Then she took a deep breath. Love was love, and she wasn’t about to give up on him now.

  “You know, I made myself a promise today,” she whispered.

  Hugo looked up, though his tail hung motionless.

  “That the next time we met, I would finally tell you how I feel.” She took a deep breath, then went on. “I love you, Hugo. And I think… I think you love me too.”

  Of course I love you, those pure blue eyes swore.

  She smiled in spite of everything — her bruised body, the lingering fears, her pounding heart — and stroked his muzzle, picturing his beard the whole time.

  “Then what’s holding us back from…from being together? Loving each other the way we want to. Fully. Completely. Forever.”

  Then she blushed, because those words made her sound — well, on the one hand, hopelessly naïve. Taken a different way, those same words were unspeakably risqué. But she meant both those things. She wanted to love Hugo in all possible ways. As purely and intently as the love she felt, and as lustfully as her body demanded.

  Hugo’s eyes shone a little brighter, and his tail wagged. Then he licked his pink lips and glanced at his body as if to ask, Even with the scars? The fur? The fangs?

  She shook her head. Didn’t he see?

  “I love you no matter what you look like, Hugo. Forever.” Then a stray thought struck her, and she bit her lip. “You can change back, right?”

  She would love him forever, but having a human to hug, kiss, and — ahem, get intimate with — sure would be nice.

  The wolf’s mouth curled into an amused grin, and his head bobbed. Then he backed away and reared up to two feet. Clara stared as his front paws lengthened and his fur thinned. His muzzle shortened, and his ears rounded. Before she could so much as utter her surprise, Hugo stood before her in human form. For a few heartbeats, they stared at each other, then fell into a tight hug.

  “Will you forgive me?” he murmured, holding her close.

  “Forgive what?”

  “For not explaining what I truly am.”

  “I know who you are. Who you really are, I mean.” He was a man of honor. Of courage. A hero.

  He nuzzled her shoulder with his scratchy stubble, and it felt incredibly good. So good, that images of him nuzzling forbidden areas of her naked body rushed through her mind.

  Hugo’s breath caught. Was he thinking the same thing? Coming out of wolf form had left him naked, and she couldn’t decide whether to shield her eyes or to peek down to check.

  “You really think you can live with a man who turns into a wolf?” he asked, keeping her nice and close.

  Sinfully close, her girl parts cooed.

  “It’s not the body that counts. It’s the soul.” Then she grimaced. “Do you think you can live with a boring girl from the provinces?”

  He snorted. “Boring? Not the woman who makes a difference to everyone she meets.”

  “You’re not just saying that because I make good crêpes?”

  He laughed. “You make the best crêpes in Paris, but no. You do much more than that. It’s as if peace follows wherever you go.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Peace that fills me in a way nothing ever has before.”

  That might have been the most beautiful moment of her life, but then she remembered what Branix had said.

  “Wait. Is that what this is about?” She didn’t pull away from Hugo, but she did study his eyes intently. “Branix called me a Peacemonger. What is that?

  Hugo’s eyes were blank, then went wide with wonder. “Peacemonger? I knew you were special, but I never suspected…”

  She gulped. Was that good or bad?

  Hugo cupped her face. “It’s an old legend. A woman with special powers, like a witch—”

  “A witch?” she screeched.

  He laughed. “Forgive me. I am better with weapons than with words. Not a witch. A person who…who…” He stirred the air. “Who does what you do. Spreading peace. Looking on the bright side of things.”

  She gulped. That sounded a little grand for a girl who made crêpes. But who knew what she’d inherited from her father’s side?

  Then a massive shadow swooped overhead, and she yelped. Was Calviorix back with reinforcements?

  But Hugo waved casually and called out to it. “Everything is all right, my friend. At least, it is now.”

  Clara’s jaw dropped, because he was calling out to a dragon. A huge, coppery dragon with icy eyes and a long, whipping tail.

  “Don’t worry. That’s just Alaric,” Hugo said.

  Just? the dragon protested with a snap of its tail.

  Clara gripped Hugo’s hand to keep from running. Holy mother of God. A dragon?

