Sébastien didn’t deserve such devotion. He’d done nothing to merit it, save being born beneath a lucky star.
For nigh on a decade, Émilie’s little brother had taken for granted Odette’s protection and loyalty. The service of so many vampires at his beck and call. Bastien had everything Émilie had ever wanted for herself: loyalty; the best education money could provide; a future filled with promise. A chance to rule his uncle’s kingdom, though he claimed never to have desired it.
Fitting. For he certainly didn’t deserve it.
The fool had even gotten himself expelled from West Point, all for the sake of his ego.
Émilie would never have squandered such opportunities. She could have led them all, had she been granted the chance. But such a position was never meant for her. It was only ever intended for the favored son. Everything was for Bastien. In the end, her very life had been given in exchange for his.
For more than ten years, Émilie had kept her distance. Watched and waited to see what her brother would make of himself. As she traveled the world, she’d read the reports Luca passed along to her, and they stoked her anger. Hardened her bitterness.
Sébastien was destined to become everything Émilie despised in their uncle. A man concerned first and foremost with money and influence, all the while taking for granted his family and the myriad opportunities afforded to him.
Émilie’s brow furrowed while watching Odette’s lovely silhouette move about the opulent chamber. The sable-haired girl turned toward the window, her expression sad. Troubled.
A smile turned up the corners of Émilie’s lips.
She would be happy to comfort the beautiful leech. Mollify her concerns. Smooth any ruffled feathers. Just before tearing out her swanlike throat.
A moment later, the resident assassin of La Cour des Lions moved into Émilie’s sight line, just over Odette’s shoulder.
Émilie’s amusement faded. Shin Jaehyuk worried her. The research Luca’s contact in Crete had done in the bowels of the Brotherhood’s Greek archives indicated that the assassin from the Far East posed a significant threat. He was skilled in all types of blades, yet knew how to kill in countless ways, using nothing but his two hands. Already three different factions of wolves had tried to dispatch Jae, only to have their packs wiped out in return, the masked assassin vanishing without a trace. If Jae were to learn of Émilie’s involvement in Bastien’s death—and that the Brotherhood provided her refuge—no treaty would spare them from his wrath.
Émilie continued watching Odette and Jae, the jealousy a yawning pit in her stomach.
She forced her shoulders back. Stretched her neck from side to side.
Jealousy was a petty emotion. Powerful people did not succumb to it.
Instead they leveled the field.
She scanned the three floors of the structure, as she had for the last week. Still no sign of Bastien. No trace of a reckless newborn anywhere in the vicinity of Jacques’. No bodies in need of disposal in the dead of night. No cadre of immortal creatures waiting in the wings, ready to teach Bastien their soulless, blood-drinking ways.
If her brother had indeed been turned, he would be confined to the darkness. The evening following the events in the cathedral two weeks ago, Émilie had posted werewolves along the streets near Valeria Henri’s parfumerie, the only place in all of Louisiana where Bastien could obtain a fétiche, a talisman fashioned to protect him from the light of the sun.
At no time did her brother venture anywhere near the shop.
Everything told Émilie that her plan had been met with success. Her uncle no longer had an heir upon whom to bestow his legacy. He’d been undone by the hand of the niece he’d dismissed at his own peril.
Then why had Nicodemus failed to inter Sébastien’s bones in the family crypt? And why did Émilie still feel so uneasy?
If Luca knew what she had done, he would tell her she had nothing to fear. Her erstwhile lover would say that her uncle knew better than to violate their treaty. But Émilie could not tell him. Not yet. He might agree that it was past time for her to wreak her revenge, but he would disagree with her methods. And he would be angry at her for provoking the Fallen after a decade of peace, putting the Brotherhood at risk.
In any case, what was done was done. Though Nicodemus possessed many faults, she’d never known him to defy his own twisted principles. Indeed he’d watched her burn with his own eyes, not once lifting a hand to save her. He’d stood silent the night her father had been executed. Though a single tear had slid down his cheek when Émilie’s mother, Philomène, succumbed to the sun, he’d not stopped her from surrendering to the final death.
Émilie wanted to believe that Nicodemus had not turned Sébastien into a vampire.
But exceptions had been made for her brother before.
