by Anna Lowe
Which meant the rogue vampires were still on the loose. Apparently, they’d given up on Natalie’s apartment, but they’d been spotted around Paddy’s bar, where Natalie worked as a waitress.
Where she used to work, Tristan thought glumly.
She’d been sacked after the end of her first week off. He could see the devastation in her eyes when she’d hung up the phone. How will I pay my bills? How will I manage to stay in Paris?
The fact that she wouldn’t have to worry about those things as a Fire Maiden didn’t seem to help. And the more he’d tried to explain, the madder she grew.
“I don’t want a free ride. I want to earn my own living.”
“It’s not a free ride. Far from. Fire Maidens dedicate their lives to others.”
Couldn’t she see she was perfect for the job? But at that moment, the frustrations she’d kept bottled up over the past days came bubbling out, and he figured he’d better let her rant.
“I want to do something useful in life, not live off someone else’s account. Not like…like…”
Jacqueline? he’d nearly filled in.
He didn’t know who Natalie was thinking of, but Jacqueline certainly fit. A niece of one of Alaric’s distant allies, she’d been living off his wealth for years without doing much in return besides flouncing around Paris in the latest, greatest fashions. She never flew patrols and rarely attended meetings. If she spent an hour a month working toward law and order in the shifter world, Tristan would be surprised. What did Jacqueline actually accomplish besides seducing warriors who passed through Paris?
Tristan scowled, having come close to falling for her charms. How he could have been so blind to Jacqueline’s selfish, petty side, he had no idea. But that was further proof that he couldn’t trust his feelings when it came to Natalie. He could be just as misguided about her as he’d been about Jacqueline.
His dragon huffed, making his nostrils burn. She’s nothing like Jacqueline.
No, she wasn’t, but still. He had to stick to what he did best — defending Paris.
Defending Natalie, his dragon insisted.
And that was getting harder and harder as her cabin fever increased.
“I came to Paris to live,” she ranted one evening in one of her rare outbursts. “Not to live like a bird in a cage. Is this how a Fire Maiden would live?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, not wishing to say, It is for a vulnerable Fire Maiden who can’t shift.
Instead, he looked at her, mourning. He’d always felt a little sorry for humans, but most of them didn’t miss what they were ignorant of. Natalie, on the other hand, had enough dragon in her to dream of flying. She could peek into a whole new world yet never enter it.
Then the doorbell rang, and Tristan frowned. Now what?
He strode to the door, sniffing the air, then scowling. Yves, the doorman, was a jackal shifter who would never permit an enemy through. Unfortunately, Yves had no orders to stop assholes.
“Marcel,” Tristan muttered, opening the door.
“Bonsoir,” Marcel announced with a flourish.
Tristan made a face at the dragon shifter’s tailored suit and skinny tie. Was he stopping by with a message from Alaric before rushing off to a hot date?
When Natalie stepped up behind Tristan, Marcel turned on a thousand-watt smile and patted his heart as if to say, You beautiful creature, you.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”
Natalie murmured unenthusiastic greetings, but Marcel’s self-important smile grew.
Tristan narrowed his eyes at the man’s stylishly messy hair, carefully cultivated five-o’clock shadow, and arrogant bearing. Who was he trying to impress?
Natalie, his dragon huffed. Hot date, remember?
Tristan’s blood boiled. Non. No way. Absolutely not.
Marcel started to move forward, but Tristan sidestepped, blocking his way. Which made the bastard step left, then right, only to be countered by Tristan each time. Finally, he spoke over Tristan’s shoulder.
“Natalie, I’ve been thinking of you. How terrible it must feel to be — how do you say? — cooped up here.” A sidelong look added something like, Cooped up with this heathen. You poor thing.
Tristan bristled. He might not share Marcel’s noble blood, but he had been doing his best to keep Natalie in good spirits.
“The apartment is great,” Natalie said quickly. And so is the company, her quick smile added, or so Tristan hoped. “It’s just…”
She motioned toward the windows, and Marcel nodded sadly. “I know exactly what you mean. Free spirits like us are born to fly free.”
