Fire Maidens: Paris Page 6

  “Three.”

  She whirled, practically baring her teeth, and rammed an elbow at his face. He ducked. Whoa. For a nice girl, Natalie sure was fast — and fierce.

  “C’ est ça,” he said. “Perfect.”

  Natalie grinned, and that nearly bowled him over, too. One little smile with the power to go right to his heart. He’d like to see more of that smile. He’d like to be the one who inspired it, too. Maybe they could go to a café sometime and chat. Or take a walk through the Tuileries or along the Seine. Paris had lots of nice walks and even some canals…

  And just like that, his mind flew to his favorite Paris haunts. All the viewpoints, all the cafés. For the next minute, he and Natalie grinned at each other, feeling the way you ought to when you were young, in Paris, and in love.

  But then he remembered how they’d gotten to that moment, and the magic faded. Natalie’s face clouded, and she looked down, forlorn.

  One, two, three? Tristan’s gut churned. Obviously, it wasn’t as simple as that.

  “Anyway,” he said quickly. “That’s just for emergencies. The thing is to avoid vampires in the first place.”

  “I know.” She wiped her cheek. “But what if they hunt me down? What if there’s more than one?”

  Her words tore at his heart, because he didn’t know.

  We’ll hunt those bastards down, his dragon snarled. Kill every vampire. Keep her safe.

  He fought the urge away. It was one of those blustery, from-the-gut ideas that was all action and no plan. And while he’d gotten away with that in the past, it wouldn’t work now. Not when an innocent woman’s life was on the line.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. Her face fell, so he hurried to add, “Do you trust me?”

  She went very still, and he held his breath. He wouldn’t blame her for saying, Of course not. But maybe, just maybe, she felt the same special connection he did.

  Her eyes clouded, and her fingers plucked nervously at her shirt. But a moment later, her gaze warmed, and she nodded.

  “I trust you.”

  A lump formed in his throat — one he had to gulp away before replying. “Good. I know someone who can help.”

  She leaned forward eagerly. “Who?”

  He took a deep breath. The oldest, most venerable dragon he’d ever met. The most senior of Paris’s shifter Guardians. Alaric, the powerful dragon who had hired him to help keep Paris safe.

  “The Guardians of Paris. The good guys,” Tristan said. Then he murmured to himself, too low for Natalie to hear. “I think.”

  Chapter Seven

  “This way.”

  Natalie looked on uncertainly as Tristan opened a door at the back of the kitchen’s massive pantry and gestured her through. She peered down into the darkness. Why didn’t they exit the building the way they had come in?

  “Back door,” he said. “So no one sees us leave. Just in case.”

  Natalie bit her lip. The winding staircase was dark and creepy. But with vampires on the loose in Paris…

  She forced herself to nod. “After you.”

  He grinned, and her whole world lit up. The man didn’t smile often, but he did for her.

  Then she chastised herself. She was a grown woman, not a giddy teen. And yet Tristan made her imagination race and her body heat. Did she have some kind of rescuer complex when it came to him?

  That was it, she decided. He’d saved her the previous night, so it was natural for her to feel warm, safe, and protected. Right?

  Except it went beyond that. Everything Tristan did made her feel like a treasure, not an imposition. A queen, not just plain old her. When she talked, he listened. When she was silent, he appeared worried, like maybe she wasn’t all right. And when he gazed into her eyes…

  Heat trickled through her veins, and Tristan’s face flushed. Was he thinking the same thing?

  She chastised herself. It wasn’t normal for two strangers to set off so many sparks so quickly. Then again, nothing about the situation was normal, was it?

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he turned to the stairs. Natalie gripped the railing and steeled herself to follow.

  The spiral staircase was a riveted metal design that reminded her of the Eiffel Tower. But instead of rising gracefully upward, it plunged into an abyss. Her footsteps echoed through the darkness, and the structure rattled as she and Tristan wound around and around. Thank goodness for the occasional platform that gave her a break from the dizzying spiral. No other apartments connected to the stairwell, only Tristan’s. Light fixtures were few and far between, casting sections of the stairwell in long black shadows. The sole skylight became a weak dot of light above, as distant as a star in another galaxy. A star you’d wish upon to escape to another place.

