by Anna Lowe
“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 walls 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?”
Natalie recognized Tristan’s voice, and boy, did he sound mad. But she must have squeaked, because one of the vampires spun and squinted into the niche.
“Wait a minute…”
Her stomach folded in on itself, and she scuttled back.
Too late. A moment later, the vampire dragged her out into the circle of his accomplices. She barely managed to slip the dagger up her sleeve before they wrestled her hands to her sides.
Jacqueline turned up her nose. “What a fitting hiding place you found.”
A fitting place for you to die, Natalie wanted to say. But the same could apply to her, so she kept her mouth shut.
Another burst of fire ripped through the tunnel, and everyone jumped.
“Natalie!” Tristan boomed. “Run!”
Natalie spun, breaking free. Running sounded like a great plan.
But a few steps later, she pulled up short. Running from the vampires in the alley had saved her life, but it had nearly cost Tristan his. And that had been against fewer enemies than they faced now. How could she leave him?
“Not so fast.” Olivier grabbed her in that moment of hesitation and yanked her to his side.
Close as she was to panic, Natalie forced herself to think. She had the dagger and the element of surprise. But she would have to use both if she had any hope of escaping the catacombs alive.
“Arrêtez, ou je lui tords le cou,” Olivier yelled to Tristan. Stop, or I’ll wring her neck.
Natalie jabbed an elbow into his ribs.
“Don’t, you fool,” one of the others said. “We need her blood fresh from the vein.”
Olivier hissed for him to be quiet, and Natalie parked that information away. The thought made her gag, but it did provide a glimmer of hope. The vampires couldn’t kill her on the run — they had to keep her alive to feed off her.
Tristan sprinted into view, then halted in his tracks and breathed, “Natalie.”
If Natalie had any nagging little doubts about Tristan, mates, or destiny, they all vanished at the sight of him. His face was a mask of determination, his jaw set hard. The furious red glow of his eyes softened at the sight of her, and he whispered her name again. “Natalie.”
Warming all over, she smiled. That was all she managed to do, because words fled her, lost in the rush of emotion inside.
Love, she realized. That wasn’t just relief, heating her up from the inside. It was love.
Tristan, I love you. She bundled up the thought and did her best to push it into his mind, as she’d read shifters could do. Then she looked around at her grim reality and managed a joke.
“We have to stop meeting like this.”
Tristan’s lips curled slightly, and he shook his head. “Any way I get to be with you is fine.”
Natalie beamed. Olivier rolled his eyes. Jacqueline huffed.
“Aren’t they adorable.” Then she snapped her fingers, motioning the vampires toward Tristan. “Kill him.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tristan took a deep breath, trying to settle his inner dragon. Thank goodness he’d made it in time. He’d been halfway to Alaric’s mansion before a sinking feeling crept into his soul. When he’d reached his mind toward Natalie’s, he’d sensed her panic and immediately rushed home. Her trail had led to the catacombs, and he’d feared the worst. But, no. She was alive and unharmed — so far.
But why isn’t she listening? his dragon demanded. Why didn’t she run when she had the chance?
He smiled faintly. Because she’s brave. Because she loves us. Because she truly is a Fire Maiden.
He could have stood admiring her courage all day. But there were five vampires and a traitorous she-dragon to deal with first, so he turned his attention to Jacqueline. How he’d ever been tempted by her warped charms, he had no idea.
“Showing your true colors, Jacqueline?”
“Doing what needs to be done, you fool.”
He squinted. “Which is?”
Jacqueline scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
They both spoke in cutting, rapid-fire French, and he could see Natalie concentrating hard, trying to follow along.
Tristan prowled closer. Seeing Natalie had abated his fury, but it flooded back with a vengeance now. His whole body burned with malice, and the vampires shrank back.
“No, I do not understand. Alaric ordered us to protect her. Do you dare disobey his orders? The city needs her.”
“The city needs me,” Jacqueline hissed so forcefully, two of the vampires cringed. “A born leader.”
“Pity you weren’t born with the right blood,” Tristan said, knowing that would cut deep.
But Jacqueline didn’t glare. She smiled. Not a good sign.
“Ah, yes. Luckily, I have a way around that.” She held out a vial. “Liviana’s spell is stirred by the blood of a Fire Maiden? Well, fine. I’ll get myself some. They can have the rest.”
She gestured, and five pairs of vampire eyes glittered in the darkn
ess.
Tristan’s stomach turned as the extent of Jacqueline’s betrayal became clear. She’d made some kind of deal with the vampires — something along the lines of handing Natalie over in exchange for support in her bid for power. Did she really think a vial of blood would be enough to reinvigorate the spell over Paris?
It was crazy. But times were such that anything was possible. Evil was everywhere, waiting for its chance. As Jacqueline had been, he realized.
“Listen to yourself, Jacqueline. You’ve gone mad.”
“Have I?” she half screamed. “Alaric’s power is slipping. You know that as well as I do. At first, I thought you might be the one to help me topple him.”
Tristan’s jaw dropped. Is that why she’d attempted to seduce him when he’d first arrived in Paris?
Jacqueline scowled. “But I quickly realized that you, with your misplaced sense of honor, were of no use.”
It ought to have felt like a compliment, but all Tristan felt was anger. Had Jacqueline really thought him capable of turning on Alaric? The alpha had his faults, but his heart beat for justice and peace.
“So I was forced to bide my time,” Jacqueline growled, then smiled. “And voilà — along came our dear, innocent mademoiselle, rewarding me for my patience. We need to reinvigorate the spell if we are to maintain power.”
Tristan held up his hand. He didn’t want anything to do with that we. But Jacqueline rushed on, gesturing wildly.
“The city needs a strong leader, and that is me. Besides, I deserve to rule. I’m the one who has devoted her life to this city, not this foreigner.”
Tristan snorted. “You’ve devoted your life to parties and fashion shows.” He pointed at Natalie. “She’s been in soup kitchens and out in the streets.”
Jacqueline huffed. “We don’t need to concern ourselves with that rabble. Only with preserving our power.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. “Power comes from honoring the Guardian vow to protect the city — for the good of all, not just ourselves.”
