Beguiling Delilah: Romancing the Guardians, Book Six

by Lyn Horner

  This time, they reached nirvana together, bursting the bonds of reality with cries of joy. Afterward, Delilah floated back to earth, too weak to lift a finger. She muttered in complaint moments later when Leon rose with a groan and turned back the bedcovers partway, then urged her to scoot around so that her head lay on a pillow. Pulling up the covers, he turned off the light and crawled in next to her, cuddling her to his side. She gave a contented sigh and was asleep within seconds.

  * * *

  Leon held Delilah close and smiled, thinking himself lucky to have found such a woman, but the next second brought thoughts of Yolanda, his beloved wife, the mother of his children. He had missed her every second of every lonely day since losing her, never wanting another woman. Had his dream of her truly meant she approved of his sudden desire for Delilah, a woman so different from her and the Navajo people? Would she not think him disloyal to her memory and their heritage? Or might she see his affair with the Frenchwoman as meaningless because it was destined to soon end, as he knew it must?

  He’d realized from the beginning that Delilah could never be his. She might speak of one day showing him more of France and Europe, but that was unlikely to happen. When the Guardians crushed their enemies the Hellhounds, as he expected, Delilah would return to her important career in France while he . . . he’d go back to his life as a simple Navajo farmer. Not a life she would want to share.

  Telling himself to accept the inevitable and simply enjoy his time with her now, Leon sought to quiet his thoughts. He was hovering in a state of half-sleep when Yolanda’s voice spoke to him in his head.

  I don’t want you to live alone, my husband. I want you to be happy. If this woman pleases you, you must fight for her.

  His eyes flew open. Heart hammering in his chest, he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He’d been thinking of Yolanda only moments before. He must have dreamed of her speaking those words. But her voice had seemed so real.

  Releasing his inheld breath, he struggled to relax. With his thoughts in turmoil, it took him a long time to fall asleep.

  * * *

  Delilah woke shortly after dawn, keyed up and anxious to get underway on the next leg of their journey. She roused Leon with a kiss, but resisted his attempt to make love to her again. He sighed in disappointment, scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled out of bed.

  They washed and dressed then packed up their few belongings. Directing a wistful glance around the cozy little cottage that had provided them a safe haven for the past two blissful nights, she turned and followed Leon out. Making their final trek down the hill to the main house, they joined Celine, who exclaimed over Leon’s new hair color and style, saying he looked very dashing. Translating her compliment for Leon, she detected a blush on his copper cheeks.

  Celine served them delicious fresh-from-the-oven croissants filled with fruit accompanied by coffee that sent Delilah’s already hyper anxiety into the stratosphere. She wanted to be on the plane to America but dreaded what might happen at the airport. If the Hellhounds were waiting for them, if they saw through their disguises . . . No! They would escape, they must!

  With breakfast over, Delilah settled their bill with Celine, ignoring Leon’s scowl. He resented her paying their way, especially out of her winnings from Monte Carlo, but he was not able to cover their expenses. She hated to hurt his masculine pride yet again but had no other choice.

  “I hope you have a safe journey to America,” Celine said, hugging them both and waving them off.

  Hearing the woman mirror her own worried thought added to Delilah’s trepidation. She was glad when Leon distracted her.

  “What will we do with the car?” he asked.

  “The car? Oh, I forgot to mention I reserved a long-term parking spot at the airport when I purchased our plane tickets. We will leave the ugly beast there.”

  He frowned. “But you might be in America for weeks or even months. Can you leave the car at the airport that long?”

  “I won’t need to. I shall call Germain, my chauffeur, after we are parked and ask him to fly down here to pick up the auto. If he agrees, and I think he will, he can drive it back to Cousin Jacque and return my beauty to Paris.”

  Nodding, Leon said, “Good plan, but he should not park it at your condo. I doubt the Hounds are still watching the place but in case they are, he could be spotted and taken prisoner. Things would not go well for him in their hands.”

