Chapter Ten
MINA
I piled my plate with food and exited the kitchen through the side door. Madame Picard gave me a sharp look but didn’t say a word.
At least someone around here had a bit of sense.
The sound of the men filing into the dining room faded away as I spiraled up the stairs, then down the long hall to my private quarters in the east wing. I’d had enough of the men for one day. I’d had enough of Marius. Or not enough, maybe.
God, was I mixed-up.
I balanced my plate and silverware in one hand to dig out the key from my pocket.
Yes, I’d taken to locking my door, just in case.
Having a few other souls around beat being alone in all the potentially spooky space of the chateau.
But since one of the other souls was a vampire — if a vampire had a soul at all — I was taking precautions.
Pushing the door open, I entered my private suite and continued out to the tiny balcony nestled beside one of the chateau’s ornate towers. There, I sat in my bistro chair and lit a candle to dine by. Long after I’d finished eating, I sat quietly, letting my mind wander.
At first, it wandered to Marius. What was he doing? Did he hate me or like me? How did I feel about him?
Confused, I decided.
The moon was barely a sliver, and the stars were shining bright, so I did my best to gaze out and clear my mind — an effort that lasted exactly thirty seconds before Marius popped into my thoughts again.
I glanced over to my bedroom. He’d carried me there and spent the night at my side. What did that mean?
He likes me! He likes me! a hopelessly juvenile part of my mind cheered.
Otherwise, he hadn’t laid a hand on me. So, he was either a gentleman — an image completely at odds with his gruff exterior — or he was absolutely uninterested in me.
The glow in his eyes suggested the opposite, but it was hard to tell with dragons. From what I knew, any kind of extreme emotion could do that, from anger to hate…even arousal.
My pulse skipped a few beats.
An hour later, the candle had burned down to a nub, and my skin was starting to prickle with the night’s chill.
Nothing like a good evening walk to clear the mind, my grandmother used to say.
We used to walk together, she and I, out to the gardens and around the lake.
So I grabbed a sweater and headed downstairs.
Detouring to the kitchen, I added an extra clove of garlic to the two already stuffed in my pockets, then stepped outside, wrapping my arms around my body and tilting my face toward the stars.
“Wow. Beautiful,” I murmured aloud.
I wandered away from the house, remembering all the times I’d walked with my grandmother.
The chirp of crickets rising from knee-high grass…
The whisper of the wind over the forest…
The bright, hopeful pulsing of the stars…
It felt like nothing had changed since then or since the previous generation or even centuries past. But when I turned to gaze at the house…
I sighed. In my grandmother’s day, the lights in every room had been lit, giving the place a grand air. She’d loved hosting old-fashioned soirées with live music, card games, and copious food and drink. Music and laughter had drifted outside, and the chateau exuded a positively regal air.
But electricity hadn’t cost what it did now. And back then, maintaining a vibrant social circle didn’t take as much effort — or maybe folks didn’t consider it an effort. Back then, my family had had staff, though their number had dwindled over time.
Now, dark, empty windows gazed over the equally dark lawn, giving the building a soulless feel.
I let out a long, hopeless sigh. No matter how much work I poured into the place, I would never be done.
And even if I could somehow restore it all, I could never breathe life back into it. Not the way my grandmother had.
I gazed at the melancholy sight for another minute, then walked toward the tangle that had once been perfectly trimmed geometric gardens. It was more of a jungle these days, but I could still stroll the same path my grandmother used for her evening walks, and I could still enjoy the stars.
I meandered toward what had once been a magnificent fountain in the center of countless flower beds.
Now it was a silent hulk, the three wedding-cake tiers empty, the hippocamp sculptures underneath dry and lifeless.
I looked down at the faint reflection of the stars dotting the stagnant water in the basin.
Then I closed my eyes. If nothing else, my imagination could restore the faded glory of the chateau and gardens.
It worked, and I stood with a faint smile on my lips for a while, reliving better days. Then a finger of cold air touched my neck, and the crickets suddenly went quiet.
My eyes popped open, and I whirled. Was someone out there?
The hair on the back of my neck stood, and my throat went dry. When the bushes rustled, I jumped.
Then I let out a dry laugh and called, “Ha, ha. Very funny, Benedict.”
I crossed my arms, bracing myself for a lion shifter to stalk into view, showing off his fangs and mane. But Bene kept up the ruse and crouched silently behind the bush.
“Could you not find another place to wander around?” I gestured toward the west wing. “Seriously. You guys have all that space, not to mention acres of forest. I’d really, really appreciate having a little time to myself.”
Still nothing. A wispy cloud drifted over the moon, blotting out its dim light.
Muttering in Bene’s direction, I set off, continuing my walk. The bushes behind me rustled as he followed. Stupid lion!
I continued another few steps then whirled to shout, “Enough already! I mean it, Bene. I really need some time alone.”
I half expected an off-color joke about a woman like me needing exactly the opposite, though he didn’t utter a word. He remained crouched just out of sight.
Well, okay. He couldn’t speak in lion form, I supposed. That didn’t mean he was allowed to be a jerk.
“You know, I thought you were the decent one of the bunch,” I grumbled aloud. “The only one who—”
A lion appeared on the path beside me, snarling at the bushes before us.
