The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(94)

“Ce n’est pas possible,” Odette mutters to herself. “émilie . . . is alive?”

Anguish tugs at the corners of Celine’s mouth. “If she’s alive, why would she turn on her own family?”

“I don’t know. She seems to believe Nicodemus left her to die, though I can’t imagine what would cause her to think that.” My expression hardens. “But I intend to ask her why.”

Odette grips me by the wrist. “And you will not be alone when you do.”

I nod and crumple my sister’s note in my fist.





MICHAEL





Across the way, on the second floor of a deserted pied-à-terre, Michael Grimaldi watched the trio depart from the charred ruins of Jacques’. He waited until they moved out of sight. Then he stood from his chair, his heart pounding like the beat of a drum.

He’d expected to see Odette Valmont. She came here each night just after sundown. Only to leave after kicking through the rubble, as if she expected to uncover something she’d missed in the days prior.

But Michael had not expected to see the girl he loved . . . with the boyhood friend who’d betrayed him so many years ago.

Sébastien Saint Germain.

Michael bit back the bitter taste in his mouth, his arms shaking. Bastien and Celine had disappeared more than seven weeks ago. Not once had they been sighted in the days since. Most of the other officers in the New Orleans Metropolitan Police believed the two young lovers had left the city to elope.

Michael alone argued with them. Insisted that these officers continue to be stationed around Jacques’ and the Hotel Dumaine. Not once had he thought it possible for Celine to do such a thing as leave without a word. The day before she vanished, she’d told Michael she wanted to build a life together. That she wanted to be with him. She’d meant it. Of that Michael was certain.

If something had happened to Celine, it had been done against her will.

At first Michael’s superiors humored him. They allowed him to place officers around all the establishments frequented by the members of La Cour des Lions. After a month passed without any sightings or any new clues, they’d quietly pulled back their resources, against Michael’s renewed protests.

Even after the fire at Jacques’ last week, Michael had been unable to convince his fellow officers that something was afoot. Not so privately, many of his colleagues had asserted that he was no more than a jilted lover, incapable of accepting the obvious fact that the girl he loved had fallen for another man.

Michael thought he might go mad.

If Luca were here, Luca would have believed him. Michael’s cousin was due to return from his European honeymoon any day now. And just because Celine had appeared alive and safe in the company of Sébastien Saint Germain did not mean that she’d turned her back on Michael. It was possible Odette Valmont had helped keep her trapped all this time. Perhaps Celine was still their prisoner, yearning to be set free.

His fists clenched at his sides. No matter what, he would clear his name of this despicable stain. He was not a jilted lover. Nor was he a cuckolded fool. If Bastien had taken Celine away against her will, the fiend would pay for it. And if . . . if Celine had chosen the bloodthirsty bastard over Michael, he would not turn his cheek and wait for the other slap.

No. He would be the one to decide what happened next.

Michael moved from the shadows of the abandoned flat and onto the darkened street. With haste, he began striding toward police headquarters in Jackson Square. He needed to send for a recruit so that they could follow Bastien, Celine, and Odette to Hotel Dumaine, where the rest of their fallen court of vampires lurked.

After all, there was a reason Michael Grimaldi had been chosen as the city’s youngest police detective. And he would not allow his instincts to be ignored any longer.





II





Along the nearby street corner, a gentleman in a bowler hat watched Celine Rousseau, Sébastien Saint Germain, and an unidentified young man leave the destroyed building that had once housed the city’s best-known dining establishment. He cracked his knuckles and smoothed his immaculate mustache. Then he removed his notebook. Jotted down his observations. And began striding toward the Hotel Dumaine.

Soon he would have all the information his client needed.

Soon he would be able to serve justice on a murderess.





éMILIE





émilie had often dreamed of the sight before her now. All around the boat deck, her brother and sister wolves from Texas, from Arkansas, from Kansas, from Oklahoma, from Georgia, from the Carolinas were gathered. Here they all stood, ready to listen. Ready to learn.

Ready to unite.

They mingled, waiting for the sun to rise over their shoulders. For its light to seep into the sky and take the place of night. The riverboat churned at their backs, the giant red wheel tossing a constant spray of water, the banks of the Mississippi guiding their path forward. Newfangled electric lanterns blazed brightly, strung through the wooden rafters, bathing the polished wooden decks in a soft glow.

Beer and moonshine and table wine were poured liberally. Everywhere émilie looked, she saw men and women laughing together. Occasionally children would dart between them, weaving through the crowd like the reeds of a basket.

It was all so different from the world in which émilie had been raised. Here, among the wolves, there was no pretense. Men were not given unfettered authority, and women were not relegated to roles of subservience. Even the children were allowed seats at the table, their voices valued.