Page 154 of Taken

I flashed to Zaq calling for his mom back at Père Lachaise when he’d almost die and swallowed a spasm of guilt. Had I really become so single-minded that I’d ignored the fact that Zaq and his brothers had a mother, too? A mom they clearly adored, if Zaq was anything to go by.

The third photo made me do a double take. A younger Zaq—he couldn’t have been more than twenty-one—stood with his arm curved protectively around a tiny, stooped nun with a shaved head and dark red habit, her lined face wreathed in smiles.

Zaq reached around me to pick the photo up. “She’s the toughest human I know. And the kindest.” His tone was admiring and full of affection.

I turned my head so I could see his face. “A Buddhist nun?” I don’t know why I was surprised; by now, I should be used to this man surprising me. But I was.

“I met her on my first trip to Tibet.” His mouth curved in an almost bashful smile. “She said the world needed more people like me. Told me to keep up the good work. That it didn’t matter if they thought I wasn’t for real, as long as I knew the truth.”

I winced. I’d been one of the people who’d believed Zaq couldn’t be for real.

“She was right,” I said.

He put the photo back on the mantel. He was right behind me, his breath warm on my nape. A prickle of awareness slid over my neck and shoulders, followed by another pang of longing.

Move in with me.

My mouth twisted. The idea of us together was impossible. Hell, laughable.

And I knew it even if Zaq didn’t.

He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. “Time to eat, cher.”

32

ZAQ

There was something viscerally satisfying about feeding Ridley.

I liked taking care of her.

I liked having her in my space, and I fucking loved having her in my bed.

Having her in my loft felt right, even necessary, like there’d been a Ridley-sized hole in my life, one I hadn’t even been aware of until she’d come along. Now, I couldn’t envision going forward without her.

She was my mate. I was sure she felt the link between us, same as I did, and had been ever since that first morning at Charles Le Gaulle. But she was fighting it, pretending it didn’t exist.

Well, tough shit. I wasn’t letting her go. If I had my way—and I intended to—she was going to move in here permanently, and I’d show her what it meant to be part of a family. People who had your back no matter what. She didn’t need to be a slayer to have that.

But first I had to know what, exactly, we were up against.

When we finished eating, I loaded the dishwasher while she wiped down the table. Then I poured us both another glass of wine and we went into the living room.

I sat on one of the couches. “I think it’s time we talk, don’t you?”

Her gaze flew to mine, and her grip tightened on her wine glass. But by the time she’d seated herself on a leather chair catty-corner to me, it was like that flash of tension had never happened.

“What d’you want to know?”

“Why don’t you start by telling me why George called you Princess?”

She gave a tiny, tell-tale flinch. “Damn if I know.”

My teeth clamped together. “You’re lying,” I said evenly. “I thought we were past that.”

She puffed out her cheeks and released a breath. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I do know why he called me Princess, but he’s got his head up his ass. I’m not a princess and never have been. I was raised by my human mom in small-town America.”

“I figured your father was some lowlife like George, but he’s a syndicate vampire, isn’t he? He never claimed you as his spawn?”

---