She didn’t feel threatened by his light flirtations. A rare and wonderful sensation after she’d been brutalized while held captive by the slavers. In fact, he was the only male beyond Elijah she’d ever invited into her home.
“This is your apartment?” Levet asked as he took a seat at the dining table and watched her put the kettle on to boil.
She pulled two cups from the cabinet and grabbed a plate of cookies.
“Elijah is kind enough to allow me to stay here.”
“No.” The rich male voice stroked over her like the finest satin. It didn’t matter how many years she’d known Elijah, his voice always made her shiver. Well . . . her and every other woman in Paris, she wryly acknowledged. “Elijah grudgingly allows you to stay here because you’ve refused the number of other homes I’ve offered you,” he continued, as he prowled across the floor to gently tuck a curl behind her ear.
It was an ongoing fight.
Elijah insisted that she belonged in his lair near the Champs-Élysées.
Valla refused to give up her independence. It was bad enough he’d emphatically demanded that she live in one of his numerous properties.
“I won’t take advantage of your generosity.”
His hand cupped her cheek, his gaze smoldering with a frustration that filled the air with a sharp chill.
“Valla.”
The touch of his lean fingers against her face sent an ache of long-suppressed hunger shivering through her body. Only this delectable, sexy, aggravatingly stubborn vampire could stir the desires she’d thought dead forever.
“There’s no need for you to stay, Elijah,” she murmured in husky tones. “I know you must be busy.”
His brows furrowed, his eyes darkening as he easily sensed her reaction to his touch.
“You think I’ll leave you alone with a strange demon?”
“The choice isn’t yours,” she reminded him. Gently.
“Dammit, Valla.”
She heaved a sigh. It would be so easy to give in to his demands.
She would be protected, cosseted, her every need and desire fulfilled.
Just like a favorite pet.
“We’ve been through this before,” she reminded him, an edge of steel in her voice. “You’re my friend, not my keeper. If you can’t distinguish between the two, then I’ll have to leave Paris.”
With a growl, he swooped his head down and kissed her.
Just like that.
Caught off-guard, her lips parted in helpless need, her entire world tilting on its axis. Elijah had always treated her like a fragile doll. Not a flesh-and-blood woman.
Now she quivered beneath the blazing pleasure that exploded through her quivering body.
“This is what I want,” he rasped against her lips, his fingers stroking down the tender curve of her neck before he kissed her again.
This time she was prepared for the combustible heat that stole her breath and made her stomach clench with a surge of excitement.
Oh . . . yes.
Her lashes fluttered downward as the desire flowed through her, as heady and intoxicating as the finest French champagne.
“Elijah—” she breathed, not certain what she needed, but knowing only he could satisfy the restless ache that burned deep inside her.
Then, the shrill whistle of the pot had her pulling back with a confused blush.
Still seated at the table, Levet awkwardly cleared his throat.
“Maybe I should leave?”
“Yes,” Elijah agreed, his dark gaze smoldering with a dangerous hunger.
“No,” she hastily countered, acutely aware that if she had been alone with Elijah she would have already ripped off his Gucci suit and had her wicked way with him. Not the best way to convince the crazily possessive man that she wanted to maintain her independence. She held the dark gaze. “Please, Elijah.”
His jaw tightened, but clearly sensing now was not the time to press her, he gave a grudging nod of his head.
“I’ll make sure you weren’t followed. But I’ll return.” He sent Levet a warning glare. “Soon.”
Valla busied herself making the tea as Elijah turned to leave the apartment, taking with him the frosty disapproval and pulsing power.
She breathed a faint sigh of relief, carrying the tray to the table and taking a seat.
“A little on the possessive side, is he?” the tiny gargoyle asked.
She shrugged, sipping the tea with an odd sense of disorientation.
Something had changed.
She just wasn’t sure what.
“He feels responsible for me,” she murmured absently.
Levet snorted, reaching for a cookie. “Responsibility isn’t the only thing he feels.”
Heat stained her cheeks. “Maybe not. He is a male, after all, but—”
“But what?”
Her fingers lifted to trace the scars that marred her cheek.
“After I escaped from the slavers I just wanted to crawl away somewhere and hide.” She shivered at the painful memories. “I don’t even remember how I made my way to France, but I was floating down the Seine on a rapidly sinking boat when Elijah found me and took me to his lair.”
“Ah.” His wings fluttered. “Your knight in shining armor.”
“Something like that.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
She hesitated, trying to put her nagging concern into words.
“Not bad,” she at last said. “He’s like most clan chiefs.”
“Arrogant pain in the derrières?”
She gave a sudden laugh. The small demon really was a charming companion.
“I was going to say that he’s obsessed with protecting the people he considers his duty.”
“Including you?”
“Elijah sees me as a damsel in distress, not a flesh-and-blood woman.” She grimaced. “I don’t want to be rescued.”
The gray eyes held an unspoken sympathy. “What do you want?”
“What every woman wants.” She glanced toward the window overlooking the rose garden drenched in silver moonlight. “To be loved.”
