Chapter IX. Blood Is Blood #2
“‘Think upon my offer, son. I shall gift you this when you gift me answer.’ He tucked the journal away, searching my eyes.
‘She was a beautiful girl, your mama. A fierce and faithful girl. But above all, a prideful girl was my Auriél. I see that part of her in you. Do not allow it to blind you, Gabriel. Past is passed. And blood is blood.’
“My grandfather touched my cheek, dark eyes burning. I didn’t flinch away.
I could see his regret for years gone. His wish that things might be different in years to come.
But with no more words, the old man strode up the aisle, flanked by gens d’armes as he departed into the night.
I stood before that altar for a silent age, staring at my namesake, stained-glass wings spread, sword ablaze.
It seemed the air fell chill then, hair prickling on the back of my neck, whispers too soft to hear echoing in the rafters.
“GAbrIEL.
“Scowling, I stalked up the aisle. Most of me was angered, indignant—at the thought I might simply forget my mother’s suffering. But as I reached the threshold, I heard those words again; the words Santiago had spoken in his homily, echoing up the nave behind me.
“Love is forgiveness. Love is acceptance. Seek love. Accept love. Cherish love.
“‘Did he ask you?’
“I turned at the voice, spotting my cousin in the gloom. Charlotte was stood in an alcove beside a statue of San Javon, black clad, her face pallid in the darkness. She adjusted the leather patch across her eye, dragging long hair from her lips as she pressed.
“‘Did Grandfather ask you to rule?’
“‘If he did? Would you be looking to set my bedsheets ablaze?’
“My cousin glowered, mouth pressed thin. But I only scoffed in turn.
“‘Have no fear, Charlotte. I’ve no want of it. Now or ever.’
“‘You should accept.’
“‘What would the brothel troubadours sing of me then, I wonder?’
“‘I mean it. After all, there’s no chance for me. Not La Lionne Cendrée.’ She smiled bitterly, the burn scars on her face twisting.
‘You’ve seen the way commonfolk look at me.
Heard them whisper at my back. You think they’d accept me on the throne?
She, who burned their babies in their beds?
You think there’s a reason why I’m out hunting mongrels in bordertowns at Grandfather’s behest, rather than sitting at his side? ’
“I looked her up and down, speaking from the heart.
“‘I think the soldiers you lead would follow you into the abyss if you asked. I think small people feel the need to talk, even when they’ve no clue what they’re talking about. I think you gave more for this city than most will ever know.’
“Her mask slipped a moment at that, and as she looked back into the cathedral, I saw the rage in her, bright as the fires she’d once lit on this city’s skin.
“‘You know, when Angel Gabriel appeared to me that day, he asked, Do you love your city enough to die for it? I told him yes. Of course I did.’ She clenched her jaw, the scent of ashes in her hair. ‘He never told me what it would be like to live for it afterward.’
“I took a step toward her, perhaps to offer comfort, but with a snarl Charlotte turned on her heel, stalking off into the darkness. I followed slower, meandering around the Angel Way, up the cliffside road, thoughts all raging in my head. Finally reaching the chateau, I turned back to look upon the city of my forebears, Grandfather’s offer ringing in my ears.
“I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t tempted—the part who still remembered that squalid little village, that bastard who grew up with nothing.
But most of me knew it was vain fantasy.
My future held no thrones nor lordly titles, but a rising thirst, a budding madness, and if I was lucky, a promise kept before I filled a shallow grave.
I whispered it now, eyes turned to the bottomless black above.
“‘Fabién…’
“‘Get OUT! ’
“The cry hung faint on the air; not so distant a paleblood couldn’t hear it. I spun about as a crash rang from the forecourt. The stables.
“‘Aaron…’
“I ran, skirting the chateau, silvered heels pounding the cobbles as an alarm bell split the night. I reached the forecourt in time to see a water barrel come hurtling through the stable wall, shattered timbers falling like rain as Aaron roared again.
“‘I said get OUT! ’
“The guards about the stable cried alarm, warning ringing across the battlements.
Spears had been raised, torches lit, and I saw Lieutenant Mathieu emerging from the guardhouse, bellowing with blade drawn.
I was off, running toward the big man, set to stop him before anyone did anything rash.
Soldiers were gathering around the gaping hole in the stable wall, burning crossbows raised as a pale figure emerged, greatcoat flowing about him like evening mist, golden hair tumbling down the marble of his skin.
