The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(99)

Michael’s silver bullet hit Luca square in the chest.





BASTIEN





My sister’s scream pierces the chaos. Its echo rises into a sky on fire, the sun rising at her back.

émilie falls to her knees beside Luca’s lifeless body, blood slipping down her arms from injuries to her neck and shoulder. She looks as she sounds. Like a wounded creature. An animal for whom nothing matters but putting an end to the pain.

I feel the pull of her anguish. I take a step forward, then stop myself. It seems unreal that I should see her once more, alive and whole. Has it really been a single night since I received her note? After years without her, a part of me still has trouble believing the sight before me. The boy in me wants to run to her, embrace her, soothe the lines of agony on her brow, just as she’d done for me on more than one occasion.

But the man I am becoming knows better.

I think of my uncle’s final directive. The one Nicodemus shared with me just before he met the sun, his unspoken words ringing through my head, maker to immortal child.

Do not let them win, Sébastien. Take back the Horned Throne. Fix what has been broken.

Be better than I was.

I stand still, watching émilie shriek at those around her, tears coursing down her cheeks, her arms cradling Luca’s head, his blood soaking through the front of her dress, mingling with that of her own wounds. For a breath of time, no one on board moves, save for the restless stirring of those succumbing to their own injuries.

I understand the pain of her loss. It is the type of pain I knew in the wake of our parents’ deaths. In the wake of my sister’s death. And I want nothing more than to comfort her. But émilie isn’t the sister I knew. Anger has filled her with hate. Anger has driven the course of her life. It has made her strong. Proud. It has left her alone.

She is more like my uncle than she will ever know.

My sister catches my gaze. She cradles Luca’s head to her breast and lifts her chin.

“Help me,” she says beseechingly. “Brother.”

I take a step. Stop myself, uncertain yet again. Untrusting of what I see. What I feel.

“Sébastien,” she implores. “Please.”

Several members of Luca’s pack move forward. Before I can make a decision, Odette glides toward émilie, her hands raised, her intentions clear—only to help. Her face is wan, her expression subdued. The wound along her neck from the wolf who attacked her has barely begun to heal.

There is such kindness in Odette. Out of us all, her dead heart feels keenly for those around her. It’s what drives her to fight for the ones she loves with such fierceness. She knew émilie as a child. There is sorrow on her face at watching someone she once cared for suffer before her very eyes.

I swallow around the tightness in my throat. Steel myself to help, despite my misgivings. Celine takes a hesitant step, her head quirked at a tentative angle. Odette crouches beside émilie as my sister extricates the blade from where it is buried in her shoulder. With utmost caution, Odette moves to press a hand to émilie’s wound, reaching for something with which to fashion a tourniquet.

She never sees the dagger in émilie’s hand slice toward the side of her injured neck. A flash of metal. A stunned silence. A jubilant cry.

“Odette!” Celine screams.

For a dreaded moment, I fail to understand what has happened. I only see Odette fall to one knee, a look of surprise across her brow. Then she folds over like an accordion, her throat cut through to the bone, a torrent of crimson cascading like a waterfall toward the sun-warmed deck beside her feet.

I blur into movement. The next instant, the fingers of my right hand are wrapped around my sister’s neck, my left hand ripping the glistening silver blade from her grasp. She meets my gaze, her face devoid of emotion, her eyes like chips of ice.

Behind me, I hear a flurry of motion. I listen as Jae curses once and Boone wails. As Madeleine yanks Odette’s slumped figure away from everyone else. I know without seeing that Odette’s body will soon begin to dry like a husk, then blow away, like discarded bits of paper. Even if we call Ifan now and promise him an exorbitant price, there is little chance he could save her. Outrage scalds through my blood, washing everything in crimson tones. I try to tamp down my fury. Try to silence my need for retribution. Blood for blood. My pound of flesh.

“Why?” My vision swims. My voice is dry. Brittle.

“Because I could,” émilie says.

“No. That’s not enough of a reason. Why?”

“It’s the reason I choose to give.” She wraps her bloody fingers around my wrist. “Are you angry, mon petit lion?”

I say nothing.

A corner of her mouth kicks up. “Do what Uncle Nico taught you to do.”

I swallow, my fingers tightening around her throat.

“Take your revenge, little brother. Today I’ve taken much from you. Take this. You’ve earned it.” Her smile widens, her teeth pressed together, flashing like ivory. Low growls emanate from behind her, the pack hoping to rally behind its new alpha.

I study her in silence, trying to find a point of clarity through a haze of sadness. Why does she want me to kill her? Is it simply because she wants to ensure the rivalry between the Fallen and the Brotherhood will ignite anew?

What happens next is subtle. A blink and I might have missed it.