by Anna Lowe
More French. A holdover from his time in the Foreign Legion?
Laura stood, confused, but Finn stuck up a hand when they got to the front door. “You’ll be safe here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“But—”
He shook his head sadly and gently pushed the door against the weak resistance she mustered.
“Go on, then.” He motioned up the stairs. “Like Marco said, make yourself at home.”
“He didn’t say that,” Laura pointed out.
Finn flashed another sly grin. “All the more reason to. Like I said, that man needs his world shaken up a wee bit. See you soon.”
Laura opened her mouth, but Finn pushed the door shut with a firm click. She stared at it for a minute, then spun on her heel. For all his charm, Finn was nearly as infuriating as Marco.
With a frustrated sigh, she turned and glanced around. Now what?
“Hello?” she called up the stairs.
Her voice was a whisper in that huge, echoing space.
The only other person there was a wiry, gray-haired man who refused to let her help clear breakfast away. He flashed a wide smile, uttered a few friendly words, and disappeared as quietly as he’d appeared.
Laura hugged herself, suddenly pining for Boston. The attic apartment she rented in Somerville wasn’t as nice as this, but she’d never missed it as much as now.
She rolled her shoulders a few times, fighting the urge to give in to despair. That wouldn’t get her anywhere.
“Make myself at home, huh?”
She set off, wandering from room to room. The house was big. Beautiful. Elegant. It was impeccably furnished, neat as a pin, and shiny as a diamond. Apparently, the man who’d rescued her was richer than rich, but a little lonely. Well, she would find it lonely. There were a few business magazines and coffee table books, but no family photos. No travel mementos, no personal touches. Nothing.
Still, the place was nice. In addition to the rooftop terrace, there were two balconies — one east-facing, the other west, which meant its lucky inhabitants could watch the sun rise and set, and they would always find shelter from the sun. Currently, Lisbon was basking in the pleasant temperatures of late fall, but Laura could imagine the full power of the summer sun.
“Not bad,” she murmured, taking it all in.
An hour later, Finn breezed in and back out, dropping off her clothes and phone.
“See you in a tick.” He waved, heading back to the door.
She nearly dropped the suitcase he’d handed over. How long was a tick in Irish?
“You’re leaving?”
Finn grinned. “I’ve got a vampire to hunt. See you soon!”
She stared. Only Finn could combine vampire and hunt with such a chipper tone. Then the door clicked shut again, and she looked around the huge, empty space.
“Could be worse,” she tried the old joke. “Could be raining.”
Then she snorted. Marco’s classy bachelor pad was definitely a step up from the Dom Pedro. But how long could she stay? Where would she go when she left?
The Guardians. They will help you, everyone had assured her.
I can put you in touch with them, Tito, the raven shifter had promised.
But that had been three days ago, so Tito hadn’t come through — as Marco would have predicted, she sensed, judging by his obvious dislike of Tito.
She frowned. Marco didn’t seem to like anyone, including her. Was she really going to wait around like a helpless damsel in distress?
No, she was not.
She started by checking the messages on her phone. Some were from the intern covering for her at work, and the rest from her family. Her mother asked if she was enjoying Lisbon and whether she had found a new “flying instructor” — the family’s code words for dragon shifter.
Laura gazed out the window. Enjoying Lisbon? She wished. She typed a quick reply, calling it an exciting city. That wasn’t lying, right? And as for flying instructors…
Her mind drifted to Marco before she yanked it away again.
Still looking, she replied. I have a few promising leads.
The next message was from her brother, Martin, starting with a cute picture of him with his boyfriend at Fenway. The text started in the same fun vein, then dropped to a more serious tone.
Socks 3, Yankees 0. A good day in Boston, he wrote. But how about you? No fake news, please. Are you okay? Truly okay, or do I have to come and bail you out like you bailed me out all those times?
