The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(49)

It is unsettling to realize the image I have of his greatness is not shared with those around me. My dead heart feels strange in the face of this revelation. I suspect it has something to do with Valeria Henri. Her nearness has kindled memories within me. Ones I have not contemplated for many years. The sound of my mother’s laughter. Of watching someone prepare a meal for me. Of listening to my father sing. Of squabbling with my stubborn sister.

Of being loved without demand or design.

I sense Arjun watching me. “What is it?” I ask.

“I confess I’ve been living in fear for the last two hours.”

“Because?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t accosted me for refusing to take you to the Sylvan Vale.”

It is sobering to hear this from a supposed friend. “What did you think I would do? Cut out your heart and feed it to Toussaint?”

“The usual.” Arjun wipes his monocle and places it in a small pocket of his waistcoat. “Offer me immeasurable riches. Cajole me. And then begin the process of browbeating me into submission.”

I frown. “That sounds rather uncharitable.”

“It’s what your uncle would have done.”

“It’s what I would have done, too,” I admit.

“And what has changed?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh. “But for my own edification, would it make a difference if I offered you money?”

“It might.” He grins.

“Really?”

“Not on your life. My mother would kill me if I brought a vampire to the Summer Court. There’s not much a dead man can do with a pile of money.”

“Have you always been so afraid of your mother?”

“Weren’t you afraid of yours?”

I push my lips forward in thought. “I don’t remember being afraid of her. I remember wanting to make her smile. Wanting to hear her praise me. But I wasn’t afraid.”

“Whom did you fear?”

“My sister and my uncle.”

He laughs. “Right.”

“It’s telling that you chose to work for the sworn enemy of your mother’s court.”

“As I said before, I prefer your kind to mine. At least there isn’t a dispute about who or what you hate. At least I know where I stand among vampires.” Arjun pauses. “Not to mention that I made your uncle a promise to work for La Cour des Lions for a period of no less than five years, with a handsome financial incentive both during and after my tenure. Promises mean something to us in the Vale. They are not to be made lightly. If we fail to honor one, we can no longer set foot on fey land.”

We walk for half a city block before I reply. “Have you promised never to bring a vampire into the Vale?”

“No.”

“So then it’s not technically forbidden.”

“I’m not taking you to the Summer Court, Bastien.” Arjun halts and turns toward me. “Why do you want so badly to become a human again? Isn’t it better when you don’t have to worry about dying? You’re stronger and faster now than you ever were before. Virtually indestructible. Why do you wish to forgo these advantages?”

“Are you afraid of dying?” I ask.

“I’ve never thought about it. I’m young, and it would take a lot to kill someone like me.”

“I think a brave man fears death. It’s what makes him brave.”

“So you’re looking for glory on the battlefield?” He crooks a brow at me. “A chance to be a hero?”

“No.” I rub the back of my neck. “Honestly, I don’t have a good answer to your question. Not yet.”

“Let me know when you do.”

I laugh. “That will be the first thing—” I stop short, a strange scent assailing my nostrils.

Arjun draws up beside me. “What—”

My immortal blood rushes to my limbs, energy coursing through my veins. “Run,” I mutter. “And don’t look back.”

A low growl resonates from behind us. Another from our right. Even though I cannot see them, I sense several wolves loitering in the darkness around the corner. A few more gathering to the left. They smell of overripe fruit and musty fur. The scent is cloying.

Arjun drops his parcel of food and removes a set of silver claws from inside his breast pocket. He grips the weapons in either fist and assumes a fighting stance.

“I told you to run, damn you,” I say through gritted teeth, my revolver at my side. My fangs lengthen, a low hiss emanating from my throat.

“I’ll run when you do, Saint Germain,” Arjun replies. “And don’t fire that tiny cannon. You’ll wake the entire city.”

“Hang the entire city.” I cock the hammer.

From the shadows emerges an immense wolf, at least twice the size of any I’ve seen before. It crouches like a predator about to spring, moving with calculated slowness. An awareness of who I am and what it is.

Of why we are here at all.

More members of the pack materialize from the shadows. Saliva drips from their mouths, their long teeth glistening in the blue moonlight. At least eight of them surround us in a shrinking semicircle, their intentions plain.

Arjun and I are outmatched. If we fight—as I am inclined to do—one of us could be injured. I may manage to escape unscathed, but Arjun is half mortal. He will not fare as well. It is not a risk I am willing to take.