The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(83)

“Worry about yourself,” she says.

With a gloved hand, I crush the outstretched arm of a tree creature who lunges our way. When I turn to see how Celine is faring, I miss the attack over my shoulder. The arrow embeds in my arm, and the burning sensation flows through my blood, causing me to grunt and fall to one knee.

Though the injury sets my entire right side on fire, I press the trigger on my crossbow, and a single quarrel flies toward the twig man closest to me. The thin creature is a poor mark for such a weapon. Like trying to shoot a moving post. I attempt to yank the arrow from my arm, but only succeed in breaking off the shaft.

Cursing, I stand again. Arjun shouts and tosses one of his short swords toward me. I catch it by the handle, thankful for my heightened reflexes.

Putain de merde. I never spent a great deal of time learning how to fence. It didn’t make any sense, given how much more civilized and efficient a revolver seemed to be.

Perhaps Yuri was right about our reliance on such weapons.

I begin swinging the blade in my left hand, my right side aching from the arrowhead, which continues to burrow into my skin, the silver poisoning me from within. Arjun is faring much better than I. Celine holds the pulsing bauble in silent threat, and it seems to be enough to keep the twig creatures at bay for the time being. The hem of her cloak is in tatters, and a smattering of ripped fox fur surrounds her feet.

I slash again and manage to lop off one of the twig creatures’ heads. When I do, the whole thing falls to the ground, breaking into a pile of splintered wood.

The fighting lulls as both sides take stock of their injuries. Half the creatures have fallen to pieces around us. The other half parley in silence before making a decision. I brace myself for the next bout, and then the twig men scurry back up into the trees without so much as a whisper.

The pain in my arm is nearly blinding me.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Arjun comments.

Celine frowns. “It felt like they were toying with us. Their attack was halfhearted. Disorganized.”

“Testing the waters, perhaps?” Arjun nods. “Which means they’ll return soon.”

I fall to my knees, the silver blade in my gloved hand dropping to the snow.

“Bastien!” Celine scrambles closer, crouching beside me.

“There’s an arrow in my arm,” I say through my teeth. “It’s solid silver, and every time I move”—I grimace—“it digs in deeper.”

“Of all the ridiculous things,” she says. “Why weren’t you paying attention? What is the use of all these abilities if you can’t dodge a simple arrow?”

I stare at her and say nothing.

“He wasn’t paying attention because the only thing that mattered to him was keeping you safe, princess.” Arjun kneels beside me and begins pressing around the wound to see how to remove the arrowhead.

I wince again but not from the pain.

Dismay blanches across Celine’s face, but she is quick to conceal it. “You should heed your own advice and protect yourself, Bastien,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “If you are hurt, you become a target. You’re no good to any of us then.”

I know she is scolding me because she wants to offer me comfort and cannot. I have made it clear that there can be no future between us. That vampires are the natural enemies of her mother’s court.

In truth Celine has yet to realize how deep the enmity lies. How the blood of vampire royalty runs through my veins just as the blood of a Vale enchantress runs through hers. She saw how displeased the gentry in her mother’s court were to see us standing together, hand in hand. It is not a matter of simple disapproval.

We are more than just enemies. We are blood foes.

I pull away from her, and she grips my arm, refusing to let go. “Are you really not going to let me help you?” Celine says, her eyes glittering with frustration.

Behind the mask of her irritation, I see how much she cares.

“I don’t need your help,” I grumble like a schoolboy.

I, too, wear a mask. I want to tell her nothing in the world matters more than she does. That I would suffer a wound like this every day of my immortal life if it meant she would be there to scold me.

“This is all quite touching,” Arjun interjects, “but we need to find a way to remove the arrow from Bastien’s arm so we can bloody well get out of here before the twig men decide to return with a battalion of branches.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “It’s foolish for us to stay in one place for so long.” His fingers dig around my wound as he tries to determine the angle of entry, causing me to flinch. “The silver doesn’t appear to be against the bone,” he murmurs. “But I don’t think prying it out is the answer. Perhaps it would be easier if we simply push it through.”

“Easier for whom?” I say in an acerbic tone.

“Don’t be a child,” Arjun says, and tsks at me. “It’s unbecoming of an immortal prince. Once the silver is out, your body will heal on its own, though not as quickly as usual.” He raises a brow. “Now you know what it feels like to be me. Not as strong. Not as fast. But mad as hell.” He rips off the rest of my shirtsleeve. “Do you find that you heal rather quickly from injuries?” he asks Celine. “Because I’ve never truly been sick or horribly injured in my entire life.”