Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Cally lay still and peaceful, breathing gently, her arm across his chest.
But Antoine couldn’t sleep.
It wasn’t just the hour—he’d slept all day—it was the thoughts that circled his mind. Revenge. Darkness. Self-loathing.
His serum had dried up, and he hadn’t even realized. How had that happened? Why?
In three hundred years, he’d never had to worry about any aspect of his health; his phenomenal regeneration took care of it all.
Enough to heal almost any wound, even regrow a limb—it had happened, once or twice. Enough to keep him alive in a box, without oxygen or even blood.
Maybe it was psychological, somehow. Maybe the damage was deeper than he knew, and he hadn’t recovered as much as he’d thought. He had told himself he was in control again, that he wouldn’t hurt her like he had before.
And then he did.
Antoine slipped from beneath her arm to rise, belting on a robe as he watched her sleep. So calm, so beautiful. So undeserved.
So bitter, so melancholy, so pathetic.
He turned for the door, needing to be elsewhere. He had to do better than this.
The house was quiet, even Marcel was asleep. Zoey was in her room; Noah was out of range. Probably leading the thralls in their search of Milton or Dedham. That would take time. Vampires didn’t exactly publish their addresses.
Yet I did.
He sat in his chair, the fire little more than glowing embers. He added a log and gave it a poke, sparks flying up.
He was halfway through re-reading Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, but Eve had borrowed it.
Probably best not to read a book on revenge.
Time passed, marked by the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece, and his mood turned darker still.
So when a knock came on the door rousing him from his thoughts, it was a relief.
With Marcel asleep, Antoine rose to answer, realizing it must be Noah, as no one had pressed the intercom for the gate.
But it wasn’t. A woman stood at the door, dressed in tight jeans and a hoodie, with the hood pulled up. At first, he thought it was Cally—though the curls that framed her beautiful face were raven-black, not blonde.
“Belle.”
“You’re back, mon amour. I missed you. Happy Halloween and… what a fetching robe.”
Antoine fought the urge to check it was properly tied. “I thought you’d left.”
“No. The Curia have gone to Vegas, but I wasn’t interested.”
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Belle laughed, a light musical sound, spreading her arms and gave a little twirl. “It’s called ‘fashion’—the standard uniform of mediocrity. I thought you liked such things. I wore it for you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I wore it to blend in, but partly for you.” She swept back her hood and shook out her long hair. “Are you going to invite me in, or shall we talk on your doorstep?”
Antoine looked past her, seeing the road empty beyond the gate. “No thralls? No big black car?”
“I told you: the Curia have left. They think I’ve returned to France. I can’t very well hang around in other vampires’ territories and be obvious, can I?”
“What, are you staying in an Airbnb?”
Belle shifted awkwardly, her eyes flashing red.
“You are staying in an Airbnb?” Antoine exclaimed, half-shocked, half-amused. Only then did he realize she’d been glamouring, as her eyes reverted to the green she’d chosen.
He laughed and took a step back. “Come in, Belle. Uphold our traditions, and keep my domain tranquil.”
“But it’s not really your domain, is it?” she asked as she walked past. “It’s Gabriel’s now.”
He paused in the act of closing the door behind her, tensing at that name. The lock engaged with a subtle click. “What?”
“Leonard gave it to Gabriel, did he not?”
“What matter is that, when I’m back?”
“Escape from entombment negates the crime, true; but the consequences?”
She might have a point. That could complicate things. He wondered if Gabe knew.
“I don’t know,” he said cautiously. “Do you?”
“In truth, I’m not sure it’s come up before.” She seemed unconcerned. “Usually, when one of our kind is entombed, they don’t re-emerge three weeks later.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.” He walked past her into the living room, taking his chair once more. The earlier solitude that he had resented now seemed a wistful luxury. “Why are you here?”
“You asked me that last time I visited.” She took the chair opposite him, resting one ankle on her knee like she’d been wearing jeans all her life. A disconcertingly un-Belle-like pose. “Why shouldn’t I be, mon amour?”
“Why didn’t you come and get me? You could’ve done.”
She leaned back with a trace of smugness. “I knew there was no need—I am not the only one who can track you, am I?”
“How do you know that?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Her lips curved in triumph. “Ah, so she can. The witch bond, n’est-ce pas? And Gabriel knows too, doesn’t he? No wonder he was so happy for you to be entombed.”
Antoine stilled, thoughts racing. “You set this up,” he said at last. “Why?”
