by Anna Lowe
Tristan took another bite of croissant. Normal didn’t fit what the vampire had said.
“Did you ever have any trouble before?”
“With vampires? Are you kidding?”
“I mean at home. You’re from America, oui? What brought you to Paris?”
He half expected to hear one of the usual expat reasons. For the art… For the culture… I wanted to find myself…
But Natalie just stared out into the distance and whispered one word. “Dean.”
Tristan tensed. Whoever Dean was, he already hated the guy.
Natalie smiled faintly. “Dean was supposed to bring me to Paris, but he never did. So, I came on my own.”
Tristan tilted his head, and she looked at him, then sighed.
“It’s a long story. Do you really want to hear it?”
No, his dragon muttered. Not if it includes a shithead named Dean.
“Yes,” he said.
“I work — worked — in the human resources department of a big consulting company at home. A job I took to follow Dean, whom I met just as I was finishing college.” Her tone soured. “He liked having everything on his terms, and for some reason, I always tagged along. Don’t ask what I saw in him. I’m still not sure.” She pushed her plate away with a frown. “The job turned out okay, especially when I got to work in community outreach — you know, supporting fundraisers, organizing office charity runs…”
Tristan nodded, though he didn’t actually know. Community service in his military unit was mostly a matter of limiting collateral damage.
Natalie had lit up at the mention of her work, but then she clouded again. “Dean refused to talk about getting serious, and I was okay with that. But then he proposed, totally out of the blue. We’d gone out to dinner, and he ordered expensive champagne. Then he said he’d just been offered a year-long project in Paris, and he wanted me to go with him. I was so excited. I’ve dreamed about Paris ever since I was a kid. I minored in French and everything.”
That explained some things, but not others. Tristan tapped the table quietly, waiting for her to go on.
“I asked the company about transferring me here too, but there was no opening for me. Dean said not to worry — he’d take care of everything. He said I should take the time off. Enjoy Paris.” She stared in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. “I loved the idea, but it came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t even that sure what we had was… Well, the real thing.”
Her gaze drifted over to Tristan, and when their eyes met, another zing ricocheted through his veins. His body warmed, and he leaned forward, tempted to cup her cheek. No, that wasn’t the real thing. But I think this is.
Natalie gulped, turned pink, and looked away. “Anyway… As excited as I was about Paris, I wasn’t sure about leaving my job. Professionally, it was a great opportunity for Dean, but not for me. When I got cold feet, Dean did an about-face. He said we needed more time to work things out.” She shook her head bitterly. “As I found out, what he needed was time to figure out Plan B. Which he did. Her name was Mary, and she worked in accounting.”
Tristan’s jaw dropped. “He didn’t care who he was with?”
Natalie laughed humorlessly. “Apparently not. From what I heard afterward, it’s easier to make senior partner if you’ve done a stint abroad — and if you’re married.” She made a face. “You know — showing what a nice, stable guy you are. Anyway, I guess Dean figured he could kill two birds with one stone.”
Tristan balled his hands into fists. “You’re no stone.”
Natalie shot him a smile that made his world light up for a few heartbeats, at least. Then she frowned, and Tristan wanted to kill Dean all over again.
“Apparently, Dean was more interested in making senior partner than he was in me. But it did get me thinking. What was I waiting for? I’d dreamed about Paris for so long but never made that come true. I was always compromising for someone. In college, I was all set to do a semester abroad, but my parents split up, and my mother said she couldn’t handle me being so far away. Then I started working, and the dream slipped further and further away. Instead of moving to Paris, I made a trip here. A one-week trip, three years ago — just long enough to fall in love with the city before going back to Philly. Philly,” she muttered.
