The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(14)

“I am in no mood for your lecture,” I say.

“You damn near took Boone’s head off, old chap.” Arjun’s British accent rounds out his words. “Learn from today’s mistakes so you won’t make them again tomorrow.”

“I have no intention of making mistakes today, tomorrow, or any day thereafter,” I retort, biting back the taste of my own blood. The hunger that thrashes in its wake. “I suppose I need only to accept”—I stare at my hands, my fingers still curled like bronze talons—“this fate. My new future. No matter how much I might wish it were not the case.”

“Even if that meant you had died the true death?” Odette’s voice is small.

I do not hesitate to respond. “Yes.”

For a time, none of them says a word.

Then Jae moves forward. “It does no good to dwell on things we cannot change.” The muscles in his jaw work. “And you should learn the ways of a vampire sooner rather than later. The rules are clear, Sébastien. If you cannot rein in your appetites—if you draw undue attention to us with indiscriminate violence—then you will be banished from New Orleans. Our peace is paramount.”

Boone feigns a cough, as if to clear his throat. “Can’t have a repeat of what happened in Dubrovnik or Wallachia hundreds of years ago, when so many of our kind were lost to superstitious mayhem. Why, I even recall when . . .”

I let his words fade into a drone as I stare at the cracked window across the room and the damaged plaster beside it, noting how the hem of the blue velvet curtain continues to sway like a pendulum. I let it lull me into a trance. Out of habit, I shift my fingertips to the side of my neck to check my pulse, an action that always served to remind me of my humanity.

The absence of a heartbeat rocks through me like a blow to the chest. I turn in place and retreat into the recesses of the chamber. In my periphery, the edges of a gilt-framed mirror glisten in the glow of the candlelight. I stride toward the silvered glass like a mortal, one foot in front of the other, my fingers flexing at my sides.

“Don’t, mon cher,” Odette warns, trailing in my shadow. “Not today. Give it some time. Un moment de grace.” She smiles at our shared reflections, a suspicious shimmer in her eyes. “We could all stand to be a bit more forgiving of ourselves, n’est-ce pas?”

I disregard her. Something about her sisterly affection grates my nerves like it never has before. I take in my appearance, refusing to turn from the mirror, no matter how disturbing its truth. My canines shine like ivory daggers; my eyes burn lambent, suffused with an otherworldly light. Thin rivulets of blood trickle from my lower lip where my fangs pierced through my brown skin.

I look like a monster from Hell. A creature from a Grimm fairy tale, come to life.

I . . . hate what I have become. Despise it as I have never despised anything before. I want to shed this new reality like a snakeskin. To leave it in the dust so that I might stroll in the sunlight and breathe in the air with the lungs of a mortal man. I want to love and hope and die with all the limitations that make such a life worth living.

What I wouldn’t give for a chance to be a mortal boy again, standing before the girl I love, hoping she will take my hand and walk with me toward an unknown future.

Bitterness seeps through to the marrow of my bones. I let the bloodlust fill me again, watch my eyes swirl to obsidian, my ears lengthen into points, and my fangs unfurl like claws, cutting through my flesh once more, until the wet crimson trails down my neck to stain my collar.

“Bastien,” Madeleine commands over my shoulder, her expression like stone. “Too many newborn vampires lose themselves to the hunger, drowning their sorrows in blood, destroying all sense of who they were in life,” she says. “Rarely do they survive a decade before walking into the sun or being obliterated by their elders. Turn away from this path of destruction, no matter how tempting it might be.” She leans closer to the mirror, watching me all the while. “The best among us never forsake their humanity.”

“The higher hatred burns, the more it destroys,” Arjun says. “My father is proof of that.”

“Feel your anger, but do not succumb to it,” Madeleine continues, “for it will be your end.”

“And what would you have me embrace in its stead?” I ask my reflection, my words a coarse whisper.

Odette gestures to the handful of immortals gathered before me. “We would have you embrace love.”

“Love?” I say, gripping the edges of the gilt mirror in both my hands, my eyes blacker than soot.

Odette nods.

“This is not a love story.” My fingers fall from the mirror, leaving dents in the gold filigree. I want nothing more than to rage about like a demon unleashed. To defy the moon and the stars and all the torments of an infinite sky.

But most of all I want to forget everything I’ve ever loved. Each of the immortals standing guard around me. My cursed uncle for bringing this blight upon our family. Nigel, for betraying us and leaving me to drown in a pool of my own blood.

But mostly I curse her. I want to forget her face. Her name. Her wit. Her laughter. How she made me hope and want and wish and feel. As far as I am concerned, Celine Rousseau died that night in Saint Louis Cathedral. Just like I did.

A true hero would find a way back to her. Would seek a path of redemption for his lost soul. A chance to stand once more in the light.