  Delilah shivered at the thought of her trusted driver being tortured by the vile monsters for information he did not possess about her destination. “Of course, you are right. I will advise Germain to park my car elsewhere.”

  And pray for his safety, she thought, as she’d done many times for Esme, her young assistant, filled with guilt for running off and leaving the poor girl terrified by the Hellhounds. She would not be able to live with herself if either of the two were hurt because of her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Delilah located their reserved space in a covered carpark at the Nice Côte d’Azur Airport without any problem. Once parked, she placed a call to Germain on her cell phone. He answered on the second ring.

  “Madame, is it truly you?” he shouted in her ear.

  Wincing, she said, “Oui, it is I, Germain. You need not shout. Please.”

  “Sorry, but I have been so worried about you. Are you safe and well?”

  “I am fine and I apologize for causing you concern. Have you spoken with Esme, my assistant? Did she tell you about the men who invaded my office?”

  “Mais oui, we have spoken several times. She is as worried as I am about you. We feared those villains had abducted you. Who are they and why were they after you?”

  Delilah hesitated. “All I can tell you is they want information which I cannot, will not give them. So far, I have escaped their clutches thanks to Leon, my dear friend.” She smiled at her noble protector, who did not understand a word she said since she spoke in French. He had begun to don his disguise, scowling as he tugged on the flowered shirt he hated. “We are now in Nice, preparing to board a plane to America.”

  “Ah yes? You believe you will be safe there?”

  “That is my hope, yes, but I must ask your help after we are gone.”

  “Of course, whatever you require.”

  Delilah quickly explained what she needed him to do, and he agreed without hesitation. Saying she would have a plane ticket emailed to him, she gave him directions for locating the car once he arrived in Nice and for the route to her cousin Jacque’s farm. He would find the car key behind the front license plate, attached by one of the screws – Leon’s clever idea. Promising to let her cousin know to expect him, she thanked Germain profusely for his help, and he wished her a safe journey.

  “You’d better get into your costume,” Leon said as soon as she ended the call. By now, he had finished changing into his. “I will stand guard outside in case anyone walks by.”

  She did as he said, thankful for his broad back shielding her from any curious eyes. When she stepped out in her disguise, complete with curly blonde wig, he nodded.

  “If the Hounds recognize you, they must be bloodhounds.”

  “Let us hope they are not,” she grimly replied, insides swarming with butterflies. Recalling the handgun in her shoulder bag, she sighed with regret, knowing she could not carry it onto the plane, and placed it in the car’s glove box. She must remember to tell Germain about the gun and ask him to remove it before returning the car to Jacque.

  With their street clothes packed, she locked the car and Leon hid the key as planned. Then they went to catch a shuttle to Terminal 2, from which their flight was scheduled to depart. Minutes later, they arrived outside the ultra-modern facility.

  Gazing up and down the departure drop off area, Delilah saw people coming and going but no one who appeared suspicious. She accompanied Leon inside, they picked up their boarding passes and joined a long queue for the mandatory I.D. check before passing through the security scanner. They took
turns surreptitiously observing the busy concourse as they crept forward. They were nearing the checkpoint when Delilah glanced around again, gasped and froze for a few seconds.

  Recovering her senses, she whirled toward Leon, clutched his arm and whispered frantically, “Don’t turn around, they’re here! I saw the squat leader of those thugs in Paris. He’s standing by the windows watching this line.” Her voice wobbled. “I don’t know if he spotted me when I stared at him.”

  Leon patted the hand clutching his arm. “Okay, don’t panic. Keep moving slowly. We must not attract his attention.”

  Struggling to appear calm, she did as he said, certain she felt the Hellhound staring holes in her back the whole time. Leon led the way when they finally reached the checkpoint. The woman security officer eyed Leon’s passport photo, comparing it to his changed appearance.

  “I advise you get a new photo, sir,” she told him in stilted English. He agreed that he would and she let him pass.

