Wolves of Paris

by Tori Knightwood

  A twinge of sympathy for Chantal squeezed Ryenne’s gut because Lucien looked like he didn’t accept the apology.

  Eventually, he said something to her without looking at her and headed toward Ryenne.

  Ryenne felt victory pump through her. Or maybe it was the tequila mixed with the heat of too many bodies crushed together on the dance floor. But Chantal’s face was so sad.

  Ryenne understood. No one had ever broken her heart because she had never let herself feel that much for anyone. But she really cared for Lucien, and if he ever looked at her as he had looked at Chantal just now, she would be devastated. Maybe not heart-broken, as she didn’t think she was in love with Lucien, but she cared about him deeply and would miss him when she left Paris.

  He joined the others on the dance floor. Lucien swept Ryenne into his arms and they danced close to the pounding beat. People pressed against them from all sides.

  All of a sudden, Lucien’s eyes got big and he slumped onto Ryenne.

  Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Chantal, horror spreading across her pretty face. She turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Ryenne tried to prop Lucien up. Dany and Guy realized something was wrong and used their combined strength to lift Lucien to an upright position.

  Ryenne’s hand slid to his waist. It came away warm and sticky.

  Blood glistened on her fingers in the pulsing hot pink and purple lights.

  SEVEN

  Guy put his arm around Lucien and lifted so it didn’t look like he was being carried. Ryenne pushed in on his other side and pressed Lucien’s shirt against the wound to try to stanch the bleeding. “Good thing he’s wearing a dark shirt.” She hoped her flippant words would hide her fear.

  “We have to get him out of here,” Dany said.

  “How?” Ryenne asked. “We can’t put him in a taxi like this, can we?”

  Dany and Guy shared a glance and spoke to each other in quick French, while Guy continued carrying Lucien out of the club, the four of them in a tight grouping.

  “We’re going to call our friend, Martin. He doesn’t live too far from here and he has a car. He’ll drive us home,” Dany said.

  “Why home?” Ryenne asked. “Why not the hospital?”

  Dany glanced around and leaned in close. “Because his fast healing will give him away as a shifter, and we try to avoid letting people know.”

  Guy’s bulk made an easy path through the crowd for them. As they pushed through, Ryenne searched for Chantal and her mystery man, her heart pumping with excess adrenaline. She didn’t find any sign of them. Could he have stabbed Lucien? It had happened so quickly. They’d been so focused on each other, she hadn’t noticed anyone get close enough to hurt him. But why else would Chantal ignore the guy’s presence?

  They made it out to the street in front of the club, which was still thronged with people since the club was part of a huge complex on the Quai d’Austerlitz and included plenty of entertainment options.

  Some people threw them looks of curiosity or derision. More than one guy made a joke Ryenne didn’t understand while staring at Lucien. They probably thought Lucien couldn’t hold his liquor. She tightened her hold on his arm, her stomach twisting with fear for him, and hoped one of these drunken idiots wouldn’t fall over into Lucien and cause him further pain.

  They walked down the street, away from the lights and the people. By the time they reached a patch of darkness, a car approached and flashed its brights.

  “That’s him,” Dany said, waving her arm.

  “Thank goodness,” Ryenne said. The sheen of sweat on Lucien’s face worried her more than she could say to the others. She was the human, after all, and they were used to this.

  A small burgundy car slid to a stop in front of them and a tall, broad man with glossy dark skin got out of the car. “Is he okay?” the man asked in French.

  Ryenne had picked up enough French to understand the question, or maybe it was his worried glances between Lucien, Guy, and Dany.

  “He’s bleeding and weak,” Dany responded in English. “Martin, this is Lucien’s American friend, Ryenne.”

  They exchanged quick greetings, then Martin opened the rear door, and Ryenne stepped back so Guy could maneuver Lucien into the car. Ryenne and Guy sat in the back, on either side of Lucien.

  Dany got into the front seat next to Martin. During the drive, Dany and Martin spoke in French in hushed tones. He was so big that his seat was pushed back to Ryenne’s knees and he still overflowed the front seat.