“‘Messieurs.’ Aaron bowed, straightening his cravat. ‘Apologies for my outburst.’
“A second figure shouldered past Aaron—Baptiste, buckling his belt as he stormed into the courtyard. Looking to his throat, I saw his collar loosed but skin unmarred, guessing the tale in an instant—he’d come to his beloved after mass, offering his blood again.
And with a strength I was growing to envy, Aaron had again told him no.
“I reached for my brother as he strode toward me. ‘Baptiste—’
“‘Get your hands off me, Gabriel,’ he spat, snatching his arm away.
“‘Peace, now. I only meant to ask … are you well?’
“‘Am I well? With my own fucking husband terrified to touch me?’
“‘Brother—’
“But my friend would hear no more, stomping past me and into the chateau. I looked to Lieutenant Mathieu, to his men, burning mechwork bows and glittering steel. All were unnerved, eyes drifting to the barrel smashed like kindling across the stone.
“‘Might I have a word with my esteemed colleague, Lieutenant?’
“The big man scowled, glancing at the shattered wall. ‘Be swift, Chevalier.’
“I nodded thanks, moving slow past the soldiers so as not to spook them further. Aaron had drifted back out of sight, and stepping through the hole he’d torn, I admit even my hackles were raised.
What few horses remained in my grandfather’s stocks were gathered at the stable’s rear, looking just as nervous as I.
Searching the gloom, I imagined a monster flashing from the shadows, fangs glinting and claws outstretched.
“‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’
“‘I glanced up, spied Aaron sitting on the rafters overhead. He’d jumped there, I supposed, feet now dangling over the edge, strangely boyish in seeming. He was holding a thin circlet of gold, lifting it now to his eye, peering at me through its heart.
“His troth ring.
“‘What are you planning to do with that?’ I asked.
“‘I honestly don’t know.’
“Aaron hung his head, sighing.
“‘How much longer must we linger here, Gabriel?’
“‘Baptiste and Forgemaster Cortez are at work. Hopefully not long.’
“‘Something runs ill in this city. Some fell shadow I know not the shape of, yet feel all the same. Baptiste is not himself. His blood runs high. And hot.’ Aaron tilted his head, eyes narrowed. ‘You seem different, too. I hear it in your veins. Smell it on your skin.’
“‘… How long since you fed, brother?’
“Aaron moved then, a flash of gold and midnight blue, down from the rafters to stand but an inch from my face. I flinched, hand snaking toward the blade that wasn’t there, wondering if it came to it, would I be able to—
“‘I would be gone from here, Gabriel.’
“‘We’re working at it. Meantime, you might consider hunting in the countryside. There’s wretched aplenty, and starving yourself here only risks you losing control.’
“‘I will not leave my love in this place alone.’ Blue eyes drifted over my throat, my skin prickling as Aaron leaned close, whispering. ‘Evil dwells in the House of Lions.’
“‘Evil? There’s holy water at every door. The city takes mass every eve. You don’t think you’re being paranoid? You’ve not fed in fucking days, and you and Baptiste are obv—’
“‘Let me worry about mending my marriage. You just mend your damned blade.’
“Aaron moved then, flashing up to the rafters so swift he was near a blur. And there he sat again, feet dangling over the edge, arms wrapped tight around his belly.
“‘Pleasant dreams,’ he hissed.
“I sighed at that, knowing vampires couldn’t dream as mortals did.
One more thing lost. One more thing taken.
But looking at Aaron’s hand, my eyes lingered on the black heart and thorns burned into his skin.
Ever would he bear that scar, I knew. The memory of the sins he’d committed in that devil’s service his constant company.
And I couldn’t help but think of his words in the woods then, his time beneath the Blackheart’s boot.
“I enjoyed it, Gabriel.
“I reveled in it.
“‘Bonsoir, brother,’ I murmured.
“I stepped back into the forecourt, gesturing to Mathieu that all was well, despite it being nothing close. My grandfather’s offer, the altercation with Charlotte, now Aaron’s warning—all had me keener than ever to put this place behind us.
I felt soldiers staring as I walked to the chateau, climbing the grand stair now, eager for solitude.
“But as I reached my bedchamber, I found it not as empty as I’d hoped.
“‘Mlle Odette…’
“The maidservant stood beside my bed, plumping my pillows. She was clad in blue again, but her gown was a different style; a daring low-cut bodice, a tumble of skirts beneath. She curtseyed, hands clasped like a scolded child.
