up H.D. “I thought I’d better be ready for anything. We had a little trouble last night.”
“I heard,” he said grimly as she carried H.D. to the island and settled on one of the chairs. “Mirabeau and Tiny are out in the hall keeping an eye out for trouble.”
Ildaria nodded. “Tybo and Valerian were out in the hall when I went to sleep last night, but mentioned they’d probably be replaced before I woke up. I assume this Mirabeau and Tiny are the Enforcers sent to replace them?”
“It seems so,” he answered, and then told her what he knew of the pair from gossip and comments made in the Night Club. “Mirabeau used to be a full-time Enforcer and Tiny was a private detective for the Morrisey agency. Now they split their time between the two jobs. Today they’re enforcing and guarding you.”
“An immortal detective,” Ildaria said with a faint smile. “He would have been exceptionally good at it if his clients were all mortal.”
“He was mortal when he worked as a detective only. Mirabeau turned him. They’re life mates.”
“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word.
Noting the concern drawing her eyebrows together, and knowing what was causing it, he quickly assured her, “But they’re past the passed-out-from-sex-all-the-time stage, so should be good.”
When Ildaria relaxed at this news, G.G. announced, “I’m making breakfast,” and turned back to the stove.
“What can I do to help?” Ildaria asked at once, and he glanced around to see her sliding off the chair and bending to set H.D. on the ground.
“Nothing,” he said as H.D. returned to his side and curled up on the floor next to him. The little beggar would stay close until he stopped cooking in the hopes that pieces of bacon would magically fall to the floor for him to gobble up.
“I could make toast,” Ildaria suggested.
“It’s already made and staying warm in the oven, next to a bowl of fried potatoes,” he told her. “The bacon is the last of it, except for eggs, and those can’t be made until the bacon is done.” And then, to prevent her arguing further, he added, “The kettle should still be hot. Make yourself a tea and keep me company.” He’d set the tea to boil three times since returning about an hour ago.
Knowing Ildaria wouldn’t be up for a while, he’d gone to his own apartment after taking H.D. out to relieve himself. He’d had coffee and a couple Pop-Tarts there, made phone calls and then puttered around until a little after one when he’d judged it was late enough that she would wake up within the next hour or so. Then G.G. had gathered bacon, eggs, potatoes, and his large grill pan and led H.D. back here to start breakfast.
“Did you want tea too?” Ildaria asked.
“No. I’m rocking the coffee this morning,” he responded. “Thank you, though.”
She murmured something he didn’t really catch over the clink of a spoon in a cup, and then said, “So, I’m guessing this Mirabeau and Tiny told you about what happened last night?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. G.G. had made them describe exactly what they’d been told about what had happened when he’d returned upstairs with H.D. He should have made them do that before he went downstairs with H.D. It would have made spotting the blood on the grass out back much less alarming had he known it was all from her attackers and not Ildaria’s. Seeing the dried blood staining the blades of grass had given him a shock. He’d known she must be okay. She’d been well enough to have shared dreams with him, but she could have been injured and healed. Immortals healed quickly.
Learning she was uninjured and had kicked ass all on her own, had filled him with relief, pride, and concern. He was relieved she wasn’t hurt, proud she’d kicked ass like that, but concerned for her well-being now. He was also pissed. She shouldn’t have to fight for her life like this, but he suspected she’d had to do that frequently in her two hundred plus years. He doubted she’d been lucky enough that this was the first time her pursuers had caught up with her in two centuries.
“Did they tell you what’s been done with Juan’s Enforcers?” Ildaria asked, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Last they’d heard, Lucian had called in Rachel to remove your shoes—She’s a doctor who’s married to Etienne Argeneau, one of Lucian’s nephews,” G.G. interrupted himself to explain. “But apparently she had some trouble getting your