Immortal Angel (An Argeneau Novel)

by Lynsay Sands

  “He attacked her and she defended herself,” G.G. muttered, hoping Ildaria wouldn’t be upset that others were learning about the incident. He hadn’t said anything. The knowledge had been plucked from his head. Still, it was private, and he didn’t want her uncomfortable or embarrassed because of his wandering thoughts.

  “Well, I won’t say anything,” Mirabeau assured him.

  G.G. grunted a thank-you, and then glanced to H.D. who was unusually quiet. The dog had sat down and was watching Tiny with interest. But he wasn’t barking at Mirabeau or trying to bite her ankles, which was something new. The dog always went after strange women.

  “Tiny’s good with dogs,” Mirabeau commented, shifting her gaze to the dog. “They love him.”

  As if to prove it, Tiny snapped his thumb and finger and whistled and H.D. stood and moved cautiously forward, head lowering to sniff as he got closer. Much to G.G.’s amazement, his dog walked right up to the big man and even let him pet him, then sat down next to him and turned to look at G.G.

  “Traitor,” G.G. said with amusement. “I thought you had to go outside?”

  That had H.D. standing up at once and moving around Tiny to the door.

  Nodding, G.G. moved around the couple to get to the door and said, “We shouldn’t be long. Do you two want coffee or something when I get back?”

  “Nah. We’re good,” Tiny said when Mirabeau shook her head. “Thanks though.”

  “Sure,” G.G. murmured and then opened the door to the stairwell and followed H.D. through. His mind was on Ildaria as he followed the fur ball down the stairs. Someone had tried to snatch her last night while he lay sleeping. He’d nearly lost her and hadn’t known a damned thing about it.

  That bastard Villaverde wasn’t going to leave her alone. G.G. had no idea how the man had discovered she was in Canada, but it meant she wasn’t safe here anymore. Maybe he should take her to England. Once there, his father would definitely get involved. He hadn’t told his parents yet that he was Ildaria’s life mate. His mother would be ecstatic when she learned, so would his father. But Robert wielded a bit of power. Tiny wasn’t kidding when he said most immortals left him alone because they didn’t want to tangle with his dad. Robert Guiscard was a renowned warrior, and on the European Council. He was also known to be fierce and protective of those he cared for. He’d take Ildaria under his protection. Hell, the man would start a war to keep her safe once he knew she and G.G. were life mates. Robert would be disappointed, though, that he still wasn’t agreeing to the turn. Which was why G.G. hadn’t said anything to his mother when he’d spoken to her a couple days ago. He knew she was hoping he’d meet an immortal and wouldn’t be able to resist turning. But he was resisting, and that would disappoint the hell out of her too. It might even crush her. He understood. She didn’t want to have to watch him die, but he just—

  H.D. started barking, and G.G. glanced around sharply, surprised to see that they were outside. H.D. was only barking at a squirrel that had dared to come near his patch of grass, but it made G.G. realize that he really did walk around oblivious. He’d been so lost in thought, he’d followed the dog downstairs and outside without paying any attention to anything around him. He could have passed half a dozen Enforcers in the stairwell and out here without noticing. He needed to start paying attention to his surroundings. Ildaria’s life may depend on it.

  Eleven

  Ildaria stretched happily and yawned as she woke up, her body arching and twisting under the covers. She’d slept well, and the dreams she’d shared with G.G. had left her feeling lovely, as if all was right with the world. She’d had other dreams afterward, but not shared dreams and not one had included sex. Still, they’d been nice dreams, most of them featuring her abuela telling her she loved and was proud of her. Ildaria had no idea what the psychology behind that was. Perhaps in her subconscious she was forgiving herself for never seeing her abuela again after the day she’d fled Señorita Ana’s home. That was something that had always bothered her. She’d tried several times over the two years after that fateful day to approach her, but always there had been at least one Enforcer watching her abuela’s home, and following her everywhere she went.

