The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(106)

Bastien ignored him. “He won’t harm you again, Celine,” he said, his tone even, his words soft. “Not if he wishes to see another moon.”

Nigel’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her back against the cool marble of his chest. “Don’t lie to your love, Sébastien,” he said. “For I haven’t had my fill, and her blood tastes sweeter than sun-warmed honey.”

The beat of her heart thudding in her ears, Celine nodded to Bastien, her bound hands inching toward her pocket.

With a subtle shake of his head, Bastien took a step forward, his thumb cocking the hammer of his revolver. “Your quarrel isn’t with her. Let Celine go, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Perhaps all I want is to drain her dry before your eyes. To watch you live the rest of your short, godforsaken life as the Ghost.”

The tips of Celine’s fingers grazed the edge of her pocket, her breaths quickening in her throat.

Bastien’s lips pursed together, something flashing in the depths of his eyes. “Don’t waste a winning hand on such foolishness. No one goes to all this trouble for something so small and petty. I know we can make a deal.” His smile was cold. Unforgiving. “Name your terms.”

“You are in no position to make demands. Put down your gun, Bastien,” Nigel said. “And perhaps I’ll agree to deal in good faith.”

“Fuck your good faith.” Bastien’s smile widened. “Let her go. Now.” He took another step forward.

“Aim true.” Nigel’s icy fingers wrapped around Celine’s neck, sending a shiver between her shoulder blades. “You may succeed in wounding me, but not before I rip the veins from her throat.”

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.