Fire Maidens: Paris

by Anna Lowe

  “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.

  Again, Marcel stated the obvious. “The Champ de Mars. Beautiful, is it not?”

  “Beautiful,” Natalie agreed.

  Even Tristan had to admit the place was especially atmospheric that evening. Floodlights lit the Eiffel Tower, making it glow gold against the indigo sky. Couples wandered by, and a jazz quartet played a swinging tune that seemed to climb the tower’s latticework. Still, Tristan didn’t let down his guard. He sniffed the air sharply, sensing another shifter. A moment later, he relaxed. It was just Liam, following them on a parallel path.

  Good Lord, Liam muttered into Tristan’s mind. How can Natalie stand him?

  Barely, Tristan replied dryly.

  Obviously, she’d tuned out of Marcel’s ongoing monologue. She was studying the beams of the Eiffel Tower, not Marcel, who was still chattering away.

  “A special place for a special lady…”

  Tristan glared at Marcel, then at a souvenir hawker who approached them. The man’s shoes hastily scuffed over the gravel footpath as he skittered back. If only Marcel wou
ld do the same. Tristan sighed and turned in a slow circle, checking the area.

  Uh, Tristan… Liam warned.

  Tristan spun to see Marcel take both Natalie’s hands and drop to one knee. “Natalie, we are destined for each other. I know it. I want to give you the privilege of becoming my mate.”

  Tristan just about choked. The privilege?

  “I will honor and worship you,” Marcel went on.

  Natalie stared. “What?”

  “Yes, I mean it.” Marcel grinned.

  Natalie backed away, twisting her hand. But Marcel hung on, refusing to let her go.

  “You will bear my children, and I shall raise our sons to be the mightiest dragons in all Europe. We shall—“

  “You — what?” Natalie screeched, trying to yank away.

  An angry gleam came over Marcel’s eyes as he hung on to her wrists. Tristan saw red. He was on his way to punching Marcel, but Natalie acted first, shoving Marcel hard enough to make him topple back.

  Liam’s chuckle sounded in Tristan’s mind, but all he really registered was rage.

  “But, darling,” Marcel tried.

  Tristan stepped between them, torn between kicking Marcel’s ass and checking if Natalie was all right. He turned, then froze. Whoa. Wait. Natalie wasn’t just glaring at Marcel. She was glaring at him, too.

  “Mating?” Her cheeks turned crimson. “Giving you heirs?” She stuck her hands on her hips. “Is that how the dragon world works?”

  Tristan’s lips moved in protest, but Marcel beat him to it.

  “Yes. We shall be mated, and you will be mine.”

  “Yours? What, like a carpet? A used book? A new car?”

  Marcel stared, uncomprehending. “I already have a car.”

  Natalie threw up her hands. “I heard. The new Mercedes.”

  Marcel tilted his head. “You want one, too? I can get you one. I can get you anything.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Everyone wants something.”

  “Oh, really?” Tristan could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “Then tell me exactly what you want, Marcel.”

  Tristan would have needed a couple of days — maybe even a lifetime — to answer a question like that. But Marcel replied without the slightest hesitation. “I want you. I want a Fire Maiden as my mate.”

  “Why? Because you love me?”

  Marcel shrugged. “I’ll learn to love you.”

  “Learn?” she shrieked.

  Tristan couldn’t believe his ears. He didn’t need to learn how to love Natalie. It had happened all by itself. He loved the way she curled up with books on the velvet couch. He loved the softness of her voice and the passion in her eyes. He loved how strong she was, even when the going got tough.

  “You will learn to love me too,” Marcel assured her. “And that will give me power. A leading position in the city.”

  Natalie’s eyebrows flew up. “Ambitious, aren’t you?”

  Marcel flashed a cocky smile, taking that as a compliment. “Isn’t that what all men want?”

  Natalie looked at Tristan, and he froze. Would she see him for who he really was, or did she think he was power hungry like Marcel?

  She pursed her lips before he could read her expression. “I see. And what do women want, in your opinion?”

  Marcel’s smile stretched. “Women want men with power. They want nice homes and nice things. They want to live a good life and be well taken care of — them and their children.”

  The ultimate charm machine, isn’t he? Liam’s dry voice sounded in Tristan’s mind.

  “Are you done?” Natalie demanded.

  Marcel nodded as if his list included everything a woman could possibly desire.

  “Fine. Now, you listen to me.” Natalie thrust a finger at Marcel. “If that kind of woman exists, I am not her. You got that? Furthermore, I belong to nobody. I am not yours. I am not his.” She stabbed her finger toward Tristan. “I am my own person.”

  Tristan knew that but, ouch. He wanted her so badly.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Marcel insisted.

  Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “This is about you getting a Fire Maiden. It’s not about who I am. Who I really am.”

  “It’s not,” Tristan agreed.

  But Marcel uttered the same words at the same time, erasing any earnestness Tristan might have conveyed. Worse, he stepped beside Tristan like they were a team or something.

  “You’re only interested in your own gain.” Natalie shook a finger at Marcel. Then she shook it at Tristan. “And you…you’ve only been pretending. You were in on this all along.”

