went to find Denal, but his humor faded and vanished as his thoughts returned to Christophe.
Something would have to be done about the warrior, probably sooner rather than later. Given the nature and power of Christophe’s magic, Alaric would be the one forced to do it. It wasn’t a task he looked forward to. Perhaps this mission in London would finally bring Christophe some measure of peace.
Chapter 12
Campbell Manor
Christophe woke from a fantastic dream where he was in bed with the most gorgeous woman he’d ever met to realize two things: (1) it wasn’t a dream, and (2) it was turning into a nightmare.
“What in the nine hells?” he yelled out, reaching for a dagger as the ominous and furious face loomed over the side of the bed. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on his perspective, his daggers weren’t currently in reach of his hands, which were full of warm, curvy, and definitely naked female.
“I would have preferred you steal the good silver,” Hopkins snapped, depositing a tray on Fiona’s bedside table.
Fiona squeaked something and yanked the covers over her head, but not before Christophe saw that her cheeks were flaming red.
“I would
“As if you have any right to have preferences in this house,” Hopkins muttered, before stalking to the door. He paused before exiting, squaring his shoulders. “I would have hoped I’d raised you better, Lady Fiona.”
Then he closed the door quite carefully behind himself.
“Nice parting shot,” Christophe said, pulling the quilt away from Fiona’s sleep-tousled hair and flushed cheeks. “He’s good with the zingers, isn’t he?”
“He’s right,” she snapped. “I do know better. And I don’t know you at all, but I . . . we . . . oh. What a —”
“Great night? Best you’ve ever had?” Christophe suggested.
“Mistake,” she said firmly, yanking the quilt out of his hands and wrapping it around herself as she jumped out of bed. Then she paused, a rueful expression crossing her face. “Although, yes, it was rather great, wasn’t it?”
A wave of triumph swept through Christophe and on the heels of that, a more confusing and unexpected emotion. Relief? Gratitude?
“I’ve got to go to the book signing, partner,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. She seemed almost shy, which was a little shocking after her wildness the night before. “You’re welcome to stay here or go wherever you nefarious criminal types go during the day.”
“Oh, I’m with you, ninja,” he said, jumping out of bed and stretching. She stared at him, her eyes widening when she noticed his erection, which hadn’t been the least bit discouraged by the butler’s interruption. Waking up with an armful of beautiful woman apparently made his cock very happy and Christophe wasn’t embarrassed to show her what she did to him.
She hastily lifted her gaze, her cheeks flaming even hotter. “Well, get dressed. And—and put that thing away.”
He laughed as she fled into the bathroom, trying and failing to remember the last time he’d woken up in such a wonderful mood. Oh, yes, this day was going to just get better and better.
London, Charing Cross Children’s Books, three hours later
Christophe looked around and wondered if the third level of the nine hells resembled a children’s bookshop. Tiny humans in every shape, color, and size ran, walked, crawled, laughed, cried, and shrieked their way through every inch of the place until the walls themselves reverberated with the noise.
He considered pulling his daggers and discovering if he could scare them into shutting up. Bad enough he’d had to put up with the scowls and glares from that punk chauffeur on the drive over. The boy had a bad case of first love for his boss. Fiona had been too distracted to notice the killing looks Sean kept shooting Christophe, who’d considered, then discarded, the notion of dumping the youngling in the middle of the Thames River just to teach him a lesson.
Now that they were finally here, in the middle of all this chaos, Fiona was at least outwardly calm and happy, smiling peacefully as she talked to the shop owner over in the corner, next to a table with what looked like hundreds of books piled on it. The noise faded a little from the forefront of his mind as he drank in the sight of her. She was every inch Lady Fiona today in a soft dress the pale blue of the sky at noon on a clear day. She wore heels with a ribbon thing at the backs, and her pale hair was worn down in silken waves that framed her beautiful face.
His mind stuttered at the sight of her—all rosy cheeks, flushed with pleasure, and huge blue sparkling eyes. Memories of her passion the night before swept through him and he had to focus every ounce of his concentration to keep his cock from swelling in response. Not appropriate here.
But later, when he got her alone, oh, then he’d strip her bare in the sunlight and see how her beauty shone in the daylight as compared to her moonlit perfection. He’d—
“Help me with this?” Declan’s voice interrupted Christophe’s erotic thoughts about the boy’s sister and an unexpected niggle of guilt twinged him. Not exactly respectful to think that kind of thought in front of her little brother.
“Help you with what?” His voice came out brusquer than he’d intended.
Declan shot him a curious glance but only pointed to the folding chairs. Together with some of the bookstore staff, they set up the chairs for the parents and tossed around more of the beanbag chairs for the children as Fiona prepared to give her talk. Christophe looked up to find her smiling at him, and he shot her a grin of purely wicked intent. She blushed a hot pink color, which pleased him so much he caught himself whistling like a fool.
The owner stood up near the table and clapped her hands. She must have had some magic herself, because the overwhelming din quickly settled down into a dull roar and then quieted to almost a hush.
“Thank you all so much for coming out today to hear our favorite guest author. I know she needs no introduction, so without further ado, here is Lady Fiona Campbell, England’s beloved author and illustrator, to talk about her book,
The room erupted into whistles and applause, and Fiona’s cheeks pinked up again, which fascinated Christophe so much he nearly tripped over one of the younglings near the back of the crowd, where he stood. The tiny girl looked up at him, all big eyes and pigtails, and he tried not to grimace. She scooted nearer to her mum, though, as if she’d seen inside him to the scary monster within. That was one thing about kids, they were perceptive.
He’d known the couple who’d adopted him were zealots past the point of insanity, but nobody in that backward hamlet listened to a four-year-old child. At least not until he’d started crying for his parents and for Atlantis, and his budding magic talent had displayed itself.
Then they’d listened.
“Mister, are you okay?” The small voice caught his attention and snapped him out of dark thoughts. “You look sad.”
It was another small girl, this one brave enough to approach the scary man. Before he could answer, she reached out with one tiny hand and patted his arm. “When I’m sad, I read one of Lady Fiona’s books and it makes me feel better. Just listen to her read and I bet you feel better, too.”
He blinked and stared down at her in utter astonishment. No child had dared approach him in centuries. He’d even wondered sometimes if when Atlantean parents warned children of the things that go bump in the night, they pointed to him as a fearsome example. Now this tiny girl whose curly-haired head barely reached his waist was comforting
Any moment, a seahorse would sprout wings and fly through the room.
She smiled up at him, her two front teeth missing, and something in his heart, long unused and rusty, lurched