  Tristan glanced back. “Ça va? All good?”

  She nodded quickly. As long as he was there, yes.

  “Eight stories altogether, right?” she whispered, trying to judge how far they’d come.

  “Eight to ground level.” Tristan’s answer echoed in the darkness.

  But when they reached a door with a tiny window that looked onto the building’s foyer, Tristan continued downward instead. The air grew damp and heavy, the narrow space that much creepier.

  “Almost there,” Tristan murmured, offering his hand.

  The words weren’t as comforting as his firm grip, and Natalie hung on tightly as they rotated through another few levels. Tristan had called a friend to fetch some clothes from her apartment, but the thin peasant blouse and tan slacks were better suited for spring. Which it might be outside, but this dim, dank world reminded her of the last days of autumn, when days grew short and dark, and leaves wilted and died.

  Finally, the stairs ended, and they emerged onto a long, narrow tunnel.

  “Do you use the back door often?” she asked.

  It was a joke, but Tristan’s reply was dead serious. “Only when I have to.”

  Apparently, even big, dangerous guys like him had places they didn’t stray into by choice.

  Soon after, they reached a fork, and Tristan kept left.

  “Where does that go?” she asked as he whisked her past the passage on the right.

  He towed her firmly onward. “The catacombs.”

  A cold lick of air brushed her cheek — a ghostly kiss from the netherworld. She hurried after Tristan, picturing towers of human bones stacked into elaborate designs, with femurs forming crosses and skulls staring out in ghostly silence. The catacombs were a maze of ancient tunnels dug several stories below Paris, filled with bones cleared out from the city’s overfull cemeteries. She’d been meaning to visit, but now, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Aren’t the catacombs open to the public?”

  “Not that part.” The grim note in his tone told her to banish the thought from her mind.

  Up to that point, the lights in the tunnel had been weak and gloomy, like lonely sentinels abandoned at their posts. But eventually, the lights grew brighter, conquering the darkness rather than barely keeping it at bay. Natalie made a mental note: Left tunnel good. Right tunnel bad. Just in case.

  Next, they came to a huge steel door, where Tristan stopped and listened before pushing through. The room they stepped into was tangled with ducts and wires. That led to another door, which opened to a stairway climbing upward. A short time later, they emerged into an alley.

  Natalie gulped as if that were the freshest, cleanest air she’d ever breathed. Overhead, the sky was blue and sunny, just as it had been at the breakfast that felt a million miles and years away. Even Tristan seemed to breathe more freely. When he led her onto the bustling main street, he straightened his collar and deadpanned, “Ah, Paris.”

  She laughed. “You’re not fond of tunnels either?”

  He shook his head. “I hate them, like all drag—” He cut himself off with a hasty cough and motioned around. “I prefer being in the open air.”

  She could relate, although the upward sweep of his hand was funny, almost as if h
e preferred ballooning or gliding. And who could blame him? It was a beautiful day. Gorgeous, even.

  “I prefer it too,” she said, taking in the refreshingly ordinary scene.

  It was just another normal spring day in Paris — but that meant magnificent. The streets were lined with trees, the air brisk, and storefronts decorated just so. One displayed clothing that looked too fashionable to wear, and every woman on the street looked just as chic. The scent of freshly baked baguettes wafted from a bakery — the kind of bread you could nibble on as a snack, it was that good. Another shop displayed gold watches, while the next sold secondhand books. All in all, a microcosm of everything Natalie loved about Paris. She closed her eyes to absorb all the impressions, trusting Tristan to guide her along.

  “How long have you been in Paris?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes, surprised to find him studying her.

  “Just six weeks.” Then she laughed. “There was a time when I’d called myself spoiled for saying ‘just’ to six weeks in Paris. But now, I never want to leave.”

