Until tomorrow, my love…

  She hummed as she walked home, clutching his note and her rose. The next time she saw Hugo, she resolved to tell him she was ready for more than a kiss. She was ready for a lifetime with him, whatever that might bring.

  Her girl parts tingled as she imagined the fringe benefits — the physical pleasures along with a lifetime of companionship and love.

  Moonlight sparkled off the Seine as she walked along the embankment, and her first thought was how beautiful Paris was. The elegant townhouses…the grand halls of the Louvre…the elegant spire of Notre Dame. But then she noticed how dark it had become. Usually, she didn’t think twice about taking the riverside route home, but she didn’t usually leave work so late. That, and daylight hours were growing ever shorter as autumn stretched on.

  Briefly, she considered. She’d already passed the Pont du Carrousel, and the Pont des Arts wasn’t far ahead. Steps led from the embankment to each of those bridges and the more brightly lit sidewalks along the streets above. But it didn’t make sense to backtrack, so she walked a little faster, heading for the stairs at Pont des Arts.

  She glanced back. No one there but a fisherman packing up for the night. From ahead, a couple approached, walking arm and arm, and she smiled. There was no need to worry with them around, right? As the pair passed, she pictured herself and Hugo, stealing kisses and strolling along.

  Then something swooped overhead, and she ducked. But when she whirled to see what it was, there was nothing. Had it been a bat? The shadow of a bird flying too high to see?

  She walked on, more attuned to her surroundings than ever. Boy, it was darker than she thought, and the Pont des Arts suddenly felt miles away. She swung her arms, taking ever longer strides.

  “Not far now,” she murmured to herself.

  Finally, the next set of stairs drew into view, and she relaxed slightly. In a matter of minutes, she’d be up at street level and taking the safer route home.

  But steps scuffed behind her, and she whirled. Again, there was no one and nothing to see. She hurried onward, intent on escaping her own imagination. Then another shadow swooped through the blood-red sky, and she swore she sensed a faint cackling sound and a wafting body of cold air.

  She shivered. Did ghosts haunt that part of Paris?

  Breaking into a trot, she focused on the stairs. Every step she took grew faster, because she was nearly there. But the cold behind her turned to sheer ice, and out of nowhere, someone dragged her back.

  She started to scream, but a bony hand slapped over her mouth.

  “Quiet,” a raspy voice hissed.

  Like hell, she would. She kicked, bit, and managed another scream, but no one seemed to notice. No one but the man dragging her backward, cackling in glee.

  “Such a feisty thing. Makes it all the more fun.”

  Her blood ran cold. God, no. This could not be happening. Not to her, not now. The dangerous days of wartime and Allied occupation were over, and women no longer had to fear open attacks by outsiders.

  Attacks by locals, on the other hand…

  Hugo’s rose flew out of her hand, along with the note she treasured, both of them trampled amidst her desperate kicks. Anger welled up in her, and she scratched at the man’s arms. But it was like scratching stone, not flesh — he was that cold and hard. The face she glimpsed was harsh and angular, more like a statue than a man. He shoved her to the ground and loomed over her, laughing.

  “There she is. My favorite crêpe chef.”

  Clara scrambled up from bruised knees, ready to curse. Branix. That bastard.

  But before she could utter a word, the blood drained from her face. It was Branix, but his features were grotesquely exaggerated, like an effigy of the man carved from stone. His hooked nose was centimeters long. Beady eyes bulged from his skull. His ears were long and pointy, and his fingernails curved like claws. When she spotted the leathery wings protruding from his back, her jaw dropped.

  That was some kind of monster, not a man.

  She turned to flee, but a second man blocked the way — Branix’s sidekick, his features just as distorted as his friend’s.

  “What do you think, Calviorix? Is she not a prize?”

  Branix’s friend shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Clara held up her hands. “Get away from me.”

  Her scream echoed under the stone bridge. Couldn’t anyone hear?

  “Oh, but my dear. You are mine. I knew it the first time I saw you,” Branix said.