  Ryenne leaned over Lucien, careful not to put pressure on his wound, to whisper to Guy, “Is he also a shifter?”

  Guy nodded.

  “So we can trust him.”

  Guy nodded again. “He’s an elephant shifter from Senegal and has to be even more careful than the rest of us. Can you imagine the news coverage if people caught a glimpse of an elephant in front of the Arc de Triomphe?”

  Ryenne’s eyebrows shot up. She’d never met an elephant shifter before, not even in Kenya. Then again, that trip hadn’t exactly been a vacation. Once she and Lucien had solved the problem, they had left for New York within a couple of days.

  Thinking of Africa made her glance again at Lucien. He was pale, his face still shiny, and small grunts and hisses of air escaped every time they turned a corner. Luckily, it was late enough that there was little traffic in the city, and Martin was a very good driver, zipping in and out between vehicles like he knew ways around the busiest parts of the city.

  “Hang on,” she whispered to Lucien. “We’ll be home soon.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’ll heal soon. Don’t worry.”

  Before long, Martin pulled up in front of the Malraux house. Guy got out first and gently pulled Lucien from the car.

  Dany had called her mother from the car, so as soon as they all reached the sidewalk, the door to the Malraux house flew open and Françoise came running down the steps in a silk robe.

  She rushed to Lucien, put her hands on his face, and looked into his eyes. “Oh chéri, chéri.” She glared at Ryenne over Lucien’s head. “This is your fault, you know.”

  Lucien’s eyelids fluttered. “It’s not her fault, Maman.”

  “It is,” Françoise insisted. “She brought the Fangs into our lives. They went after her in Kenya.”

  “They came after me, too,” he said. “This isn’t Ryenne’s fault.”

  Françoise said no more but her facial expression didn’t change.

  They got Lucien into the house. At the bottom of the stairs, they paused.

  “I can make up the salon for him,” Françoise said. “So we don’t have to carry him up the two flights of stairs.”

  “I would be more comfortable in my own room,” Lucien said. “Guy, do you think you can manage?”

  “Of course, I can.”

  Everyone stepped away and Guy gently tossed Lucien over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and climbed the stairs as if Lucien’s weight was nothing. The women followed behind.

  Dany stopped and turned. “Merci, Martin. We owe you big.”

  “No, I’m happy to help. Do you need anything else from me?”

  Françoise spoke from the first landing. “Would you mind going to get Emma and Pascal?” She turned to Ryenne. “Pascal is a pharmacist and has a home lab with all kinds of medical supplies.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Martin left.

  He had a quiet strength that Ryenne appreciated. It seemed Ryenne’s previous prejudice against shifters was being peeled away, layer by layer, by every shifter connected to Lucien she met.

  When Ryenne reached Lucien’s room, Guy had already placed Lucien on his bed. He wasn’t even breathing hard, unlike Lucien, who had lost some color in his face but no longer looked like death.

  Françoise bustled around him, tucking in the sheet, muttering in French.

  “Maman, I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine.”

  “I’ll be fine. Already I can feel the wound starti
ng to heal itself. We’re shifters, remember?”

  “Of course, I remember,” she snapped. She threw a glare over her shoulder at Ryenne as if to say, We are but you’re not.

  “Do you need anything?” Dany asked her brother. “Do you want a glass of water?”

  “That would be great.”

  Dany left the room, probably wanting to escape the tension as much as Ryenne wanted to. Instead, she was now left alone with her boyfriend and his mother, who suddenly hated her. She hadn’t been warm up until this point, but she had at least tolerated Ryenne’s presence in her home and in her son’s life.

  Lucien patted the side of the bed. “Ryenne, sit with me.”

  “I can sit with you,” Françoise said.

  “Maman, please, I’m fine. Again, this isn’t Ryenne’s fault.”

  Françoise stood back, unhappy but no longer muttering or shouting or darting sharp glances at Ryenne.

  Lucien looked down at his chest. “Can you help me take my shirt off?”

  “I can help you.” Françoise surged forward.