Tristan coughed into his hand. Free spirit? Marcel? Everything the man did was calculated — including this visit to Natalie.
“That is why I petitioned Alaric on your behalf,” Marcel announced. “Hugo and the others were adamant that you remain safely indoors. But I said, ‘No!’” He raised a stern finger like a goddamn revolutionary. “I said, ‘I will keep her safe.’”
Tristan rolled his eyes. Then something about Marcel’s scent reached his nose, and he nearly bared his teeth.
Jacqueline, his inner dragon snarled.
Apparently, Marcel and Jacqueline had been sleeping together — again. They’d had an on-again, off-again relationship for months, although off didn’t always correspond to the times each had pursued liaisons with someone else. Both had insatiable appetites for sex, but neither showed the kind of loyalty most shifters did.
So much for noble dragon blood.
But Natalie clapped with delight. “You mean I can go out?”
Marcel grinned indulgently and patted his chest. “I convinced them I would protect you. Mademoiselle, I am at your disposal for the evening.”
And for the night, his glittering dragon eyes added.
Tristan stepped closer, ready to kick Marcel’s sorry ass back down the hallway. But Natalie bounced with excitement.
“Great. Fantastic. I’ll be ready in a second.”
“Take all the time you need, ma belle,” Marcel called.
She’s not your goddamn belle, Tristan’s growl said.
Oh, but she will be, Marcel’s slick smile assured him.
Tristan pushed Marcel into the hallway, slammed the door in his face, and grabbed his phone. But Alaric, damn the man, confirmed that he’d granted Natalie an evening out under Marcel’s protection, so there was nothing Tristan could do.
She put a hand on his arm. “Tristan, I love this place, but I swear I’ll go crazy if I spend one more minute locked up here.”
The contact made him warm all over, and the plea in her eyes gutted him. How could he deny her a taste of freedom?
Guilt washed over him. Her future as a Fire Maiden wouldn’t offer much of that either. What had he gotten her into?
“Please,” she whispered. “I need this.”
Which was how Tristan found himself in the elevator not long later, counting to ten next to a smug Marcel and an excited Natalie.
Will not breathe fire at the shithead… Will not breathe fire…
“I can keep her perfectly safe on my own,” Marcel insisted when they reached the lobby.
Natalie shook her head before Tristan could. “He is my bodyguard.”
Yeah, asshole, he shot into Marcel’s mind. Her bodyguard.
“Bodyguards keep a respectful distance,” Marcel muttered, taking Natalie’s arm and wrapping it around his.
Tristan’s blood pressure spiked, but Natalie shot him a look that said, Don’t ruin this for me. And she was right. He could never have her, so he ought to resign himself to playing bodyguard and not boyfriend.
But seriously — Marcel?
He wanted to forbid her from going out with the man. Better yet, from even thinking of the man. But if he did that, he was no better than Alaric. Only Natalie could map her own future, and only she could choose.
I want her to choose me, his dragon cried.
Marcel made a sweeping gesture when they stepped o
ut into the street. “Ah, Paris.”
Tristan scowled, trailing after them. The sky was the purplish blue of early evening, the air crisp. Paris was as beautiful as ever. But the city wasn’t his problem. Marcel was.
“I know just where to take you,” Marcel announced, steering Natalie away from the park she’d gazed at longingly for days.
“But…”
Marcel tugged her onward. “I know you’ll love it.”
Tristan balled his hands into fists. Every sentence Marcel formed started with himself. Did he think that would impress Natalie?
Marcel strode on, pulling Natalie past the bookstalls and shop windows her eyes lingered upon. “I will show you all of Paris, ma belle.”
She knows Paris, and she’s not your anything, Tristan wanted to growl.
“I studied at the Sorbonne.” Marcel gestured in one direction then another. “And I spent my childhood right over there.”
“Nice,” Natalie murmured, though she didn’t look too interested. Instead, her eyes lit up as they roved over the city she loved. She turned her head to admire every intricate streetlamp, every carved facade. And when they reached the promenade on the banks of the Seine…
“Wow,” she murmured, looking up.