  The last time Ildaria had tried, she’d arrived to see Juan outside, talking to several of the neighbors. She hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying, but she’d spotted a friend of her abuela’s standing, weeping, amongst the gathering and had read her mind. The woman had been visiting when Ildaria’s abuela had suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the floor. She’d run for help, but by the time she returned with the local healer, there was nothing he could do. Ildaria’s abuela was dead. Juan was now telling them that he would take care of her burial and everything else.

  Ildaria had stumbled away, heart both broken and guilt laden. Her abuela had died alone. The logical side of her brain had assured her that it wasn’t her fault, but the emotional side had berated her for failing her abuela, the woman who had championed and raised her. Ildaria had wanted to attend the funeral, but Juan was there with Señorita Ana and her fiancé who had surely been her husband by then. There had also been about a dozen Enforcers in attendance. She’d had to watch the proceedings from a distance, unable to see her abuela one last time to say goodbye. She’d simply watched hollow-eyed as a beautiful and surely expensive wood coffin had been lowered into the ground.

  Ildaria had stayed until long after most of the others had left, but while the guests, and even the Enforcers had left, Juan had remained behind alone, watching silently as they filled her grave with dirt. Most of the time he’d stood unmoving, but every once in a while he’d glanced around as if expecting someone. Her, she’d supposed, but sure it was a trap, she hadn’t dared approach. The man had been furious to the point of hatred that night in the alley, and that had been before she’d maimed him. And he’d hunted her for two years at that point, his men seeming everywhere all the time. A man did not expend that kind of energy and manpower without very deep feelings. She was sure he wasn’t doing it because he wished to welcome her to the immortal fold, and was terrified of what retribution he’d demand if he caught her.

  Ildaria’s largest fear was that he’d have her executed. Señorita Ana had made it very clear that each immortal could turn only one, and saved it to turn a life mate should they be mortal. While Juan hadn’t intentionally turned her, his blood was what had brought on the turn. Did that mean he couldn’t turn a life mate should he meet one? Unless he killed her?

  Or perhaps he’d already turned his one and she was one too many. He had been mated and had children, but his life mate was apparently dead, although Ildaria didn’t know the story behind it. She did know that Señorita Ana had said should an immortal turn a second mortal, the immortal that had turned them would be executed. But she was quite sure as head of the Council, Juan could dictate that she be executed instead. He hadn’t turned her deliberately after all.

  Survival had seemed a perfectly good excuse to put off trying to see her abuela until another time while the woman had still lived, but once her abuela was dead Ildaria had berated herself for not trying harder. She should have risked death and walked straight up to her and told her everything, or as much as she could before she was dragged away and set on fire. She should have . . . done something. Or so she’d berated herself for decades afterward. The mental self-flagellation had ended eventually, but the guilt had remained, clinging to her like cobwebs.

  Now though, Ildaria felt she was willing to let go of the burden of that guilt. She had been very young, and had done the best she could. Her abuela must know and understand that.

  It left her feeling lighter somehow. Forgiven.

  A peaceful smile curving her lips, she glanced at the clock. It was a little after two in the afternoon. She’d slept about seven hours. Good enough, she decided and slid from bed to go to the closet to survey her clothes. She’d normally wear jeans and a T-shirt or a pretty summer dress during the afternoon depending on what she and G.G.
had planned for the day. But today she grabbed her leather pants and bustier. If there were South American Enforcers out there waiting to try to grab her, she wanted to be prepared for battle.

  The thought disrupted some of the serenity she’d woken feeling, and Ildaria sighed as she felt it slip away. She might have forgiven herself for the past, but Juan Villaverde obviously hadn’t . . . And he’d found her. Which meant she had to talk to G.G. and decide what to do about it. Moving on and hiding would be her normal action, but she had a life mate to consider now, Ildaria thought as she closed the closet door and took her chosen clothes into the bathroom with her.

  She’d brushed her teeth, showered, and was dressing when she recalled H.D. G.G. had never come to collect the pup. An hour after he normally collected the dog, she’d assumed he was still sleeping and had finally taken H.D. into the bedroom. She’d crawled into bed, settling him next to her, and fallen asleep. But the little fur ball hadn’t been there when she’d woken up, she realized.