  The stern-faced woman examined Delilah’s photo even more closely, causing her pulse to race. “Nice wig, Madame,” she finally said, switching to French. “Does it have metal combs?”

  “Oui. Is that a problem?” Her palms started to sweat. If she had to remove the wig it would be disastrous with the Hellhound watching.

  “Non, Madame, but you may be patted down.” The woman gestured her onward.

  “Oh, okay.” Forcing a smile, Delilah followed Leon, lifting her small carryon suitcase onto the conveyor belt for scanning as he had done with his duffle bag and other items. She placed her shoulder bag in a rubber tub, struggled out of her thigh-high boots – cursing herself for not thinking about this when she bought the things – and added them to the pile. As they moved along the belt, she padded barefoot into the body scanner.

  Fortunately, the male security officer did not single her out for a pat-down, allowing her to breathe a little easier. Leon had already collected her belongings together with his own. Donning her idiotic footwear, she slung the strap of her shoulder bag around her neck and tucked the bag under her arm for safe keeping. She’d learned long ago to take such precautions in airports.

  “Our gate is that way,” Leon said, pointing to a sign with a lighted arrow. Toting his bag with one hand, he pulled her rolling case with the other, leaving her free to stride along at his side. They’d gone only a short way when she stopped short, heart in her throat.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  Halting, he turned a questioning gaze upon her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I must check something in my suitcase,” she said in a choked voice. She indicated empty seats in a gate area to their right. “Lay it over there. Please.”

  Grunting, he accommodated her. When she asked him to stand with his back to her, blocking her from the view of passing strangers as he had done in the carpark, he crooked one corner of his mouth. “For you, I will pose as a cigar store Indian.” Pivoting, he crossed his arms and adopted a rigid stance.

  Not understanding his reference, Delilah frowned at his broad back for a second. Then she unzipped her suitcase with trembling fingers and dug around under her clothes. Her hand touched a cool metal object, banishing the despair that had threatened to strangle her, flooding her with relief. Why the tube containing the scroll she guarded had not set off a warning from the scanner, she didn’t know, but she whispered a thankful prayer to Danu that it hadn’t.

  “It’s alright, you can turn around,” she said, zipping the case. She stood it on the floor and pulled up the telescoping handle.

  “Is everything where it should be?” Leon asked.

  “Oui, I just needed to be sure nothing was removed after the scan.” She stepped aside, allowing him to retrieve his duffle from another empty seat and once more take charge of her suitcase.

  “Wouldn’t they have stopped you if the scanner showed something suspicious?” he asked as they walked on.

  “Naturellement, you are right. Silly me for not think of that.” She laughed, trying to sound convincing. The truth was she’d been so terrified of losing the precious cargo hidden among her belongings that she was incapable of rational thought.

  “Can you tell me what you were so worried about?”

  She glanced at him hesitantly, then looked around at passing travelers. Seeing no one close enough to overhear, she said, “You know what I and the others protect. I could not leave it behind.”

  “I see.” He said nothing else until they reached their gate and were seated in a quiet corner of the waiting area. Then he turned to her, wrapping her hand between his. “Lila, I know you cannot trust me with the words of the ancient ones, but I would never betray you and the secret you guard. I want you to know this.”

  Delilah leaned toward him. “I do, Leon, and I trust you,” she said earnestly. “But you must understand I swore an oath when my father died, leaving me to assume a duty our family has borne for countless generations. Part of that oath requires me never to reveal the prophesy I guard to anyone except my true mate.”

  He studied her. “Did you reveal it to your husband?”

  She straightened and drew away. “No, thank heaven! I planned to tell him after we wed, but he quickly proved to be a wastrel, unworthy of my trust.”

  “And you did not need to share your secret with Malcolm Flewellen because he already knew about it.”

  Nodding, she stared at her hands, now tightly clasped in her lap. She guessed what he would say before he spoke.

  “As for me, I will never be your true mate. We come from opposite sides of the world and are too different.” His voice was even, but his words were bitter.

