by Anna Lowe
Tristan, she wanted to scream.
But Tristan had been gone at least a quarter of an hour, and with a Metro station so close to the building, he could be halfway across Paris.
“Of course she’s in there,” Jacqueline snipped. “I can smell her.” She raised her voice. “I can smell you. I can—” Her voice broke off, and an ominous silence set in. “I smell Tristan all over you. Good Lord, girl. How on earth did he fall for your charms when you have none?”
“She does have royal blood,” Olivier murmured.
Natalie shivered, picturing the vampire licking his lips. At the same time, the heat of anger burned her cheeks. Tristan wasn’t interested in royal anything. He loved her for her own sake.
“Well, I’m sure you enjoyed it. Tristan never disappoints,” Jacqueline said with a knowing sigh. “On the other hand, he did leave rather quickly. Perhaps you disappointed him?” She laughed. “But of course. How could a man possibly be satisfied with you?”
Natalie balled her hands but kept her mouth shut.
“Let me in so I can tell you the truth about Tristan. What he’s really after.”
He isn’t after anything, Natalie wanted to scream. But somehow, her insecurities welled up, making her stomach churn. What if it had all been an act? What if Tristan had an ulterior motive for sleeping with her?
“He’s using you, sweetheart, just like he tried to use me.”
Natalie covered her ears. Jacqueline had the tongue of a serpent. If there was any truth in her words, it was that she had used Tristan.
“Ouvre la porte!” Olivier called. Open the door!
Natalie glanced at the kitchen knives. One was wickedly long and sharp, and another was three inches wide. But neither would stop a vampire, would it?
She took the long one, trying to think rationally. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe Morfram had found Olivier and disciplined him, and Jacqueline was about to explain that Natalie’s nightmare was over.
The chills running down her spine told a different story, though. She was anything but safe.
She glanced around, desperate for a way out. Following Bijou to the roof wouldn’t help, not unless she could hop from ledge to ledge like a cat — or soar away like a dragon. Jacqueline and Olivier were at the door, so that was out. Which left…
Slowly, she turned to the rear corridor. There was the back stairwell — the dim, creepy one.
She faced the small door for a full minute without making a move. Then the front door shook with a blow powerful enough to make Tristan’s jar of coins rattle, and she hurried forward.
“I want your blood. I need it. And I will have it,” Olivier snarled.
Natalie rushed over and yanked open the back door. Then she paused, contemplating the dark, eerily silent shaft. Did she really want to spiral eight stories down through that?
Olivier banged on the front door, and she spun again. Did she have a choice?
“Bijou,” she whispered, hoping for some company.
But the cat had fled, and it was time she did the same. So she took a deep breath and stepped onto the creaky staircase, closing the door behind her and fumbling for a lock. There didn’t seem to be one, so after another minute of gathering her nerves, she started the descent.
Tap, tap, tap. She winced at the echo of her steps through that huge, empty space. Keeping her right hand on the banister, she spiraled around and around, counting floors as she went. Seventh floor…sixth floor…fifth—
Several stories above, the penthouse door flew open, and a beam of light shone in.
“Now, now. Do you really want to make this so hard on yourself?” Jacqueline called.
Natalie moved faster, trying to keep her steps quiet. But that was futile, and she quickly gave up on anything but racing down as fast as she could.
Fourth floor…third…
Arctic air whooshed down the stairs behind her, hounding her as she went.
First floor…ground floor…
She rushed for the lobby door, then froze. The small, one-way window showed three men in the lobby, all clad in black. Not Yves, nor another doorman she recognized. Not Liam either. Just those three…vampires?
She backed away as one whirled, sniffing. Oh God. Were Liam and Yves all right?
Move, a little voice insisted. Now.
She ran back to the stairs and hurried down.
“Run, little one. Run,” Olivier taunted from above. “It makes your blood pump and fill the air.”