  Ryenne gave him a smile and decided this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. Sitting by his side, she watched as Françoise unbuttoned Lucien’s dark blue shirt. Ryenne helped prop him up so Françoise could slide his shirt down his arms.

  The wound had stopped bleeding, but hadn’t yet dried or crusted on the skin around the wound. This puzzled Ryenne. His shifter healing should be further along by now.

  “I’ll get some wet washcloths.” Françoise left the room.

  Lucien faced Ryenne. “I’m sorry for my mother’s words and behavior.”

  “It’s okay. I would probably feel the same way. In fact, I do feel like this is my fault. It’s true, the Fangs targeted me in Kenya.”

  “Yes, and they let me live, clearly with other plans in mind, which they are now starting to set in motion. They wanted to do business with us and we refused; now they’re going to try to intimidate us into doing what they want.”

  “What do they want?” Ryenne asked.

  Lucien shook his head. “I wish I knew. First, they wanted us to work for them. Now, what? Was this just a warning or were they trying to kill me?”

  “If they were trying to kill you, they didn’t try very hard.” But why wasn’t the wound healing? It looked exactly as it had minutes ago—the blood still not dried around the wound. Ryenne remembered the good-looking guy she’d seen with Chantal on two separate occasions. “Did you know the man at dinner with Chantal last night?”

  “No, why?”

  “I saw him at the club tonight, too. But when you asked if she was there alone, she only mentioned the two girlfriends, not a man.”

  Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Maybe he’s her new boyfriend and she didn’t want to hurt me further, so didn’t introduce us.”

  Ryenne wasn’t so sure. Chantal had had no problem hurting Lucien before. And, last night at the restaurant, she could have let Lucien pass her table without a word. She had stood up and called attention to herself. But only to herself.

  “I think there’s something to this,” she said. “There’s a reason she’s suddenly popping up everywhere you are. There’s a reason this guy is with her. And there’s a reason she hasn’t introduced him.”

  “You think he’s a Fang?”

  “It would almost make sense since they have also just started targeting you. Who else could he be? If he were really her boyfriend, wouldn’t she tell you?”

  He sighed.

  Lucien’s feelings for Chantal were obviously complicated and Ryenne wasn’t going to get any more out of him right now. But she wasn’t giving up on this line of thought.

  A commotion on the stairs distracted them. Soon, Lucien’s older sister Emma burst in, closely followed by her husband, Pascal, and Dany with a glass of water. Ryenne helped Lucien to sit up and propped some pillows behind him so he could drink the water.

  Emma rushed to her brother’s side, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was a large woman, more physically imposing than their mother, although Françoise still had the largest presence of anyone in her family.

  “Let Pascal look at you.”

  Pascal came to the opposite side of the bed and Ryenne moved out of his way. He greeted her with a small smile, then pulled the sheet down to expose the wound.

  “Ô mon dieu. How did this happen?” Emma exclaimed.

  Dany explained how they had all been dancing when someone came up behind Lucien and stabbed him, then got lost in the crowd.

  “You didn’t even see anyone?” Emma asked.

  They all shook their heads.

  “But we suspect it was the Fangs,” Françoise said, entering with the wet washcloths in time to hear her daughter’s question.

  “The Fangs?” Emma’s eyes immediately went to Ryenne with a frown.

  Françoise handed the wet cloths to Pascal, who cleaned Lucien’s wound. He stared at the washcloth for a moment with a puzzled expression. Putting the washcloth in a resealable plastic bag he’d brought with him, he set it down next to the bed, then pulled out some gauze pads and alcohol from a leather duffel. “This might sting.”

  Lucien nodded and searched out Ryenne with his pain-clouded gaze. She wished she could hold his hand. Do something other than watch his family be upset. But she couldn’t get close with all of them crowded around. Emma and Françoise were already mad at her and she didn’t want to provoke his family further.

  Pascal poured alcohol directly into the wound. Lucien sucked air in between his teeth, frown lines forming on his forehead, and Pascal dabbed alcohol-soaked gauze on Lucien’s side.

  “Mon chéri,” Françoise said.

  “I’m fine, Maman.”

