Celine’s fingers closed around the handle of the silver dagger.
Before any of them could make another move, Nigel lifted Celine off her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. Then he sank his teeth into her neck. Terror raked its sharp claws across Celine, the pain almost blinding her as she struggled to wrench his auburn hair from his scalp, her fingers flailing against a wall of stone.
“Enough!” Bastien commanded. For the first time, Celine sensed fear in his voice. “Let her go, and I’ll put down my revolver.”
Nigel licked his lips before he replied. “Drop it first.”
Bastien said nothing. He disengaged the bolt on his revolver, though he did not lower it.
“Do it now, or I’ll finish her off,” Nigel taunted. “It won’t take much. She has so little left to give. Her heart slows with each passing moment.”
“Bastien,” Celine whispered, letting her posture cave in on itself, hoping Nigel would mistake the gesture for helplessness. The same kind of helplessness her attacker had expected that night in the atelier.
But Celine Rousseau was not helpless. While there was still breath left in her body, she intended to fight. Nigel would not escape this church unscathed. She swore it to the heavens.
Trembling uncontrollably, Celine eyed Bastien sidelong, her fingers brushing across her right hip. “Bastien, please,” she repeated, as if she were begging him to save her.
Though Bastien winced, he nodded once. Letting her know he understood her unspoken directive.
“It appears we are at an impasse, Sébastien,” Nigel said. “What do you propose we do now? Fight to the death like civilized monsters?” He caught a trickle of blood dripping from Celine’s neck and brought it to his mouth. “Some of us are better monsters.”
“Some of us are better men.” Bastien’s fingers tightened around his revolver. Then he pointed its barrel toward the floor.
Nigel began lowering Celine to her feet. Dropping his guard. She waited for the instant her toes found purchase. Prepared herself to stab him in the throat, just as she’d been instructed to do the night Bastien gave her the dagger. All the while, Celine continued trembling, as if fear had found refuge in her bones. As if she were the pathetic little lamb Nigel had expected all along.
She was no lamb. She was a lion.
Bastien set down his revolver. Unfolded to standing as Nigel released Celine.
The next instant, the vampire blurred toward Bastien in a frenzy, his fangs tearing into Bastien’s throat.
Celine hurled herself at Nigel’s back, the dagger in her hand. Her fury past the point of reason, Celine stabbed Nigel at the base of his head and the side of his neck, over and over again, a snarl on her lips.
With an inhuman roar, the vampire whipped around, dark blood spurting from his wounds. He flung Celine through the air, her shoulders slamming into the edge of the pews, knocking the wind from her lungs and cracking something in her ribs.
Nigel staggered, the silver blade embedded in the side of his throat. Rage contorting his face, he stalked toward Celine, blood gushing down his body, his hands outstretched.
A breeze raced through the nave, the sound of beating wings trailing in its shadow. Then something grabbed Nigel, snatching him from sight, the shrieks of a wounded beast fading into the darkness.
Her body all but broken, Celine struggled to her feet, seeking a point of clarity beyond the pain. A sharp sensation radiated through her chest, her vision swimming as she looked forward. Bastien leaned against a wide column of marble, one hand pressed beneath his ear, a strange expression in his eyes.
He stumbled to his knees.
Then Celine saw the cascade of crimson dripping from his neck.
“Bastien.” She rushed toward him, catching him before he struck the stone floor. Crouching by his side, Celine pressed her bound hands atop his, trying to stanch the gaping wound at his throat. Blood oozed from between their fingertips, flowing fast and hot, like a river bursting through fissures in a dam.
Several brushes of air gathered on all sides of them. Celine did not have to look to know who was there. The rest of the Court had arrived, not a moment too soon.
Bastien opened his mouth, the light in his gaze fierce. He tried to speak, but a trail of blood streamed from his mouth.
“Don’t talk.” Celine held him close. “You’re going to be fine. Nicodemus will be here soon. Hold on to your strength.” She placed pressure on his wound until the tips of her fingers turned white, but Bastien’s blood only flowed faster, its warmth soaking through to her skin.
A small smile curved his lips. With his other hand, he gripped her fingers tightly.
In his eyes, Celine saw a sky filled with stars.
She saw a boy who would die for her, just as she would kill for him.
“You’re going to be fine,” Celine repeated, her words tremulous, tears trickling from the tip of her nose. “It won’t end like this. I know it won’t. I haven’t even told you I’m falling in love with you.” Someone was weeping softly behind them. “Damn it, don’t cry,” she yelled over her shoulder. “There’s nothing to cry about. He’s going to be fine. We are all going to leave here together. And I will love Bastien until the last star falls from the sky.” Her voice broke. “Where is Nicodemus?” Celine shouted, her words resonating with imperiousness. “Find him at once.”
The goddess within her smiled a sad smile.
And Bastien’s eyes fell shut, his hand coming to rest on the floor beside Celine’s feet.
MANY PATHS TO HAPPINESS
Nicodemus Saint Germain stood over the dying body of his nephew.
The last surviving member of his line. The sole reason for his existence. Everything he’d striven for his entire mortal life—his legacy—was draining onto a church floor before his very eyes.
Fitting. For he’d destroyed hundreds of lives over the centuries. So many deaths. So much loss.
There would always be a reckoning. Time had taught Nicodemus that inescapable truth.
“Please,” Celine begged, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched his nephew’s head to her chest, blood pooling in a widening circle around them. “Save him.”
The weight on Nicodemus’ soul had already begun to settle. “No,” he said simply. Brokenly. It had been the same after he’d lost Bastien’s sister, Émilie. After their parents had paid for Nicodemus’ greatest mistake.
“I refuse to accept that,” Celine shouted. “Do something. Don’t let him die.”
To his right and left, Nicodemus felt his immortal children stirring. Boone openly wept. Farther away, Jae stared at a point of nothingness, his features wan, his fingers stained by the evidence of Nigel’s final reckoning. A cloud of anger surrounded Hortense, Madeleine swiping a lone tear from beneath her sister’s chin. Along the periphery, Odette inched forward as if to subvert his orders, her sable eyes wide. “Stop,” Nicodemus commanded. They all straightened like soldiers. “I will not be defied in my wishes. Sébastien was always meant to live and die as a mortal. Nothing is worth the price of this curse,” he said, his tone firm. “I swore to myself I would never turn a member of my human family into a bloodthirsty monster.”