Disgusted, Natalie raced on, trying to remember what came next. A corridor with two forks. She raced down the left one. Soon, she’d pop out the secret entrance to the alley. Then she could run to the Metro, hop on a train, and escape. Ideally, to Pigalle, where Tristan had gone.
But a second set of footsteps sounded ahead, making her halt in her tracks.
“Oh, that blood. I can already taste it,” a man murmured in lusty French.
“So, get moving,” a second man urged.
Natalie’s heart pounded. Jacqueline and Olivier were coming down the stairs behind her. At the same time, two more vampires cut off the way to the Metro. That left her no choice but to hurry back to the fork on the right. There, she pulled up short, staring into the darkness.
The catacombs. The place of the dead.
Not the part open to tourists, Tristan had said in a tone so grim, it still echoed in her mind. But what choice did she have?
She hurried down that tunnel, only to come out at an iron gate. Grabbing the bars, she rattled it. The narrow space amplified the grating sound, and she winced.
“So close,” one of the vampires called in glee.
Natalie yanked at the chain that kept the gate locked, then reached blindly along a rock ledge. Her skin crawled as she groped around, finding a damp cloth…spider webs…a small metal stick figure…
No, wait. That was a skeleton key. She nearly cheered. Did it fit the lock?
Her hands shook so hard, she could barely fit the key into the lock. The vampires’ footsteps grew louder, and she cursed. But finally, the lock creaked open. When she pulled the chain through the gate, it made a loud, scraping sound.
Come and get me, it might as well have advertised.
She rushed through the gate then turned and wrapped the chain around it again. That might help, right?
A pair of glowing red eyes appeared at the end of the tunnel. “Get her!”
She fumbled, nearly giving up. But at the last possible second, she got the lock on the chain and closed it with a sharp click.
“Got you!” A hand reached through the gate.
Natalie jumped back, heart thumping in terror.
“My pretty,” Olivier murmured, grasping for her hand.
Natalie nearly screamed. When her legs finally registered her command to run, she stumbled backward. Then she caught herself and ran into the catacombs.
Into the realm of the dead.
Within a few steps, the tunnel split, and she took a blind guess on the right side. If she squinted, she could just make out her feet. When she tossed the skeleton key down a side tunnel, it pinged, making her wince. Worse was the ear-splitting rattles of the gate and the angry voices of those trying to break through.
“Dammit, get her!” someone yelled.
“I lead you right to your prey, and you still can’t catch her,” Jacqueline complained.
Natalie ran as fast as she dared, her mind spinning. Was Jacqueline in cahoots with the vampires? Why?
She slowed down, searching the darkness. Did she really dare run headlong into the maze of the catacombs? People perished there each year — and that was without vampires breathing down their necks.
In places, faint light illuminated the tunnels, though she couldn’t trace the source. Other sections were so dark, she had to pull a hand along the wall and keep the other stuck blindly ahead so she wouldn’t crash into anything. She could feel the tunnel bending right or left but had no sense of anything beyond. At one point, the rough tunnel wall
s grew bumpy, and her fingers traced a series of knobs.
She yelped, jerking her hand away. That wasn’t a bumpy wall. It was a stack of arm bones, as the dim light revealed. Hundreds and hundreds of them, carefully stacked with the ends pointing out. Every yard or so, the pattern broke, leaving space for an artfully arranged collection of vertebrae encircling a skull. Natalie stared into the empty sockets, then gulped and hurried on.
The air was thick with the dust of death — centuries’ worth, filling tunnel after tunnel. The whole place was one macabre celebration of death. There were entire niches devoted to femurs and others for ribs. Pelvises were placed side by side like ghostly butterflies, and skulls dotted the collection at intervals — grisly reminders of the spirits who had once inhabited those bones. Someone had spent a lot of time arranging those bones into flowers, arches, and even hearts. Leg bones danced, skulls gaped, and tiny foot bones clawed at the earth.
Natalie spun when a loud crack thundered through the air, followed by the crash of iron and cheers. The vampires had broken through the gate. How long would it take them to track her through the maze of tunnels?
