Chapter 12
Twelve
The harbor stank with a dense mix of salt, rot, fish, tar, excrement, and spice, thick and cloying in the air. Antoine wrinkled his nose and kept his breathing shallow.
The coach stopped well short of the dock.
“I cannot go any further, monsieur,” the driver called out in regional French. “It is too busy.”
It was just an excuse; he wanted to be rid of Antoine.
He’d been reluctant to take the fare, despite how much gold had been offered.
Antoine didn’t blame him; it was understandable when he insisted upon traveling only at night, and when his complexion didn’t look quite human, no matter how much he had practiced with his glamour.
Still, they were four nights from Paris, and there’d been no indications of pursuit.
Yet.
“Very well,” Antoine replied, disembarking.
A low mist clung to the damp stone quays, diffusing the lantern glow of watchmen and dockhands already at work.
The sky was still dark, but the eastern horizon hinted at sunrise with a faint spill of indigo.
Weather and tide favored early departures, and a pair of three-masted barques sat waiting, sails furled tight, shifting restlessly against the pier like hounds eager for release.
Winches rattled and ropes groaned as crates and barrels were lifted from dock to deck. Horses snorted and pawed the cobbles, yoked to carts laden with goods. Traders, sailors, fishermen, and port guards worked in concert in a never-ending ballet.
Antoine couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, expecting to see another coach arrive, its doors and livery black on black, the horses whipped to a frenzy. Long before now Belle would have known he was gone. There was no doubt she was in pursuit; the only question was how close she was.
He hurried toward the waiting ship.
“Your bags, monsieur?” the driver called after him. Perhaps it was out of reflex, for there were none.
Antoine ignored him. He had only the clothes on his back and the purse Belle had left on the table.
She was not usually so careless, and at first Antoine had suspected a trap.
It would’ve been just like her to dangle a lure, only for her hooks to sink deeper.
But the temptation had been too great to resist, she hadn’t caught him leaving, and now the purse sat heavy on his belt, full of gold.
The ship creaked as it strained against its moorings, the gangplank shifting subtly with the tide. Antoine hesitated, the water so black and deep, swallowing all the light. Trapped, helpless, and—
No. That’s now, not then.
All he had was his memories, and it was growing harder to separate them from the hell of his reality.
The gangplank seemed to lurch under his feet, the water swirling dark and inky beneath. His muscles lost their strength, trembling, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Irrationally frightened of water? Was that how it had been then, or was it only now?
He couldn’t be certain.
But it wasn’t enough to offset his fear of Belle finding him, and he staggered onto the ship.
A deckhand moved to stop him, but a flash of a gold coin stilled his tongue. Moments later, Antoine stood before the captain, a short, swarthy man, his jaw clenched in irritation at the disturbance so close to departure.
“I need a private cabin,” Antoine told him, counting out three louis d’or onto the table before him. “Never to be disturbed, at any time.”
“We’re full,” the captain said, leaning back in his chair in a show of indifference, yet his eyes glinted with greed.
Antoine didn’t care; it wasn’t his money. He added another three to the pile. “Your wind gauge’s turning. You’ll want the mains trimmed or she’ll yaw coming out past the break.”
The captain raised an eyebrow. “How does a fop like you know the ways of the sea?”
Antoine grinned, his fangs carefully retracted. “I wasn’t always a gentleman.”
“I’ll have to turf someone out,” the captain said, but he reached for the coins and stacked them into a neat pile. It was enough to rent the largest cabin twice over, and the man was no fool. He sniffed, making his decision. “Where’s your baggage?”
“I have none.”
“Traveling alone, with not even a change of clothes?”
“I’ll buy what I need.”
The captain jerked his chin toward Antoine’s belt. “Enough money in that purse to buy my ship.”
“Yes, and a sharp blade to ensure it remains with me.”
The captain raised his hands. “No quarrel here.”
