Fire Maidens: Paris

by Anna Lowe

  It was an order accompanied by a burning, unrelenting glare. Literally burning, Natalie realized, when she saw two red points of light spark where his irises should have been.

  Help. Call the police. He’s a monster, she wanted to scream. But no one seemed perturbed — not even Marie, who passed between them. Could she not see the man’s eyes glow?

  “Quick, while we still have time,” Tristan said, hustling her through the kitchen’s swinging door.

  “Hey!” Madame Monet called, but it was too late.

  Natalie squinted through the kitchen’s cloud of steam. Dishes clattered, oil splattered, and volunteer cooks called to each other over the usual kitchen din. Tristan kept hold of Natalie’s elbow — gently enough not to pinch, yet firmly enough to hurry her along. In no time, they reached the back door, which was partially blocked by a stack of wooden pallets.

  She balked. “This is crazy. Let me go.”

  She spun, staring Tristan down. The height difference made her tilt her head way back, but when her eyes locked on his…

  You can trust him, a little voice whispered. You must trust him.

  Her lips moved in protest, but no words came. Just a little squeak that made his face soften.

  Then the swinging door burst open, and Olivier appeared.

  “Hey!” one of the cooks yelled. “You can’t come back here.”

  Olivier — pale, creepy Olivier, who seemed twice as sinister as before — ignored the protest and stalked forward.

  You, his eyes promised Natalie. You are mine.

  Natalie watched in horror as Olivier’s lips peeled back, exposing long, pointy canines. The only thing that kept her from screaming was the steady grip of Tristan’s hand on her arm, propelling her toward the door.

  “That way,” he grunted. “If you want to live, get moving. Now.”

  Chapter Two

  Tristan shoved the door open, pushed Natalie into the rear alley, and knocked over the stack of wooden pallets to block the space behind them. That might not delay the vampire for long, but every minute counted. He kept his right hand on his mate’s elbow as they—

  Whoa. What had his inner dragon just said?

  Mate, the beast hissed in his mind.

  His legs nearly froze in midstride, while his mind spun.

  For weeks, he’d been ending his Thursday patrols of the Latin Quarter at the soup kitchen, telling himself he was being thorough. But who was he kidding? It had nothing to do with security. It was all about her. The woman with the long, coppery hair and brilliant sapphire eyes. The one who moved shyly, like she had no idea how beautiful she was.

  Natalie, his dragon breathed.

  They’d never made contact before, so he hadn’t realized until he’d touched her arm. Then, wham! The embers that glowed in his dragon soul burst into an all-out bonfire.

  Mate, his dragon murmured. She’s my mate.

  Of course, he’d grown up hearing about destined mates. That when you met The One, you just knew, and your life would never be the same. But, hell. Now?

  As he hustled Natalie onward, the cool nighttime air whipped her hair, setting off a thousand fantasies in his mind. Nice fantasies, like leaning in close and sniffing her lavender scent. Dirty fantasies too, like seeing those long, silky strands sway as she moved over him, both of them naked and in bed. A big bed with a sturdy frame that wouldn’t so much as squeak when he and she—

  He sucked in a sharp breath and cursed his dragon. Would you cut that out?

  Having a ferocious, animal side had its advantages, but there were drawbacks, too. Like having to suppress caveman urges at the least opportune times. Women weren’t objects to be possessed like jewels, and they were capable of a hell of a lot more than sex. He knew that firsthand. Men started wars, while women picked up the pieces and plowed on. Women pulled their families through the roughest, toughest times. When the power company turned off the heat in the dead of winter, when there was no money to buy shoes, when deadbeat dads took off, leaving nothing — women found a way.

  A scrap of newspaper drifted down the alley, and something fluttered overhead. Tristan looked up just in time to see a twisted figure launch itself into the inky sky.

  “Please tell me that wasn’t a vampire,” Natalie whispered.

  He scowled. No, that was a gargoyle. One that had led Olivier to Natalie, perhaps.