  She stepped right, then left, but there was no way to edge past that monster. Not without jumping into the Seine — not a good option for a girl who had never learned to swim.

  “Leave me alone, you monster.”

  Branix gave an exaggerated sigh. “Monster? Well, just for you, I shall reveal my second self.”

  The air around him shimmered, and his features softened to a more familiar, human shape. Not that Clara found any comfort in the sight — not with the way his greedy eyes locked on her.

  She stared. “What are you?”

  Branix laughed. “You humans. Unable to see the obvious.” He leaned closer and growled in a low, scratchy voice. “Gargoyle.”

  Clara blanched. How could that possibly be?

  Her disgust must have shown, because Calviorix grumbled. “I told you she’s just another haughty human.” When she turned to stare, his hands sliced the air. “We guard your cathedrals. We chase away your primitive fears, just as you humans would like us to. But the moment we leave our perches, we’re not good enough, are we?”

  Her lip wobbled, but no words came.

  “No, this one is special,” Branix purred, stalking closer. “Can you not see? She is a Peacemonger.”

  Clara had no idea what that was, but Calviorix seemed impressed.

  “Peacemonger,” he breathed.

  “Having her as one of our own will force the Guardians to bargain with us.” Branix grinned. “Just think of the power we can gain.”

  “Brilliant.” Calviorix nodded.

  Clara tilted her head. She didn’t understand half of what they were saying. What was going on?

  “Yes.” Branix’s eyes glowed at her. “She shall be mine.”

  She shrank away, but he beckoned her to his side.

  “My dear Clara. We gargoyles live lonely lives, you know. The time has come for me to take a mate, and I have chosen you.”

  Lucky you, his tone said, making her stomach churn.

  When he stepped closer, she inched away.

  “I will make you my bride. We shall live together on the south tower of Notre Dame. Ah, the views,” he gushed. “You will love it.” Then his eyes sparked dangerously. “You will love me, too.”

  “Never.” She took another step back, only to bump into Calviorix, who locked her arms at her sides.

  Branix smiled indulgently. “Not never, my dear girl. Now.” His lips peeled back, revealing a row of pointy teeth. “Oh, don’t worry. My bite won’t hurt. In fact, I am sure you shall find it pleasurable.”

  Terror froze her joints, and she couldn’t move or cry out. All she could do was scream in her mind. No. No. No.

  An image of Hugo jumped into her mind, and she silently screamed for him, too. Hugo!

  But Hugo wasn’t in earshot, and neither was anyone on the street above. She was on her own, with Branix inching closer, and Calviorix locking her in place.

  Branix reached out with one cold, clammy hand and brushed her braid aside, exposing her neck. Slowly, he trailed the tip of his claw along her skin.

  “One little kiss.” His voice went faint, almost reverent. “One little bite, and you shall be mine forever.”

  “I am not yours,” she spat.

  “Of course you are. I have decided, and thus, it shall be.” His fiendish grin flashed in the night. “Don’t worry, my pet. You will have the honor of being a gargoyle. Together, we will return my clan to a position of power. Can’t you see?” He made a sweeping gesture over the river. “Side by side, we will fly over Paris. We will roost wherever we like. The roof of the Louvre! The top of the Eiffel Tower! Wherever we like, whenever we like. Then we will fly home to the cathedral and make love under the moon.”

  His eyes glittered with joy, but all Clara felt was horror.

  Hugo, she screamed in her mind.

  Branix frowned as if she’d screamed aloud. “That stupid canine doesn’t deserve you.”

  Canine? She shook her head and looked around. She had to escape, and fast. But how? Scaling the underside of the bridge wouldn’t work, not when her attackers had wings. The river, perhaps? Maybe she could keep herself above water long enough to get away. If not, then heck. Drowning was better than what Branix proposed.

  In one whirlwind movement, she stomped on her captor’s foot and jabbed her elbows into his ribs — a move that probably hurt her more than it hurt him, given his stony physique. Still, the element of surprise was on her side, and his grip loosened enough for her to twist free and dash to the edge of the embankment.

  “Stop!”

