“What?” Michael and Gabriel asked simultaneously.
“I’m taking Ellie shopping,” Uriel announced. “I have an engagement tonight and a lot of people are counting on me to show up. The money goes to good causes and I’ve already given my promise. Promises should mean something, gentlemen,” Uriel told them softly, but with conviction. “Especially for us.”
Max sighed again. “What a time for you to start accepting your responsibilities. But the truth is, it would be hell to deal with the consequences of not showing up tonight.”
Michael and Gabriel turned their wide eyes on him now and stared at him as if he’d turned traitor. The guardian turned his hands up and shrugged. “He’s right. They can’t stay trapped in here forever.”
“No’ forever, but for a bloody while at least!” Gabriel insisted.
Azrael hadn’t spoken for a while, but now he cocked his head to one side, directing his gold eyes at Uriel. “What did you have in mind?”
Michael and Gabriel both gaped at their enigmatic, long-haired brother. He ignored them and watched Uriel, his expression unreadable, but his eyes simmering with mischief and curiosity.
“Well, it’s day here, obviously,” Uriel fielded slowly.
“Almost noon,” Azrael supplied, the slightest hint of a smile curling the corners of his lips.
“But it’s night in Paris.”
Azrael’s smile broadened and he was suddenly flashing fangs. “Ah, Paris.” The archangel grinned. “It has been far too long.”
Uriel’s brothers would only agree to the outing on the condition that they all go together. Eleanore was torn about this.
On the one hand, she sort of wanted to distance herself from them. She felt a little crowded and overwhelmed and she wanted time to sort things out. On the other hand, she was admittedly grateful for the extra protection. The archangels and their guardian seemed to surround her, on all sides, at all times. It was like she was a wolf pup in a pack; the hunters and warriors enfolded and encircled her to protect her.
She was grateful for this, but not because she was afraid that Samael would separate her from the herd. No. Something else had occurred to her while she listened to the discussion in the underground chamber at the mansion. She wasn’t sure whether the possibility had suggested itself to any of the other angels, but if it had, they were choosing not to say anything about it.
If Samael truly wanted to prevent them from being together, the easiest way to do that would be to kill her. It had already been decided that Sam wouldn’t want Uriel dead—after all, the Fallen One wanted the former Angel of Vengeance as a servant. At least that was as close as anyone could surmise.
However, there was no reason for Sam to want Eleanore alive. He stood to gain nothing from her continued existence. And that chilled Eleanore to the core. She found that she couldn’t stop holding on to Uriel. Not that he seemed to mind at all. When the portal in the chamber had opened once more, this time taking them through a door in a back alley in a street of Paris, Uriel had reluctantly released Eleanore. But she’d hurriedly claimed his hand with both of her own. And instead of the surprise she had expected to see on his handsome features, she’d noticed a smile; he tried to hide it by turning away to lead them through the opening. But she’d seen it there.
He was happy.
She supposed that was a good thing, at least.
It was just after sunset in Paris, and in November the air was quite cold. Between the four archangels and their guardian, they’d managed to fashion warmer clothes for Eleanore, which of course made her ask why they couldn’t make her a dress for the gala too.
“That’s not as fun,” Azrael had said.
“And it isn’t the point,” Uriel added. “I owe you this.”
After stepping out of the alleyway and strolling the fairly busy streets of the beautifully lit up city for about a half hour, Max directed them into a bakery and ordered several pastries for Eleanore, one for himself, and a sandwich and a bottle of wine for Gabriel. Michael decided on an apple, and of course, Azrael abstained.
“You’re missing out,” Max told him.
Azrael only smiled and shook his head begrudgingly.
“I grew up here, you know,” Max told them. The brothers rolled their eyes. “In a little appartement a few blocks down that way.” He gestured down the lamp-lit street. “Ma mere made these same Brasiliennes and brioche aux sucre.” He sniffed the pastries in his hands and grinned.