  Tristan blinked and looked around. Gargoyles posed no threat — not to a dragon shifter like him. But vampires…

  Along the alley, lumps of cobblestones shone in the dim light of a single lamppost. Puddles formed in the depressions between stones, each glinting with…water? Urine? Spilled beer? He wrinkled his nose. Judging by the scent, it was a mixture of all three.

  “That was a vampire.” He motioned back toward the soup kitchen. “We need to get you out of here.”

  He hated that his words came out all snippy and cold, when all he wanted was to reassure her. Hold her. Keep her safe. But somehow, he couldn’t get it out the way he meant, what with his mind spinning so quickly.

  Save mate. Kill vampire. Report to the big boss — who would not be pleased.

  Shit. What a mess. He’d been hired by the Guardians of Paris to report wayward vampires, but not to engage any. That could set off a whole new wave of conflict between shifters and vampires, throwing Europe into another Dark Age.

  Not that humans would be aware of anything but the instability that ensued. Humans, who were totally ignorant of shifters, believed they ran things. In truth, humans tended to make a mess of things. Over centuries, powerful shifter clans had watched over the cities, maintaining peace among the supernaturals who could wreak havoc on unsuspecting humans. Wolves ran Rome, lions kept an eye on London, and dragons oversaw law and order in Paris. At least, they tried. But if the fragile truce between shifters and vampires wavered…

  Tristan sniffed the air, trying to tease out each scent. Paris had its share of resident vampires who had proven they could play by the rules. No stalking humans, no murdering. Just catch-and-release blood-sucking that didn’t result in permanent harm. Some vampires found human consorts — willing playthings who enjoyed the lifestyle. It turned Tristan’s stomach, but hell. As a dragon shifter, he devoured the occasional deer or boar, so who was he to judge?

  But the power of the Guardians was waning, and the threat of evil elements was on the rise. Rogue wolf shifters tired of prowling the woods came to cities for new adventures. Malcontent dragons plotted to snatch power. Unruly vampires wandered in, sucking their victims dry of blood.

  “A vampire? Are you serious?” Natalie stared at him through those startled doe eyes. Deep, intelligent eyes that went with her earnest face. Clearly, she was new to Paris. Why had she come? When? What did she have planned?

  “Dead serious,” he murmured in reply.

  Natalie paled, and he cursed himself. Could he say nothing right?

  He looked around. His top priority was to keep Natalie safe. Second on the list was not revealing his dragon side, which would be tricky with a vampire to fight. Third was figuring out some way to explain to his boss why he’d engaged a vampire rather than reporting it.

  “That way.” He pointed left, focusing on priority number one — keeping his mate safe.

  But as soon as he faced that end of the alley — the one with the shortest distance to the main road — two tall figures swept into view.

  “Oh God,” Natalie grabbed Tristan’s arm. “More vampires?”

  He tested the air and found it devoid of anything but stale alley scents. Yep, those were vampires, all right — creatures distinguished by the absence of scent other than a faint whiff of ammonia. No wonder the bastards practically bathed in cologne.

  Pricks of red light showed in the vampires’ eyes, a sign that they were on the hunt.

  “Stay close,” Tristan grunted.

  Natalie followed him into an about-face, and he marveled at her composure. Vampires had a magical aura that could stop an average human in hi
s or her tracks. As a shifter, Tristan was immune, but few humans were strong enough to resist. And yet, there went Natalie, scurrying ahead of him, getting away on her own.

  And not a second too soon. She had barely retraced her steps past the back door of the soup kitchen when it flew open, and Olivier hurtled out.

  “Stop,” the vampire ordered, using a deep, authoritative tone laced with magic.

  But Natalie just huffed and hurried on. “Like hell, I am.”

  Another vampire appeared before them, cutting off their only avenue of escape. Which left Tristan with four vampires after his mate — and only one of him. How was he going to pull that off without revealing his dragon?

  The soup kitchen staff threw a few halfhearted protests after Olivier, but even they had the good sense to yank the door shut. A moment later, the heavy grind of a bolt sounded, and the alley went deathly still.