“Keep that in mind,” Antoine replied. “You wouldn’t like how it played out.”
“Not a fop after all,” the captain muttered. He stood, forced a grin, and pocketed the coins. “I have much to do. We put to sea in half an hour, and now I have my cabins to rearrange. Yours will be ready by the time we leave.”
Antoine followed him onto the deck, striding to the rail farthest from the harbor. He couldn’t help but look back at the quay, yet no black coach had arrived. Had he gotten away with it?
Belle had once told him she could sense his direction wherever he was, just like he had been able to sense éliane. Yet it was direction only, no distance, and if it worked the same for Belle, she had no reason to believe he had left Paris. It was a sliver of hope. Could he really escape her?
A fisherman sailed past in a squat, single-masted chaloupe, its prow painted a garish pink.
He was either late or lazy enough to wait for the tide, but Antoine envied the simplicity of the man’s life.
At least he was free, and not bound to the whims of darkness, blood, and a sire who would entomb him if she caught him.
Antoine had no illusions about what Belle would do, for she’d done it before.
Abandoned in a hole until his mind had left him, and only the bloodlust had remained.
How long did he have? How long until he could no longer think, no longer even remember?
The cold and pain from lack of air didn’t help. They took a constant toll on his body, and that would drive him feral more rapidly. How long had it already been? The days bled together, and he had lost count of how many times the sun had risen and set.
No wonder his mind had turned to fantasies of escape, and memories of leaving Belle.
Yet she’d found him anyway, almost three hundred years later, and treated him like he’d never left.
*
Eight weeks at sea.
Antoine had fed sparingly, mostly from a merchant traveling alone in the neighboring cabin. Just enough to sate his hunger, though the man now looked sallow and ill. At least his collar and cravat hid the mark on his neck, which never fully healed.
No sail had been sighted behind them, and with each passing day, Antoine’s relief grew.
He had done it. At last, he was free.
They stopped in Saint-Domingue, but the island was too small for Antoine’s interest. It was only another two weeks to New Orleans, and the potential of America called to him.
A man could lose himself in a country as large as that.
After éliane, he would’ve happily let the sun take him, but Belle had interfered with that impulsive plan. And now he wanted to live, to explore his potential. Perhaps even to gain a territory, like she had done. There had to be land enough in a new country like this.
It was ironic that she had stopped his death when she had been the one to rob him of his life. Then the purse, so uncharacteristically left unguarded, the means to claim his freedom.
He couldn’t shed the niggling doubt that she had meant for him to take it. That she had been setting him free. Not apologizing—never that; she wasn’t capable of that—but maybe a new lease on life.
No. He gave her too much credit. It had been a mistake he had capitalized upon, nothing more.
Regardless, Antoine felt the stir of new possibilities, the excitement of fresh potential. With coin and his wits he could—
“Antoine?”
He’d been so lost in his reverie, he hadn’t sensed Noah’s approach. “Why are you here? I told you to stay away. Is she with you?”
“She insisted. She was going to come anyway. What did you want me to do, tie her down? Let her make the trip alone?”
“Stubborn woman!”
A hint of Noah’s humor came through the bond. “You chose her.”
“Take her back,” Antoine sent. “It is too late. My mind is… more gone than not.”
“You sound fine to me.” But the bond couldn’t hide Noah’s unease, and it only served to reinforce how close Antoine was to turning feral.
With a thought, he used Noah’s eyes. And there she was. Beautiful, worried, her brow furrowed with that small line he liked so much. Striking gray eyes bright as she looked to Noah with hope.
There was no hope to offer.
A glimpse of her throat above the neck of her hoodie. It looked so vulnerable, her blood would be…
Antoine knew he should shut down the link and cut off the view, but he couldn’t.
Through Noah’s eyes, he stared at her pale, creamy skin, and his throat convulsed—not with the need to breathe, or to push the water from his lungs, but to take in her blood.
To drink, until he could drink no more. To take every drop she had.
