“I’m worried about Levet.”
“Don’t be.” He lightly ran his fang along the low neckline of her top, chuckling as she gave a strangled groan. “He can take care of himself.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that no one interferes in Guild business.” He licked the racing pulse just below her jaw. “Not unless they want to end up dead.”
Her hands pressed against his chest. “You’re not scared of the gargoyles, are you?”
“A challenge, mon ange?”
“A simple question.”
He reluctantly lifted his head to study her flushed face with a resigned amusement.
She wasn’t going to let this go.
Which meant there was no comfortable mattress or lush female curves in his immediate future.
Not until he’d convinced her to forget Levet.
Something he sensed was going to be easier said than done.
“Paris belongs to me, but I have no desire to start an unnecessary turf war with the gargoyles,” he explained in gentle tones, his gaze absorbing the spectacular beauty of her passion-flushed face surrounded by a mane of golden curls. It was the soft blue eyes, however, that pierced his unbeating heart. She’d been to hell and back, but there was an innate purity in her that could never be diminished. Was it any wonder his jaded soul was so fascinated? “Enough blood was shed when I became clan chief.”
She blinked in surprise. He rarely shared his world as clan chief. Why burden her with the darker side of his position?
“You mean when you battled to take the place of the former leader?”
“Oui, and then for the next several decades after claiming Paris.”
She paled. “Decades?”
He grimaced. During those dark days he’d often wondered if he would survive from one night to the next.
“It’s traditional for each demon species to try and kill the new leader of vampires.”
“Why?”
“In part because they enjoy any excuse to try and kill a vampire, but more importantly to make sure a chief is strong enough to keep control of his territory,” he explained. “A weak chief is an invitation for constant upheaval, not only among his clan, but from outside threats. Peace comes from strength.”
“And now?”
He arched a brow, belatedly sensing the tension that hummed through her body.
“Now?”
“Are you safe?”
“A clan chief is always a target,” he admitted, unable to resist outlining her lips with the tip of his finger. “Either from an ambitious vampire who wants to challenge me for my position, or from any number of demons who I’ve pissed off over the centuries.”
“Not hard to believe,” she muttered, although the words didn’t disguise the concern that darkened her eyes.
“Most are convinced the world would be greatly improved if they could remove my head from my body.”
With a gasp, she pressed her hand against his lips, her expression troubled.
“Don’t say that.”
A fierce satisfaction cascaded through his body at her plea. Gently, he pried her fingers from his lips.
“Careful, Valla,” he teased. “Or I might think you care.”
“Of course I care,” she said without hesitation. “I don’t want you hurt.”
He pressed a kiss to her palm, his thumb stroking her inner wrist.
“Then you at last understand why I’m so anxious to protect you.”
She thinned her lips as he neatly turned the tables on her. “Maybe. But—”
Hmm. Perhaps he hadn’t turned any tables. Neatly or otherwise.
“I don’t think I’m going to like this.”
She pulled her hand free to touch his face, the light caress sending jagged bolts of arousal through his body.
He could count the number of times she’d ever purposefully touched him. And never with such a lingering intimacy.
“It terrifies me to know your position makes you a constant target,” she whispered.
He held her worried gaze. “It’s my duty.”
“Yes,” she agreed with a nod. “And while I hate the thought that you’re in danger, I would never try to stand in your way.”
The direct hit came without warning, leaving Elijah gaping at her in bemusement.
Hoisted by his own petard, he wryly acknowledged, recalling how often he’d tried to prevent her from even leaving her apartment without him at her side.
At the time, he’d thought he was revealing just how much he cared for her. Now . . .
“Is that what you think I’m trying to do?”
Her fingers drifted to brush over his lips, her expression somber.
“A partner should make you stronger, not weaker.”
She was right. Of course she was.
As much as he might hate to admit it, his rabid need to protect her was more about his constant knowledge of how close she had come to dying before they’d ever met, than keeping her happy.
Selfish even by his standards.
“Oh . . . merde,” he growled in resignation.
She eyed him warily as he stepped back to tug her shirt into place, his entire body screaming in frustration at the realization he wasn’t going to get relief any time soon.