Chapter 24 Arabella ‘Then’
Arabella
Then
GIDEON AND AUGUSTE SEARCH THE TREES for the man watching us while I pull on my skirts and lace my corset.
I don’t know why he’s so surprised. I was a naked woman in a fountain, kissing a man.
At La Petite Mort, one would pay handsomely for such a show.
This fellow leaving blood-soaked flowers and possessive notes is trying to get the show for free.
I should be more concerned, but I’m too light from Gideon’s kisses. The magic of my collar protects me.
The men emerge from the trees as I tug the silk over my corset. Gideon wraps his arms around me, his grip possessive. He glares at the trees as if he’s a wild god attempting to fell them with the power of his disdain.
“Let’s get away from here.” Gideon’s lips brush my earlobe. I nod, desperate to finish what we started.
We return to the Cleopatra statue. I hold out my arm and Cleo II coils around me, her body squeezing gently as she slithers back to my shoulders.
My fingers entwine in Gideon’s as we bid goodnight to Rodin and wind our way back through the Paris streets.
Gideon twirls me around corners and pushes me up against lampposts, his human lips thrilling every time they brush mine – warm as an Egyptian evening lying in the shadow of the pyramids, warm as the memories of my mother’s arms around me.
We’re almost at La Petite Mort when Gideon tugs me to a standstill at the top of the street. From here, I can see the entrance to my beloved theatre. And what I see makes my cold veins chill over with ice.
Two burly Upyr toss Jacques into the street. Catherina hurls herself at the nearest vampire, beating him with her tiny fists. He grabs her and sinks his teeth into her neck, with not a care for who might see on the street or for the laws against drinking from another Upyr.
Catherina slumps to the ground as the euphoria of the bite consumes her. The vampires disappear inside. Gideon’s fingers crush my hand.
I’ve seen those men before.
“Those are Lucien Vega’s henchmen,” I whisper. Gideon nods, his lips moving in a silent curse.
A moment later, we hear screams. Our patrons rush into the streets. édouard Manet struggles to replace his beret. Blood trickles from a nasty cut across his cheek.
A cut from a silver-edged blade.
Séraphine screams. Jacques drags himself across the ground and into the crowd, trying to direct everyone to safety.
One of the henchmen grabs Jacques’ face, raising him up by his skull.
Jacques’ eyes widen with fear as the henchman flicks his wrist and twists his head like the top of a medicine bottle.
Jacques flops to the ground, his sightless eyes gleaming from the wrong side of his head.
Jacques, no.
I rush forward, panic gripping me. My hand flies to my throat. They killed Jacques. What’s happening? How can this be? The necklace is supposed to protect all of us.
I have to stop them.
Gideon grabs my wrist, jerking me back. “Arabella, we can’t go in there.”
“You saw what they did to Jacques. I have to help my girls!”
“Catherina’s okay. Look, she’s lifting her head. You can’t let them see you.” Gideon looks pale, confused. He shakes my wrist, leading me away. Normally, I could break his grip without working up a sweat, but I’m so shocked and frightened that I let myself be led away.
Gideon pulls me behind an opium den. His hand goes to my cheek, caressing my cold skin as if I’m the one who’s been cut.
“What’s going on?” I demand, slapping his hand away. “Why are your boss’ men destroying my theatre? Why did they kill Jacques?”
“I’m so sorry, Arabella.” Gideon’s face twists in pain. “They’ve come for me.”
His words whip away my breath.
“What?”
“They think I’ve stolen something that belongs to Lucien.
I haven’t, but because I didn’t show up when I was supposed to, they think…
” He winces. “Never mind. It’s not important.
I’m going to fix it. Tomorrow, I swear. I promise that after tomorrow, they will never bother you again, and I will go to Jacques’ family and make certain they are looked after.
But we have to survive tonight, just until the sun rises.
We have to hide somewhere they can’t find us. Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
I meet his eyes, drowning in those sumptuous pools of cobalt, luxuriating in the sincerity in his voice.
Since the night I became a vampire, I’ve never trusted another soul, and certainly never a man.
It’s served me well. I’m alive. My head is attached to my shoulders. My beautiful theatre is – was – thriving.
But my chest is a hollow ache of loneliness – a dark cupboard where I’ve locked away my heart.
And Gideon Rougon looks at me as if he possesses the key.
I swallow. “I know where we can hide.”