  Natalie backed away from the fourth vampire, bumping into Tristan’s chest. When he looped an arm around her, she put a hand on his forearm. And, wow. Though Tristan was totally focused on the threat before them, a corner of his mind registered that he would remember that moment for the rest of his life. The trust. The perfect fit of her body against his. The gesture that said, Your fate is mine.

  But, damn. He had to think fast, with one vampire before him and three more behind.

  “When I say run, go. Run for your life.”

  He kept his whisper so low, he wasn’t sure Natalie could hear. But her chin dipped slightly, and her body tensed in the prelude to a sprint.

  Kill, his inner dragon growled, focusing on the vampire before them.

  Oh, he planned to, all right. But he had Natalie to consider first.

  “My dear, what are you doing? You can’t trust him,” Olivier purred in a hypnotizing voice. “You can only trust us.”

  Natalie snorted, and Olivier’s brow furrowed. Clearly, the vampire was used to enthralling humans, but Natalie seemed immune.

  The other vampires murmured to one another, and their eyes fell to her chest — or rather, her necklace. Tristan couldn’t see it, but he could sense a low, pulsing power and see a hint of a golden glow.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  One curt shake of her head said, Are you nuts?

  “Close your eyes,” he insisted.

  He doubted she would, though, and there was no time to waste. So he slapped a hand over her eyes and leaned to one side, opening his mouth on a huge inhale.

  The vampire’s eyes went wide with an expression that said, Oh shit.

  Oh shit, was right. Or rather, Oh sh—, because an instant later, Tristan hit the vampire with a long plume of fire. Nothing as big or as powerful as he could summon in dragon form, but enough to make the bastard duck and roll aside.

  “Run.” Tristan pushed Natalie forward.

  She took off past the fallen vampire, and for three steps, Tristan followed. Then he spun and held his ground, listening to her footsteps race down the alley.

  Mate, his dragon whimpered. Need to keep her close.

  But close didn’t work with four vampires around, so he let her go, mourning the whole time. If the woman had any sense, she would disappear in the maze of streets, then catch the next plane home, wherever that was. How would he ever find her again?

  “Step aside,” Olivier ordered. “She’s mine.”

  Tristan stood firm. “You step aside. Find someone else’s blood to suck.”

  The vampire sneered. “You think blood like that comes along every day? Royal blood? With it, I would have the power to—”

  Another of the vampires cut him off with a cough. Olivier shot him a dark look and motioned after Natalie. “She’s mine.”

  Tristan shook his head, resisting the urge to lick his chapped lips. They weren’t made for spitting fire, and it showed. But that was nothing compared to the pain he was about to inflict on the vampires. With a sweeping gesture, he flicked the claws of his right hand free. A partial shift took concentration, but a few claws were all he could afford to reveal right now.

  “She’s mine,” he retorted, leaping at the nearest vampire.

  He’d meant to hiss the words, but they came out in more of a roar. A trickle of fire escaped his lips, and his jump was a couple feet higher than he’d expected. His arm moved so fast, it blurred, and a moment later, a vampire’s head thumped to the ground. Tristan stared as the body sank in on itself and crumbled into dry ashes scattered by the next gust of wind.

  “Didier,” Olivier mourned.

  Tristan turned, glaring. Didier could burn in hell, as could the other three.

  The red points in their eyes intensified, and Olivier growled, “Kill him.”

  An instant later, three very pissed-off vampires pounced. Tristan had caught the first one by surprise, but these three were better prepared. Their nails were sharp as razors, and the lightest contact cut deep. Fangs flashed at him from every direction, and it was all he could do to fend them off.

  Snippets of every shifter fight he’d ever been in raced through his mind, but that experience didn’t apply to vampires. Their sheer speed was one thing, the three-sided attack another. And while his claws found their mark often, the vampires struck too. Soon, his body burned from half a dozen wounds. Deep slashes that bled and bled, as all vampire-inflicted wounds did. A long gash made his left arm ache, and blood dripped into his right eye from a cut on his forehead.

  Let me out, his dragon insisted. Let me finish them.

