The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(97)

Bastien paused as if in thought. “I suppose it depends on how one defines a villain, does it not?”

“You sound so much like him,” émilie said, her words taunting. “How proud he must be of you.”

“I am nothing like Nicodemus.” He frowned, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Delight warmed through émilie. Finally she’d managed to strike a nerve with her little brother. Before émilie had a chance to react, Celine Rousseau stepped toward her, her eyes flashing. “Enough of this. You asked Bastien to come if he ever wished to see his uncle again. What do you want from us?”

A formidable opponent, as émilie had surmised. “Marceline Rousseau,” she murmured, appraising her slowly. “I’m happy to finally make your acquaintance.”

“You came to my shop once. I remember you asking Pippa about a mourning gown.”

“I did. I could not help myself. Tell me . . . how does it feel to realize you will one day destroy the boy you love? That your kind will forever be plotting to put an end to his kind?” It was deliberate of émilie to bait this girl. She wanted to see what the half fey could do. What kind of Vale magic might flow through her veins.

“I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by provoking me,” Celine said softly. “But it won’t work. You won’t goad me to anger, though you are most deserving of it. The anger I feel for you is deep and strong. But I will not let it control me, as it has controlled you. I will not allow hate to define my actions.”

Something pricked at émilie’s skin. Like a drove of ants crawling down her back. She laughed, letting the sound carry into the sky. All around her she felt the wolves stir, restless in the shadows. Eager to be unleashed, just as she was. How much émilie longed to tear Celine Rousseau’s words from her pretty, pale throat. To watch her brother fall to his knees at the sight of his lost love.

But the wretched girl was right. émilie’s hate should not define her actions. And émilie had greater things in store today. From her periphery, she saw the rest of the vampires draw together in a tighter circle around Celine. She marked how Bastien made no move to silence his woman or stop her from taking charge, though he angled himself nearby, his grey eyes glittering.

They loved her. Every one of these fallen leeches would kill for the half-fey daughter of the Lady of the Vale. It was almost enough to make émilie laugh even louder.

The wolves growled as they tightened their own circle. They would be less powerful in the daylight. émilie knew this, though she nonetheless waited for the dawn. Because émilie could not leash her emotions in the face of this wretched half-fey creature—this girl who had stolen her brother’s heart—she laughed again.

“Where is Nicodemus, émilie?” Bastien asked, his voice cold.

émilie turned to the young man who used to be her brother. She took her time, wishing to savor the moment. The rays of sunlight reached ever higher in the sky. Dawn was fast approaching.

It was time.

“Luca,” she said softly. “Please see that our esteemed guest is escorted to the boat deck.”

Bastien’s eyes narrowed as Luca Grimaldi gestured toward the stairs leading below. Her brother’s shoulders rolled back as he followed émilie’s earlier gaze toward the horizon. Then he murmured something.

As if he knew what émilie intended to do.

Immediately Jae stepped forward, his long jacket falling from his back, his posture like that of a coiled asp.

“Don’t move,” émilie said loudly. “If any vampire makes any sudden moves, I will not lift a finger to save you or yours, Sébastien.”

“And if any harm befalls Nicodemus, I offer you the same promise,” Bastien replied without missing a beat.

He thought her the sort to throw a chained victim helplessly on the boat deck and watch him burn. Of course he did. That was the elegant, brutal world in which they had been raised.

So of course it gave them pause when Nicodemus walked up the stairs of his own volition, neither chained nor bound. Two werewolves flanked him. The only sign that he was anything less than an esteemed guest were the long spears tipped in solid silver in each of the wolves’ right hands.

émilie watched confusion flicker across Bastien’s face, quickly replaced by cool indifference. Nicodemus nodded at his progeny, his expression unreadable. He strode across the boat deck with purpose, the wolves continuing to flank him. He paused for only an instant before Sébastien and the rest of his immortal children.

“It was good of you to come,” he said with a small smile. “Mademoiselle Rousseau.” He offered the girl a bow.

Bastien nodded once in acknowledgment. Nicodemus continued making his way toward émilie. Once his back was turned from his children, his features sobered. He slowed his footsteps the closer he came to émilie. In the distance, the sun had begun its careful rise.

“I knew you would not disappoint, Uncle,” she said with a pointed grin.

“What do you want in order for us to depart with Nicodemus?” Bastien asked from where he stood.

“You are free to leave now,” émilie replied, her grin widening.

Nicodemus stared at her, twirling the signet ring on his right hand.

“What games are you playing, émilie?” Bastien asked.