  Concerned, she stepped out of the bathroom and took a quick look around the room. She didn’t see him right away and would have done a more thorough search, but the fact that the door was closed when she knew she’d left it open last night made her head that way instead. She suspected G.G. had come to get him, but wasn’t positive, so opened the door cautiously and peered out before leaving the room.

  The hall was empty, but it was also full of delicious smells. Sniffing the air, she stepped out of the room and started up the hall at a more relaxed pace. She was pretty sure neither dog-nappers nor Enforcers from the south who were out to kidnap her would cook bacon before going about their business.

  A smile claimed her lips when she stepped out into the living room and spotted G.G.’s wide back at her stove. Her smile grew when H.D. came hurrying around the island and pranced toward her, tail high and tongue hanging out.

  G.G. knew the minute his dog jumped up and scampered from the kitchen that Ildaria must be up. Turning from the bacon he was frying, he glanced into the living room and nearly swallowed his tongue. Bloody hell, the woman looked like a walking wet dream.

  Ildaria was encased in leather from head to toe . . . well, mostly just from her breasts to her toes, he acknowledged. While she had high-heeled, knee-high leather boots, and tight, body-hugging leather pants on that completely covered her from the waist down, the upper half of her body was trussed up in some kind of bustier/corset-looking thing that was just as tight as the pants, and followed the upper curve of her breasts, ending in a low V between them. It had inch wide straps that ran over the shoulders to help keep it up, but still left a hell of a lot of her beautiful tawny flesh on display. It was sexy as hell. If these were the leathers she’d mentioned wearing when she went vigilante, the bag guys she’d gone after probably hadn’t had a chance. They’d have been too distracted by her figure to fight back.

  Much to his relief, Ildaria squatted then and leaned forward, her damp hair dropping around her like a curtain as she petted H.D. and G.G. was able to drag his attention away from her. It dropped automatically to his dog, and he immediately rolled his eyes with disgust. The fur ball was on his back, rolling back and forth and twisting his head ecstatically as she petted his belly.

  “Come on, H.D., you’re embarrassing us both,” G.G. said with exasperation. “You could at least pretend to have a little dignity.”

  Predictably, the dog ignored him. But Ildaria chuckled. He just wasn’t sure if it was at his words or the dog’s antics, though, since she followed it up with, “Hey baby. How’s my furry little sleep buddy?”

  “Gloating all over the place that he got to sleep with you first,” G.G. said with amusement. When his teasing drew her gaze to him, he smiled and said, “Morning, Angel, you look ready to take on the world.”

  Ildaria glanced down at her outfit, grimaced, and then scooped up H.D. “I thought I’d better be ready for anything. We had a little trouble last night.”

  “I heard,” he said grimly as she carried H.D. to the island and settled on one of the chairs. “Mirabeau and Tiny are out in the hall keeping an eye out for trouble.”

  Ildaria nodded. “Tybo and Valerian were out in the hall when I went to sleep last night, but mentioned they’d probably be replaced before I woke up. I assume this Mirabeau and Tiny are the Enforcers sent to replace them?”

  “It seems so,” he answered, and then told her what he knew of the pair from gossip and comments made in the Night Club. “Mirabeau used to be a full-time Enforcer and Tiny was a private detective for the Morrisey agency. Now they split their time between the two jobs. Today they’re enforcing and guarding you.”

  “An immortal detective,” Ildaria said with a faint smile. “He would have been exceptionally good at it if his clients were all mortal.”

  “He was mortal when he worked as a detective only. Mirabeau turned him. They’re life mates.”

  “Oh,” she said, drawing out the word.

  Noting the concern drawing her eyebrows together, and knowing what was causing it, he quickly assured her, “But they’re past the passed-out-from-sex-all-the-time stage, so should be good.”

  When Ildaria relaxed at this news, G.G. announced, “I’m making breakfast,” and turned back to the stove.

  “What can I do to help?” Ildaria asked at once, and he glanced around to see her sliding off the chair and bending to set H.D. on the ground.