  Tristan considered. Shifting into full dragon form was his last resort. But, heck — he was getting close to that point. Shifters healed quickly, but they weren’t immortal. One misstep, and the vampires could wrestle him to the ground. The three of them would suck his blood until he was dry and lifeless. Worse, they’d chase down Natalie soon after.

  Tristan gritted his teeth. No way.

  Summoning his last reserves, he shoved the nearest vampire back. In one long, arcing gesture, he slashed a claw across one vampire’s chest and over to the other’s cheek. Then he staggered back, sure it was time to shift. His vision was starting to blur, and his ears rang.

  But two of the vampires whirled, and it struck Tristan that he might not be imagining that ringing sound.

  “Merde. Voilà les gendarmes,” one of the vampires cursed, looking up in the direction of police sirens.

  Tristan exhaled. It wasn’t often a shifter welcomed cops to the scene of a fight — too many prying human eyes, too many questions raised. But in this case, he wouldn’t mind.

  Two vampires backed away, dragging the third.

  “I am not finished with you,” Olivier spat as he went. “And as for the woman, I swear, she shall be mine.”

  A moment later, they disappeared around the corner. Tristan stumbled back against a brick wall. The world tilted sideways, and he slumped to the ground, panting. Crap, was he tired.

  Police, his dragon warned. Get moving.

  His eyes slid shut. Just one minute.

  We don’t have a minute.

  In his mind, he could see the consequences all too clearly. If he didn’t get out of there fast, the mess he was in would grow by a factor of about ten. He’d lose his job. Worse, he’d never get another offer. He’d become one of those shifters who drifted from place to place, unable to settle in a comfortable lair of his own, which meant he could forget about winning over his mate.

  Plus, there was just enough vampire poison raging through his body to finish him off for good. If he didn’t move quickly, it would take hold, and then…

  Get moving, his dragon insisted. Now.

  But no matter how clear the directive was in his mind, his body just wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Just one more minute,” he mumbled. Then everything went cloudy, and he drifted into a dark void.

  Chapter Three

  Natalie stood at the street corner, clutching a wall for support. Her eyes darted everywhere. Had the vampires circled the block? Were they coming for her?

>   But the scene on the street was just another Parisian evening. A pleasant weekday night with a hint of spring — enough to draw a few people out despite the late hour. The street was lit with a row of antique lampposts, and signs beckoned customers into restaurants and bistros. A waiter bustled in and out of a sidewalk café, and couples sauntered by, holding hands. In a tree-lined park at the end of the block, leaves whispered in the breeze, and above them, a whole galaxy of stars shone bright.

  It was a nice night. No, a beautiful night. The kind a girl would drop everything and move to Paris for. But behind her…

  She glanced back into the alley, ready to bolt at the first sign of a vampire. Her eyes darted upward, too, because something had hovered overhead earlier — a twisted, half human, half monster with wings. Now, the sky was clear, and the terrifying sounds of the fight had died down.

  Died? Every muscle in her body tensed at the eerie silence.

  The red lights of the subway glowed at the end of the block — one of the old-fashioned stations with Art Nouveau drips and curls around the letters spelling Metropolitain — a style that had always reminded her of vampires. But now, that looked like her best escape route. She could jump on a subway car and shuttle to the other side of the city. Heck, she could head straight to the airport and book herself a seat on the first flight home.

  Olivier’s word words echoed through her mind. You think blood like that comes along every day? Royal blood?

  What had that been about? And what about that out-of-nowhere burst of fire?

  She had every reason to flee, but the ominous silence of the alley called to her, as did the memory of Tristan’s earnest expression. We need to get you out of here.

  Was he lying in the alley, bleeding? Worse, were the vampires bent over him, sucking his blood?

  For a full minute, she stood shaking. Then she forced herself to inch back toward the alley. With every hesitant step forward, the sounds and lights of the main street faded, plunging her into a dark, dank world. Stooping, she grabbed a discarded vodka bottle and smashed the end against the cobblestones. The sound of shattering glass made her wince, and something rushed through the litter at the edge of the alley. A rat?