  She paused, reconsidering. With vampires around, did that still ring true?

  Yes and no, she decided. She wasn’t ready to risk her life. Still, the prospect of leaving Paris made her want to dig in her heels and declare, No. I’ll never leave.

  Tristan was looking at her — intently, as if trying to read her mind — so she cleared her throat and spoke quickly. “And you? Been in Paris long?”

  “On and off for my whole life.”

  She waited, eager for more, and gradually, as they walked, Tristan opened up.

  “My parents are from Belgium, but I was born here. I moved away at age three, returned when I was six, and left — again — when I was ten…”

  Soon, she lost count of how often he’d had to pick up and start over, due to his mother, a deadbeat father, and something about…destiny? He’d made dozens of moves, including several stints in North America.

  “California… Michigan… Toronto… Places that had just gotten to feel like home when it was time to move again.”

  He said it like it was nothing, but his eyes were wistful. There was a protective spark too — one that flashed whenever he mentioned his mother. Whether she had been on the run from an abusive partner or simply a flaky free spirit, Natalie couldn’t tell. But Tristan’s demeanor was consistent with how he’d stepped in to help her when the vampires appeared.

  Even now, his body formed a solid wall at her side, and he glared at any man who strayed close. He kept his hand wrapped around hers, and their sides brushed as they walked. It was nice. Cozy. Comforting — and not just due to the threat of vampires.

  She glanced around, but there was no one suspicious on the street. “Can vampires go out in the daytime?”

  “Yes. Forget everything in the movies.”

  “But they really do suck blood?” Her voice rose with hope. Maybe what Tristan had said earlier was wrong.

  His lips turned down. “Yes.”

  Her veins ran cold, and she forced herself to change the subject.

  “What did you do when you grew up?”

  “I joined the Foreign Legion.”

  Her jaw dropped. The French Foreign Legion?

  He flashed a grim smile. “It was that or the Marines. I thought the Foreign Legion sounded more glamorous.” His expression said, Little did I know, and he sighed. “Anyway, I did my ten years. A few months ago, I wrapped that up and returned to Paris.”

  His words were casual, but his intonation said he wasn’t planning to move anytime soon.

  Never, his eyes insisted.

  Exactly the way she felt. She might not have been born or raised in Paris, but it felt as if she’d been born for Paris. The grand avenues, the winding side streets, the sweeping curves of the river — it all felt like home. All the times she’d been out wandering, she never lost her bearings, and while most of the sights took her breath away, they seemed strangely familiar, too. In college, she’d decorated her room with posters of Paris and watched French films. She’d experimented with French recipes and read everything she could, from Babar to Victor Hugo and even Les Fleurs du mal. Paris felt like home in ways she couldn’t explain.

  “Where are we going?”

  Tristan gestured north. “To the other side of town.”

  She had so many questions. About him. About the Guardians he’d mentioned. About vampires — and other supernaturals. But she was afraid of the answers, so she stuck to silence. Tristan fell into a pensive silence as well.

  Eventually, they rounded a corner and descended to a subway station. Not the closest to his apartment, Natalie noticed, as if he’d needed the walk as much as she. But soon, they were riding the number twelve northbound. As the metro car rattled along, Natalie imagined where they were going. Guardians sounded ancient. Important. Imposing. They would have to be if they kept order among supernaturals like vampires. She pictured a villa in a classy neighborhood with a leafy park not too far from the Opera. How rich were they if they could afford to lend out apartments like Tristan’s penthouse?

  But the subway chugged through station after station, and Tristan didn’t make a move to exit. Not until—

  “Pigalle?” she blurted when he stood.

  The metro doors slid open, and Tristan led her out. Down the platform, through the turnstile, and up to street level at another one of those gorgeous Art Nouveau stops.

  “Pigalle.” He sighed.

  Natalie blinked, looking around. Not a villa in sight, nor a leafy park. The building directly in front of her was adorned with red lights that flashed in the midmorning sunlight. Sex! Sex! Sex!