  Branix’s order didn’t halt her, but the voice in her mind did. A deep, familiar voice she loved to replay in her dreams.

  Stop.

  She whirled, positive she would see Hugo rushing to her rescue. Somehow, he had heard her cries and come running, just like the hero of her dreams.

  But the footsteps rushing up to the bridge were soft and padded, and they stemmed from four feet, not two. Wolf’s feet.

  Clara stared. A wolf? In Paris?

  It ought to have been impossible, but it was a wolf. A huge one, with a dark scar across its muzzle and blue eyes so bright, they shone in the dim light. Its long, pink tongue hung out, rimmed by ivory teeth.

  She nearly screamed for Hugo again, because now she was facing two gargoyles and a wild beast. But the wolf’s eyes locked on hers and begged, Look closer.

  She didn’t want to look. She wanted this nightmare to end.

  Still, she couldn’t help but obey, not with the way the wolf’s eyes beseeched her. For a moment, all she saw was the calculating eyes of a predator. Then the wolf tilted its head, and its blue eyes sparkled the way sunlight glinted off a glacial lake.

  Clara froze. Hugo?

  Branix scowled and spoke to the wolf as if it were an ordinary human. “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. She’s mine. Now, get out of here and let destiny run its course.”

  Destiny? Clara frowned. Hugo was her destiny. She’d sensed that from the moment they’d met.

  The wolf bared its teeth, snarling.

  Calviorix paled. “Um, Branix…”

  Branix grabbed his friend before he could retreat. “Don’t fall for it, fool. That wolf is all bark and no bite.”

  The wolf’s eyes sparkled dangerously. Are you sure about that?

  Clara gulped. Surely, she was imagining things. Wolves didn’t resemble people, and people didn’t resemble wolves. Just because Hugo bore scars similar to the wolf’s…

  But it wasn’t just the scars or eye color that reminded her of Hugo. There was something about his bearing, too, and the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. Above all was that warm, fuzzy feeling she got whenever Hugo was near, promising her everything would be all right.

  Still, she would be insane to mistake wolf and furry for warm and fuzzy, right?

  The wolf slid between her and Branix, growling at the gargoyle the entire time. It was so big, its back came nearly to her waist. Its tail lashing back and forth in slow, dangerous strokes, warning Branix away.

  “You and Alaric believe you command Paris, but no,” the gargoyle hissed. “This woman is mine. Go tell that to your dragon friend.”

  Clara did a double take. Hugo did have a friend named Alaric — the scariest, most intense man Clara had ever met — once, which had been enough. Clearly, Alaric was a man of power and importance. And, heck, she could absolutely picture the man spitting fire. So, dragon fit, but only in a figurative sense.

  Her knees wobbled a little. Wait. What if it wasn’t figurative?

  The wolf advanced on Branix, snarling. Not a low, continuous snarl, but one that changed pitch and emphasis, much like human speech.

  Branix went red. “How dare you?”

  Clara glanced between him and the wolf. What? What had the wolf just said?

  Of course, wolves couldn’t say anything. Unless…

  Her mind spun. If some men could change into gargoyles, others might be able to morph into dragons or wolves. Reclusive, secretive men, like Branix…or Hugo, who had never explained anything about himself. Hugo, who had shied away from questions like where he was from, what he did for a living, and where he went at night. Hugo, who exuded the kind of loyalty and fierceness she’d always associated with canines.

  Could it really be?

  The wolf’s tail tapped her leg, and she nearly skittered away. Then words formed in her mind, and her breath caught.

  Watch out. Keep clear. Stay safe.

  It was Hugo’s voice, coming to her like a distant whisper.

  She wrung her hands. Watch out for what?

  A split second later, the wolf launched itself at Branix, and a fight erupted before her eyes. A terrifyingly primitive fight of teeth, claws, and fangs. Wings fluttered. Roars boomed. Paws scraped against the stone embankment, and someone — or something — yelped in pain.

  Clara scrambled backward, nearly toppling into the inky river. Catching her balance, she rushed to the staircase, determined to flee.