Then she leveled a fierce stare at the chimney of the neighboring building. “The good thing was, I started asking myself why I needed a guy to realize my dream. I might have gone on thinking about it forever. But then Notre Dame burned…”
Tristan tilted his head. The cathedral fire had ousted dozens of gargoyle shifters from their ancestral home, and it had caused many supernaturals to turn bitter toward humans for setting off the accidental fire in the first place. He would never forget the night he’d stood, dumbstruck, along with so many other Parisians. But what did it have to do with Natalie?
She shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, but somehow, that’s what finally made me act. It made me think I could miss other treasures I’d never truly appreciated before. I even felt…”
He leaned closer. “What?”
She knotted her fingers and twisted them shyly. “It’s silly, really. But I felt like I needed to help. Not with the cathedral, maybe, but in other ways. It just seemed like what I had to do.”
Somewhere in the back of Tristan’s mind, a voice whispered, Fire Maiden.
The voice of destiny, echoing an old legend he didn’t know much about. Only that they were the ancestors of a mighty dragon queen who protected Europe’s great cities. Why did it come to his mind now?
Natalie flashed a weak smile. “So, here I am. My father calls it my premature midlife crisis. But you know what? I love it. I love doing things on my own terms.” She motioned around. “I earn a quarter of what I used to and pay three times the rent for a tiny place. But I love it. I love living my dream.”
Tristan found himself grinning. “Good for you. Dean’s loss, by the way. And poor whatshername — Mary.”
Natalie laughed — a real one for a change. “Yes, poor Mary. That big project Dean was gunning for fell through. He never made it to Paris in the end, but they did get married.”
“Did he make senior partner?”
A naughty glint showed in Natalie’s eye. “Nope. Not yet, at least.” Then her face fell. “Of course, my dream of Paris didn’t include vampires…”
Tristan put a hand over hers. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll keep you safe.”
She bit her lip. “You’ve already done enough.”
He shook his head. “Three of them are still out there.”
“Three?” Her face went white. “You…killed one?”
He shifted in his seat, having experienced this before — the moment when a nice, normal person who lived a nice, normal life realized he was capable of killing. It almost didn’t matter that the deceased was one of the bad guys, or that Tristan only killed when he absolutely had to. He could practically see horror creep into her mind.
It was him or me, Tristan wanted to explain. Actually, him or you. Easy decision.
The coffee cup trembled in her hand, and she set it down with a clatter. Tristan braced himself for her to stand, thank him for breakfast, and hurry the hell away.
But when Natalie spoke again, it was a whisper, and she didn’t make a move to leave. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She covered her face with her hands. “This is my fault. I dragged you into this.”
Relief flooded him. She wasn’t mad. She didn’t blame him. But, wait. Why blame herself?
He squeezed her hand. “You didn’t do anything. They’re the bad guys, Natalie.”
She looked on the verge of tears, and Tristan burned to hug her. To hold her, protect her, and never, ever let her go.
“I have these dreams…” she said in a shaky whisper. “Where a vampire grabs me…”
He shook his head quickly. “It won’t happen. Not with me around.”
She forced a weak smile but shook her head. “But what if? I keep picturing
the same thing. The vampire grabs me, and I can’t get away.”
Tristan fought the urge to let out his claws and flex in anger. God, he hated vampires. But she was right. What if?
So he stood and motioned for her to do the same. “Show me.” Dammit, his voice was all croaky. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”
She rose uncertainly, then gulped and turned her back to him. “He grabs me from behind and pins my arms.”
Slowly, Tristan looped his arms around her. She trembled, and damn — he did too.
He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate. “Like this?”
Just like that, his dragon purred.
Natalie nodded. “Yes, but tighter. So tight, I can’t even move.”
Tristan had never been so caught between fear, arousal, and anger. Gradually, he tightened his grip, reminding his dragon this was about life and death, not about him and her.
But it was hard. The top of her head was at about chin height, and he longed to cuddle her close. Then he’d nuzzle her cheek, brush his lips over her jawline, and—
Downstairs, something banged, and he snapped upright. Another reminder from Madame Colette.
“You can get out of every hold, no matter how tight,” he said quickly. “Just remember not to panic.”