This confused Eleanore until Uriel leaned down and said, “It’s just Max being Max. He does this everywhere he goes.”
All of the archangels spoke perfect French, it seemed. Eleanore remained mute and bewildered.
Once they’d eaten and “Christopher Daniels” and his entourage had politely shooed away a few European fans, they went about finding a dress. Azrael took off on his own, disappearing into the Paris contrast of electric light and damp shadow as if he were nothing more than vapor.
Eleanore wanted to hurry. She felt conspicuous and spoiled, and she was more than a little worried about Sam, for all of their sakes. But Uriel insisted that she take her time, that she relax, and that she pick out something she truly loved, no matter what the cost.
It was hard for her to concentrate.
So it was with little surprise that she eventually felt Uriel’s vampire influence slip over her body and mind. She was almost angry about it. Almost. But once the anxiety lifted and her chest became unconstricted, she realized she was actually incredibly grateful. He must have known how scared she was. And it softened her heart to know that he cared enough to help her in this manner.
Her fear had been knotting up her stomach and giving her a headache and utterly ruining what was her first visit to France. Despite a lifetime of travel, it had all been within the US, as having to create passports only drew more attention to you. That was something Eleanore’s parents avoided at all costs.
“There.”
Eleanore was pulled to a stop, Uriel’s grip tight on her wrist. She looked up to find that they had stopped before a shop window. It was the Maison Lavonde and there was only one article of clothing in the window—a dress.
Crimson red satin.
Eleanore gazed at it, stunned into silence. There was no way in hell she was going to try that dress on—much less buy it. It was probably the single most gorgeous dress she had ever seen. Lavonde was known for red-carpet creations that people talked about for months afterward. Sometimes years. This dress was no exception. In fact, it had to be Lavonde’s most breathtaking design ever. And it also had to cost more than Eleanore’s MINI Cooper.
“No way,” she whispered. She’d meant for it to come out with a bit more force, but her throat was dry.
Gabriel and Michael were already making their way into the shop, completely ignoring Eleanore’s objection. Max strolled a little ways down the street to lean up against a streetlamp.
Uriel stood behind Eleanore and bent to whisper in her ear. She could feel him strong and solid and warm at her back as he gently pressed into her. “Yes,” he said softly. “At least try it on.”
“It’s probably the kind of thing where, if you take it off of the mannequin, you have to buy it.”
“Nonsense,” Uriel said, nudging her toward the door.
“Or I’ll ruin it just getting it over my head. I think it’s a size two. I’m not a size two.”
“In you go.”
“They don’t like Americans. They probably won’t allow an American woman to wear the dress.”
“After you,” he said as he held the door open.
“I bet you have to be famous to go in here,” she tried desperately as he reached around her waist and ushered her inside. “I’m not famous!” she finished.
“I am.” The door closed behind them and Uriel brushed past her to meet the shop attendant, a small man in Armani with piercing black eyes, slim fingers, and a permanent expression of judgmental distaste. Eleanore disliked him on the spot.
But when the attendant caught sight of Christopher Daniels, his expression changed instantly. He was now the very image of congeniality and humble subservience. Eleanore’s gaze narrowed. Elitist prick.
After a brief discussion between the two, the attendant smiled warmly at Eleanore and then bustled to the window, where he gently removed the dress from the mannequin and then expertly draped it over his Armani sleeve. He sauntered to Eleanore, his warm smile still in place, even if it didn’t quite make it to the black of his eyes.
“If you will please follow me, miss, I will show you to a fitting room,” he said, in an accent that was a surprisingly good imitation of American. He walked away, heading to what must have been a dressing room in the back and Eleanore cut her eyes to Uriel.
“You look as if you’re about to pass out, Ellie,” he told her gently, his smile the genuine article.
“Do I really have to do this?”
“No,” he said, then leaned over to whisper in her ear once more. “But if you don’t, then I’ll hypnotize the sales attendant, send my brothers outside, and take you into the back dressing room myself.”
