Page 16 of The Guardian's Curse

“I can say it in German if that’s easier for you,” Paris said, sidling up to him. As if to be as obnoxious as possible, he repeated himself in German. The low light gleamed off his bronze hair as he leaned on the piano seductively.

His former lover’s charm scraped rather than soothed, and Alistair stalked around the piano to put distance between them. Being within arm’s reach was dangerous for Paris. “Why?”

“She needs somewhere to stay,” Paris said, as if that explained anything.

“We live in one of the biggest cities in America,” Alistair said. “There are other options that do not involve a human under my roof.” He did not need someone here to gawk at him, to interfere with his solitary existence.

Paris scowled. “I need you to keep her safe.”

The her caught his ear. “Who?”

“The witch who worked on Infinity’s protections,” Paris said.

“A witch? Are you—”

“Eduardo values her,” Paris interrupted. “And I owe her. I would trust no one else with this.”

“You know that’s bullshit. You’re asking me because I’m stuck here, not because I am uniquely capable.”

A clear voice rang out in the night. “Forgive me for being scared!”

The sweet feminine voice was edged in steel, but he heard the keening edge of fear beneath it. He darted for the front window and peered through the one-way glass. A young woman glared up at Dominic with fire in her eyes.

The sight of her caused a seismic shift inside him, the sort of deep movement that reshaped entire worlds and defined eras. He had glimpsed her pretty face in the club a few nights earlier and quickly forgot her, but now it rushed back to him. There had been a sparkle in her eye then, a flicker of mischievous joy when Paris greeted her. That sparkle was gone now, replaced by defiance and fear.

And though Paris had not mentioned the injury, he saw the distinct imprint of fingers on her arm. Someone had dared to put their hands on her. He knew nothing about her, not even a single syllable of her name, but he was overcome with fury at someone marring such a beautiful creature.

“Allie, it’s just for a few days,” Paris said. “I just need—”

“I’ll do it,” he interrupted, still gazing at her intently.

“You to help me handle this, and...wait, what?”

“I’ll do it,” he said absently, watching as she turned away from Dominic. The moonlight reflected in her eyes, which welled up with tears. A fierce battle played out on her face. After one big sniffle, a look of angry determination furrowed her brow.

“After this, I’m done with the Blade of Auberon,” she declared to Dominic. The dour vampire scowled at her, but Alistair had already turned back to Paris.

“I don’t want her to see me,” he said softly. “Not someone like that.”

“I understand,” Paris said, his usual sarcastic bluster gone. “I’ll handle it.”

He nodded, then rushed up the stairs quickly. Paris stepped outside and interrupted the argument. “Shoshanna, welcome to your home away from home!”

Shoshanna.

Even her name was a song, every bit as exquisite as she was. Paris’s voice echoed in the quiet house. “This house belongs to one of our comrades, Alistair Thorne.”

From the shadows at the top of the stairs, Alistair stared down at the open living room where his piano stood. Quiet steps shuffled over the hardwood as the witch walked into the living room. Her eyes shone as she surveyed the house. “Is he home?”

“He’s here. You should know that Master Thorne has an unusual affliction.” Alistair gripped the banister tightly. “He is unusually sensitive to light. Therefore, he tends to remain in darkness for his safety.” It was uncanny how easily Paris lied.

“Oh,” she said, craning her neck as if she was hunting for him. Though there was no way she could see him from below, he backed further into the shadows.

“You can make yourself at home,” Paris said.

“This house is incredible,” Shoshanna marveled. Then there was the crystalline sound of middle C from his piano, shimmering into silence. “Gorgeous piano, too.”

“Do you play?”

---