  “I’ll explain later. Thank you for coming,” Hugo called to the dragon, then shooed it away.

  Clara nudged him in the ribs. Surely, one didn’t order a dragon around?

  But Hugo pinned the dragon with an uncompromising look, and it flew off toward Notre Dame with a snort. Clara watched it go, almost feeling sorry for any gargoyles in its path.

  “I’m sorry,” Hugo murmured. “There’s so much I have to explain.”

  She gulped, pulling herself together. Yes, he did. But her mind was already spinning, and only one thing really mattered now.

  “Yes, you do. But I’m already overwhelmed.” She closed her eyes, drawing on the settled feeling she always got near Hugo. Then she squared her shoulders, determined not to stand around helplessly. “First things first. We need to cover you up…”

  She motioned shyly to his groin, though Hugo didn’t seem the least chagrined.

  “…and get you to my place, where we’ll…we’ll…”

  She hesitated, trying to put it delicately.

  Hugo raised one thick eyebrow. “Where we’ll…talk, perhaps?”

  She swallowed hard. “I was thinking more along the lines of…well, uncovering you again.”

  He broke into a sinful smile. “Just me?”

  She shook her head. “Uncovering me, too.” Then she looped her arms around him and kissed him to cover up her blush. “Letting me demonstrate just how much I love you.”

  Hugo’s lips moved over hers like water from a freshly sprung well. Pure, clean water seeing the light of day for the very first time.

  “No, my love,” he murmured. “I’ll show you.”

  * * *

  Paris, present day

  Clara sighed at the soft play of Hugo’s hand over her ribs. When she opened her eyes, he smiled and nuzzled her with his grizzled white beard. They had left the windows a handbreadth open, and the curtains stirred lazily in the breeze, just as they had that first morning she’d woken in the arms of her true love, so many years ago.

  She brushed her lips over his, sighing. “I still feel twenty. Why don’t I look it?”

  “A wise woman once told me it’s not the body that counts, but the soul. Besides, you’re more beautiful than you were at twenty or thirty or forty.”

  She made a face. “If you even mention fifty or sixty…”

  Hugo shook his head. “I mean it. You are more beautiful every day we share.” His eyes shone as he traced a finger down her cheek.

  Nuzzling his chin, she thought about how much had changed since they’d first met. She’d gone from wide-eyed country girl — pure human with no clue about the shifter world — to experienced, confident wolf shifter, thanks to Hugo’s mating bite. Over the years, she’d learned that not all gargoyles were bad, which vampires to watch out for, and above all, the pleasure of howling to the moon at her mate’s side.

  As for being a Peacemonger — well, she still wasn’t convinced. She’d always had a knack for calming people down and looking on the bright side of life, but that didn’t seem like much to her, no matter how Hugo gushed about it. Still, it helped in her line of work. Both lines of work, in fact. Out of love for the job, she still worked a few hours a week at the crêpe stand. And, like Hugo, she had taken over from an older generation to become one of the Guardians of Paris — an elite group of shapeshifters who maintained law and order in the city. Well, they did their best, but it was a challenge. Alaric, the alpha dragon who ruled over the city, had just launched a bold new strategy in hopes of reviving an ancient spell of protection.

  She drew back to look Hugo in the eye. “Do you really think Alaric’s plan to locate a Fire Maiden will work?”

  “It could, but the risks involved…” Hugo grimaced. As Alaric’s right-hand man, he’d lobbied for a less drastic course of action, but the dragon shifter had insisted on an all-or-nothing plan. “Plus, the woman he’s identified has no idea she might stem from a long-lost line of royal blood. Who knows how she will react? Poor thing.” He sighed. “I suppose we’ll find out later today. But right now…”

  He went back to nuzzling. Clara cozied up to him, letting her hands stray down his body. She had her reservations about Alaric’s plan too, but there was nothing she could do until the meeting. In the meantime, they had an hour to spare. Time enough to make sweet, slow love just as they had that very first morning way back when.

  Hugo’s eyes shone, and his lips drifted down her neck.

