Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Antoine awoke in his bed, and that was disorienting.
Where was Cally? Hadn’t she been beside him?
No. The Curia. Entombment. The agony of drowning, over and over.
Roberto. Nico. Tobias. Gabriel.
So how the hell was he back here, between silk sheets, sane again?
Unless this was madness. If so, it wasn’t so bad.
He drew a breath. And then another, relishing the ability to breathe again. His lungs worked, there was no water. He lay there a while, savoring breathing without pain.
The shutters were down on the windows, but the clock showed 8:14 p.m. Night had fallen, and he’d slept too long. And damn, he was hungry. Where was Cally?
A moment to check their bond, and he slumped in relief. She was here, in the house. Downstairs.
He rose, naked. His body was gaunt, and when he checked in the mirror, most of his muscles had wasted away. Skeletal and thin, like a zombie, not a vampire.
He pulled on a robe, and it hung too big on him. Weakness hampered his movements, and he grimaced in distaste. But his strength would return when he fed.
Cally was waiting for him. She’d got him out, somehow. Yes, he wanted to feed, but even more, he wanted to see her.
Besides, she must already have given him blood, for he wasn’t feral.
The house was quiet, but Noah sat in a chair outside his door. He stood up swiftly when Antoine appeared, eyes searching his face. “Welcome back.”
Antoine placed a hand on his shoulder in gratitude. There would be time to catch up later; for now, he needed Cally.
She sat in her chair beside the fire, dressed in a gray hoodie and black jeans, a book open on her lap. He entered too quietly for her to hear him, but she sensed him anyway and looked up, tucking the book away and rising to her feet.
“Hey,” he said. Her blonde hair was longer, tied back in a loose ponytail, a few stray curls framing her face. Beautiful. Serene. His.
“Hey yourself.” She swallowed hard, her steel-gray eyes running swiftly over him, as if reminding herself what he looked like. He remembered that slight crease on her brow whenever she frowned, but it felt like it had been years, not weeks.
Actually, he didn’t know how long it had been. Maybe it had been years. She didn’t look any older—but then she wouldn’t.
“Sorry I look like shit.”
“You look… thin. But you. Welcome back, my love.”
‘My love’? Had she ever said that before? He couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think so.
It sat awkwardly in the air between them, like it didn’t fit. Like he should’ve said it first, and hadn’t.
He’d waited too long. The moment passed.
“Thank you,” he said instead. It wasn’t too late for that.
“Of course.” Her eyes searched his face. “I’m only sorry we couldn’t get there sooner.”
“How did you get there?”
“Dive suits. We stole some and took a boat.” Cally waved it off like it didn’t matter, taking a pace toward him. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. Famished. But you fed me already, right?”
“Yes, a little.” A flicker of a smile. “From my wrist. Sorry.”
Antoine missed the humor in that, and her smile faded. “How long has it been?”
“Three weeks today. Tomorrow’s Halloween.”
“Is it?” He frowned. “Wait. Three weeks? What about your power?”
“Oh, um.” She dropped her gaze, then lifted it back to his, her words quiet. “Gabe fed on me.”
The rage that flushed through him was icy and visceral. His fists clenched, vision tunneled. His pulse pounded in his head, and his jaw tightened enough to ache.
Cally flinched back a step, a flicker of unease in her eyes. The sight cut through the haze, pulling him up short.
But it was still a long moment before he could speak. “Of course he did.”
“I’m sorry, it’s…” She raised a hand, then let it fall. “There wasn’t much choice.”
“Of course he didn’t give you a choice. I’ll kill him for you.” Gabriel. Tobias. Nico. Roberto. The order didn’t much matter.
Her eyes widened in naked alarm. “No, Antoine. It wasn’t like that; I asked him to. He didn’t want to. I had to explain about… well, everything.” She took a step toward him, a hand raised in placation. “We never would’ve got you out without him.”
Antoine barked a dry laugh. “Really? He was the one who goddamn volunteered to put me there.”
Cally frowned. “He came to me the same day. He was here when I awoke, after you’d left.
His thralls did all the work to get you back.
I went down with Brent. I found you, but he was the one who got you out.
Gabe’s ship, Gabe’s thralls, Gabe’s resources.
” Another pace, and now she was almost in reach. “Do you remember anything?”
He didn’t. Nothing beyond floating in that damn box, until he awoke in his own bed.
“Where is he?”
“At his home, I assume. He’s not here.”
Of course he wasn’t. He was hiding.
That was wise. If he’d been here, Antoine would’ve killed him.
And now Cally was claiming he didn’t deserve to die. After so long fixating on that very goal, its removal felt… cheap. Like he’d been robbed. It wasn’t earned, yet.
No, he was wrong. Cally had made it clear; whatever role Gabe had played in his entombment, he’d more than reversed it with his help.
Antoine was free now, the punishment of the Curia complete.
He shook his head, turning away from her.
It was too confusing, and his mind was… Still locked in that damn box.