“Là là,” she said dismissively. “Why would I care?”
“I don’t believe you. You could’ve stopped the Curia from punishing me, but you wanted me banished, and back with you.” His eyes narrowed. “Then you let it happen. Why?”
“Politics. Even I am not immune to such an insidious thing.” She rested her elbows on the arms of her chair and steepled her fingers, mimicking him with an air of mockery.
Antoine hadn’t even realized he’d done it, and dropped one hand to his lap.
“I had already agreed to your punishment, if you recall. I could not very well go back on that before the Curia, merely because banishment became entombment.” She waved a hand.
“It didn’t matter. It was already apparent your friend Gabriel had a plan. ”
Antoine fought to keep his tone neutral. “Why do you say that?”
“It was obvious, was it not? First, he moves to claim your territory and protect Cally from Roberto’s wrath.
Then, he leaped at the opportunity to entomb you.
He even volunteered to undertake it, didn’t he?
” She laughed. “I would have liked to have seen Roberto’s face if he had agreed, only for Gabriel to entomb you in a broom cupboard and let you out half a minute later. ”
Antoine shook his head, setting aside the conversation. He had let himself get distracted; Gabe needed further thought, but that wasn’t the matter at hand now. “Why are you here?”
“You already asked me.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“Do I need a reason to visit you?”
“You never do anything without a reason.”
She laughed again. “Maybe it is because you are so entertaining, mon amour.”
“Cut the crap, Belle. I’m not in the mood.”
Her smile faded, but the spark in her eyes lingered. “How very… American of you. Cally seems to have rubbed off.” She delicately sniffed the air. “I must say, she does smell nice.”
“Still not in the mood. Get to the point, Belle.”
“You are touchy about your little witch.”
“We’re done,” Antoine said, rising to stand. “Get out. Go back to France.”
Belle leaned back in her seat, looking up at him as he towered over her. She looked ready to settle in and refuse to move, but then her eyes lowered, the haughtiness of her expression fading away. “Je suis désolé, Antoine. Please, sit once more.”
An apology? From her?
So many years, and he’d never once known her utter those words. It wasn’t a relief, it was disturbing.
“What is it, Belle?” He sat back down. “What has you so… vulnerable?” It was never a word he would have associated with her, but it was the right one.
She gave a little laugh, forced and a pale imitation of her usual amusement. “Maybe at last I have grown up. Maybe that is what makes us vulnerable, non?”
“Speak plainly. My patience has its limits.”
“Oui, I agree. It is time for plain speaking.” She folded her hands in her lap, and Antoine didn’t begrudge her a moment to compose herself. “It is you, mon amour. It has always been you.”
“What is, Belle?” he asked, not trying to hide the weariness in his voice.
“My love. My infatuation. My obsession.”
For all the things he had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
“You’ve been here merely a few weeks. Before that, we hadn’t seen each other in lifetimes.”
“Two hundred and seventy-five years, one month, and eighteen days,” Belle said. Then added, as he stared at her, “since you left me in Paris to take ship from Le Havre.”
“I didn’t keep count.”
“I did.”
“Touching, but I don’t believe you.” He couldn’t even remember what day it was he’d left. How could she?
“Your coldness wounds me, but I swear I tell the truth. Oh, yes, I have seen you since then. Most recently this visit, of course. But I have counted the days of your absence, and learned from my mistakes.”
“Oh? What mistakes?” The whole conversation was surreal. When would she get to the truth? These games were irritating.
“Loneliness. Growing old is a lonely business, even—especially—when one is immortal.” She tilted her head to one side. “You have some experience of what I speak, I think?”
He had no sympathy for her melodrama. “It’s the life you chose, Belle. And the life for which I never had a choice, thanks to you.”
“And still you are brusque. But maybe I deserve that.” She looked down at her hands in her lap.
“For the longest time, I wanted to follow you. But I was trapped in Paris, with responsibilities of my new territory. I had sought power, and the gaining of it came not with the freedom I had envisaged, but chains of a different kind. It was many, many years until I was powerful enough to act as I wished, to leave Paris without risk that my position would be undermined in my absence.” A nod toward him.
“You know something of that too, I presume?”
He did. “Yes.”
“I knew also that you would never see my approach to you as sincere were I to present myself as your sire. It was a conundrum with no solution, until by chance, some thirty or so years ago, I happened to learn the true origins of the vampires, and their fascinating history with witches, lost in our records and nearly forgotten.”