  A ripple of anticipation went through her body, and she chuckled at herself. “Isn’t growing old supposed to come with aches, pains, and regrets?”

  “Only if you’re a dragon.”

  She burst out laughing. “Only if you’re Alaric, you mean.”

  Hugo groaned. “Don’t remind me. He’s gotten grouchier than ever. That man needs a mate.”

  She frowned. “According to him, he needs no one. Except us at that urgent meeting all too soon.”

  “Nothing can be urgent enough to get me away from my mate this early. So what if that new hire — whatshisname — tangled with vampires last night? I’m sure they had it coming.”

  She poked his broad chest. “You know Tristan’s name very well, my dear.”

  Hugo laughed. “Once he proves himself, I’ll admit it. Though I have to say, the boy has potential.”

  She snorted. “He’s no more a boy than you were where we met. More like a seasoned warrior.”

  Hugo’s eyes drifted into the past. “A warrior, he is. However, he has yet to prove how much heart he has when it comes to…other matters.”

  Clara smiled. Once upon a time, Hugo was exactly like Tristan, the strapping young dragon shifter Alaric had recently hired. Barely thirty, but already hardened by battle. Honorable and confident, yet lovably headstrong. Still, something was missing in young Tristan, just as Hugo had been lacking a certain something when Clara had first met him.

  Love, a little voice whispered. Destiny, calling from deep in her soul. Hugo found love, and it brought him an inner peace.

  “I found you,” Hugo whispered, reading her mind.

  She smiled, holding him close. So few people were blessed with the kind of love she and Hugo shared. Would young Tristan ever be as lucky?

  Hugo let his hands drift higher along her ribs. “Now, now. There’s only so much time before that meeting. Let’s make the most of it.”

  She sank back in the sheets, letting her man work his magic on her. Before long, her body was burning, her world a haze of sensual pleasure. Whenever she opened her eyes, she saw glimpses of the past and present. The pink roses at the bedside might have been from the previous day or previous decade. The sweet scent of her mate’s arousal, mingling with hers. The low murmurs of desire and the love in Hugo’s eyes, as fresh and sincere as ever.

  Every time she bonded with her mate, it felt as if life couldn’t get any better. And every time they dropped back to the sheets, sweaty and satisfied — like now — she nestled in his arms, feeling more at peace than ought to be possible in such a troubled world.

  Hugo stroked her arm as her heart rate slowly settled.

  She sighed, because it truly was time to face a busy day — and that meeting with Alaric in that palace of his over in the ninth arrondissement.

  But Hugo held her firmly in his arms, chuckling in her ear.

  “Just a little longer, my love. Just a little longer.”

  * * *

  Thank you for reading Paris Rose, a prequel to Anna Lowe’s Fire Maidens: Billionaires & Bodyguards series. This short story sets the stage for full-length Book 1, Fire Maidens: Paris, a steamy, suspenseful, paranormal romance. Get your copy today to see more of Hugo & Clara and to discover more about dragon shifter Tristan Chevalier. You can also click here for a sneak peek!

  You can travel throughout all of Europe with the Fire Maidens: Billionaires & Bodyguards series, and every book is available in audio — including Paris Rose! Get all the details here.

  FREE GIFTS - AUDIOBOOKS, EBOOKS, & EXCLUSIVE BONUS SCENES: Make sure you’re signed up for Anna Lowe’s newsletter to receive a FREE three free books, two free audiobooks (including Paris Rose), and dozens of exclusive bonus scenes. Signing up also makes sure you’ll be the first to hear about new releases, special events, and great deals.

  Sneak Peek — Fire Maidens: Paris

  “Humorous, sexy, and suspenseful... Beware - this is a book that will help you make a bad decisions about the amount of sleep you will get as you won't want to put it down until you finish.”

  –Uncaged Book Reviews

  Paris! City of dreams — or shifter nightmares?

  Natalie Brewer has come to Paris to live out a dream, not a nightmare. Then a vampire attack exposes her to a whole new side to the City of Lights — and to her own heritage. Before she knows it, she’s swept into a world she never imagined, with gargoyles, werewolves, and dragons who claim she’s descended from a legendary shifter queen. Now her life is in danger, and it’s impossible to know who to trust, other than the mysterious stranger who risks his life for her again and again.