  Her throat tightened, anguished tears welling in her eyes. Bending her head, she hid behind the long curls of her wig, swiping at wetness on her cheeks.

  “Do not cry, she’at’ééd,” Leon murmured, slipping his hand beneath the thick curls and gently rubbing the back of her neck. “The gods will lead us each down the path we are meant to take. To go against their will would only bring more pain.”

  She gazed at him through a blur of tears. “More pain than I am feeling now? Impossible.”

  He didn’t reply, but his dark eyes expressed deep sadness. Looking away, she fought to compose herself. Once her emotions were under control, she used her smart phone to book a ticket from Paris to Nice for Germain, having the link emailed to him as promised. She also texted him, alerting him to the gun she needed him to remove from her Cousin Jacque’s car and take charge of until she returned.

  Then she called Jacque, who immediately asked if she was alright. Assuring him she was fine and on her way to America with Leon, she explained a friend would return his car in a few days and drive hers back to Paris. Once again, she thanked Jacque for his invaluable help and promised to visit him when she returned to France. Although unsure when that might be, it satisfied her elderly relative.

  Not much later, it was time to board the plane to New York. When at last they settled inside the great white bird, Delilah relaxed in the knowledge that they were safe from her enemies, at least for the hours it would take to cross the Atlantic. At that point, her thoughts turned to what Leon had said about the gods leading them down the path each was meant to take. Wise words, and they started her wondering if, perhaps, her path was intended to merge with his.

  * * *

  Hugo Duret, leader of all French Hellhounds since the death of Marisa Gunther, their previous leader, stomped out of the terminal with two of his subordinates. He swore furiously, not caring who heard him. Virtually certain the blonde woman he’d caught staring at him earlier was the Moreau bitch, he gnashed his teeth knowing she had again escaped him.

  Although tempted to grab her from the security queue, he hadn’t dared. Not that he was afraid of the dark-skinned man with her, who had to be the same one who’d spirited her away in Paris after blinding Hugo and his men with a stinging powder. He had also murdered Jean, Hugo’s brother, in Lyon. Oh, how he longed to get his hands on the bastard and make him pay, but
he wasn’t fool enough to take on the security officers and gendarmes who prowled the terminal.

  He’d tried to get last minute tickets for the plane to New York, which must be the one Moreau and her bodyguard were taking, but was told the flight was filled and the next one would not leave until the day after tomorrow. Thus, his prey had slipped away, leaving him frustrated and cussing a blue streak.

  Calling his driver to pick him and the others up, Hugo climbed into the car the moment it pulled to the curb, slamming the door shut. While they crawled through traffic away from the airport, he curbed his fury and placed a call to his Master in the States, not relishing the next few moments.

  “Oui, Monsieur Duret,” a familiar mechanical voice answered in perfect French. “I hope you are calling to deliver good news.”

  “I, uh, fear not, Master. The Moreau woman and her Indian lackey slipped through our net.” Hugo moved the phone away from his ear, expecting the worst.

  Cursing furiously, the voice snarled, “You have failed me just like your predecessor and all the others I have trusted.”

  “I am sorry, Master, but I can tell you they are on a flight to New York from Nice. Perhaps you can waylay them there.” Praying the blonde woman in the terminal really was Delilah Moreau, he described her and the man with her and recited the flight number. A tense silence followed.

  “Very well, I will station men at the airport,” the man Hugo had never met said at last. “I advise you to hope they finish what you could not.” With that he disconnected, leaving Hugo dry-mouthed with dread of what might happen to him if the Moreau bitch was not captured.

  * * *

  Master Balor immediately dispatched men to watch for his prey at JFK airport, passing on the descriptions the Frenchman had reported. Still irate over the man’s failure to net the French Guardian, he turned his thoughts to capturing the most important prize, Lara Flewellen. She should have died many months ago along with her uncle, the old High Guardian, in the accident that had put an end to him.