At a glance it would be impossible to guess that the three gargoyles were related. Claudine was his elder sister while Ian was a first cousin.
Of course, it wasn’t just their appearances that were different, Levet consoled himself. His relatives were nasty-tempered monsters who terrorized lesser demons with spiteful glee.
Oh, and their sense of humor was nonexistent. Which meant that Levet couldn’t resist tweaking their ugly snouts.
“Fred. Wilma,” he murmured. “Where’s Dino?”
Having come from the shallow end of the gene pool, the male demon furrowed his heavy brow in confusion.
“Non. You are mistaken. My name is Ian, not Fred.”
“He knows your name, imbecile,” Claudine hissed, slapping her companion on the back of the head. “As usual he believes himself to be amusing.” She turned back to glare at Levet. “What are you doing in Paris?”
“I heard that Marcel Marceau was reviving his mime act.” Levet flashed an innocent smile. “I didn’t want miss opening night.”
Ian blinked. “But isn’t he dead?”
“Shut up.” Claudine gave Ian another slap, her gaze never wavering from Levet. “You know you’re not allowed in the city. The Guild kicked you out and Mother shunned you.”
“Ah, dearest Maman, how is the loathsome old bat?” Levet drawled, folding his arms over his chest. If he was going to be squashed like a bug, he wasn’t going to give Claudine the satisfaction of seeing his fear. “Still eating children for breakfast?”
“She has actually been plagued with ennui since she had her latest lover put to death.” Claudine’s smile was a cold threat. “Perhaps watching her deformed son being used for target practice will bolster her spirits.”
Levet didn’t doubt it would. His mother had a peculiar love for violence.
“Or perhaps I could chop you into tiny pieces and spread you around the city, chère s?ur. Then Maman could spend the next century trying to put you together again.”
“Such a large mouth for such a tiny creature,” Claudine growled, pointing a claw in his direction. “It’s time someone taught you a lesson in manners.”
“Ah.” Levet batted his eyes. “If only I had a euro for every time I heard that threat.”
The female gargoyle growled like a rabid Were. Not at all attractive for a gargoyle.
And she wondered why she couldn’t find a mate?
“Ian, get him.”
Levet lifted his hands as Ian took a lumbering step forward.
“Stay back.”
Ian scowled. “Or what?”
“Or I will turn you into a newt.”
The male gargoyle stumbled to a halt.
“Ian, did you hear me?” Claudine snapped.
“But—”
“What?”
“I do not want to be turned into a newt.” He used a claw to scratch between his horns. “Wait . . . what is a newt?”
“Mon dieu. I am surrounded by morons,” Claudine muttered. “He can’t turn you into a newt, you fool, but I can cut off your head and have it mounted on Notre Dame.”
“No need to be rude,” Ian muttered.
“Oui, no need to be rude, Claudine,” Levet mocked.
“Ian, get him and cut out his tongue.”
Ian took another grudging step forward only to halt again when a flaming arrow flew directly between his horns.
“What was that?” the male gargoyle demanded, casting a swift glance down at his huge body as if he was afraid he’d been transformed into the mysterious newt.
Levet didn’t have a clue, but he was never slow to take advantage of a situation. It was the only way for a three-foot demon to survive in a world where “only the good died young.”
“You didn’t think I would come to Paris alone?” he warned. “I have dozens of allies waiting to rush to my rescue.”
“Grab him,” Claudine demanded, abruptly ducking as an arrow threatened to skewer her thick skull. “Merde.”
“You capture him.” Ian launched himself into the air. “I am going home.”
With a muttered curse, Claudine was swiftly following her cousin. Both were bullies, and like all bullies they had a large streak of cowardice.
“You won’t escape without punishment, Levet,” she shouted over her shoulder, her leathery wings barely visible against the night sky. “That much I swear.”
Flipping her off, Levet turned to scan the nearby bushes.
“Who is there?”
There was a rustle of leaves before a slender, golden-haired female stepped into view.
Levet gave a low whistle of appreciation.
Sacrebleu. All nymphs were beautiful, but this one was drop-dead gorgeous.
Blessed with a silken curtain of golden hair she had wide blue eyes that were framed by thick, black lashes and set in a perfect oval of a face. Her lush, mouthwatering curves were delectably revealed by her skinny jeans and the scooped top that gave more than a hint of her full breasts.
“I’m Valla,” she said, holding the bow at her side, the remaining arrows strapped to her back.