  “You are not fine. You were stabbed by a stranger. In a bar, of all places.”

  “A dance club, Maman,” Dany corrected, which earned her one of Françoise’s patented glares.

  “This isn’t too deep,” Pascal said. “But the healing isn’t as far along as it should be an hour or so after the event. At least now it’s cleaned. I will cover it with gauze for now.”

  “Does he need stitches?” Dany asked.

  “I think he will heal on his own and I want to keep an eye on the wound and make sure there isn’t any sign of infection. I will change the bandages and clean the wound again in a few hours, and then we will see.” His words were confident but his eyes showed concern.

  She wondered why he wasn’t healing at his normal rate.

  Françoise nodded. “Thank you for coming, Pascal. Who is with the kids?”

  “We left Martin with the kids and rushed over as soon as we heard the news,” Emma said.

  “Why don’t we all let Lucien rest? I will make coffee.” Françoise headed out of the room so sure everyone would follow and that no one would dare question her order.

  Ryenne remained behind and as soon as Pascal moved out of the way, she again sat on the side of the bed and took Lucien’s hand.

  In the doorway, Emma paused. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I think I’ll stay with Lucien for a little while.”

  “You heard our mother. He needs to rest.”

  “I promise to let him rest in a few minutes.”

  Emma huffed and stomped down the stairs.

  “Your family doesn’t like me very much.”

  He gave her a mischievous grin. “Maman had tolerated you until tonight and Emma didn’t have an opinion. Dany likes you just fine.”

  She swatted at his arm, careful not to get too close to the knife wound in his right kidney area.

  “Just give them some time,” he said. “They’ll come around. Eventually, they’ll love you as much as I do.”

  Ryenne froze and what she’d planned to say next stuck in her throat.

  Lucien loved her?

  Shit.

  EIGHT

  The next day, Ryenne was still reeling from Lucien’s admission. She wanted to think it was just the medication, but he wasn’t on any. Maybe it was
the pain from the stabbing.

  Whatever had made him say it, he had said it.

  He loved her.

  She wasn’t ready for love.

  Regardless of her mixed up feelings, one thing was clear. She couldn’t go home tomorrow while the Fangs were after the Malraux. Even though she only partially agreed with Françoise and Emma that she was the one who had brought the Fangs down on the Malraux, she felt responsible enough that she couldn’t just leave them to deal with this threat alone. Who knew what the Fangs would do next?

  And Chantal must be wrapped up in this. She was at the club with a guy she ignored who may have been the one to stab Lucien.

  Today didn’t seem like the right time to go out and find Chantal. But she would soon, because there was no way she was leaving tomorrow. And she’d have to let Gavin know.

  It was too early to call New York, so she sent an email with lots of apologies and kissy-face and heart emojis. He wouldn’t be happy. In fact, he’d be thoroughly annoyed at her.

  But he’d understand, eventually.

  The rest of the day was spent helping to take care of Lucien and trying to never be alone with him for fear of the conversation he might try to broach about what he’d said last night. It had to have been the cloud of pain making him think he loved her. He couldn’t actually love her. No one had ever loved her other than Gavin and her mom, and they had to.

  Guys didn’t voluntarily fall in love with Ryenne. Or maybe she pushed them away before anything serious could happen.

  She had thought this trip to Paris would be safe. She and Lucien had only known each other for a few months and they’d been on separate continents for most of it. This was only supposed to be ten days in Paris for fun, good food, wine, and sight-seeing. And sex with Lucien.

  She’d never imagined there could be enough time for either one of them to fall in love.

  So, she avoided being alone with him. Anytime Pascal needed to change his dressing, she was there. When it was time for Pascal to leave, she made a point of walking him out. If Lucien needed food or drink, Ryenne made sure to offer to get it before anyone else could.

  By mid-afternoon, Lucien felt better and wanted to get out of bed and walk around. Guy and Ryenne helped him down the stairs to the back patio. It would still be a day or two before he’d be able to shift and run as a wolf in the Bois de Boulogne, but at least he could sit in a real chair while getting fresh air in the backyard.