The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(40)

“Leave. Now.” He strode toward her, bringing them within an arm’s length of each other.

“You’re trying to frighten me. It won’t work.” Celine lifted a hand to his face. Then stopped herself, stricken by the breadth of her desire. “Who are you?”

He swallowed, his eyes unblinking. Then all at once, the intensity in his gaze dampened. He let his voice fade to a hypnotic drone. “You will go downstairs at once, Celine Rousseau. You will have no memory of coming here, nor will you repeat this intrusion.”

Her bones seemed to vibrate inside her body as her limbs began to move of their own volition. Celine turned in place, a cloud settling over her mind. She fought for her bearings, gritting her teeth. Then she spun around, forcing the haze around her thoughts to clear. “I do not have to listen to you.” Her jaw locked in defiance. Anger threaded through her veins. “And how the devil do you know my name?”

All motion halted in the space. Countless pairs of eyes settled on her, all unmoving and unblinking. It was as if Celine had stepped into a painting by a Dutch master, one of light and shadow, every stroke bewitched.

“Well, I’ll be hog-tied,” the young man with the foxlike smile murmured, his angelic blond curls falling across his forehead. “She’s bested you, Bastien.”

Bastien?

She . . . knew that name. Didn’t she? Flickers of desiccated fruit peelings in a darkened alley, of being chased down a shadowy street, of feeling relief at the scent of leather and bergamot raced through her mind.

With a glower that would have melted stone, the beautiful boy twisted his head around, his wrinkled shirt shifting over his trim torso, exposing more of the bronze skin across his chest. “Go to the devil, Boone. And take her with you.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs at Celine’s back. She turned just as Michael snared her by the arm, his features frantic. Even in her periphery, she noticed the boy named Bastien lower his chin dangerously, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Concern had blanched Michael’s tawny face of color. “What are you . . .” His voice trailed off, his eyes widening at the sight before him. As if he were shocked to his core. He recovered the next instant and said, “Pardon the intrusion. Please excuse us.” Then he laced Celine’s hand through his and led her down the winding staircase.

As they made their way into the light and sound of the world below, Celine could not stop herself from glancing over her shoulder one last time.

The boy named Bastien watched them from over the railing, his eyes glinting like a pair of honed daggers.





BASTIEN





Time freezes for a second. Then thaws all at once.

Blame begins to fly around the room like a flock of starlings.

“This is Kassamir’s doing,” Odette accuses, invective heating each of her words. “He’s the world’s worst romantic.”

Hortense points a finger at Odette. “Ne t’avise pas de le blamer. You were the one who invited the chit and her lapdog to dinner. Nous savons que c’était toi!”

Odette whirls in place, the tails of her baroque frock coat swirling about her. “I did not tell her to bring that hairless mongrel into our home.”

I say nothing, the words knotting in my throat. Still the air in front of me is filled with Celine’s scent. Still I cannot shake the irrepressible desire to race after her. To hold her, if just for an instant. To send her away. Compel her never to return.

Revulsion courses through my chest, tasting bitter on my tongue. I tried to glamour Celine. I tried to force her to leave against her will.

I am the selfish monster my uncle hoped I would become.

Madeleine steps between Odette and Hortense just as Kassamir reaches the top of the stairs, his expression subdued. Unapologetic.

“Pourquoi voudriez-vous faire une telle chose, Kassamir?” Odette demands.

“Because I don’t wish to perpetuate a lie,” he retorts, his Créole accent harsh. “The girl knew she belonged here. She realized it the instant she crossed the threshold. Who am I to tell her otherwise?”

Boone’s laughter is dry. “Well, perhaps you didn’t have to make it quite so easy. A warning would have been nice.” He pitches his voice louder. “Beware, fair folk, I’m sending the goddess of madness and mayhem your way!”

Kassamir frowns. “I am under no obligation to any of you on this account. Nor do I wish to maintain the wall of ignorance you and your kind have built around this poor girl. I am not one of you. As such I will not bow to the demands of any immortal, even Nicodemus, who should know better by now.” His nostrils flare. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an establishment to run.”

Odette puts up both her hands, as if to placate him. “We know you were well intentioned, Kassamir.”

“I was not,” he says. “But I am right, nevertheless, and that is what matters.”

Madeleine sighs. “Do you know the danger you inflict on Celine Rousseau by interfering in these affairs?”

“I am not a seer of the future. For that you would have to ask Odette.”

Odette wrings her gloved hands. “As I’ve said time and again, I can no longer see the future as it pertains to Celine. When we meddled with her memories, we changed the course of her fate. It will take time for the new path to become clear.”