“Yes, that is my family’s villa.” Marcel pointed to a building.
She meant the stars, asshole, Tristan growled, following her gaze upward.
It was one of those perfectly clear nights filled with stars in all their majesty, from Orion and Ursa Major to the long streak of the Milky Way.
“It’s gorgeous,” Natalie said, looking at Tristan, not Marcel.
His lungs tightened, his blood warmed, and for one breathless moment, the universe shrank down to just the two of them. Her chest rose the way it did when she gazed longingly over the park, and he swore his heart beat in time with hers.
Mate, his dragon whispered. You are my mate.
He’d never felt more certain about anything in his life. He nearly blurted it out, too.
I love you, Natalie. I need you.
But those were me, me, me thoughts like Marcel’s. Couldn’t he do better than that?
The evening breeze stirred her coppery hair, and Tristan bit his lip, wishing he could speak his mind. You fascinate me. You amaze me. And you deserve better than Marcel.
Her eyes took on a beautiful bluish tint, glowing like a shifter’s.
You’d make a great dragon, he wanted to say. You’re already as tough, and you could learn the rest along the way.
I could teach you. His dragon nodded eagerly.
He pictured coaching her through her first flight — a real flight, not a dream. Cheering for her once she became airborne and witnessing her delight. Then he pictured the two of them soaring in long, lazy circles over Paris, taking in the sights. Afterward, they would land on his rooftop and—
“It’s true,” Marcel said, breaking Tristan out of his reverie.
Natalie jolted too. Had she been just as swept away as he?
Marcel gestured to the mansion he’d grown up in. “The building was commissioned by Richelieu himself. C’est magnifique, n’est-ce pas?”
Natalie rolled her eyes, and Tristan hid a smile. Then he jutted his chin to the stars and did his best to shoot his thoughts into her mind. Magnifique.
“Magnifique,” Natalie whispered with a secret smile.
“I will take you there someday,” Marcel went on, still talking about the mansion.
I will take you to the stars, Tristan countered. Well, into the sky, at least.
But Marcel was already towing Natalie along, pointing out every sight related to him. “My favorite brasserie… The apartment I lived in as a student… Oh, look, the new Mercedes model. Not as nice a color as mine, of course.”
Natalie looked left when Marcel gestured right, tuning out. Tristan did too, focusing on their surroundings. They were out in the open, and he couldn’t let his guard down.
Something fluttered overhead, and he cast an eye in the direction of Notre Dame. The cathedral was out of sight, but you never knew what its resident gargoyles might get up to. Some were just statues, but others were shifters who had survived the man-made fire at the cathedral. And although they were allied with Alaric, there was no telling when one might turn rogue.
And that was just the danger overhead. Tristan eyed every passerby, every shadow. There was no telling where or when a vampire might rush out at Natalie. If one did, Marcel wouldn’t be much help. He was too busy babbling about himself and Paris.
“The Louvre… Oh, regardez.” He motioned as a classic motorboat zipped by on the river. “A classic Riva Aquarama, just like the one I keep in Saint-Tropez.”
Tristan rolled his eyes.
It was a long, winding walk, but in spite of Marcel’s endless monologue, Natalie bounced along. That is, until she stopped short, choked out something Tristan didn’t catch, and rushed ahead.
Chapter Sixteen
No woman in her right mind would run toward a straggly group of homeless men in the shadow of the bridge, but that’s what Natalie did. Tristan ran after her on high alert.
“Natalie!” one of the men called in delight.
Before Tristan could intervene, the two had clasped arms and air-kissed each other’s cheeks while chatting excitedly in French.
“Natalie, it’s been too long. You haven’t been avoiding us, have you?”
By then, Marcel was rushing up as well, but Tristan stuck out an arm when he realized what was going on.
“Solidarité du Coeur,” he whispered.
“Solidarité du what?” Marcel demanded.