Eleanore’s body went rigid with a combination of lust and heat and trepidation.
Uriel pulled away slightly and met her gaze. “Come to think of it, maybe I’ll do that anyway.”
Eleanore swallowed. “Off to try on the dress now,” she quipped as she spun away from him to cross the shop. Eleanore slid past the attendant while he held the door open for her.
“I set a pair of shoes out for you there, on the settee,” he told her. “Press the call button if you need any assistance.”
Then he shut the door and she was alone. She turned to face the long, luxurious red gown that hung so gracefully, so perfectly on the hanger. I’m alone with a dress that costs . . . She glanced at the tag on the inside of the gown. Holy fuck!
She dropped the tag with a frustrated gesture and looked from the dress to her reflection in the mirror. I’m a mess, she thought. Look at my hair! The cold damp in Paris had brought out its curl and it had quite a bit more body than she was used to. Her nose and cheeks were slightly red, but the rest of her face was too pale, especially in contrast to her blue-black hair. And her eyes were utterly enormous in her head. She looked vaguely like a ghost.
She was sure that she couldn’t possibly do justice to the dress.
“Put it on, Ellie,” came the command from the other side of the door. “Last warning.”
“I’m putting on the damn dress!” she hissed at him.
He chuckled, the sound deep and promising, and then she could hear his footsteps wander back down the hall toward the front room of the shop.
Uriel entered the front room and Gabriel looked up from where he was seated in a plush leather divan. Michael glanced over from the edge of a counter. Both men smiled at the look on Uriel’s face.
“Shut up,” Uriel said.
“Can I get you gentlemen a drink?” the assistant asked in French. “A glass of Romanée Conti or Pétrus?”
Gabriel stood and made his way to the assistant, coming to a towering stop before him. He had a good foot on the small salesman. The assistant looked up and wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or terrified. Gabriel took a wad of big bills from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and peeled off a good number of them. Then he took the sales assistant’s hand and slapped the bills into his palm. “Take something to the man outside in the three-piece suit leanin’ against the lamppost,” he told him in English.
The assistant swallowed hard and Uriel could see sweat breaking out along his brow. He nodded quickly and stuttered, “Y-yes sir. Right away.” He pocketed the bills and then reached behind the counter, where he extracted a bottle of fine, expensive French wine and a single crystal goblet.
Uriel watched as the assistant went outside, allowing the glass door to close behind him. Then he turned raised brows on Gabriel, who was no longer paying attention. He and Michael were both staring, wide-eyed at something over Uriel’s shoulder.
Uriel turned to see what they were gaping at.
Eleanore had emerged from the fitting room. She moved slowly into the overhead lights of the shop, and as she did, the lamplight caught the satin luminescence of the crimson gown and instantly awakened Uriel’s senses.
To say that the dress was stunning would have been a gross understatement. At once, Uriel could feel his jeans becoming tighter. The gown clung to Eleanore like a second skin, making it at once clear that his archess wore nothing beneath it. The color was like blood, stark and enticing against her perfect, milky-white skin.
It came to a mere few inches above the floor, but a slit that ran along one side exposed Eleanore’s long, lean leg to the men’s gazes. Her feet were strapped into silver high-heeled shoes that were designed to subtly and cleverly bring to mind bondage and restraints.
Her shoulders were bare, as the dress’s long, satin sleeves began at her upper arms, like a red carpet to the gorgeous expanse of flesh that was her collarbone and décolletage.
Uriel could barely breathe. He felt tight inside, as if someone had him in iron bands. Distantly, he was aware of the shop’s door opening behind him, and the bustling sound of someone quickly entering.
“My God,” the assistant whispered in French after a sharp intake of breath. “She is breathtaking. . . .”
Eleanore smiled nervously, flashing perfect white teeth. “Well?” she asked softly, demurely, her fingers gently brushing the fabric of the dress before she shrugged. “How do I look?”
He could hear her heart hammering behind her rib cage. She was terrified.
