by Anna Lowe
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 his 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?
Trembling, she inched forward, holding her makeshift weapon. It took her a solid minute to work up the nerve to peek around the corner of the alley — a minute that felt like an hour. But when she saw Tristan slumped against a wall, alone, she dropped the bottle and rushed to his side.
“Tristan! Tristan?” She crouched beside him, her heart hammering. “Are you all right?”
He mumbled incoherently, and she shook his shoulder. Well, she tried to. But his muscles were the size of boulders — too wide and solid to get her hand around.
“Oh God. Are you all right?”
His lips were chapped, and blood leaked from a dozen wounds. When he stirred and raised his head, images from a zombie movie rushed through her mind, and she half expected to see horrible, bloodshot eyes and a foaming mouth. But, no. His eyes were a clear, startling blue — like the summer sky — and she exhaled.
“Tristan…”
He dipped his head and groaned.
“Police…”
His eyes slid shut, drawing Natalie’s gaze down. So much blood — too much.
“You’ll be okay,” she said, trying to convince herself. “The police will be here soon.”
But Tristan groaned and slid his heels along the ground, trying to stand.
“Wait, you’re hurt.”
He rolled to all fours. “We have to go.”
Still, he stopped and hung his head, too injured to go on.
She wanted to run a hand over his back, but there was blood there, too. The jacket he’d discarded earlier was lying on the ground, and she threw it gingerly over his shoulders.
“Just wait. The police are coming.”
He rocked back to sit on his heels, grimacing. “You want to explain the vampires to the police, or do you want me to?”
She bit her lip. “But your wounds…”
“Will heal.” He extended an arm — a long, muscled arm, like that of an Olympic swimmer. “Help me up. We need to get out of here.”
We. It was the second or third time he’d said it, and the word warmed her. We meant she didn’t have to face this nightmare alone.
As the sirens grew louder, she looped Tristan’s arm over her shoulders and heaved. For one hopeless moment, she didn’t think she could help him off the ground. But her necklace fell free of her shirt and swung between them, glittering with golden light, and she tried again. Tristan scuffled and slowly rose to his feet, where he wobbled uncertainly, staring at the necklace.
Brakes squealed, and car doors thumped. The flash of police lights illuminated the end of the alley with bursts of blue and red.
“That way,” Tristan muttered, tilting his head in the opposite direction.
How Natalie got him all the way to the street, she had no clue. But somehow, she did, half guiding, half dragging him along.
“Metro,” he said through clenched teeth. “Keep an eye out for vampires.”
Which made every shadow loom and every passerby look like a cold-blooded killer. On the other hand, everyone gave her and Tristan a wide berth, as if they were the suspicious ones.
“B line toward Orly,” Tristan murmured as she helped him down the steps to the Metro. “Just a few stops.”
Natalie wanted to protest that lots of stops would be better, but she was too busy getting him through the turnstile — a tricky operation since there wasn’t space for two. Luckily, there was no attendant on duty to stop them, just an older couple who shot her disapproving looks.
“Give me a break,” she muttered.
As far as she knew, vampire was vampire in French, and she was tempted to explain. But they’d just think she was crazy — or worse, drunk, as Tristan appeared with his stumbling step and stooped shoulders. At least the drunk look kept people at arm’s length, and his jacket covered most of his wounds.
“Are you okay?” she whispered, helping him into a corner seat on the train.
He slumped. “Been worse.”
Worse than after a vampire attack? He was kidding, right?
“Where did you get that?” He jutted his chin toward her necklace.
“This?” She cupped the citrine crystal in one hand. “At one of those vendors along the Seine.”
Tristan didn’t look convinced, but then again, he probably wasn’t seeing — or thinking — straight. His chin dipped, and he seemed to drift away again, but when a garbled announcement sounded, his head jerked up. “Next stop is ours.”
Ours. Natalie hesitated. Where was he taking her?
Then it struck her that she was the one taking him, and she relaxed a little. Plus, she was convinced he meant her no harm. His eyes were too sincere, his touch too careful. And heck, he’d saved her from vampires,
right?
So she helped him up at the next stop — a feat that seemed even harder than before — and stepped out onto the platform.
“That way,” he said, leaning on her.
A vaulted roof stretched overhead, and the exit seemed miles away. But there was an escalator to street level — thank goodness — and when they exited, Natalie sucked in a lungful of fresh air. A tidy row of trees lined the boulevard, and more swayed gently behind a gated park across the street. She squinted, getting her bearings. The Luxembourg Gardens? Boulevard Saint-Michel? A swanky address, indeed. Did Tristan live there?
“Number 71C,” he mumbled.
Wow. Apparently, he did. Not only that, but 71C turned out to be a gorgeous, century-old building right across from the park. One with a doorman and everything. The gray-haired gent pulled the double doors open and didn’t bat an eye as Tristan staggered in. He didn’t look twice at Natalie either, which gave her pause. Was the doorman that unflappable, or did Tristan regularly stumble in with a lady on his arm?
“Monsieur Chevalier,” the doorman greeted Tristan in a tone that gave nothing away. “Mademoiselle.”
“Merci,” she mumbled, making for the elevator.
Luckily, the doorman helped with that, too, because it was one of those antique elevators you had to pull a gate across and lock down. Gears turned, and the elevator rose with a grinding lurch.
“Bonne nuit,” the doorman called.
Natalie clutched at the handrail. So far, her nuit hadn’t been all too bonne. But unless Tristan took her to a dark, creepy apartment, things could hardly get worse.
Chapter Four
The elevator rattled along, and Natalie fully expected it to break down between floors. But it chugged up and up, taking her all the way to—
The penthouse? She looked Tristan over. Really?
“This is it,” he said, fumbling with the latch.
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t answer, but his key fit the door, and it turned smoothly. There was a second lock, and a third, and he cursed over each. Finally, he pushed the door open with a weary sigh. “Home.”
He said it the way a soldier might after a long tour of duty, and she wondered why. But then she spotted a pair of glittering eyes and jumped back, ready to scream.
