“He isn’t trying to kill you.” Max shook his head, his tone weary. “Can’t you see that? He was well aware that we were coming for you this morning.” Max’s gaze cut to Eleanore. “He was also well aware that Eleanore would protect you, and he let up on his control over you. He doesn’t want to kill you, Uriel. I can’t say for certain, but it seems to me that he just wants you to lose. My guess is he wants you to fail in the one thing you thought you could acquire before he could.”
With that, Max’s eyes cut to Eleanore once more—as did everyone else’s.
“Well, Sam’s all but attacked the both o’ them, hasn’t he?” Gabriel pointed out. “It’s no’ likely she’ll accidentally fall in love with the arsehole now, is it?” Gabriel shrugged. “I don’ see wha’ you’re afraid of.”
“Like I said”—Max sighed—“I have no idea what Samael is really after. But he’s immortal. And as long as Eleanore is kept from Uriel, then he has all the time in the world to bring whatever twisted plan he has to fruition.”
“You’re saying he’s going to try to separate them,” Michael said. “At the gala.”
“No.” Max shook his head, turning to meet Michael’s gaze. “He won’t try. We’re talking about Sam here. He’ll succeed.”
“Then you can’t go.” Michael turned to Uriel. “You should stay here within the mansion. It’s the one place in the universe where he can’t interfere.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Uriel told them. “I won’t allow us to become prisoners because of this.”
“You’re risking a lot, Uriel,” Max warned.
“We always risk a lot, Max. Existence is risky. Life is a battle—you know that.” He paused and looked down at Eleanore. He caught her gaze and she lost herself in his emerald eyes. “And I owe Eleanore a dress.”
“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.