I stared at him, then at the bushes. Oh. Oops. That hadn’t been Bene trying to spook me.
I squinted into the darkness and called, “Roux?” as unlikely as that was. He didn’t have Bene’s juvenile sense of humor. In fact, he didn’t have a sense of humor at all. So why was he hiding in the bushes?
Soft, warm fur pressed against my leg as Bene nudged closer. My heart skipped a beat, because wow. It wasn’t every day you found yourself touching a full-grown lion. I inched my hand out, stroking the outermost wisps of his magnificent golden mane.
The ridge of hair along Bene’s spine stood stiff. His long, tufted tail twitched, and his lips peeled back in a ferocious snarl.
I gulped, looking back at the bushes. Okay, that wasn’t Roux out there. Henrik, maybe?
My hands curled into fists, and I called out again. “You know, I’ve really had it with—”
Bene swatted me with his tail. I blinked at him, then at the bushes. Clearly, Bene considered this serious — dead serious. He kept up that low, dangerous rumble, telling Henrik to back the hell off.
A shadow glided into my peripheral vision, and I turned to stare. It took ten long seconds to make out the outline of another feline. Thanks to his stripes, he blended into the foliage perfectly.
Roux. Like Bene, he faced the bushes and growled.
I gulped. This was definitely not good.
My mind spun, and the only conclusion I could come to was that Henrik had completely lost his marbles and was stalking me, either to scare me or to suck my blood.
“Psst. Mina,” Henrik called from my right.
I whirled to find him on the overgrown path.
So, yikes. Henrik wasn’t the one stalking me from the bushes either.
“Over here.” He beckoned me with a terrifyingly serious expression that said, Hurry but don’t hurry, because whatever it is out there might pounce.
Bene pressed against my legs, and the tone of his snarl changed as he communicated with me. Back up. Slowly. Please.
The blood drained from my cheeks as I took one unsteady step back, then another.
Henrik stepped forward, passing me without so much as a second glance at my neck or any other body part.
He was totally, utterly fixated on the bushes before us.
Then he called out in a language I didn’t recognize.
Something my ear translated as, Nahiva vol ijonni, though I probably missed a syllable or two.
Not French, nor Italian, nor any other Romance language I knew. Not German, not Dutch.
Not that it matters, Bene’s insistent backward push said.
The bushes rustled, giving the impression of someone — or something — backing away slowly.
Henrik advanced, chastising it bitterly the whole time. A moment later, he disappeared from view, and a moment after that—
Twigs snapped. Footsteps sounded. Henrik yelled.
Move it. Now! Bene growled at me urgently.
I stumbled backward. Roux slid smoothly between me and the rustling bushes, growling into the darkness where Henrik and the intruder tussled.
I said, move it, Bene ordered with another tap of his tail.
Still, I froze. Everyone was accounted for — except Marius. My heart dropped. That wasn’t him out there, was it?
A deep sense of betrayal filled my gut.
“Hey! Hey!” Henrik yelled somewhere ahead.
I pictured the intruder sprinting through the bushes, toward the woods. Trying to escape.
Not Marius, my heart insisted. He wouldn’t.
But who else would that be?
Mina… Bene’s grumble hurried me along.
I took another two steps backward, then ducked when the air pressure behind me spiked.
Whoosh! A massive shape hurtled over my head.
Even Bene and Roux crouched and stared. And no wonder. I gaped at the missile-shaped body. The pair of huge, leathery wings. The long, thick tail.
“Marius,” I whispered.
Then I yelped and ducked again, because he roared, shattering the tense silence. The flames he spat crackled nearly as loudly, cutting into the inky sky with long, fiery streaks.
Bene grunted something I interpreted as Show-off and nudged me back.
Marius flew so low to the ground, he immediately shot out of sight. Another roar shook the night, and another plume of fire illuminated the sky. Henrik reappeared from the bushes, a leaf stuck in his hair, and pointed to the house.
“Go, already! Go!”
I ran. Bene, Roux, and Henrik formed ranks around me like secret service agents. My heart pounded as I sprinted along. What was going on?
Seconds later, I shot onto the open lawn, feeling dangerously exposed yet protected at the same time.
I raced across the driveway, flew up the stairs, and fumbled with the front doors.
I practically fell inside, and a fleet of furred, fanged bodies tumbled in behind me.
Henrik brought the doors together with a slam, and I twisted the lock, then yanked a crossbar down for good measure.
Nothing short of a battering ram was going to break through those doors.
I took two steps back and stared, panting as wildly as my motley entourage.
A dozen questions whipped through my mind. Where was Marius? Was he all right? What was going on?
“What the hell was that?” I finally managed.
Bene and Roux looked at each other, then at Henrik.
He ran a hand through his hair, plucked out the leaf, and regarded it in disdain.
“You mean, who the hell was that,” he grumbled, looking at Roux. “Hard to say. One of the usual suspects, I suppose.”
My mouth hung open. Usual?
Then it dawned on me that the intruder might not have been here at random, and he — or she or it — might not have been here for me, but for my clients.
I bristled and stuck my hands on my hips. “You have exactly one minute to explain.”