And until Émilie could stand before Bastien’s grave beneath the hot New Orleans sun—until she knew he was moldering within the stone mausoleum, his body left to burn in the heat to come—this feeling of unease would not leave her.
So she would return again tomorrow night. And the night after.
Until the last of her questions was answered.
ODETTE
The scene before Odette was a cheerful one.
Three young women were framed in a shop window, the glow of the late-afternoon sun gilding everything it touched. Muffled laughter filled the air, followed by the unwrapping of parcels, brown paper flung to all corners of the sparsely decorated space. Occasionally a corgi puppy with a high-pitched bark would snag a bit of loose string or discarded wrapping, only to fling it into the air with a joyous yip.
The petite blond girl with the heart-shaped face and the bright blue eyes—one Philippa Montrose, by name—had assumed the position of authority, hands perched on her hips and a determined set to her brow, while the unfamiliar girl with the copper skin and rich brunette hair hummed to herself as she moved efficiently behind the makeshift counter, taking stock of unboxed ribbons and skeins of colorful fabric. Though both young women stayed busy, they managed to keep watchful eyes on the pale figure seated in the corner, a tired smile on her bruised face.
Odette sighed to herself as she watched the tableau unfold from beneath the shadow of an awning across the street.
Celine had much improved in the week since Odette came in secret to check on her. But the lovely young woman had lost even more weight, her curves shrinking further into nothingness. She still moved with care, wincing every so often, the wound on the side of her neck held together by neat stitches, her right arm bound in a sling.
“It’s only been two weeks,” a male voice said from behind Odette’s shoulder. “Give it some time.” Shin Jaehyuk came to stand beside her. “Despite appearances, she is healing. Humans are more resilient than we like to believe.”
“Was it you who asked after Celine at the hospital last week?” she murmured.
He said nothing.
Odette smirked at him. “I was told an unnamed gentleman made inquiries regarding Mademoiselle Rousseau’s health.” Though amusement tinged her voice, her sable eyes were kind. “I would not have expected such a display of concern for a mere mortal, Jaehyuk-ah.”
“She means a great deal to Bastien.” The knuckles on Jae’s left hand turned white. “And Nigel never should have been able to do what he did, to either of them.”
Odette swallowed, guilt gnawing at her insides. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nonetheless.” He inhaled. “Is she sleeping better?”
“She still has nightmares. The orderly at the hospital told me she woke up screaming at least every other night before she was discharged three days ago.”
Jae frowned. “Nicodemus personally glamoured her. The girl should not be haunted by memories of her ordeal.”
“I’ve heard of men on the battlefield who lost a leg or an arm and still felt the ghost of their limb haunting them after the fact.” Odette stared as Celine stood to help Pippa with an unwieldy parcel, only to be soundly criticized by her friend for daring to do so much as lift a finger. “Perhaps she lost too much,” she finished.
They both turned as a young boy darted between them, rustling Odette’s organdy skirts and the hem of Jae’s greatcoat as he passed. A peal of silvery laughter fell from the boy’s lips, his friends chasing after his heels. Across the way, the humming brunette inside the shop peered outside to witness the commotion.
“We should go before anyone takes note of our interest,” Jae murmured.
“One minute more.”
His expression softened. “Of course. However long you wish.”
Odette arched a brow. “Careful, mon chat grincheux. One of these days, I might accuse you of sentimentality.”
“It isn’t for her benefit that I wait.”
“Is that so?” she teased.
He stared down at the scars on the backs of his hands. “Do you remember the night I went to find Mo Gwai?”
Odette nodded, her expression somber.
“You said you would scour the earth with me. Burn the warlock to dust for what he did,” Jae continued. “Because I was your brother.”
Odette nodded again, a lump gathering in her throat.
“Celine Rousseau mattered to you.” He paused. “You are my sister, Odette Valmont. Until the end of time.”
Without a word, Odette reached across the space between them and took his hand. He flinched, but threaded his scarred fingers through hers. A gesture so uncharacteristic of Shin Jaehyuk that it touched Odette in the place her heart used to beat, the magic of the dark gift moving the blood through her chest.
“Do you ever wish you could take something back?” she asked as they resumed watching the three young women in their quest to set up shop. “Something you regretted.”
“An immortal life is too long to dwell in regret.”
“I welcomed Celine into our world.” Odette sighed. “Perhaps if I had not, none of this would have happened.”