She smiled. Years ago, she’d been the one keeping an eye on him, her little brother. Now, he wasn’t so little, and he was the only person she’d confided in about how difficult things had been. But Martin knew less about dragons than she did, let alone vampires.
Making slow progress, she wrote back. Ask me tomorrow. Then she added a smiley. Hugs to Henry.
After that, she gazed around listlessly. Back at home, life was wonderfully normal. Would she ever get to live that kind of blissfully ignorant life again, or would she be on the run forever?
She tapped the screen, ready to power down the phone. But a new message pinged in, and she lit up with renewed hope. The message was from Tito, the raven shifter who’d promised to help.
I have a lead for you.
She nearly stuck up her fists in triumph. Finally.
Reading the rest of the message, however, she frowned. Marco hadn’t been too enthusiastic about Tito. But Marco didn’t seem to like anyone, including her. Was she really going to wait around for a man she couldn’t count on?
She balled her hands into fists. No, she wasn’t. This was her problem. Somehow, she had to find her own solution — and that started with Tito.
Chapter Six
Marco gunned his motorcycle and sped down the hill. The wind pressed against his leather jacket, and the sun beat down on his helmet. He would have much preferred to feel the breeze through his hair, but the dark visor gave him a measure of anonymity. Ever since the national gossip magazine had run that ridiculous story about him — Lisbon’s Most Eligible Bachelor! — he’d been staying as incognito as possible.
Why are we leaving so fast? his dragon demanded.
Because he had to get away from Laura. The woman was far too alluring for her own good — or his.
That’s because she’s our mate.
He was on one of the few straightaways of the old town, but he swerved as if he’d just hit a slick spot on a curve. How could his dragon be so sure?
You know she is, his dragon huffed, filling his helmet with a puff of smoke.
Marco slapped the visor upward, clearing the smoke and the accompanying scent of sulfur. Merda. He never allowed his dragon and human forms to cross. Why now?
I have no mate. I don’t want or need one, he insisted.
Marco snapped his visor down and powered the motorcycle past a rattling streetcar. There was a reason he drove a motorcycle — there was only space for one. Where he went, he went alone.
Laura would fit, his dragon murmured, giving a lusty swipe of its tail. We’re meant for each other.
A chorus of car horns broke out when he checked for pedestrians, then raced through a red light.
That was new, too. He never ran red lights, and he never rushed to see the Guardians. They were a lot like women — to be avoided at all costs. But he had to get Laura off his hands.
Like royalty from a bygone age, the Guardians held court way out in Sintra. Marco roared down the riverside road, then past the glorious beaches that stretched along the Atlantic. It was November, but Carcavelos was packed with sun-seekers, and dozens of surfers bobbed in the water. Even the town’s stone fortress seemed to look out for the next perfect wave.
Marco sighed. Surfing had never been his thing, but sometimes, it had its appeal. What would it feel like to kick off his tie and shoes? To spend a day without a care in the world?
He followed the coast as far as Estoril, then cut inland, eyeing the hills of Sintra. Fifteen minutes and countless ove
r-the-top mansions later, he cruised up to the gates of the Guardian’s complex. There, the wolf shifter guards scowled and asked for ID. Which was refreshing, in a way — not to be given special treatment just because of his family tree. Either those guards were new, or Marco had avoided the Guardians longer than he’d realized.
He pulled off his helmet and reached for his wallet. But one of the senior guards hurried over apologetically.
“Desculpas, Dom Marco. Come in.”
Marco sighed as the other men pushed the gates wide. Most of the time, he eschewed any privileges that came with his family name. Still, they did come in handy sometimes.
The footmen at the palace, on the other hand, didn’t fawn over him. One even sniffed at Marco’s motorcycle with disdain.
“Dom Marco da Silva.” The undersized deer shifter frowned. “You have arrived unannounced.”
Marco refrained from rolling his eyes. “My problem arrived unannounced as well.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait for an audience. I’m not sure we can fit you in.”
Marco pinned the footman with a burning gaze, hinting at how much patience he might show before his dragon got antsy.
