago. My great-grandmother emigrated from France to Quebec, then to the US. Would that make me tastier or something?” She frowned. “Wait. How do you know so much about vampires?”

  He squeezed his lips together. That was the tricky part.

  “There are lots of supernaturals around.”

  Bad way to begin, he realized when Natalie blanched.

  “Supernaturals? Lots?”

  He hurried to correct himself. “I mean, it seems like a lot once you know they exist. Really, there are only a few. Most humans go their whole lives without realizing they’re there.”

  She stared. “How do you know?”

  Because I’m a dragon shifter didn’t seem like the best place to start, so he dodged the question. “I was hired to keep an eye out for vampires. It’s my job.”

  Downstairs, a wet mop slapped the floor. Madame Colette was hinting again. Still, she was cleaning, so that was a plus.

  Meanwhile, Natalie stared at Tristan. “Your job? Your actual job? Do you go around with cloves of garlic?”

  He smiled, though she didn’t. “No garlic. My job is to report on any vampires who cause trouble, not to go after them.” That part was entirely true, though he frowned at the reminder of how pissed off his boss would be.

  “And who exactly hired you to do this job?”

  He waved around. “The people who own this apartment.”

  “It’s not yours?”

  That made him cackle out loud. “Me, owning a place like this? Maybe in my dreams.”

  You got that right, the pause in the steady swipe of Madame mopping agreed.

  Tristan shook his head. He’d never been rich and never would be. Still, the place was a huge step up from where he’d started when he’d first come to Paris. He and several other former military shifters who’d had been hired by the Guardians had bunked in much rougher digs at first. Since then, some had been promoted, some posted to other locations, others laid off. Tristan felt like a pawn being moved over a chessboard he could only see a few squares of. The Guardi
ans were a secretive bunch, and in the beginning, that hadn’t bothered him much. A job was a job, and as long as he worked for the good guys, he was fine with that. But now…

  His eyes drifted to Natalie, and his dragon growled. Not just a job anymore.

  No, it wasn’t. But how exactly did Natalie figure in? Was she just another pawn, like him?

  More like the queen, his dragon growled. And we will make her our mate someday.

  If she agrees, he shot back.

  His dragon might think the world still worked as it had centuries before, with a knight claiming the hand of the woman he saved. But things had changed in the twenty-first century, and a good thing, too. He didn’t want a mate who had no choice in her partner. He wanted her to want him too.

  Downstairs, the mop slapped against the marble floor of the hallway, and he could practically hear Madame laughing. Why would a nice girl like Natalie want you?

  He frowned into his coffee. Why, indeed?

  Natalie stared over the crests of the trees gracing the Jardin du Luxembourg. “I started feeling it yesterday afternoon, not long after I took a walk. I stopped for a crêpe, and everything was fine. But then I started imagining someone was following me.” She frowned. “I guess I wasn’t imagining.”

  Tristan thought that one over. Few humans sensed vampires until it was too late. But Natalie had?

  “My dream was to live in Paris. But vampires…” She shivered. “Why would vampires be after me? I’m not special in any way.”

  I beg to differ, his dragon sniffed.

  Aloud, he muttered, “I don’t know.”

  Most of his life, he’d dealt with shifters. Wolves were stubborn as anything. Bear shifters were mostly easygoing but dangerously possessive around their mates. Lions were obsessed with looking good, and dragons came in two flavors — snobby blue bloods and plain old commoners like him.

  But vampires? He’d never dealt with any before this latest assignment. The fact that four had come after Natalie at the same time didn’t bode well.

  “Is there anything special in your family? Ancient nobility, perhaps?”

  The mopping downstairs slowed as Madame Colette listened in.

  Natalie snorted. “Hardly. Just normal folks living modest lives.”