GIDEON ANDAUGUSTE SEARCH THE TREESfor 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 eveninglying 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, leadingme 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.”
