The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (66 page)

The duke laughed, a dark chuckle edged with primeval hostility that did not belong to a civilized man. “Negligent of you, Lefevre, not to trap the pretty butterfly before now. I have males in my family who would fight for her. Why should I let you walk away with something so rare?”

“As the price for my help.”

An electric tension hummed in the room as the two men faced each other down. Tricia stepped back and pressed herself to the wall, mute with disbelief at what she’d just heard. They sounded positively medieval. The duke glanced at the pyramid spotlighted in the centre of the room and annoyance flashed across his face.

“I’m guessing that
your son
rests inside that
ben ben
,” Christian said softly. “You’ll need help if you plan to force him to renew. Let me take the butterfly back to France and I’ll lend you my power.”

Tricia’s pulse beat so fast the blood vibrated in her temples. It wasn’t difficult to understand that she was the butterfly they were discussing like a couple of Neanderthals vying for the right to drag her away by her hair. She could just about understand why Christian might want her now, after all, he had desired her twenty years ago. But the concept that the Duke of Buckland knew men who would fight over her was absurd.

A coppery flush painted the duke’s cheekbones. When he glanced back at Christian, his eyes glowed blue. “You win this time, Lefevre. But I’m warning you, claim the woman or my family will take her from you and make her ours.”

Tricia did not intend to be claimed as a possession by any man, even a wealthy, handsome, titled man. She edged along the wall towards the door, her breath coming in shallow snatches as the two men approached the pyramid.

Christian stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it over a chair, while the duke removed his charcoal-grey suit jacket and red tie.

The duke ran his hands over the four surfaces of the transparent shape, searching for something. “Here,” he said at length, turning to Christian. “Careless as usual, my son’s left a fault that will give us a starting point.”

Tricia’s retreating feet halted and she stared, unable to drag her gaze away as both men stepped back and extended their arms. A four-foot long sceptre with a flat head and forked tail appeared in each man’s hand. They both pointed the tops of their sceptres at the pyramid. “Cover your ears and look away,” Christian called over his shoulder to her.

A moment later, a blast of gold-green fire from his sceptre hit the pyramid at the weak spot. The duke’s gold-blue fire streamed out, targeting the same spot.

Tricia slapped her hands over her ears at the agonized screaming sound like metal straining under impossible force. She squinted through the shadow of her dark lashes, unable to look away from the terrifying spectacle. The pyramid started to glow so brightly her eyes hurt and the heat warmed her from across the room. The floor beneath the melting crystal had to be getting hot. She sidled closer to the door and scrabbled blindly for the fire extinguisher she knew was there.

“Your son’s resisting the rebirthing,” Christian shouted.

“He’s bloody lazy and doesn’t want to wake up,” the duke replied.

Tricia released the fire extinguisher from its panel and peered at the instructions. Why had she never bothered to find out how the damn thing worked?

Slowly, the transparent pyramid melted. When the trapped blue flames burst forth into the air, Christian and the duke stopped their assault and pulled back.

The fire from inside the pyramid licked the ceiling. Tricia hefted the extinguisher, ready to douse the flames. Before she could press the trigger, the last traces of the pyramid disappeared and a man’s naked body materialized.

Tricia hugged the extinguisher like a lifeline to normality as the man’s face appeared. With his dark hair and blue eyes, the young man closely resembled his father.

Christian hurried back to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Buckland can clear up his mess. Let’s get out of here.”

“Cover yourself up,” the duke growled at his naked son. He cuffed the young man on the side of the head, sending him stumbling into a computer desk, then tossed a dustsheet at him.

Christian eased the extinguisher out of Tricia’s death grip and placed it on the ground.

“Where am I?” The young man asked, blinking in confusion.

“Up to your neck in trouble, boy. As usual.” The duke grabbed his son by the arm and propelled him past them and out of the door. The boy looked barely more than a teenager. His bemused blue gaze snagged hers when he passed and her sympathy welled.

The duke paused and seared her with his stare. “Not a word of this to anyone, Lefevre, or the woman’s mine.”

Three

Tricia shrugged Christian’s arm off her shoulders the moment the duke and his son disappeared. As her fear receded, her anger flared. She hurried up the steps from the Institute’s basement and through the silent echoing Victorian hallway to the front door. Her legs felt weak, but she wasn’t going to admit as much.

“The immediate danger is over, Tricia,” Christian said in a soothing tone.

“Wonderful. You can go away then.”

She stomped out of the front door and, despite her bravado, her heart gave a little leap of relief when she saw the black limousine still waiting for them outside. Although she was hurrying in front, Christian managed to pass her and have the car door open for her when she reached the road. She climbed in and crossed her arms.

Once the vehicle was moving, Christian slid closer to her with a disarming grin and ran a fingertip down her arm. There was no hint left of the formidable man who’d stood up to the duke. Instead, he behaved like the charming Comte she’d known years ago, a man who’d spent his days inspecting his vineyards and romancing her. She should be frightened after seeing him blast fire from a sceptre that appeared out of thin air, but her mind couldn’t summon fear. This was her Christian. The man she’d loved. But did she still love him? Was it possible to forgive him for hurting her?

“You know I would never let Buckland take you, don’t you?”

“
I
won’t let him take me,” she retorted, knowing full well after what she’d seen tonight that the duke wouldn’t ask for her permission. She’d admired the Institute’s patron as a strong, powerful man who got things done. Now the thought of his attitude to her made her temper simmer. “Why did the duke call me a butterfly?”

Christian’s breath sighed out and he laced his fingers through hers. “Buckland is old school and rather medieval in his attitudes. Butterfly is normally a term of endearment,
mon amour
.”

The limo pulled up outside Tricia’s small house.