She rushed toward a promising chamber that was slightly brighter than the rest. There, she stopped, peering up at the light filtering down through a long, deep shaft. How far was she beneath the surface of Paris?
Too far, she knew. Too far to have any hope of help.
As she turned, looking around, her foot hit something that rolled. The dim light sparkled, and a crunch registered under her foot. She leaned closer, discovering broken glass. There was a ring of stones, too, and a pile of charcoal.
She huffed. Seriously? Someone had come to this horrifying place to party?
She glanced around, then froze, covering her mouth. That chamber wasn’t just any place. It was an altar of sorts, with three mummies suspended against one wall. Honest-to-God, full-size mummies dressed in medieval robes. The two on either side wore hooded monks’ robes, with ropes as belts and rosaries in their wizened hands. The one in the center was taller and covered in armor, and his hands held a dagger carved from ivory.
Natalie turned away. She was already plenty spooked and didn’t need more. But the vampires were still out there. Their voices carried from along different tunnels as they fanned out, searching for her.
She covered her face with her hands as her mind galloped in a dozen directions at once. Some of her thoughts were regrets — of all the mistakes she’d made, opportunities she’d passed up, or kind words left unspoken. Others were desperate, disjointed plans of escape. Run! Hide! Climb the overhead shaft!
Then there were thoughts of Tristan, and those were really mixed up. Some were mournful, others suspicious, and the rest warm and comforting despite how desperate she felt.
But none of that would help her, so she forced herself to look around and consider as calmly as she could. Whoever had partied in that chamber had left a mess. There were wine bottles and half-stripped wooden pallets. She stepped to a niche lined with burned-out candles. Was there a lighter there? She pictured herself sweeping a torch in a huge circle like Indiana Jones, then frowned. A torch would only draw the vampires’ attention. And as for Indiana Jones… Well, she wished.
Then her eyes wandered to the mummies. Rosaries. Would they help against vampires? She stepped closer. No vials of holy water, no wooden stakes…
Then she stopped short. The dagger. She reached out, then jerked her hand back. She wasn’t really going to steal from a monk, was she?
A dead monk, survival instinct pointed out.
She looked closer. The dagger was decorated with ivory, but beneath that was wood. Again, she reached out, and again, she snapped her hand back.
Tristan, she wanted to cry.
She nearly crumpled to her knees. Even if that dagger counted as a wooden stake, there were six vampires after her. Plus, there was that bitch of a dragon, Jacqueline. Natalie flexed her fingers, wishing for claws to scratch out Jacqueline’s eyes.
“Where are you, my pretty?” Olivier’s voice echoed through the tunnels.
Natalie gritted her teeth and gently pried the dagger from the mummy’s hands, trembling the whole time.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then she added a few pardons, because it was France after all. That and a prayer that the mummy’s hands wouldn’t come off with the dagger. They didn’t, thank goodness, though she had to grasp one leathery hand to ease the weapon out.
“Sorry,” she whispered one more time. Then she shrank back, dagger in hand.
The footsteps grew louder, closing in from both sides. Natalie hurried to a recessed niche at one side of the chamber. It smelled of urine — yuck — but that might cover her scent. Then she crouched in the shadows, closed her eyes, and rocked on her heels, wishing herself out of that place.
Thoughts of home didn’t help, and neither did imagining her favorite spots in Paris. But when she pictured Tristan…
Her revving heart calmed slightly, and the chill around her shoulders eased a tiny bit.
She pictured Tristan at breakfast on the rooftop, patiently explaining things she couldn’t grasp. Him valiantly fighting the vampires that fateful night. She remembered Tristan stepping forward to glare at Alaric when no one else dared and soaring off after Marcel. Finally, she pictured Tristan in bed, blinking at her in love and wonder.
“Tristan,” she whispered, wishing he were there to whisper back.
A vampire ran by — a dark, flowing shape among all those bones and shadows. Natalie held her breath and listened as his footsteps faded down the next tunnel.