CHAPTER 3
Elijah made a sweep of the dark streets, pausing long enough to warn his lieutenants that the gargoyles were looking for trouble before heading back toward Valla’s apartment.
He smiled wryly as his feet followed the familiar route.
If he had any pride, he’d be heading back to his own lair. There were, after all, hundreds of beautiful women who would be eager to indulge his every desire. Hell. He could stop on the nearest street corner and within minutes there were be a dozen females hoping to capture his attention.
But the pride that had once led him to battle the corrupt chief to take command of Paris had been lost the moment he’d discovered a half-dead nymph floating down the Seine.
Even now he could remember the shock of recognition as he’d carried her in his arms to his lair, her golden hair flowing over his arm and her stunning blue eyes dazed. He’d known that he’d been waiting for this woman from the moment he’d awoken as a vampire.
She was his destined mate.
Unfortunately, the aggravating female hadn’t been prepared to accept her inevitable fate. And who could blame her?
She’d spent months being raped and tortured by animals before she’d managed to escape. And even then she’d nearly died. If it hadn’t been for his healers she would be in her grave.
Was it any wonder she needed to keep the world at a safe distance?
Including him.
So he bided his time, taking what Valla would offer and all the while leashing his hunger by a very thin thread.
A thread that had nearly snapped tonight, he remembered with a stab of white-hot excitement.
The taste of her lips had been even sweeter than he’d fantasized.
As ripe as strawberries with a hint of honey.
And her response . . .
Merde. Her desire had been every bit as eager as his.
/> If they’d been alone, he’d have taken her against the cabinets.
Instead he was walking the streets, still hard and aching with no immediate hope of relief.
His foul mood wasn’t improved as he entered the shadowed courtyard to discover the small gargoyle standing beside the fountain.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded.
The creature gave a flap of his fairy wings. “Trying to help you.”
Elijah arched a brow. He was the most feared predator in France, perhaps in all of Europe. Even Victor, the clan chief of England, approached him with care.
“You imagine you can help me?”
“I may be small, but my powers are mighty.”
Elijah couldn’t resist. “So mighty that you’re hiding in a nymph’s apartment?”
Levet shrugged aside the insult, his polished tail playfully stirring the water that pooled at the base of the fountain.
“As you can imagine, I’m not a favorite among my people.” He shrugged. “But soon enough I will be reinstated into the Gargoyle Guild.”
“Hmm.” It couldn’t be too soon for Elijah. Not that he was jealous of the gargoyle, he hurriedly assured himself. Of course he wasn’t. Not even if Valla had shared her all-too-rare smile with the tiny demon. A smile she never shared with anyone but him. “And how do you propose to help me?”
“Beyond being a formidable warrior, I am also a favorite among females.”
Elijah rolled his eyes. “What you are is delusional.”
“Mock if you wish, but I can tell you that you have been a fool not to tell Valla how you feel.”
Elijah stiffened in shock. Every demon in Paris might know that he was panting after the elusive, beautiful nymph like a werewolf in heat, but not a damned one of them would have the balls to mention it.
Certainly not to his face.
“That is none of your business,” he said between clenched fangs.
“No, but I believe that Valla has earned a chance to be happy.”
His brows jerked together. “I have every intention of making her happy.”
Levet gave a lift of his hands. “Not unless you convince her that you don’t consider her a burden.”
“A burden?” Elijah cast a brief glance toward the nearby door to Valla’s apartment, making sure she couldn’t overhear the bizarre conversation. “What the diable are you talking about?”
“She fears that you consider her to be just another responsibility that you must bear.”
Responsibility?
He’d all but gone on his knees to beg for a place in her life.
Hadn’t he?
With a strange lack of his usual grace, he walked toward a window that offered a glimpse of Valla straightening the pillows on her froufrou couch.
As always he was struck by the stunning beauty of her golden hair that haloed her delicate features and the wide, guileless blue eyes. And that lush body . . . mon dieu, he’d spent endless hours imagining the feel of those curves beneath him.
But at the same time he couldn’t deny a fierce urge to protect her.
She was so fragile. So exquisitely vulnerable. Had she mistaken his instinctive need to keep his mate from any possible harm with a sense of duty?
“That’s—” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “How can she be so foolish?”
The gargoyle joined him near the window. “Have you given her reason to think she means more?”
Of course not, he wryly conceded. He was a male. He didn’t talk about his feelings. She was simply supposed to know what was in his heart.
“I need to speak with her,” he muttered, sending his companion a warning frown. “Alone.”
“Naturellement.”
CHAPTER 4
Waiting until the vampire had disappeared into the apartment, Levet squared his shoulders and marched out of the courtyard.
Bien. No more Monsieur Nice Guy.
He’d been caught off-guard by his sister and cousin.
Now that he was fully prepared, he wouldn’t be halted from his goal.
He had his courage firmly intact.
Oh, and he’d managed to “borrow” a disguise amulet he’d seen laying on Valla’s counter when she’d been busy making tea.
