The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(95)

Among the vampires—among Nicodemus’ ilk—decorum had been sacrosanct. Her uncle had expected all his children, mortal and immortal alike, to bow before him. In that world, there had been no place for émilie. All eyes had been on her younger brother, Bastien, the scion of the Saint Germain family.

émilie breathed in through her nose and closed her eyes.

Her uncle would pay for this. She’d waited for this dawn for ten years. When the sun rose from its berth, Nicodemus would be there to receive his reckoning.

émilie caught the eye of another young wolf. A girl with hair the color of flaxseed. The girl grinned at émilie, her brown eyes flickering in the darkness, caught on a beam of starlight. In her warm gold stare, émilie saw endless possibilities. A future in which she could be whoever she wished to be and love whomever she wished to love.

“Happy?” Luca asked behind émilie, his large hands pulling her close.

émilie nodded. “This is what I always dreamed of. A world in which we are all united.”

“Then I am pleased.”

She turned toward him, her arms looping about her husband’s neck as she stood on her toes. He’d always been tall. Taller and stronger than any other wolf in the whole of Louisiana. “You should be more than pleased. Tonight you made my greatest dream come true.”

Luca wrapped his arms around her. A smile touched his lips. “Are you ready to make my dreams come true in return?”

“Of course.” She pressed a kiss to his chin. “You saved me, after all.”

It was true, in a way. As Luca held her tightly—a contented sigh rumbling from his chest—émilie’s mind drifted back to the day of her human death at the age of fifteen. How she’d spent the morning playing with Sébastien, then left him to his own devices so she might read a book. émilie had been sure to leave him in his room within shouting distance. She could have read in the room with him, but the light was better in the downstairs nook, and émilie wanted to enjoy Le Vicomte de Bragelonne without any distractions.

Passersby had noticed the fire from outside. A Créole maid had screamed as she raced for the stairs, émilie in tow.

The fire had already spread to the first landing. Unbeknownst to all, Bastien had hidden himself in a hall closet. No one had been able to find him before they’d raced out the doors, choking on the acrid smoke.

émilie had known it would be too late.

She’d taken the stairs two at a time, the fire thrashing at her skirts, singeing through her stockings. She stifled a shriek and rolled across the floor to put out the flames along the hem of her muslin dress. Her actions had been taken without thought. Without consideration for the risk they posed to herself. Her baby brother was trapped, and she would rather die than watch him burn. He was only a boy of six, after all.

“Bastien?” émilie had said in a level voice. “You have to come downstairs with me.”

“No!” he’d shouted from the hall closet. “The fire will burn me. If I stay here, it will leave me alone.”

“If we don’t go now, we will get even more hurt.”

He’d said nothing for a time. Smoke had begun to choke the air around émilie.

“Bastien?” She’d tried the knob and found it locked, the metal hot in her palm.

“I’m sorry, émilie,” he said so softly she could barely hear him. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“Just open the door, mon amour, and all will be forgiven.”

Bastien turned the handle, and émilie would never forget the stark look in his grey eyes. As if he’d aged a decade in a matter of a few short moments. She swept him up in her arms and turned back for the stairs.

A gasp in her throat, she stopped in her tracks. There was no way to use the stairs anymore. The fire had caught along the balustrade and begun to lick at the expensive wallpaper. It was already reaching for the crown molding around the ceiling, the paint starting to bubble.

émilie knew she could not panic in front of her little brother. So she raced toward the back of the home and put him down. “Stay right here,” she ordered as she threw open a window sash.

Another mistake. A breeze tore through the open window, fanning the flames. The smoke began billowing higher, the fire moving ever closer to them.

Still émilie refused to be daunted. She began shouting and flailing her arms.

It was an act of God that had drawn the fire brigade toward them. That had granted the men the wherewithal to create a makeshift landing space below, two windows over. émilie had seen her uncle staring up at them from the crowd, a bleak expression on his face, as if he were resigned to their deaths.

Hang his resignation. émilie refused to give up.

Coughing all the while, she ripped a piece of her petticoat and threw it over Bastien’s protesting head. In the nick of time, she managed to hurl him out the window, watching—her heart in her throat—as he landed in the center of the blanket, to cheers from the crowd. To her uncle’s awaiting arms. As soon as Nicodemus lifted Bastien from the center of the bedsheet, he’d turned his back on the fire. Turned his back on her.

A fit of coughing overtook émilie in that moment. Caused her eyes to water and her body to fold in on itself. She backed away, clutching both hands to her throat, feeling the heat burn into her lungs. When she regained her bearings, precious moments had been lost.