The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(85)

In vain he fought to banish the memory of her body against his. Of the way her green eyes tempted him into sin. She was too close now, her skin smelling of lavender and honeysuckle, the scent parching his throat, beckoning him closer.

Just for a taste.

As always, the lift lurched to a halt at precisely the right moment. “Thank you, Ifan,” Bastien said to the dark fey manning it. An outcast from the Sylvan Wyld to whom his uncle paid an obscene fortune every month for the express purpose of guarding this post. With a single touch of his hand, Ifan possessed the ability to ice an intruder in their footsteps.

Ifan nodded, his features cool. If not for the fey’s binding promise to Nicodemus, Bastien had no doubt Ifan would sneer at any human who deigned to look him in the eye. It likely curdled his nonexistent soul to serve a breather in such a fashion.

Bastien waited for Celine to exit the lift, knowing it gave her comfort to lead rather than to follow. He needed her to feel comfortable.

So that when he took the feeling away, it would hurt that much more.

He discarded his bull mask in a corner while Celine strode past the mirror hanging along the damasked wall of the narrow corridor, oblivious to what it was. On the surface, it shone brightly, nothing more than a simple looking glass. But the silver had been spelled to see past the naked eye. To uncover the truth lurking beneath a prowler’s skin.

Bastien had learned at the age of five how most appearances were designed to deceive.

Celine paused in front of the double doors leading to his uncle’s chambers. Again Bastien was reminded of how much she did not know. How the wards spelled into the molding around the doors—cleverly concealed within the elaborate carvings—would burn the flesh of an unwanted intruder.

Oblivious to all the magic around her, Celine’s fingers wavered on one of the gilded handles. She turned in place. “Is something wrong, Bastien?”

“What do you mean?”

She frowned. “You keep looking at me as if I owe you money.”

Bastien’s immediate reaction was to laugh. He held the sentiment in check, though it pained him to do so. One of the things that enchanted him most about Celine was her wit.

It didn’t matter. Nothing about her could hold him in thrall anymore.

Before he had a chance to reconsider, Bastien glowered at Celine with a look that would send lesser men running for their mothers. On the force of this scowl alone, he pressed her back against the double doors, his right hand coming to rest on the English oak beside her head. Though Celine’s eyes widened, she did not falter. Instead she bristled, cautioning him without words.

Tread carefully, Sébastien Saint Germain.

Damn her audacity. For matching him in all ways.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Bastien said, his tone imbued with warning. “Just as I owe you nothing in return.”

“When are you going to—”

“You wanted answers. All you need to know is this: there are demons in the night that want nothing more than to drain you of your blood and leave behind a lifeless husk.” Bastien cut her off before she could say anything. “It doesn’t matter what they’re called. It doesn’t matter how they are killed. It only matters that they will kill you. The best advice I can give you is to stay away and leave these matters to those equipped to handle them.”

Celine choked through a bout of dark amusement, her pulse fluttering beneath the thin skin along her neck. “If you’re equipped to handle this demon, then why is it still wreaking havoc on us? I deserve to know how to defend myself. Odette would—”

“Did you not hear a word I said?” Bastien drew himself up to his full height, intentionally towering over her, though he continued speaking in a measured tone. “Stay away from everyone in the Court of the Lions. Don’t trust me. Don’t trust anyone around me, including Odette. Whatever you hear, believe none of it. Whatever you see, believe less than half.”

“You—promised me the truth.” Her eyes narrowed to slits.

He lifted a dismissive shoulder. “I lied.”

Fury mottled Celine’s face, the flakes of gold along her cheekbones flashing. To Bastien’s eternal frustration, it made her appear even lovelier, her eyes like gemstones, her teeth bared like weapons. “Then you brought me here just to—”

“You should have run away when you had the chance. There is—”

“Stop interrupting me, you fils de pute.” Celine shoved him, her palms like brands against his chest. “And for your information, I already tried to run.”

“Liar.” Bastien brushed aside her hands as if he were swatting a fly. “If you meant to run, you would have fled this place long ago. Don’t tell me you tried. Selfish bastards like you and me don’t try. We do.” The words felt like acid on his tongue, the truth searing through to his soul.

Celine recoiled from it, her lips parting. A look of understanding smoothed across her beautiful face. “You’re trying to scare me. It won’t work.”

Bastien wrapped a careful hand around her throat, pulling her closer, her unbound curls tickling his wrist, distracting him for another maddening instant. “Then you’re a fool.”

“Why won’t you help me?” Celine’s voice cracked at the last, the first sign he’d caused her demonstrable pain.

It struck Bastien like a battering ram to his stomach. “You worry about the creature who might kill you?” A cold spate of laughter fell from his lips. “You should worry about the demon who will. For I’ll kill you myself if you don’t stay away.”