“May I come inside?” he asked.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“The term butterfly for a woman was coined centuries ago. The Sons of Ra are all male as the name suggests, but there are women who carry the gene. These women are always drawn to us, like moths to a flame.” He smiled. “I don’t know if someone confused butterflies and moths, but that’s where the term originated.”

“So I carry the gene? Any son I have will be like you?”

“Only a son fathered by one of the Sons of Ra.”

Tricia stared at the back of the driver’s seat her eyes losing focus. She and her ex husband had tried unsuccessfully for five years to have a baby. “If that’s why the duke thinks I’m worth fighting over he needn’t bother. I can’t have children.”

She expected Christian to express shock, sorrow, offer the usual platitudes. Instead, the gentle stroke of his fingers continued brushing her arm. “You’ll only be able to conceive a child with one of us.”

“What?” Tricia’s temper shot to boiling in an instant. She elbowed him away, pulling on the door handle.

“Wait, Tricia.”

She jumped out of the car and rounded on him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears filled her eyes, ached in her chest. By keeping quiet, he’d sentenced her to years of heartbreak trying for a baby she couldn’t have. She’d lost her husband through the strain the experience had put on their relationship. “When you sent me away, you knew I wouldn’t be able to have a child with another man because of this bloody gene. But you didn’t think that fact was worth telling me?”

She pivoted away from the car and ran up the steps to her front door, fumbling for the key in her purse.

“Tricia, calm down.” Christian gripped her shoulders and she ducked away from his touch.

“Get lost. You had a chance to tell me all this twenty years ago. Instead of helping me to understand, you cut me off with no explanation, even though you knew it would affect my life.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what? From jerks like the duke? Strange that I’ve been working for him for the last twelve years then, isn’t it?” Her fingers finally closed around her key and she jammed it in the lock. She tried to squeeze through the door and shut Christian out, but he wedged a foot in the gap.

She gave up trying to exclude him and retreated to the kitchen, flicking on all the lights as she went. The front door closed and she heard the deadlock click and the security chain engage. “We’ll stay here tonight,” Christian said, following her into the kitchen. “You’re tired and distressed. Buckland has enough on his plate this evening dealing with his son. I doubt he’ll come for you.”

“You’re not staying with me,” she snapped.

Ignoring her, he found two mugs and started to make coffee. She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching him. His lithe perfectly balanced body radiated youthful energy. His skin was smooth, not a line or wrinkle in sight. His thick hair gleamed gold under the kitchen spotlights. She turned and stared at her reflection in the glass cabinet doors. She’d kept her figure because she hadn’t had children. Only a few grey hairs had invaded her brown locks. At a pinch, she might pass for thirty-five. Even that age difference might not have mattered, but she would continue to age and he wouldn’t.

Once she would have sold her soul to be with Christian, but times changed. Whatever his reasons, he hadn’t wanted her enough to be honest with her twenty years ago. If the Duke of Buckland had realized she had the magic gene, he’d have spirited her away to some private estate and paired her off with one of his men like a brood mare. When Christian turned her away, he’d left her vulnerable. She didn’t owe him a thing. She would not return to France with him. The damn Duke of Buckland didn’t own the whole of the UK. There must be a place outside of his control where she could live.

While Christian had his back to her, she removed her shoes and walked quietly down the hall, up the stairs and into her room, shutting her bedroom door firmly behind her.

Tricia prepared for bed like an automaton, her mind numb with shock and fatigue. Wearing her oversized T-shirt, she switched off the light and snuggled under her covers.

A knock sounded on the door. “Tricia, I have your coffee.”

She didn’t answer, hoping Christian would think she was asleep and leave her alone.

“I know you’re awake.” The door opened. Christian stood in the gap, the masculine angles of his body silhouetted against the hall light.

Her treacherous heart lurched. They had never been in a bedroom together. Although they’d been inseparable during the six weeks of her stay in France when she was eighteen, he had always been a gentleman, never taking advantage of her.

“I don’t want coffee. Go away.”

He ambled in and placed the mug on her nightstand, then switched on the bedside lamp. “A hot drink will do you good. You haven’t eaten anything since you arrived at the chateau this morning.”

“I’ve already cleaned my teeth.”

Christian sat on the edge of her bed and she made a performance of dragging the covers higher to show she was annoyed. He placed a hand on the pillow on either side of her head and leaned closer. Tricia froze, trapped in the flare of green fire in his eyes. Twenty years dropped away and her body tingled in expectation. “I won’t come to France with you.”

The corners of his lips tucked up as if he were trying not to smile. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you are.” He ducked his head and pressed firm, warm lips over hers. Her eyelids fell at the silky slide of his mouth. Even as she pledged not to touch him, her palm curved around his stubbly cheek. She’d dreamed of this endlessly, before she met her husband, while she was married to her husband, and after the poor man left. She’d always blamed their divorce on her infertility. In truth, it had more to do with her attitude. Her husband had never replaced Christian in her heart. She doubted anyone ever could.

Christian kicked off his shoes and stretched out on top of the covers at her side. His fingers traced her features with a feather-light touch. “I’ve missed you every day since you left,
mon adorée
. After I lost you, I spent weeks in cleansing fire to kill the pain. When I emerged I was younger and stronger, but my heart hurt as much as ever.”

“Why didn’t you come to find me?” After they’d parted, she’d prayed every night that Christian would realize he’d made a mistake and come after her.

“I thought I was doing the best thing for you by letting you go. I wanted to spare you the sort of experience you had tonight. My world is full of danger.”

Tricia closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his, felt his lips brush her neck. She breathed in the uniquely French fragrance of the sun and rich earth tinged with ripening fruit that clung to him like a memory of perfect happiness.