  “Nothing,” he said as H.D. returned to his side and curled up on the floor next to him. The little beggar would stay close until he stopped cooking in the hopes that pieces of bacon would magically fall to the floor for him to gobble up.

  “I could make toast,” Ildaria suggested.

  “It’s already made and staying warm in the oven, next to a bowl of fried potatoes,” he told her. “The bacon is the last of it, except for eggs, and those can’t be made until the bacon is done.” And then, to prevent her arguing further, he added, “The kettle should still be hot. Make yourself a tea and keep me company.” He’d set the tea to boil three times since returning about an hour ago.

  Knowing Ildaria wouldn’t be up for a while, he’d gone to his own apartment after taking H.D. out to relieve himself. He’d had coffee and a couple Pop-Tarts there, made phone calls and then puttered around until a little after one when he’d judged it was late enough that she would wake up within the next hour or so. Then G.G. had gathered bacon, eggs, potatoes, and his large grill pan and led H.D. back here to start breakfast.

  “Did you want tea too?” Ildaria asked.

  “No. I’m rocking the coffee this morning,” he responded. “Thank you, though.”

  She murmured something he didn’t really catch over the clink of a spoon in a cup, and then said, “So, I’m guessing this Mirabeau and Tiny told you about what happened last night?”

  “Yes,” he acknowledged. G.G. had made them describe exactly what they’d been told about what had happened when he’d returned upstairs with H.D. He should have made them do that before he went downstairs with H.D. It would have made spotting the blood on the grass out back much less alarming had he known it was all from her attackers and not Ildaria’s. Seeing the dried blood staining the blades of grass had given him a shock. He’d known she must be okay. She’d been well enough to have shared dreams with him, but she could have been injured and healed. Immortals healed quickly.

  Learning she was uninjured and had kicked ass all on her own, had filled him with relief, pride, and concern. He was relieved she wasn’t hurt, proud she’d kicked ass like that, but concerned for her well-being now. He was also pissed. She shouldn’t have to fight for her life like this, but he suspected she’d had to do that frequently in her two hundred plus years. He doubted she’d been lucky enough that this was the first time her pursuers had caught up with her in two centuries.

  “Did they tell you what’s been done with Juan’s Enforcers?” Ildaria asked, distracting him from his thoughts.

  “Last they’d heard, Lucian had called in Rachel to
remove your shoes—She’s a doctor who’s married to Etienne Argeneau, one of Lucian’s nephews,” G.G. interrupted himself to explain. “But apparently she had some trouble getting your shoe out of the one guy’s face. I guess it was hooked on the bone and she had to operate,” he explained and heard her grunt behind him in acknowledgment. “The other guy wouldn’t even let her near him until they knocked him out. He didn’t want the shoe removed. He didn’t want the healing to start.”

  “Si, healing from that would be a bitch,” Ildaria said with satisfaction.

  G.G. nodded. The shoe had apparently gone through his testicle. The kick that had inserted the shoe would have been swift and excruciating, but that would be nothing next to the healing. That would be much slower, the pain extended over hours as the nanos repaired the damage. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was no less than the man deserved for trying to take his woman, G.G. thought grimly.

  Speaking of which, he thought, and said, “After I heard the news about the attack, I thought perhaps we should leave Canada to avoid any further attacks.”

  G.G. was aware of the sudden stillness behind him, and added, “But as my father said, they may know that we’re life mates. If they don’t, it wouldn’t be hard to find out, and then they’d just follow us to England.”

  “England?” she echoed, but he couldn’t tell how she was feeling. She didn’t sound surprised, more curious.

  “Yes. At first, I was thinking we could go there, but my father thinks we should handle it here if we can. That way we would have the support of the North American as well as the UK Council because I’m a Brit in Canada. He doesn’t think Lucian would be allowed to interfere in England since you’re from the Dominican Republic which is guided by the South American Council,” he explained.

  “Si, if Juan complained and a summit of Council leaders was called, they might decide Lucian has no business in this if I am not still living in Canada,” Ildaria murmured, sounding a little distracted. He understood why when she said, “Your father pointed this out? He knows about me?”