He crossed to the windows and stared out over the garden. Peaceful, dark, quiet. Dry. Perhaps he would take up gardening. “What were you reading, when I came in?”
“What? Oh. The Count of Monte Cristo.” A pause. “In English. My French isn’t up to it. Eve got me a copy. She’s in the kitchen I think.” A muttered like he wants to know, but Antoine heard her clearly. “You said you were hungry. Do you want to feed?”
The mention of Gabe had momentarily dulled his appetite, but he was hungry. Still, it didn’t feel right, somehow. Not yet.
“Le Comte de Monte-Cristo?” That was ironic. Appropriate. Not because she was reading it, but because it was a story of revenge. Mondego, Danglars, Caderousse, Villefort. Nico, Tobias, Roberto… maybe not Gabe. “Did I tell you once that I identified with Edmond Dantès?” Now more than ever.
“Yes. It wasn’t that long ago.”
He turned to face her. “How long has it been?”
“Three weeks.” She chewed her lip. “Halloween, remember?”
Yes. She’d said. “I apologize, I am not quite myself.”
“It’s fine, it’s… fine. It’s only been a day. Why don’t you feed, and maybe go back to bed? I could join you, if you like. We could…” She left the sentence unfinished, uncertainty in her tone.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, anger curling cold and sharp within. “I’m an invalid, broken and in need of care.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her eyes filled with hurt and pity. “Whatever you need, whatever you want.”
“What do you want? You want me to feed on you, is that it?” Like éliane. Nothing more than seeking the pleasure his bite would bring. éliane had never loved him, not truly. He’d never loved her. Hell, he’d never loved anyone.
Except Cally.
Did he though? Did he still? Wasn’t that… before?
He shook his head, then closed the gap between them faster than she could see, slipping behind her. He took her jaw in his hand, pulling it up and to the side, exposing her neck. “Very well, ma chérie, as you wish.”
She gasped at his bite, and her blood flooded hot and thick over his tongue. So vibrant, so delicious. So potent, so powerful. More so than he remembered. It gushed into his mouth, his eyes flicking open in surprise, then closing as he savored each pull, each mouthful.
“Antoine…” Her gasp was high, pained.
He drank, throat convulsing in the pleasure of it, over and over as he took from her, like he’d never be able to stop.
“Antoine… it hurts…”
She tried to pull away, but that was pointless.
He might be weak, but he was still so much stronger than her.
He held her to him easily, barely conscious of the fluttering of her heart as her blood nourished him, intoxicating and rich.
He already felt stronger, his body recovering more with each swallow.
“Antoine…” It was barely a whimper, and he sensed the moment her heart stopped.
He was back in Paris, éliane lying across his lap, feeling her life give out as Belle fed to just this point.
“How long until she recovers?”
Belle laughed as she turned away. “Chattel are so weak, my pet. When she is gone, let the Seine have her.”
Antoine pulled away, staring at the wound on Cally’s neck that still bled. He licked it, more from habit than conscious thought, and it closed as it healed. Cally hung limp in his arms, and he let her drop. She slumped to the carpet like sleep given form, lifeless and abandoned.
He stared at her.
That wasn’t right.
She lay like death, pale and crumpled, her head so close to the coffee table, another few inches and she’d have struck.
The door from the hallway opened. “Cally, Marcel made some—”
Eve stood in the threshold, two steaming cups on a tray. A moment of frozen inaction as she took in the tableau, and the tray canted, the cups sliding off. They fell to the carpet, one shattering, the other not, both spilling tea across the green weave in a dark, wet stain, like blood.
“Zoey!” Eve yelled. She ran to Cally’s side. “Move back please, Antoine,” she said, her tone incongruously calm, quietly insistent.
The sound of running feet, and Zoey skidded to a stop in the doorway. Eve turned Cally over, pressing her fingers to her neck, right over Antoine’s bite mark.
“Shit,” Eve muttered. “There’s no pulse.”
Zoey rushed in, kicking a fallen cup on her way, giving Antoine a puzzled look. She knelt on Cally’s other side. “How much did you take?” she asked, not looking up. Instead, she had one fingertip each side of Cally’s sternum, finding the center.
“You know CPR?” Eve asked.
“Yeah.” Zoey’s hands interlaced over Cally’s chest, and she pressed hard with sharp, repetitive movements. Cally’s ribs gave way with a crunch. “Do you? Can you breathe for her?”
“On it.” Eve tilted back Cally’s unresponsive head, kneeling beside her.
“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” Zoey counted, a compression with each number. “Two breaths.” She looked up as Eve leaned forward, blowing into Cally’s mouth. “How much did you take, Antoine?”
He watched Cally as he adjusted his robe.
She would be all right. She was his bonded, and far stronger than éliane.
She’d already be healing. He turned away, feeling so much better.
Her blood nourished him, and he could feel his muscles filling back out.
The sense of weakness had faded, and he was almost back to his usual self.
He left them to it, and went to find Noah.