And not to get aroused, he ordered his dragon.
“Okay,” Natalie whispered.
He considered the options. What would work for someone her size?
“Three steps. Snap, jab, elbow,” he said, deciding quickly. “Number one, snap your arms up.”
He showed her, and she mimicked him in halting movements. They would have to work on that for sure.
Definitely needs more practice, his dragon hummed.
“Really snap up, hard. It won’t break you free, but it will give you a little space. Then, step two. Jut your elbows into his ribs.”
Two points gently pressed into his abdomen, and he resisted the urge to pick her up and carry her to bed.
“Harder,” he insisted.
“Are you sure?”
He hid a smile. “I’m sure. Just jab.” If his abs couldn’t take it, he’d have to quit his line of work.
She did, though not nearly hard enough.
Oh, this is fun, his dragon crooned. We could teach her lots of moves.
Not fun, he retorted. Life and death.
Madame Colette backed that up with the firm snap of a rag.
“You have to put everything into the jab. Then comes three — whirl and throw an elbow at his face.” He forced himself away from Natalie long enough to demonstrate the move.
Natalie stared at his arms. “Then what?”
He shrugged. “Then you run.”
She looked dubious, and he would have given anything to add, Then you douse him with dragon fire. Problem solved.
But she wasn’t a dragon, so running was her best option. He’d just have to make sure never to leave her alone long enough for vampires to attack.
No problem, his dragon agreed. We’ll stay nice and close.
“Try it,” he said, nestling her back into a bear hug. “One…”
Her hands snapped up a little faster than the first time.
“Two…”
She jabbed his ribs, and though it wasn’t much more than a tickle, there was potential there.
“Three.”
She whirled, practically baring her teeth, and rammed an elbow at his face. He ducked. Whoa. For a nice girl, Natalie sure was fast — and fierce.
“C’ est ça,” he said. “Perfect.”
Natalie grinned, and that nearly bowled him over, too. One little smile with the power to go right to his heart. He’d like to see more of that smile. He’d like to be the one who inspired it, too. Maybe they could go to a café sometime and chat. Or take a walk through the Tuileries or along the Seine. Paris had lots of nice walks and even some canals…
And just like that, his mind flew to his favorite Paris haunts. All the viewpoints, all the cafés. For the next minute, he and Natalie grinned at each other, feeling the way you ought to when you were young, in Paris, and in love.
But then he remembered how they’d gotten to that moment, and the magic faded. Natalie’s face clouded, and she looked down, forlorn.
One, two, three? Tristan’s gut churned. Obviously, it wasn’t as simple as that.
“Anyway,” he said quickly. “That’s just for emergencies. The thing is to avoid vampires in the first place.”
“I know.” She wiped her cheek. “But what if they hunt me down? What if there’s more than one?”
Her words tore at his heart, because he didn’t know.
We’ll hunt those bastards down, his dragon snarled. Kill every vampire. Keep her safe.
He fought the urge away. It was one of those blustery, from-the-gut ideas that was all action and no plan. And while he’d gotten away with that in the past, it wouldn’t work now. Not when an innocent woman’s life was on the line.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. Her face fell, so he hurried to add, “Do you trust me?”
She went very still, and he held his breath. He wouldn’t blame her for saying, Of course not. But maybe, just maybe, she felt the same special connection he did.
Her eyes clouded, and her fingers plucked nervously at her shirt. But a moment later, her gaze warmed, and she nodded.
“I trust you.”
A lump formed in his throat — one he had to gulp away before replying. “Good. I know someone who can help.”
She leaned forward eagerly. “Who?”
He took a deep breath. The oldest, most venerable dragon he’d ever met. The most senior of Paris’s shifter Guardians. Alaric, the powerful dragon who had hired him to help keep Paris safe.
“The Guardians of Paris. The good guys,” Tristan said. Then he murmured to himself, too low for Natalie to hear. “I think.”