My apartment is three blocks from La Petite Mort, on the top storey of a rambling tenement.
Gideon wraps Sarah’s fur stole tight around my neck, hiding the glitter of the collar and Cleo II’s scaly body, and he keeps his head bent low as I drag him through the streets, past the overflowing cafes and chocolate houses, past the crowds emerging from the more respectable opera houses and the less respectable cabarets.
To any stranger on the street, we are a young bohemian couple rushing to our next adventure.
Our feet clatter on the crooked wooden stairs. I unlock my door and drag him inside. Gideon crosses the room as I run around lighting the lamps. Our building does not yet have electricity installed.
“You have no windows?” he asks, skirting the perimeter of my sitting room, ducking where the eaves of the ceiling make it impossible for him to stand.
“The rent is cheaper without them.” It’s a nice half-truth.
“It would have been good to keep watch on the street. At any rate, I don’t think they’ll find us here. As soon as the sun rises, I will sort this out. I promise.” Gideon sinks into my chaise longue. “So this is where you live. It’s… exactly as I pictured.”
My home may be modest, as I spent much of my accumulated fortune opening La Petite Mort, but I regard my precious objects – the sumptuous embroidered cushions, the inlaid credenzas, the lavish vanity table – with a critical eye.
I surround myself in luxury, but no one would know that I pilfered many of these pieces from empty mansions during the Commune, or rescued them from the rubble of burning buildings, or that they were gifts from lovers or men who wished to be lovers.
Like everything about my life, this luxury has been hard-won, and I will defend it with my life if I need to.
Cleo II peeks out from beneath my fur. She slithers across the floor before winding her way up the coat rack and hanging there like a reptilian scarf.
“You’re the first man to see this place.”
Gideon’s eyebrow arches with surprise.
“Don’t look so scandalised,” I smirk. “You know the work I do. Although I mostly manage the theatre now, I have had my share of private clients. I keep opulent rooms in Pigalle where I’ve had men, and women, and all combinations thereof, if the price is right and the fancy so strikes me, or the rent needs to be paid. But never here. Never in my space.”
“I’m the first?” His words are a whisper. His eyes are wide with awe.
I can’t believe it, either.
I should hate having him here, his broad shoulders and irksome smile sucking all the air from the room. I should hate the way he runs his fingers over my carefully collected possessions, and the imprints of his soles on my thick Persian rug.
Instead, he feels like a missing piece that’s finally been found.
Gideon stands and closes the space between us, his cobalt eyes fused to mine.
He stops with an inch between us, an electric fission of air that threatens to pull us together like two stars colliding.
My heart pounds so loud Cleopatra herself could hear it from her tomb.
“I want to kiss you, Arabella,” he whispers. “I want to kiss you because you are brilliant, and beautiful, and infuriating, and beguiling. I want to kiss you because a cobra is glaring at me from the coat rack. May I kiss you?”
I’ve had enough of him treating me tenderly, like a flower with broken petals. I shift my body closer, pressing myself against him.
He’s a human. He’s mortal. He’s dangerous—
I kiss him.
The moment my lips touch his, it’s as if the room ceases to exist. It’s just him and me, floating in a world of our own.
The last time Gideon kissed me, it was delicate, the way someone might approach a horse he’s afraid will bolt. But this time, Gideon kisses like he can’t get close enough, like he has to crawl inside my skin.
I kiss him like I want him to.
He tastes exquisite, sweet as honey and red cherries, with the sinful tang of poppy and blood.
Blood.
His pulse hammers in my ears. My eyes draw downward to the vein in his neck and the sweetest nectar pulsing just beneath the surface. I could bite him now and send both of us to the heights of ecstasy. My fangs itch to taste him, and they start to slide down…
I force them back up. I’m not ready for him to know the monster in me. The monster doesn’t dine tonight. I want to be Arabella.
Besides, the delighted little noises Gideon makes assure me that he’s enjoying himself plenty. He presses his body to mine, arms banding protectively around me as he walks me across the floor and pushes me through the doorway to my boudoir.
His eyes remain open. All the cobalt is nearly consumed by the black of his pupils – only a thin ring of colour remains.
Usually, at this stage, men close their eyes, believing they are safe and secure in the hands of a weaker creature.
If they are human, this is usually when I pounce and take the blood I need to survive.
Once, I used this moment to draw a dagger – a monster slaying a monster.
But tonight, all I want is to fall into that ring of cobalt and drown myself.