  Tristan’s jaw dropped. “No! Natalie, I swear…”

  “Darling, I swear,” Marcel echoed. “I only want the best for you.”

  Tristan reached for her hand, begging with his eyes. But Natalie’s face went hard, and her eyes took on an angry yellow sheen. “Get away from me, both of you.”

  “Be reasonable,” Marcel said, throwing fuel on her fire.

  “Get away!” she hollered, backing up.

  “Natalie,” Marcel insisted. “I will always protect you.”

  She moved from the footpath to the grass, ready to flee. “The only protection I need is from you.” Then she spun and ran across the field.

  Tristan’s muscles twitched, insisting he take off after her. But he knew better than that. Marcel, on the other hand, didn’t, and when he moved to chase down Natalie, Tristan grabbed his sleeve.

  “Get out of my way,” Marcel snarled.

  “You will not touch her. You will not have her.”

  Marcel sneered. “Why? Because you said so?”

  “No, because she said so.”

  Tristan shoved Marcel so hard, he stumbled into the bushes. When the dragon shifter recovered his balance, he squared his shoulders and glared. “You work for me, fool.”

  Tristan shook his head. “I work for Alaric.”

  “You’re a hired hand. A mercenary. One about to lose his job, once my uncle hears about this. I, on the other hand, am of noble blood. A suitable mate for the Fire Maiden this city needs. She will be mine. Alaric promised her to me.”

  Tristan bared his teeth. “Listen to yourself. We’re not living in medieval times.”

  Marcel snorted. “We live according to noble dragon traditions, not that you would understand.”

  Tristan’s gums burned with the pressure of his teeth trying to extend, though he knew he couldn’t shift. Not here, not now. But Marcel motioned him deeper into the shadows.

  “You dare challenge me?”

  I challenge you. I’d be happy to kill you, Tristan’s dragon snapped.

  His human side, however, made him stand his ground. “Not here, you idiot.” Even with the jazz quartet drawing passersby to a distant corner of the park, the area was too public to risk shifting in.

  “Coward.” Marcel threw his jacket aside and loosened his tie.

  Rage flowed through Tristan, and he barely held it in check. He couldn’t let Marcel goad him into a fight. The shithead would find a way to twist the facts to make him look like the aggressor, and Alaric would kick his sorry ass out of town.

  But Marcel wouldn’t relent. Within seconds, his shirt was off, and his arms were morphing into wings.

  “You want her, too. Do you think I’m blind?” Marcel’s voice dropped an octave as he shifted. “We’ll settle this as tradition dictates.”

  Tristan was pretty sure whatever tradition Marcel referred to had gone by the wayside when pistol duels had.

  “Marcel…” he warned.

  Isn’t our mate worth fighting for? his dragon cried.

  Of course she was. But fighting meant risking everything. His job. His future. Even his life. Was it worth it?

  Hell, yes, he nearly barked.

  Still, fighting wouldn’t guarantee him Natalie’s love. He had to be honest with himself. Was it worth it?

  The answer was a mournful yes. He would fight for Natalie
’s right to choose a suitor, even if it didn’t turn out to be him. No matter how dire the outcome was for him, the issue wasn’t what he stood to gain. It was about what Natalie stood to lose.

  Tristan took a deep breath, giving himself one more chance to rethink things. Well, he tried. But a nanosecond later, he yanked off his shirt. Marcel wanted a fight? He’d get one.

  Yes, Tristan’s dragon hissed. Let’s get the bastard.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Natalie race-walked across the grass — a big no-no in any Paris park, but heck. She’d had it with men. Correction — she’d had it with dragons.

  We shall be mated, and you will be mine.

  Like hell, she would.

  You will bear my children…

  She couldn’t believe her ears. And worse, Tristan had shouldered right up to Marcel, fully expecting her to go along.

  Her face was twisted into so deep a frown, it hurt. All evening, Marcel had gotten on her nerves. And all evening, she couldn’t help wishing he could be more like…like… Well, more like Tristan. But apparently, Tristan had been harboring an ulterior motive all along. Did he expect her to bear his children and lend him the prestige of a Fire Maiden, too?

  Wisps of clouds drifted overhead, the precursors to a storm she should have seen building on the horizon. She stomped onward, furious with herself. Maybe she had some kind of hero complex when it came to Tristan. Maybe dragons had a heady scent that drove her wild. And she’d fallen for it, growing comfortable around him. Too comfortable, really, and far too trusting. Thinking he really cared about her, the plain Jane from Philadelphia, rather than a coveted Fire Maiden.

  It had been hard enough to swallow the whole Fire Maiden thing over the past days, but two aspects had appealed: getting to stay in Paris and helping the world be a safer place, if Alaric, Tristan, and the others could be believed. But now…

  She went from a jog to a run, desperate to get away. Could they force her to stay in Paris? Could they force her to accept Marcel’s barbaric proposal?

  Just as she was about to glance over her shoulder, the air overhead stirred wildly, and she stumbled to the ground.

  “What the—”

  She gaped as two dragons soared out of a cluster of trees and spiraled upward. Their mighty wings beat so hard, her hair tossed. One of the dragons was greenish-brown — Marcel? — and the other, a smooth, brownish-black hue.