Fire Maidens: Paris

by Anna Lowe

  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.

  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 fai
lure, 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.