The tiny bit of gold was now hung around his neck by a leather string and would make him invisible to all but the most powerful witches.
This time, no one would sense he was coming.
Puffing out his chest, and spreading his wings, Levet took to the air, soaring over the city as he headed toward the Latin Quarter.
It was . . . stunning.
Even after he’d traveled around the world and seen some of the most spectacular sights to be found, there was nothing quite so beautiful as Paris at night.
At last reaching his destination, Levet carefully landed on the shadowed street, studying the Gothic church that was situated only a few blocks from the Seine.
Constructed in the sixth century on the site where a hermit had lived and prayed, the Church of Saint-Séverin was built in the shape of a long, narrow hall. It had a tower, along with ornately topped pillars and pointed, Romanesque arches for windows and doors.
Tourists came to admire the Gothic architecture and to stroll through the gardens, or even to enjoy the Greek restaurant just down the street. But the pièce de résistance was the gargoyles who had stood guard for centuries.
During the daylight hours all gargoyles turned to stone. Unlike Levet, however, most were capable of altering their shape which meant that even the largest demon could shrink down to fit on the side of a building. What better place to hide from the humans than in plain sight?
At night they came out to play.
And pillage and plunder and create all-around mayhem among the demon world.
Usually they left the humans alone....
Usually.
Realizing that he was delaying the inevitable, Levet squared his shoulders and headed into the church. He didn’t pause to admire the peaceful beauty of the nave, instead heading directly toward the bay door that opened into the garden that had once been a graveyard.
He was here with a purpose. Why the purpose had suddenly become so important . . .
He gave a sharp shake of his head.
Bah, that was a question for later.
Bypassing the long galleries that had been reconstructed to their medieval glory, he headed toward the very back of the garden. At last reaching the spot he was searching for, he sucked in a deep, steadying breath.
Only when he was mentally prepared did he step through the illusion that hid the ancient stone building.
Levet grimaced. Home, sweet home.
Waddling up the stairs that led to the door, he felt a familiar sense of bleak yearning tug at his heart, swiftly followed by a bitter sense of betrayal.
There were no happy memories to ease his return. No sense of comfort.
His childhood had been a miserable fight for survival among his brutal siblings. Oh, and the last time he’d seen his mother, she’d tried to kill him.
Hardly the ingredients for a happy family reunion. Reaching the door, he wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. What demon would be stupid enough to enter the lair of the doyenne of the gargoyle nest?
He stepped into the large room with a lofted, cathedral ceiling and plenty of room for a gargoyle to spread her wings. The floors were made of hardwood and deeply gouged by his mother’s five-inch claws. And high above were wide windows that offered a view of the night sky.
The rest of the interior was something out of an Arabian Nights nightmare.
Crimson painted walls, gold and black silk pillows piled in the middle of the floor with a large hookah set beside them.
Levet had never been sure if his mother’s fantasy was to be the sheikh or the harem girl.
And not knowing was the only thing that kept him out of therapy.
“So it’s true,” a female voice boomed through the air, the floor shuddering ben
eath the weight of the approaching gargoyle. “The prodigal son returns.”
Levet froze. He would not run. He would not run. He would not run.
Reaching up, he tugged off the amulet that had obviously been deactivated by the spells of protection that surrounded the lair.
His mother was nothing if not thorough.
And cruel.
Excessively, spectacularly cruel.
The thought whispered through his mind as his gaze skimmed up the stout legs that were heavily muscled and covered by a reptilian gray skin. A long, surprisingly thin tail curled around the feet tipped with claws. His gaze lifted to his dear old maman’s hefty body, which had grown even wider since Levet had last seen her, with wide leathery wings that spread in a ten-foot span from her back. Up ever higher, Berthe’s face was a perfect example of gargoyle beauty.
A short, thick snout. Small gray eyes that peered at the world from beneath a heavy brow. Two fangs that were big enough to be called tusks curved from her upper gums to reach her pointed chin. And on top of her broad head she had two sharp horns that were polished to gleam in the candlelight.
Levet forced a stiff smile to his lips. “Bonsoir, Maman. You are looking . . .” He allowed his gaze to shift back down to her wide girth. “Well fed.”
Berthe shrugged. Unlike most females, gargoyles had no issues with weight.
Their philosophy was the bigger the better.
“Gregor proved to be a disappointment so I had him basted in a lovely rosemary and garlic sauce and roasted over an open fire,” she said with a light French accent. “He was far more satisfying as dinner than he ever was as a lover.”
“Charming.” Levet ignored his mother’s jaundiced glare at his pretty, fairy wings. “Did you eat my father as well?”
“Do not be disgusting,” the female growled. “I am not a cannibal.”
Levet kept his expression guarded. Gargoyles were like most demons. They were willing to take lovers from many different species, although they usually chose a gargoyle when they were in heat.
Halflings weren’t unheard of, but they were rare.
The fact that his mother had always refused to name his father had made Levet assume his parentage was yet another source of shame to the family.
“So my father was a gargoyle?”