  But in the midst of her escape, she halted for reasons she didn’t understand. Just a few more steps would bring her to the safety of the human world at the top of the stairs.

  Still, a sinking sense of shame made her stop and look back. How could she leave Hugo now?

  Which made no sense. She had no proof that wolf was Hugo — and every reason to flee. So why couldn’t she move?

  The answer came to her in the middle of the deep breath she forced herself to take.

  Because that is Hugo, and I love him.

  She stared at the fight. Somehow, she just knew. That was the man she loved, and he was fighting for her.

  How he could ever succeed, she couldn’t imagine, not with the gargoyles using their wings and stony armor. Every time the wolf lunged, they moved out of reach in jerky little hops. Every time the wolf snapped its jaws, they struck back with stony fists. And yet, the wolf persisted, moving like a whirlwind. Slashing, biting, and somehow landing his own blows, because Calviorix cried out in agony. Still, the sounds they made were muted, as if the only rule they’d agreed to was one that said they couldn’t attract human attention, no matter what.

  Clara found herself inching back down the stairs and reaching for a thick branch washed up by the last flood. With shaky hands, she gave it a couple of experimental swipes, then stepped forward. She’d reached the point where fear tipped over into anger, and anger turned into power. A useful, if fleeting kind of power that would only take her so far.

  So, act before you lose your nerve, she ordered herself.

  Calviorix leaped away from the wolf, moving into her reach. She swung the branch with everything she had, aiming for the gargoyle’s wings. Her teeth rattled when the branch connected, and she nearly toppled back. The gargoyle toppled, too, nearly dunking into the river before regaining his balance. Then he stared in surprise.

  A little thing like you dares attack me? His reddish eyes raged.

  She swung the branch again. All she’d ever wanted was peace, but heck. This was about survival.

  Calviorix bared his teeth, and she blanched, imagining him shredding her with those inch-long claws.

  But just as the gargoyle sprang at her, a dark, furry shape exploded into Clara’s field of vision. It was the wolf, tackling Calviorix. They slammed to the ground, snarling and wrestling, and Clara feared the worst. But a moment later, Calviorix fluttered shakily into the sky and fled, giving up the fight.

  Clara nearly cheered, but Branix’s dry mutter stopped her cold.

  “That fool may flee, but not me. Surrender, wolf. The woman is mine.”

  In gargoyle form, his voice was rougher and more dangerous than ever before. But the wolf growled in response, and Clara regained her courage, holding up her branch in self-defense.

  A blur of noise and action ensued as the fight resumed. So tightly did the two engage, that Clara was afraid to swing for fear of hitting Hugo. All she could do was hope as the wolf wrestled the gargoyle to the ground. When they rolled, splashes of red mixed into the melee. Finally, the wolf grunted and pushed the gargoyle away. Branix sailed through the air, bashed into the sloping embankment, then splashed into the river.

  Clara ran over, staring down, but there was no sight of man or beast. Not even a ripple on the water. Branix had sunk like a stone — fitting for a gargoyle, she supposed.

  The wolf stepped up beside her, and for a moment, they watched the water, making sure Branix really was dead. Then their heads slowly swiveled, and they stared at each other.

  Clara’s knees really buckled, because that wolf was huge. But when she gazed into his pale blue eyes, her heart warmed.

  Slowly, she reached out to cup the wolf’s muzzle with trembling hands. Her voice shook too. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

  The wolf gazed into her eyes, and she saw Hugo as clearly as if he were in human form. Then his head dipped, but not so much in exhaustion as…as…

  Shame? Her heart ached, and she kneeled, bringing them face-to-face. Her knees shook, but deep inside, she knew she had nothing to fear from him.

  “Hugo.” Gently, she tipped his muzzle up. “What’s wrong?”

  Sad, canine eyes searched hers, full of sorrow and regret.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  His ears drooped as he looked over his own body. When Clara followed his eyes, realization dawned on her. That was his big secret — being a wolf. And yes, it was a doozy.

  For a moment, she hesitated too. But when she closed her eyes, all she saw was the man she loved. And she opened them again, she still saw him — the man within the wolf.