The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(101)

“Bastien,” Celine says, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t kill him.”

“He’s here to take you to Paris. They will hang you for murdering that boy, Celine.”

“If you kill him, the marquis will simply send someone else.” Her voice trembles. “I need to disappear. I need to wait until he gives up.”

I tighten my grip.

“Stop,” Celine cries, her fingers on my arm. She holds up the hand with the gold ring her mother gifted her. “I’ll return to the Sylvan Vale. Leave him here. Let him go.”

I stare at her, my fangs lengthening. The demon within me taking control.

“Come with me,” she says.





EPILOGUE





The Grimaldi family had a bloody past.

From the time the first Antonio Grimaldi ruled his village six hundred years ago in the heart of Sicily to the moment Michael’s great-grandfather boarded a ship bound for the New World, theirs was a path lined with bodies. As with their archenemies, werewolves were made in blood. A bite from a werewolf often resulted in death, which was why it was rarely attempted among their ranks. The risk was too great. The Grimaldis had learned this truth the hard way. It wasn’t enough to be born into a family of wolves. You had to forge your own path. One surefire way of ensuring the change was sinister in construct: take the life of one of your own. A wolf for a wolf.

Like Michael had taken Luca’s life. Even though it had been by mistake. The cost of the magic was clear.

One must die so the other may live.

It began with the shifting of the clouds.

Michael had known to expect it. Nevertheless the first ripple down his spine set his teeth on edge. A pang unfolded in his chest. He bowed his head, noting the sudden race of his pulse. The way every tendon in his arms stretched, his neck lengthened, his chin tilted toward the moon.

He stared at it. Studied its mottled surface, his skin bathing in its cool light. Blood rushed through his veins. His face turned hot. Though he fought it—a sad attempt to cling to the vestiges of his humanity—Michael fell to his knees, his hands reaching for the soft loam before him, his fingers curling into the soil.

He was changing. He was becoming. Never again would he be what he once was.

The truth rattled through his bones. He yelled and no one was there to hear it. He’d made certain of that when he’d slogged his way to the heart of the bayou, far from his fellow man, knowing he would emerge an altogether different kind of creature.

His yells became snarls. His fingers sharpened into claws. The four chambers of his heart burst in his chest, his veins filling with liquid fire. He remembered being a boy of ten, jealous of Luca, who’d taken the life of his own father at his father’s behest. It had been a mercy killing. Luca’s father had been injured in the Brotherhood’s war with the Fallen. Moments away from his own death, he’d given Luca a pistol. Told him what to do.

Tears in his eyes, Luca had sworn vengeance on the leeches for what they’d done.

He, in turn, had also given his life for it.

The pain peaked through Michael’s body. He’d known to expect it, but that did not make it any less intense. Like a thousand needles stabbing through to his bones. He cried out once more and the sound burgeoned into a howl.

No. He would not seek revenge for what he had lost. That was a lesson for fools.

He would seek purpose. He would go back to where it all began.

And he would make sure the generations to follow never knew this kind of pain.



* * *





From where she sat in the bog, the frogs croaking at her feet, Pippa listened to Michael’s screams. She heard the way his bones broke, the sound like the snapping of twigs. When his cries became inhuman, she covered her ears, tears streaming down her cheeks. Twice she stopped herself from stepping from the shadows. It was a blessing that Michael was distracted by his suffering. Fortunate she could move so quietly. Years of training with her fencing tutor had taught her to stay light on her feet.

What was happening to him? Had she erred in following him into the bayou? When his cries began to shift into the howls of an animal, she stopped short, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

She didn’t know much. She wanted to help him.

But whatever he’d become was dangerous.

And it did not sound as if he would be able to tell her where Celine and Bastien had gone.

The next instant, Pippa moved from where she was crouched in the bog and began to hurry home.

There were entirely too many unanswered questions around everyone involved with Jacques’ and the Court of the Lions. Pippa knew they were not at all what they seemed. At home in Yorkshire, she’d lived a life tainted by secrets, the ones she kept and the ones that were kept from her.

Pippa despised secrets. Almost as much as she despised being kept in the dark. Her wedding was in less than a month. In her mind, that meant she had a little more than three weeks to find out where her best friend had gone. What kind of secrets Celine continued to keep.

If Michael wouldn’t lead her to the truth, Pippa would begin hounding someone else from Jacques’. Someone who’d already infiltrated their circle. Someone she was bound to understand, especially since they’d journeyed to New Orleans from the same country.

Yes. Arjun Desai would be her next mark.