Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Antoine sat in his chair, unable to focus on his book.
He reached for the bond again. Milton was to the southeast, but Cally was still pulling from the southwest.
Where was she?
He should’ve insisted she take Noah or Zoey. But that was foolish. She was right; she was stronger than any of his thralls. Her lateness had a simple explanation.
Not staying at her dad’s, though.
Perhaps she’d stopped at a friend’s house. He was worrying unnecessarily, like a nagging mother hen. But no matter how much he told himself that, he couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss. He wanted to go to her.
If she’s not back in an hour, I’m going after her, even if she gives me hell for it.
Marcel knocked once, then opened the door. “Excuse me, sir. You have a guest.”
He’d been so preoccupied, he must’ve missed the doorbell.
Antoine closed his book and slid it into the side of his chair, rising to meet whoever had come to visit. Gabe, probably.
Marcel stepped back, and Belle swept past him.
She wore a maroon jersey wrap dress with a neckline that dared him to look, and a slit to her hip that flashed a lot of thigh.
Her long black hair was brushed out for the first time Antoine could remember.
Rose-pink lipstick caught the light with a hint of gloss, while artfully applied makeup sharpened her cheekbones and complemented her glamoured-green eyes.
So very different from the jeans and hoodie of the previous week, or the French ballgowns he always pictured her in.
“This isn’t a good time, Belle.”
“Ah, you wound me, mon amour.” She laid one hand over her heart.
“And when I went to such effort to dress up for you.” Her fingers trailed down the V of her neckline, the movement drawing his eyes as she’d intended.
He looked away, but her lips were already curling in triumph.
“We didn’t finish our conversation the other night. This seems like a perfect time.”
“It’s not.” He faced the window, again feeling the urge to go to Cally. Belle’s presence did nothing to abate the feeling; rather the opposite.
“Why not?” she asked, her playfulness subsiding and a hint of frustration showing. “You don’t smell of sex this time.” She paused, scenting the air. “Your witch isn’t here. We have some privacy, finally.”
Antoine hesitated. The night was still young, and if he went tearing off after Cally, how silly would he look, only to find her returning from a bottle of wine and a pleasant evening?
Belle sensed his indecision and took full advantage, stepping close enough to lay her hand on his chest. She wore perfume, a hint of vanilla and jasmine, the faintest of touches so as not to overpower the vampire sense of smell.
Like she’d merely opened the bottle in her room and stoppered it again.
“You owe me a chance,” she said softly.
“Do I? Do I owe you anything? Have you not already been paid, so many times over?”
“Have you not gained from that night, almost three centuries ago? Would you be standing here, had I not taken an interest in you?” Her hand smoothed his thin T-shirt over his chest, as if there were a wrinkle there.
“No, Antoine, you would be long dead and forgotten. Nevermore to brood in dark corners or explore the taste of your delightful witch.”
Her fingertips stroked down over his stomach, then curled inside the hem, brushing his bare skin. He gripped her wrist, pulling her hand away, and her breath caught, eyes flashing briefly red, before returning to her glamoured green.
“I have given you everything you have,” she murmured, making no effort to pull her hand free. “The least you could do is hear me.”
This was a different side to her, bordering on serious. That hint of vulnerability he’d seen the other night had returned, albeit framed in her sensuality. But it piqued his curiosity.
“Very well. An hour.” And then, if she is not back, I’m going to Cally.
“More than I need,” she said, crossing past him toward the chairs.
As soon as he released her hand, her fingers trailed over his shoulder, but the touch was fleeting.
She glanced back at him with a hint of playfulness in her smile, then took her seat with her usual grace.
The dress pulled tight, rising high, and she crossed one leg over the other, dangling her foot in her stiletto heels.
Only then did she look up, expectant, as if she knew he’d be watching.
He took his seat with an air of indifference, setting his book aside, not letting her see how much she still managed to affect him after all these years. Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, he steepled his fingers and tilted his head with what he hoped was polite expectation.
“I can sense your power, you know,” she began, her bare thigh shifting almost imperceptibly against her other leg. “You are not at my level, but the gap has closed. Dramatically.”
“So much?” he asked despite himself, surprise combining with curiosity.
“Did I not tell you that feeding on a witch would make you the most powerful vampire of our time?”
He nodded. “You did, but you are so much older than I.” He found himself wondering again how old she really was.
“Yes. You have a long way to go to reach such heights. But you will catch me up, mon amour, and that is… excitant.” Her eyes glittered and her leg moved again, almost as if she were aroused—which wouldn’t surprise him, not when they were talking about power.
“How much more powerful do you think I am?” he asked, trying to make the question sound light and not give away his interest. But Roberto was a member of the Curia, and while the gap in power to him would not be as much as to Belle, it was still a significant obstacle.
“It is impossible to be sure without tasting you…” She let the words lilt upwards, as if inviting him to offer.
“No.”
Her lips twitched in amused acceptance. “Maybe a third more than your age would suggest.”
A hundred years of power, in only a few weeks. “That is… staggering. Is such growth sustainable?”
“No, I wouldn’t expect so.” She rested her elbow on her crossed knee and placed her chin on the back of her hand, gazing at him. “A sudden spike would be expected, for it wasn’t just the witch, was it? There was Minh, too, that despicable toady creature.”
