“Ah.” Levet performed a deep bow. “I am deeply thankful for your timely diversion, ma belle.”
Her lips twisted as she turned her head to reveal the side of her face that had been hidden by shadows. Levet gave a soft hiss at the sight of her skin that had been savagely marred by thick, disfiguring scars.
The sort of scars that came from a deep burn. Or a magical spell.
“Not belle,” she corrected in flat tones. “As you can see I have become the beast, not the beauty.”
“Do not say that,” he protested, his tender heart squeezing in pity.
“Why not? It’s true enough.” Glancing toward the sky, she began walking toward the Parc du Champ de Mars. “Let’s get out of here before your friends decide to return.”
With a brisk waddle, Levet caught up with the retreating nymph.
“I am of the opinion that beauty truly is skin-deep and that what is beneath the surface is what is important,” he informed her.
She shot him a wry smile. “Yeah, and size doesn’t matter, right?”
“Touché,” he conceded with a grimace. He, better than anyone, understood the heavy price of being “different.” “You sound American.”
They moved into the surrounding neighborhoods, bypassing the various hotels and shops.
“I lived there most of my live,” she said. “Until—”
“Until?”
“I was captured by slavers.”
“Oh.” Levet shuddered. He had his own tragic past with the ruthless bastards. “I hate slavers.”
“Yeah.” The nymph turned onto a residential street, her profile outlined by the streetlamps. “I’m not so fond of them myself.”
“They damaged your face?” he asked.
“I was determined to escape.” She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Even if it meant I was permanently damaged by forcing my way through the magical barriers.”
Levet was struck by a niggling memory.
Something about a nymph being held hostage by slavers . . .
Ah . . . oui.
He remembered.
“Valla. The nymph,” he breathed in triumph, following his companion down a narrow alley and into an inner courtyard with a marble fountain surrounded by a pretty rose garden. “Jaelyn has been searching everywhere for you.”
“The Hunter?” She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “Why?”
Jaelyn was a rare vampire who’d been trained as a Hunter. During one of her missions to discover who had the balls to kidnap vampires, she’d been locked in the cells of a slaver, along with this nymph. She’d never forgiven herself for leaving the pretty young female behind.
“She has been tormented by the knowledge that she failed you in the slaver cells,” he told Valla. “She needed to know your fate.”
“Oh.” Valla halted at what appeared to be a brick wall. “You know, I never resented her for leaving me there, but I did blame her for refusing my plea to kill me,” the nymph admitted with blunt honesty, giving a wave of her slender hand to part the illusion so they could step through a door into a small, but elegant apartment.
“I, for one, am very pleased she ignored your plea,” a male voice murmured as a tall, handsome vampire attired in a Gucci suit and handmade Italian leather shoes rose from a wing chair that was set near the marble fireplace.
Unreasonably handsome, even by vampire standards, the male had dark hair slicked from his pale, lean face and a wide brow. His nose was carved with bold, arrogant lines and his dark eyes glowed with a smothering power.
“Elijah,” Valla murmured in obvious pleasure.
Moving to stand at her side, the vampire studied Levet in obvious warning.
“Who is this?”
“I am Levet.” Levet performed a small bow, his wings spread to display their shimmering colors. “At your service.”
Rising, he met the vampire’s hard stare. “I’ve heard of you,” Elijah said, his voice accusing.
Levet blinked at the odd words. “But of course you have heard of me. Who has not?” he demanded. “I am a warrior of great renown.”
The male thinned his lips. “What are you doing in Paris?”
Levet tilted his chin, refusing to acknowledge that he’d been thoroughly routed only minutes after arriving in town. It was a temporary setback.
“I am here on a spiritual journey.”
The vampire arched a dark brow. “Then you won’t be staying?”
“Elijah.” Valla flashed a frown at her male companion before turning her attention to Levet. “Don’t listen to him. He has a delusional theory he owns the streets of Paris.”
The vampire’s icy power flowed through the room. Like a deluge of water that could drown the unwary.
“It’s no delusion,” he said. Not arrogance. Just absolute confidence that he was master of his domain. “They do belong to me.”
“You are the clan chief?” Levet asked, even though he knew the answer.
“I am.”
“What happened to Pierre?” Levet referred to the clan chief that had ruled Paris when he’d been just a youngster.
Elijah flashed his massive fangs. “Let’s just say that he decided to retire.”
“Really? I didn’t know clan chiefs could retire.”