“Any trace of her?” someone yelled.
“Her scent leads here,” another replied.
“And here,” another added.
Natalie shivered. They were closing in.
Another vampire cursed, and Jacqueline huffed. “Fools. How hard can it be to track her?”
The nearest vampire backtracked, returning to the chamber of mummies. Natalie shrank back, not daring to breathe. He kicked the wine bottle, making it roll, then shatter. She winced at the explosion of sound but didn’t budge.
“Tu ne l’as pas vue, mon vieux?” he muttered at one of the mummies. Hey, buddy. You haven’t seen her, have you?
Natalie hunched her shoulders, wishing she could reply. No, he didn’t. Please go away.
The vampire turned, sniffing, and Natalie gripped the dagger tightly. He stepped out of view, but the scrape of his shoes indicated he was checking another niche in the chamber.
Broken glass crunched as a second vampire ran in. “Anything?”
“She’s close,” the first murmured.
Natalie’s heart beat so hard, she was sure they would be able to hear. But then she recalled what Olivier had said in the stairwell. Run, little one. Run. It makes your blood pump and fill the air.
She forced herself to exhale, trying to slow her racing heart.
Tristan…
His name became a mantra, and she silently repeated it as more vampires explored the chamber. They headed in one direction, turned around when her trail faded, and returned to the mummies, cursing. And all the while, Natalie kept up her inner chant.
Tristan…
She was so desperate for hope that she imagined him replying, Hang on. I’m coming.
She smiled at the little fantasy. Now, that would be nice. The deathly cold of the catacombs was seeping into her bones, and she could barely keep her teeth from chattering.
Jacqueline sashayed into the chamber, looking completely out of place in a stunning cream gown.
“So, where is she?” Olivier demanded.
Jacqueline scowled at someone outside Natalie’s narrow field of vision. “You’re the bloodhounds.”
“The deal was for you to deliver her to us. Where is she?”
Natalie clutched the dagger harder, wishing she had the nerve to jump out and yell, Right here.
“Not far.” Jacqueline sniffed, then crinkled her nose at the niche Natalie had concealed herself
in. “Keep looking. And remember to save some of her blood for me.”
Natalie stared at the veins on the backs of her hands. What was it about her blood, dammit? It was just plain old A positive.
Fire Maiden, Alaric’s voice boomed through her mind.
Fire Maiden, her inner voice growled. Watch what I can do.
Slowly, carefully, she reached up to touch the crystal hanging from her neck. The fabric of her shirt kept it from shining — thank goodness — but it was warm against her chest.
We don’t know precisely what your jewel is capable of, Clara had said. There are stones that heal. Stones that lend you strength, wisdom, or courage…
Natalie wished for all three — or for a single Tristan. He was faithful, while Jacqueline was the liar. The trickster. The one plotting for power.
The one I’ll kill, her inner dragon said.
Natalie fingered the dagger. She couldn’t shift into dragon form, but maybe she could harness that inner power.
And God, she needed it, because the nearest vampire muttered, “Save her blood? I swear I’ll drink it all myself.”
Then a roar exploded. The ground shook, and orange light burst into the chamber from a tunnel on the left. Jacqueline and the vampires flinched, and in the distance, someone screamed.
“Merde. What was that?” one of the vampires muttered, throwing up a hand.
The light flickered and faded before a second roar sounded and the light flared for a second time.
“Fire,” the second vampire breathed. “Dragon fire.”
Hope flooded Natalie’s heart, and her lips parted. Tristan?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jacqueline snipped. “The only dragon around here is me.”
Another burst of flame lit the tunnel system, and dust cascaded from the ceiling.
“Dragon!” another vampire yelled, fleeing through the chamber and out the other side.
“Shift!” one of the vampires bayed at Jacqueline. “Shift!”
“Impossible. There’s no room in here for a dragon.”
“Tell him that,” another vampire muttered when the next roar sounded.
An instant later, a voice boomed through the tunnels.
“Jacqueline?”