“So from Cally alone, how long would it take?” The mere mention of her name, and the urge to go to her was almost overwhelming. Where was she?
“For what, mon amour? To catch me up?” Belle said, and it was an effort to pull his thoughts from Cally and focus on her. “I don’t think we need to put a timeframe on it, do we?”
In other words, she still wouldn’t admit how old she was. “What about Roberto? Could I catch him up?”
“Yes, given long enough, but that isn’t what you’re asking, is it? You are impatient for vengeance.” She leaned back, holding up her hand to forestall him speaking. “I don’t begrudge you. If he had done the same to me, I would also seek to destroy him.”
Was he becoming more like her? That was a concern.
But in this, it didn’t matter. Roberto would die. As would Nico and Tobias.
“I see it in your eyes,” she said. “Either Roberto will soon be dead or you will. Likely before the year is out.” She sighed. “In truth, I don’t believe you are his match at present. Will you heed caution?”
“Caution?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “From you?”
“Bien s?r. I am the epitome of patience and caution.”
“I seem to remember you completely disregarding the Code, and being called ‘naughty’.”
She lifted her chin, gazing wistfully. “I was younger then, and as impatient as you are now.”
“Last time you were here, you said you wanted an equal. If I still have power to gain, how long would that take?”
“I cannot say; it is not like we have mapped the growth a witch offers. But there is more to equality than raw power, is there not? Indeed, I see you as my equal already.”
“Do you now?” He didn’t believe her. She might have convinced herself of the lie, but if she had, it was loneliness speaking.
“I do,” she said firmly, as if there were no doubts.
“It is as I said before. I wish you to join me in France, and be at my side.” She hesitated, a flash of her vulnerability showing itself again.
“Last time, I admit I was too forward… for all my talk of caution.” A little laugh, as though it didn’t matter.
“I should have asked you, not told you it would happen. That is not how one speaks to an equal, is it?” She paused as if considering her words, rather than reciting what she had clearly prepared.
“I would be delighted if you would deign to return with me to Paris. To share my territory, and for us to expand it together. To possibly rekindle the love we once had, or perhaps to grow it into something new.”
“The love we had?” he asked, barely keeping his incredulity from his tone. That wasn’t love, it was ownership. If there had been any love, it was that of master to pet. The very name she had called him for three years.
Besides, his focus was on Cally, and this conversation was a distraction. He wanted to be in the car right now, driving southwest.
“You are right. So much time has passed, but I hoped that we might rediscover love between us, Antoine. For me, though it may have changed, it has never waned.”
Her expression was so heartfelt that he paused, uncertain how to react to such sincerity from her, let alone to respond to a one-sided declaration. “It isn’t so simple,” he said carefully, conscious of her greater power, however subtly her reminders had been given. “I have Cally now, and—”
“But of course. I would not expect you to leave her behind; how could you? You are bonded.” She tilted her head. “There is enough of you to share, is there not? Can a man not love two women?”
He hesitated again, not expecting her to be so easily accepting. “Nevertheless, I don’t think Cally would wish to leave Boston. Her life is here. Her friends, her family.” None of whom are southwest of here. Why am I still sitting here?
“What life?” she said sharply. “What family, when they age and see she does not?” Belle took a breath, then spoke again in the soft, calm voice she had maintained for longer than Antoine could ever recall.
“She is a witch, and she will come to seek her own power, if she has not already. Where better than a place steeped in history, where old records are still kept?”
“She won’t be interested.”
“So sure, are you? Maybe I should speak to her, instead.” Belle leaned back in her chair, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs, flashing a significant amount of thigh. “If I persuade her, you come too.”
Antoine bristled. “She does what I say, not the other way around.”
Belle laughed. “You keep telling yourself that. Have you not felt it yet?”
“Felt what?”
“The bond, mon amour.” She gasped, one hand covering her mouth, eyes opening in mischievous surprise. But it was all a show, none of it genuine. “Did I not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The witches created the first vampire, didn’t they?”
“I remember.”
“Do you think they would have done so while allowing so powerful a creature to dominate them?”
Antoine narrowed his eyes, the pull in his chest suddenly more visceral, as if putting a name to it made it stronger. “What are you saying?”
“As the bond grows, so does the witch’s power. Her power over you.” Belle smiled slowly. “I imagine she can already summon you with a thought.”
Antoine stood abruptly, his chest tight, ignoring Belle’s surprise. It wasn’t like the gentle tug of direction when he felt for her; this was insistent. Immediate. A ‘come now’.
“Are you playing games with me?” he asked, his tone brusque. “Could she really summon me with a thought?”
“I speak no word of a lie.”
“Does she know?” he asked urgently. “Could she do it subconsciously?”
“I imagine so. Why?”
Antoine was already striding across the room. “Because she’s been trying all damn night, and I’ve been ignoring her.”
Belle’s tone sharpened. “Are you saying you think she’s in danger?”
“That’s what it feels like.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
He paused with a hand on the door. “What?”
“We’ll take my car,” she said, walking past him with purpose and a hint of jasmine and vanilla. “Yours doesn’t have enough seats for us all.”