  After a decade in the Foreign Legion, all dragon shifter Tristan Chevalier wants is to settle into a civilian life and a new job. His mission: to prove himself to the Guardians of Paris and to protect the city. But all that is threatened when an innocent woman stumbles into his life — and into his heart. Being appointed her bodyguard is a blessing and a curse, because Natalie is absolutely, positively off-limits despite the smoldering desire they both feel. Worse, every shifter in Paris has set their sights on her, from bloodthirsty vampires to power-hungry dragons and jealous rivals. For Tristan, it’s the test of a lifetime, and the outcome will affect the fortunes of an entire city.

  * * *

  There’s no such thing as vampires. No such thing as vampires…

  It didn’t matter how often Natalie whispered those words to herself. One look at the man at the table by the window made her blood run cold. His teeth were perfectly normal, and yet she kept imagining them extending into fangs. But that was crazy, right?

  “Are you going to check on him, or am I?” the woman behind the serving counter asked.

  Natalie steeled her nerves, pasted on a stiff smile, and walked over to the new “guest,” as the homeless people at the soup kitchen were called. Usually, she loved interacting with guests. Each had his or her own story, their own unique character. Plus, they were patient with her imperfect French, and she’d gained incredible insights into life in Paris from volunteering there. In some ways, it was a lot like the soup kitchen she’d volunteered at back home in Philadelphia.

  But vampires? No thanks.

  She glanced at the man by the window. Wasn’t it time to get over her overactive imagination and help the poor man?

  The thing was, he didn’t seem the least bit poor. Not with that tailored suit, sophisticated cologne, and manicured nails. But there was no telling who was down on his luck in Paris these days, and this section of the Latin Quarter was a real mix.

  She walked over, trying to quell her nerves. Then she pasted on a smile and welcomed him in French. “Good evening. How are you?”

  Usually, it was easy to offer the warm smile and few minutes of chitchat that many of the guests craved. But with this man…

  He took her in with cold, appraising eyes that seemed intent on sucking the heat right out of her body…or her blood.

  Cut that out, she ordered herself.

  Often, the biggest trick at Solidarité du Coeur was guessing whether a guest was struggling to get by, truly homeless, or a freeloader, like the occasional backpacker who came through. But with this man, Natalie’s mind kept sliding over to a different question: human or vampire?

  Not that she had any real evidence to go on — just the nightmares that had been plaguing her lately. The kind that ripped her out of bed in a cold sweat and left her jumping at shadows afterward. That, and the sensation of being followed she’d experienced all day, as if she were a moving target, slipping in and out of an assassin’s sights.

  “I’d love a warm drink,” the man said.

  His lips barely moved, but his eyes strayed to her wrists where the veins showed.

  “Sure.” Natalie rushed back to the bar, wishing she’d worn something more conservative than a tight-fitting black top. Say, a turtleneck or an oversized sweater.

  The crowd at one side of the soup kitchen exploded into cheers and jeers at a soccer game on TV. Most looked jubilant, and a few waved red-and-white scarves, while others hissed.

  “Arsenal one, PSG zero,” the announcer crowed as Natalie squeezed past.

  It had taken her weeks to figure out that those letters denoted the city’s premier soccer squad, and another week to grasp how important the Champions League was. Then again, everything had been new to her when she’d first come to Paris.

  She detoured to several more tables, collecting empty bread baskets and taking drink orders. But all the while, she felt hot, piercing eyes on her back. When she glanced over, the creepy guest didn’t so much as look away. He watched her with unblinking eyes. Each table seated ten, but no one sat anywhere near him.

  Finally, she worked up the nerve to carry over a pot of tea, hoping he’d drink quickly and move on.

  “Merci, ma belle,” the creep said, locking his long, slender fingers around the mug before she set it down.

  The crystal she wore around her neck — a pretty trinket she’d found in a flea market along the Seine — swung away from her chest as she moved, and the man’s eyes moved with it. Or was he staring at her chest?