“‘Forgive me, Chevalier. I’m late in turning down your bed.’
“‘It’s fine, mademoiselle, I’ve no need of your service this night.’
“‘I’ll not be long, I vow it.’ Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘But I’ve brought you a gift by way of apology for my tardiness.’
“My protest died as the maid gestured to three new bottles sitting atop the armoire—green glass, white wax seals, the sigil of House de León embossed upon the label.
“‘I saw your liquor cabinet was empty,’ she smiled.
“I sighed, my tongue ashen. ‘Now you’re singing my song, mademoiselle.’
“Her smile deepened—something less conspiratorial, and more outright wicked.
Odette whisked past me in a flurry of long black curls and azure silk, over to the bottles.
I caught the scent of her moonsblood again, thirst setting my veins afire as she cracked the wax seal.
Eager to drown it, I searched the mantle, the cabinets, the war chest.
“‘Are there any bloody goblets in this room?’ I hissed.
“‘Why bother? You can drink right from the neck.’
“I turned as Odette spoke, smoke-soft, her smile vanishing as she lifted the wine to her lips. I tell you, I was hypnotized, Historian. Watching as she swallowed, fire stirring in me, hot waves flooding my spine, the beast in me now roused and pacing behind its bars.
“‘I think it best you say godmorrow, mademoiselle.’
“Odette lowered the bottle, running a wine-red tongue over her lips. ‘T’would be a shame to leave a vintage like this wanting, Chevalier.’
“My fangs were grown long in my gums now, my cock stone-hard in my leathers, and for a moment, it was all I could do to swallow the growl seething up my throat.
“‘I said leave.’
“‘I heard you.’ Odette’s gaze drifted below my belt. ‘But it seems not all of you wants me to.’ She stepped closer, her scent flooding my mouth as her eyes met mine. ‘I’ve heard the songs they sing about you, Lion. Do you not wish to lie among my leaves?’
“I swallowed hard, the air so thick with her it was difficult to breathe. The beast within me roared, thrashing, crashing against its bars. Jaw clenched so tight my teeth were creaking, I reached out slow, my hand closing around the bottle as I hissed.
“‘Leave.’
“Odette’s pupils were swollen with want, breath hitching. But lowering her gaze, she backed off. And reaching the doorway, she glanced to the bell beside the bed.
“‘Ring if you’ve a need.’
“I slammed the door as she left, squeezing my temples to stop the tempest of my pulse.
Though Odette was gone, her scent lingered, and lifting the wine, I drank without pause, red rivulets running down my throat and soaking my shirt through.
Turning to the mantel, I snatched up the next bottle, snapping off the neck in my impatience to down it.
I gulped from the broken throat, no God to pray to, no son to beg forgiveness from, alone in the dark with that beast in my head.
“Laughing at me.
“I withered to the floorboards, lips shredded on broken glass, dragging the final bottle with me.
My belly was roiling, hand shaking as I dug my thumb into white wax, prying away the seal.
And I drank, wretched, trembling, brought close to puking in my haste to drown that monster in my belly, to kill it before it killed me.
I know not when I passed out, the line between light and dark and laughing and weeping blurred somewhere in the depths of my wine-addled mind.
But I knew I was dreaming when I heard her voice.
“‘Gabriel.’
“A hiss, whip-cruel, cutting at my skin. And opening eyes gummed shut with blood, I looked upon her, staring down at me, her gaze boiling with hatred. My sister Celene, swathed in crimson, jagged jaw and glittering teeth.
“‘You failed me.’
“A slender hand gestured, the shadows about me rolling, three pale figures now coalescing out of the dream-deep dark. My angels all, Astrid and Patience and poor, sweet Dior, arms entwined, eyes sightless, dirt spilling from their mouths as they spoke.
“‘You failed us.’
“Celene lowered her chin, snarling.
“‘And you failed—’
“But her voice halted then, cracking at the edges, the shadow at her back now cut with a golden shear of light. Fire, I realized. A figure surrounded by it, wrought of it, rising at my sister’s back like the dawns before daylight died.
Celene’s hair curled, her skin blackened as that figure flung its pinions wide.
And as she was engulfed in flame, I heard a voice, reverberating on the arched ceiling above, the curved walls around, layered upon itself as if not one but a multitude spoke, and seemingly everywhere at once.
“‘GAbrIEL.’
“Consuming.
“Purifying.
“Flame.
“‘GAbrIEL.’”