Chapter Seven
“This way.”
Natalie looked on uncertainly as Tristan opened a door at the back of the kitchen’s massive pantry and gestured her through. She peered down into the darkness. Why didn’t they exit the building the way they had come in?
“Back door,” he said. “So no one sees us leave. Just in case.”
Natalie bit her lip. The winding staircase was dark and creepy. But with vampires on the loose in Paris…
She forced herself to nod. “After you.”
He grinned, and her whole world lit up. The man didn’t smile often, but he did for her.
Then she chastised herself. She was a grown woman, not a giddy teen. And yet Tristan made her imagination race and her body heat. Did she have some kind of rescuer complex when it came to him?
That was it, she decided. He’d saved her the previous night, so it was natural for her to feel warm, safe, and protected. Right?
Except it went beyond that. Everything Tristan did made her feel like a treasure, not an imposition. A queen, not just plain old her. When she talked, he listened. When she was silent, he appeared worried, like maybe she wasn’t all right. And when he gazed into her eyes…
Heat trickled through her veins, and Tristan’s face flushed. Was he thinking the same thing?
She chastised herself. It wasn’t normal for two strangers to set off so many sparks so quickly. Then again, nothing about the situation was normal, was it?
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he turned to the stairs. Natalie gripped the railing and steeled herself to follow.
The spiral staircase was a riveted metal design that reminded her of the Eiffel Tower. But instead of rising gracefully upward, it plunged into an abyss. Her footsteps echoed through the darkness, and the structure rattled as she and Tristan wound around and around. Thank goodness for the occasional platform that gave her a break from the dizzying spiral. No other apartments connected to the stairwell, only Tristan’s. Light fixtures were few and far between, casting sections of the stairwell in long black shadows. The sole skylight became a weak dot of light above, as distant as a s
tar in another galaxy. A star you’d wish upon to escape to another place.
Tristan glanced back. “Ça va? All good?”
She nodded quickly. As long as he was there, yes.
“Eight stories altogether, right?” she whispered, trying to judge how far they’d come.
“Eight to ground level.” Tristan’s answer echoed in the darkness.
But when they reached a door with a tiny window that looked onto the building’s foyer, Tristan continued downward instead. The air grew damp and heavy, the narrow space that much creepier.
“Almost there,” Tristan murmured, offering his hand.
The words weren’t as comforting as his firm grip, and Natalie hung on tightly as they rotated through another few levels. Tristan had called a friend to fetch some clothes from her apartment, but the thin peasant blouse and tan slacks were better suited for spring. Which it might be outside, but this dim, dank world reminded her of the last days of autumn, when days grew short and dark, and leaves wilted and died.
Finally, the stairs ended, and they emerged onto a long, narrow tunnel.
“Do you use the back door often?” she asked.
It was a joke, but Tristan’s reply was dead serious. “Only when I have to.”
Apparently, even big, dangerous guys like him had places they didn’t stray into by choice.
Soon after, they reached a fork, and Tristan kept left.
“Where does that go?” she asked as he whisked her past the passage on the right.
He towed her firmly onward. “The catacombs.”
A cold lick of air brushed her cheek — a ghostly kiss from the netherworld. She hurried after Tristan, picturing towers of human bones stacked into elaborate designs, with femurs forming crosses and skulls staring out in ghostly silence. The catacombs were a maze of ancient tunnels dug several stories below Paris, filled with bones cleared out from the city’s overfull cemeteries. She’d been meaning to visit, but now, she wasn’t so sure.
“Aren’t the catacombs open to the public?”
“Not that part.” The grim note in his tone told her to banish the thought from her mind.
Up to that point, the lights in the tunnel had been weak and gloomy, like lonely sentinels abandoned at their posts. But eventually, the lights grew brighter, conquering the darkness rather than barely keeping it at bay. Natalie made a mental note: Left tunnel good. Right tunnel bad. Just in case.