Uriel tried to answer, but had not yet found his breath before Michael spoke up from behind him. “Like you’ll launch a thousand ships,” he said softly.
“At the very least, start one hell of a fight, lass,” Gabriel added, with deep appreciation.
“The dress was made for you,” the assistant added with a helpless, gentle gesture. “That is obvious.” All hint of phony pretense was gone from his expression and tone.
Eleanore was finding it hard to breathe. It wasn’t that the dress was too tight, though it did fit snugly. It was the way they were all looking at her. And their words—she’d never been complimented in such a manner. No woman had ever been complimented in such a manner, she was certain. It was that—and the fact that Uriel had yet to speak. He was simply staring at her with slightly wide eyes so dark, they were nearly black. Their pupils had expanded, once more eating up the jade in his irises.
Hunger, she thought, her pulse kicking up another notch. That’s what that look is.
“You are beautiful,” he finally said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Now take off the dress.”
“Right,” Gabriel said from behind him, jumping into action. “I think it’s time we step outside for a bit.”
Michael needed no further hints. He strode quickly toward the door, grabbing a surprised sales attendant by the elbow as he did so.
“Why?” Why did he want her to take off the dress? Eleanore asked, her voice also a whisper.
Uriel took a step toward her and she stopped breathing just as the shop door closed once more, leaving the two of them alone. “You look like a goddess in that dress,” he told her. “I would hate to see it damaged.” Another step and he was closing the distance between them. “But I need it off of you right now.”
Ellie began to tremble. Images from the night before shot through her mind’s eye, flushing her warm and sending heat between her legs. She was shaking, not from fear, but anticipation—delicious and terrible. She had no idea what to say or what to do and she couldn’t move anyway. “But the windows . . .”
Uriel bent and, in one strong, fluid motion, he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. Then he strode with her down the hall toward the fitting room, leaving the empty shop behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“You’re making me nervous,” Ellie scolded as she fidgeted in the seat
across from Uriel. It was Thursday night and they were alone in the back of a shiny black stretch limo; Max was driving.
“You were already nervous.”
“Well, you’re making it worse.” Eleanore turned her face toward the window, uncrossed her legs and recrossed them, then wrapped her arms around her middle. “Stop looking at me. Just look out the window or something.”
Uriel’s deep chuckle regained her attention. She cut her eyes to him to find him smiling broadly. “Not likely.” He shook his head.
Eleanore huffed in frustration. The man was insatiable. He’d just taken her against a wall in a dressing room in Paris less than three hours ago and, already, he was burning a hole through her with those hungry eyes.
It didn’t help that no matter how Eleanore sat on the seat in front of him, the provocative slit in her brand-new Lavonde gown afforded him a clear view of most of her bare leg. He, on the other hand, was dressed from head to toe in black—black jeans, black motorcycle boots, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a black leather sports coat—as was befitting a vampire.
And she felt like vampire bait.
Eleanore gritted her teeth and forced herself to stare out the window at the neon signs and streetlights that blurred as they passed by. The reception hall where the gala was to be held was a relatively small venue known as the Quixotic World Theatre House in Dallas. Max had explained to her that it was a Gothic-inspired, chandelier-lit building with a red facade and black and gold veined marble flooring. Apparently, it was private and quaint in its own way, but perfect for a vampire-actor and his Brakes Flakes fans.
The building held booths and tables inside but there were so many guests, the outside patio and garden had been expanded into the street, which was blocked off for the event. This left a lot of possible ground to Samael and his men.
They could come from anywhere.
Because of this, Max had decided that it would be a good idea to arrive at the hall early and scope the place out. Michael and Gabriel had gone ahead, in the guise of security, to field the attendants and news crews and get the lay of the theater’s neighboring areas. Azrael would be watching the proceedings from a vantage point high above the chaos, as only he could do. He would be perched on a neighboring building’s roof. At least, that was what Eleanore assumed he’d meant when he told them that he would be their eyes in the sky.