“You don’t think … Gabby isn’t in danger, is she?” Panic flooded Ingrid’s body and suffused her with heat. “Do you think an assassin might go after her?”
Why did Gabby have to be so far away? Bloody London! Her sister had been banished from Paris for her own safety against any retaliating gargoyles, but what could keep her safe from an assassin? And what about Grayson? The restless urge to find him, the notion that he was in trouble, made sense now. What if—
A hand clamped her shoulder. Marco. He’d felt her cold rush of fear. “Stop. She isn’t the one with angel blood, and I would bet my wings that is what this is about.”
Nolan paused at the door. “I didn’t mean to alarm you, Ingrid. I just have to make sure she’s all right.” Without another word of comfort to spare her, he disappeared into the corridor.
Ingrid stood beside the table, alone in the medical room except for the naked gargoyle at her back. Hans had advised them not to speculate, but it was indisputable to her what had happened that morning: an Alliance assassin had attempted to kill her on orders from the Directorate. They still wanted her dead. And here she was, standing in the lion’s den.
But she was safe. With Marco, she had a shield, someone who could read her primal instincts perhaps even faster and more effectively than she could. She had known the sound of a crossbow releasing its arrow, but she hadn’t been able to move or think quickly enough. Marco had, and without hesitation he’d taken the shot meant for her.
“You saved my life,” Ingrid whispered, still staring at the assassin’s body, at the deep gashes to his chest that had stolen his life. She didn’t feel as if she could say thank you to Marco. She wasn’t thankful that someone lay dead in front of her.
“It’s nothing,” Marco replied in that bored tone of his. She was most certain it was something to the gargoyle, though. When had he last killed a human?
Ingrid moved off to the side, toward a window, unable to stare at the body any longer.
Yes, she was safe with Marco, and perhaps she and Marco bantered more easily than she and Luc ever had, but there was still something missing between them. A warmth, a tenderness. The ever-present want—need—that had been between her and Luc. They had tried not to notice it for a while, and then, when that hadn’t worked, they’d tried to overcome it. To actually touch and kiss and love one another. Because Ingrid did love him. And he loved her. He’d confessed it to her the morning the angels had taken him away to some other territory.
“Where is Luc?” Ingrid asked as she parted the black velvet drapes and looked out.
An older gentleman stood smoking a cigarette on a terrace directly across the street. The balcony doors opened, and his wife handed him a scarf and a hat. Just regular people doing regular things. Normal. Something Ingrid would never be again.
“I know you know where he is,” she went on.
She reached into her skirt pocket and rubbed her thumb along the curved fragment of stone she kept with her at all times. It was the irregular-shaped piece of Luc’s shattered stone shell that she’d picked up in the belfry, the place where his stone-crusted body had hibernated for over thirty years. The fragment was the only piece of him she had left, and she often found herself rubbing its smooth underside as if it were a talisman.
“Marco, can’t you understand? I need to know.”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “Why? He couldn’t have saved you this morning. He isn’t your protector any longer. I am.”
Ingrid closed her eyes, knowing she’d hurt him. He pretended not to have feelings, but she didn’t believe it for a second.
“You’d best get used to me, Lady Ingrid, unless you feel like joining your sister in London. Trust me, I wouldn’t attempt to stop you.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” She sighed, letting go of the stone fragment. “I know how much you do for me—”
“What I am forced to do, may I remind you, Lady Ingrid.”
By the angels, yes, she knew. Marco was compelled to protect her. And perhaps that was her answer. Perhaps the moment Luc had been removed from the abbey and rectory he’d stopped caring. Had he confused protection with love? It wasn’t a new thought for Ingrid. Every day that passed without a word from Luc drove that fear a little deeper into her heart.
“I know it’s dangerous … what I feel,” she said after a stretch of silence. She spoke to the pane of glass, her fingers balled into the velvet drape.