Tristan grinned as more men came out from the shadows. Many were regulars at the soup kitchen where Natalie volunteered, and clearly, her presence had been missed. They fussed over her like so many old friends and chattered away a mile a minute. And as for Natalie…
She smiled warmly and spoke in rapid French, looking happier than he’d ever seen her.
“You know these people?” Marcel interjected, aghast.
Natalie nodded and made introductions. “Philippe, Yan, Abdel…”
Tristan gave each a respectful nod, earning the same in return. Marcel, on the other hand, got looks of disdain. And no wonder, given the way he stuck up his nose.
“Really, Natalie. Let’s move on.”
But Natalie ignored him, stepping over to view the tents and makeshift shelters the men were eager to show her.
“Natalie,” Marcel protested.
Tristan was about to shove him back, but Natalie turned and barked, “Give me a minute, all right?”
Marcel looked absolutely shocked, but Tristan nearly gave her a fist pump. Natalie might be kind, sweet, and polite, but clearly, she had her limits. What was it she’d said?
My father calls it my premature midlife crisis. But you know what? I love it. I love doing things on my own terms.
He grinned. Inside that sweet exterior was a woman learning to spread her wings.
Just like a dragon. His inner beast grinned.
But as Natalie followed Philippe on a tour of the little colony, his heart sank again, because she could never be his.
Perfect Fire Maiden, too, his dragon murmured a little mournfully.
It was true. She was a goddamn Princess Diana in the way she connected to this community in need. She asked questions and looked everyone in the eye, managing to look sorrowful and delighted at the same time.
“The gendarmes make us move every few days, but tonight, it’s home,” Philippe said, gesturing over the cardboard shelters set into niches under the bridge.
Tristan studied the little colony. How cold did it get under that bridge at night? How wet? How alone did the men feel? But it wasn’t just somber thoughts that occupied his mind. There was admiration too. The men came from all walks of life and races, yet they’d found a way to get along. They scraped by on almost nothing, yet they maintained their pride. And they were all on their best behavior around Natalie.
>
“Bunch of tramps,” Marcel sniffed, looking at his Rolex.
Tristan nearly punched him. Did Marcel have any idea how close to the edge some people lived?
No, he didn’t, as was clear when Marcel trampled one man’s sleeping bag on his way to extract Natalie.
“My dear, we really must be going.”
Philippe and the others shot him dirty looks, and it was clear Natalie wasn’t in any rush. On the other hand, she must have realized it would be better to leave before Marcel offended anyone, so she said her goodbyes.
“Will we see you soon?” Philippe asked, and a dozen pairs of eyes shone in hope.
“As soon as I can,” Natalie assured them. Then she looked at Tristan, and uncertainty flashed in her eyes. How soon might that be?
Never, if Marcel had any say in the matter, Tristan figured. As for Alaric and the others, he had no idea. But he vowed to give Natalie the most freedom he possibly could — if she stayed in Paris. If he remained her bodyguard.
If, if, if…
The vow must have shown in his eyes, because Natalie smiled in gratitude.
“Now, then. Back to the beauty of Paris,” Marcel murmured, hurrying her onward.
“The real Paris,” Natalie murmured, glancing back.
“Yes, the real Paris,” Marcel agreed, missing her point. “Now, coming up, you’ll see the Musée d’Orsay…”
Natalie trooped on gamely. The color of the sky deepened, providing an increasingly dramatic backdrop to the monuments of Paris.
“The National Assembly… Le Grand Palais… Napoleon’s Tomb…”
Natalie looked at the stars while Tristan kept an eye out for danger. The sky was clear, but clouds were gathering on the horizon.
“And here we are. The Eiffel Tower,” Marcel announced, as if Natalie wouldn’t have figured that out for herself. “I wanted you to see it at night, when it’s most beautiful.”
It was beautiful. All that steel shaped into graceful, curving lines that reached for the stars. Even the high fence and legions of souvenir hawkers couldn’t ruin that view. Slowly, they skirted the security perimeter and wound along a leafy path. A flower-lined field opened on their left, with tidy footpaths that drew the eye in long, straight lines.