“Take her away, Noah. Don’t bring her again.”
“We both know she doesn’t do what I tell her.”
There was something in his mind-tone, a sense of helplessness. Enough to be a fleeting distraction from his thirst, to allow him to focus for a moment. “What is it? What’s happened?” Like he could do anything about it.
“Nothing. She went away, and… well, she’s back and she’s safe.”
“You let her go off alone?”
“I didn’t let her do anything!”
No. Of course he hadn’t. “Stubborn woman.”
“So you said.”
Antoine saw Cally’s lips move, but he couldn’t hear. “What did she say?”
“That she loves you, and we’re getting you out. To hold on and be strong. A week, maybe two.”
Two more weeks. He wasn’t sure he could manage two more days. “I’ll be past saving by then.”
“Bullshit. All you need is some blood.”
At the word, his focus returned to her throat. He couldn’t help it, and he hated himself for being so weak. There she was, if not to touch at least to gaze upon, and all he could do was stare at what little he could see of her neck.
But Noah was wrong. He didn’t just need blood, he needed her blood. He couldn’t feed on just anyone, not anymore. And when Belle had entombed him before, then let him out after he was feral, there had been nothing left of the victim she’d brought him.
He couldn’t take that risk. Not with Cally.
“Promise you won’t bring her. If you do come, promise me she’ll stay away.”
“Don’t make that a compulsion, Antoine, please. I can’t make that promise. What do you want me to do, drug her?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Yeah? And how much would I have to give her to knock her out now she’s bonded to you? How much before I kill her by accident instead?”
“I’ll kill her if she comes. I won’t be able to stop myself. Don’t bring her.” Antoine tried to enforce it, but he was too weak. He felt the compulsion scatter before it reached him, like a whisper into the wind. “Noah…”
“I’ll tell her, but…”
Through Noah’s eyes, Antoine watched as Cally’s jaw set in determination, and she shook her head. When she spoke again, he didn’t need to hear her words to know it was a refusal.
“She says she’s not leaving you to do this alone.”
Damn it. “Leave me, Noah. I don’t want her anywhere near me. Not now, not then. Tell her to…”
“To what, Antoine? Forget you and move on?” His skepticism came through strong. “I’m not telling her that.”
“She has to, Noah. She can’t wait another two weeks. What if her power explodes? Has Belle fed on her?”
“No. We don’t know where Belle is.”
“Shit. You have to find her.”
“We don’t need to. We have Gabe—"
Antoine bucked against his chains, his rage lending him strength. But the water pushed back, and the movement wasn’t even enough to press him to the walls of his metal coffin. “I told you not to trust him!”
“Cally says we can.”
That bastard. He wanted her for himself. “Does she know Gabriel is the reason I’m down here?”
There was a pause while Noah conveyed the question, then Cally jerked back in surprise. He took no joy in her reaction, only something darker. And far too satisfying.
She shook her head, and her lips moved again.
“She says you’re wrong. It’s more complicated than that. We can trust Gabe, and if she needs someone to feed from her—”
“No. No, not him.”
“How long can she last, Antoine?”
There was no answer to that. No one knew. And they wouldn’t, either—not until it was too late. “Get her out of here, goddammit. Stop tormenting me by dangling something I can never have.”
Cally froze then nodded in reluctant acceptance, muttering a few silent words.
“Fine, we’ll go. But we’re coming back, and we’re going to get you out.”
Antoine closed the link to Noah’s eyes, and shut his own, like that would make any difference. “Leave me.”
He floated in the darkness, resenting her for coming. Hating himself. Hating Gabe. Hating Noah, for bringing her.
Noah made no attempt to mind-speak to him again, and the sense of his presence faded with distance.
Taking Cally away.
“Noah? My mind, it’s… I didn’t mean it. Noah?”
Why had he sent her away?
“Bring her back. Noah? Noah!”
No. Please.
“Noah! Noah! Noah!”