Truthfully, though, it was his human side that was antsy. His dragon was already plotting away a bright, happy future with Laura that would never come to be. When would the beast ever learn?
She’s not Olivia, his dragon snipped.
Marco made a face. Even Olivia hadn’t been Olivia in the beginning, but she’d changed. That, or she’d hidden her true nature from day one.
The footman led him past sumptuous fountains and down an arched breezeway with exquisite marble floors and walls of hand-painted azulejos. Most houses in Lisbon showed off strips of the traditional blue tilework, but the palace of the Guardians was covered with the stuff. Some tiles were decorated with swirls or geometric patterns, while bigger areas were hand-painted with scenes relating to the Guardians’ illustrious past. One showed a dragon fire-blasting a fleet of enemy galleons, and the next showed a gleeful populace presenting their winged ruler with flowers. History, at least as dragons liked to see it.
Most of the shifters in those scenes were dragons, but a few allied species cropped up too — lions, wolves, and even panthers. From what Marco knew, there was still one lion shifter among the Guardians, but Dom Alvito had become just as complacent as the others.
Once upon a time, the Guardians had dedicated themselves to important work. They’d kept Lisbon — and most of Portugal — from complete ruin when the country’s overstretched empire collapsed. They’d fought off piratic squids and groups of swashbuckling dolphin shifters. In the chaos that followed the 1755 earthquake, they’d prevented rogue shifters from looting Lisbon. All in all, the Guardians had been a stabilizing force, maintaining law and order among shifters in a way that extended to humans.
But lately, well… All but one of the Guardians was over seventy, and living well had taken priority over community service.
“Wait here.” The footman waved to a plush red couch in an antechamber.
For twenty minutes, Marco sat, studying the inlaid oak beams overhead. Then he paced for another twenty, eyeing the marble staircase. After that, he tapped impatiently on the mantelpiece above a massive fireplace.
No wonder Laura’s pleas had gone unanswered. The Guardians didn’t bother addressing urgent matters brought directly to them by a member of their extended clan. Did they ever get around to matters raised by commoners?
The longer Marco waited, the more he steamed. Years of military service in war-torn parts of the globe had shown him the same thing. Simple, honest folks got caught in the cross fire, their pleas for help ignored by higher-ups. He’d seen villages abandoned by their own governments. Children left to fend for themselves while a pampered elite turned a blind eye to their plight.
Of course, Laura was just one person, and the Guardians had bigger issues to grapple with. But were they actually grappling with anything more important than their next golf date?
“Ah, Marco. The prodigal son returns,” a weary woman called.
Marco jumped to his feet, then relaxed.
“Cornelia. Good to see you again,” he said truthfully.
Cornelia was his cousin — one of the few he truly respected. She was only eight years older than him, yet her cheeks were hollow, and dark circles ringed her eyes. As usual, though, she practically bristled with determination.
“Here to visit the Guardians? You wouldn’t have to wait, you know. Your father’s seat is waiting for you.”
Marco shook his head. “You know I’m not interested.”
Her eyes flashed. “What about duty? Are you not interested in that either?”
Marco pursed his lips. Criticism from any other quarter would be easy to dismiss. But Cornelia worked tirelessly for just causes. The only Guardian to do so, or so it seemed at times.
“Duty is all well and good, but what are you really accomplishing?” he asked. “It’s like banging your head against a cement wall.”
Her frown deepened. “Change takes time — and patience.”
Marco shook his head. “A lifetime of patience, and for what? There’s something about the Council of Guardians that sucks you in. I’ll get complacent like the rest of them.”
Cornelia arched an eyebrow. “Have I grown complacent?”
“No. But you look tired.”
She snorted. “The word has taken on new meaning for me.”
Marco sighed. The military had taught him a new definition of tired, but that didn’t compare to what Cornelia did. She was one of those power moms who logged seventy-hour workweeks while caring for three kids and aging relatives.