  The next building sported a huge red sign: Sexodrome. The place beside that was labeled The Love Shop.

  Natalie shot Tristan a pointed look, but he glumly led her onward. “I’m told the neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.”

  Over the next three blocks, Natalie counted twenty-six sex shops, all offering a startling range of toys, gadgets, and garments. She walked briskly, so busy looking-but-not-looking that she nearly bumped into Tristan when he stopped short.

  A young, fair-haired man approached them, and Natalie tensed, suddenly on guard.

  “Liam,” Tristan said as they thumped each other on the back like a couple of…a couple of…

  Soldiers. The word popped into Natalie’s mind. Soldiers who’d faced impossible odds and survived, forming a bond closer than brothers. She watched them closely. Soldiers fit, for sure. Not just their chiseled, ready for anything physiques, but the way their eyes roved their surroundings even as they greeted each other.

  “Tristan. You look like hell, man.” Liam laughed.

  His accent was English, his grin broad and genuine, as if every day was brilliant and life was great.

  “This is Natalie,” Tristan said, giving her name that lyrical French flair she loved.

  When Liam leaned in to shake her hand, Tristan growled under his breath, and his friend’s eyes went wide.

  “Nice to meet you,” Liam murmured, settling for a quick shake. Then he glanced between her and Tristan, and his golden-brown eyes said, Interesting. Very interesting.

  Natalie nearly fluttered her hands and insisted, It’s not like that. But somehow, she couldn’t get the words out.

  “Nice to meet you,” she murmured.

  Tristan turned slightly, putting his shoulder between her and Liam in a not so subtle signal to his friend. “For once in your life, you’re on time.”

  Liam shook his head. “This is actually the second time in my life.” Then he grinned at Natalie and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone.”

  She smiled. Liam had an infectious charm. The kind of guy who could keep your spirits high no matter the circumstances. He was big, too — as tall as Tristan, and even broader in the shoulders. Still, she wondered when he and Tristan had agreed to meet. Tristan had made exactly one phone call before leaving the apartment and that was to the Guardians, whoever they were.

  Tris
tan tilted his head, and Liam went ahead, coordinating their movements with the wordless precision of soldiers who’d completed dangerous missions around the globe. Natalie followed them with a gulp. Was she on a dangerous mission now too?

  The sidewalks were full of tourists, but even those intent on gawking at the shops or taking selfies scrambled out of the way. Between Liam’s leonine grace and Tristan’s powerful, Don’t fuck with me stride, they made an imposing pair, indeed. Natalie hurried along, still gripping Tristan’s hand.

  Liam must have caught her looking at the shops, because he pointed across the street. “That’s my favorite one. Pussy’s.” Then he winced as if he realized how that sounded. “Pussy’s as in possessive, not plural. Like a cat. And I meant my favorite name, not my favorite sex shop. Oh, bugger. I mean…”

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Liam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Right,” Liam agreed.

  Natalie giggled. Liam certainly helped to keep her mood light. Apparently, he wasn’t one to remain silent for long. After a few seconds, he piped up again.

  “So.” He thumped Tristan on the back and asked Natalie cheerily, “Has this dragon shown decent manners so far?”

  Natalie halted in her tracks. Dragon?

  Tristan stopped too, shooting Liam a murderous look.

  Realization dawned over Liam’s face. “Wait. You didn’t tell her?”

  Tristan stuck out his jaw.

  The blood drained from Natalie’s face. “Didn’t tell me what?”

  Chapter Eight

  Tristan and Liam exchanged awkward glances while one word echoed through Natalie’s mind. Dragon. Liam had definitely said dragon. Had he been kidding?

  No, he hadn’t, judging by the way he shrank back from Tristan’s furious face.

  “Didn’t tell me…what?” she demanded, going from fearful to angry.

  The nearest three pedestrians turned at her near-shout. Tristan took her arm, bustling her into a side street, where he stopped and glared at Liam. Finally, he kicked the ground and explained. “I mentioned supernaturals…”