“Don’t worry about Marco. He’ll know where we are,” Luc said, his read on her unsettlingly accurate.
“To your territory, then?” she asked as Luc slowed their pace to a jog.
“Not with Vincent and the others likely massing there right now to discuss the demon invasion,” he answered quickly.
She yanked her hand from his and came to a stop. This side street was as deserted as rue de Sèvres had been, but she still kept her voice low.
“Why did we even bother leaving if we had nowhere to go? Why am I running from the Roman troops if Vander and Grayson aren’t?”
Luc expelled a long breath. His hands were on his hips, his alert gaze coasting along the empty road for a moment before settling on her.
“Because the first Alliance fool to touch you would have died.” Luc took the three steps back to her side. “I would have killed him, and then maybe a few more, but eventually they would have overtaken me. I’d be dead—for good, this time—and the Alliance and Dispossessed would be at war.”
A gust of wind barreling down the street caught the last traces of her anger and stole them away. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She closed her eyes, knowing she had to start or they weren’t going to make it through the night.
“Marco’s old territory,” she said, opening her eyes. “He said it was deserted.”
Luc held out his hand. She slipped her fingers through his.
“I know where it is,” he said.
The stately town home covered nearly half a block of a street directly off rue de Vaugirard. The windows were dark when Luc and Ingrid approached, as were most of the windows surrounding Marco’s old territory. Shutters drawn, drapes thrown closed, awnings over storefronts secured. There were few people milling about as the last rays of sun streaked through the dust and smoke drifting through Montparnasse. A group of young men, loud and cocky, were making a racket farther down Vaugirard; two policemen on horses trotted toward them; a brave girl in one of the buildings had her window open, her elbows propped on the sill, her eyes pinned on Luc and Ingrid.
Luc led Ingrid toward the back door of the town home, where deliveries and servants had come and gone. His hand loosened around hers.
“No gargoyles, at least,” he whispered, reaching for the knob. He twisted it, breaking the lock and reminding Ingrid once again that even his human form couldn’t mask what he truly was.
The glass-paned door glided inward and Luc and Ingrid stepped inside a dark, cold room. Ingrid couldn’t see anything beyond black shapes, a glint of copper or glass, and the hulking shadow of a stove. Luc, however, had reclaimed her hand and easily guided her through the dark. The last vestiges of dried herbs and vinegar, of burned coal and wood, hinted that this was the kitchen.
She stayed behind Luc, her hand closed in his. He led her deeper into the pockets of darkness, treading up stairs to the second floor. With every step she felt as if they were ascending farther and farther from the mad world outside, into a safe haven of their very own.
He brought her into a room and closed the door behind them before leading her across the bare floor. Her skirts brushed along a piece of furniture, and Luc guided her to sit upon a sofa. The cushion was soft with use, and Ingrid sank down into it.
“There’s a fireplace,” Luc announced before releasing her hand.
Ingrid was still shaking, but she didn’t think it was from the cold, musty air of the closed-up town home. She couldn’t stop wondering what had happened when the Roman troops had walked into the medical room. How had they treated Grayson? And what if Vander refused to point out other Dusters? Ingrid buried her face in her hands. It was a nightmare. Not just Axia and the hellish realm she’d unleashed, but the Alliance and how they’d undergone a sea change.
A small flame ignited in the hearth. It revealed the black outline of Luc’s crouched figure. He wasn’t as broad or as tall as Marco, but he was powerfully built. Nolan’s borrowed clothes fit snugly, defining the able muscles of Luc’s arms, shoulders, and back. He blew into the flames and added a few small pieces of firewood.
“I’ll have to search for things to burn,” he said as he straightened his legs and came toward the sofa. He stopped in front of her. The firelight revealed furrowed brows and an expression of concern.
“Get up,” he said. Ingrid shot to her feet, panicking for a moment that they weren’t alone. That they would have to start running again. But Luc only grabbed the arm of the sofa and dragged it closer to the fireplace.
“There. You’ll be warmer.”
She ignored the sofa and buried herself in his arms instead. He held her, his breath fanning out over her scalp as he let out a long sigh.
“What if you need to return to your territory?” she asked. If a human sought shelter from this madness at gargoyle common grounds, Luc would have to go.