A long, pregnant pause ticked by as her eyes bored into his.
Finally, she spoke. “Have you only returned to Lisbon to look after the family estate? Will you truly be content with that?”
Marco shrugged. “Content? The word has taken on a new meaning for me.”
She sighed, giving up. By all rights, Marco ought to have been relieved, but all he felt was a niggle of…shame?
“I’ll see if I can move things along,” Cornelia murmured, turning to the stairs.
Marco forced himself to sit. But when another ten minutes ticked by, he’d had enough.
“Wait. Senhor—” an attendant called.
“I’m through waiting,” he growled, taking the stairs two at a time.
“But—”
At the second floor, Marco strode down a long, sumptuous hall lit by brilliant chandeliers. The windows were more elaborately dressed than most people, the ceilings covered in frescoes, and the walls lined with more azulejos. At the far end, a pair of footmen flanked a gilded door.
“Senhor—” one of them started, then shrank back under Marco’s glare.
A few steps later, Marco powered straight through the doors. The voices that had filled the room broke off, and ten surprised shifters turned his way.
Marco swallowed once, then strode on. It was time to face the Guardians.
“Dom Marco.” The oldest, most venerated Guardian frowned. “You interrupt us.”
Marco nodded to Dom Afonso da Costa. “I was told I might gain an audience.”
Cornelia’s look said, I was doing my best.
He was sure she had, but he was through waiting. “The matter is urgent.”
Dom Afonso looked him over as if to say, You young people find everything urgent. Then he motioned toward a chair against one wall. “Have a seat. We shall come to you presently.”
Marco wanted to say he’d already spent hours sitting, but that would have been pushing his luck, so he stalked to the chair.
Cornelia shot him a look. Patience, remember?
“As you were saying, gentlemen,” Dom Afonso prompted.
The dragon beside Afonso picked up where he’d left off and proceeded to drone on for twenty minutes. At first, Marco listened, but eventually, he tuned out. It wasn’t until someone dropped the words Fire Maide
n that his ears perked.
“Concordo,” a gray-bearded Guardian said in response.
Marco blinked. What was old Bernino agreeing to?
“We must continue our efforts.” Alvito, the lion shifter, nodded.
“Perhaps we should make another gem available. Thus far, the first hasn’t succeeded in bringing us a Fire Maiden.”
Marco sat very still. Fire Maiden? His friend Tristan had put his life on the line for a Fire Maiden who’d become his mate. Ever since then, the Guardians of Paris had reported more success in their efforts to maintain peace. Meanwhile, Liam, a lion shifter buddy, had settled down with the love of his life in London — another Fire Maiden. Sergio, the wolf shifter, had done the same in Rome, and all of them were thriving.
“Fire Maiden,” Marco breathed.
He’d grown up hearing stories about a breed of young women descended from Liviana, a legendary dragon queen. Liviana had placed her daughters in each of Europe’s grand cities along with spells to protect the young women, their descendants, and the entire city. But over the centuries, Fire Maidens had slowly died out. Without them, the only force maintaining peace among supernaturals was the Guardians, and the protective spell faded. As a result, power-hungry shifter clans were stirring, looking for opportunities to profit from.
Guardians all over Europe were struggling to maintain peace and stability, and that turmoil was spilling over to humans, as seen in the new, uncertain era that had crept through much of Europe. An era marked by fear, terrorism, and the rise of right-wing political parties.
So, something had to be done. And apparently, the Guardians of Lisbon were making an effort. But all they’d done was set out a gem in hopes of luring in a Fire Maiden? The strategy had worked elsewhere, but at the risk of innocent women’s lives.
Marco shook his head. He might have sworn off the notion of romance, but that didn’t mean he’d given up on protecting those in need.
His blood boiled. If the Guardians couldn’t help an average she-dragon like Laura, how would they ever protect a Fire Maiden?
He raised his hand, ready to point that out. But Cornelia sent him a look of warning that said, Not now.
