with powers beyond your wildest ken—was yoked to a cursed breather, like a bloody watchdog.” Distaste tugged at his lips. “It’s no wonder the Brotherhood despises us so.”
The loop loosened infinitesimally more, Celine’s fingers chafing from the effort. “Why does Bastien need to be guarded?” If she could buy herself but another minute . . .
“Surely it hasn’t escaped your notice that every other member of Bastien’s family is dead. Do you think that’s by accident or by design?”
A retort threatened to barrel from Celine’s mouth. She bit her tongue, tasting the salt of her blood. She could not succumb to anger, just as she would not be consumed by fear. “It must be by design,” Celine replied.
Nigel brushed a thin layer of dirt from his shoulders and adjusted his shirtsleeves as if he were preparing for something. A knot of unease formed in Celine’s stomach. “Bastien is the last piece of a retribution centuries in the making. And I—Nigel Fitzroy—will be the one to put the final nail in this coffin. The first of my kind to bridge the divide between the Fallen and the Brotherhood.” He inhaled through his nose and spread his arms wide. Then he shouted once, as if in triumph, a fierce, guttural cry.
It sounded like the roar of a beast. Like the howl of a barely leashed creature relishing the spoils of his hunt. Its echo shook the very ground beneath Celine.
No. Evil did not look the way she’d imagined it would.
It looked far worse. It was hate wrapped in the guise of a friend.
Celine fought back a tide of anguish, despondency settling around her, its shadow closing in.
Before it could take root, she lurched to her feet and began to run. Her teeth chattering in her skull, she grabbed hold of the first pew, using it to propel her down the aisle toward the doors, expecting Nigel to stop her at any moment. Her bound hands itched to retrieve the dagger at her side. Itched to defend herself. To drive the silver deep into the place his heart used to be.
But once she unsheathed the blade, she would have only a single chance to use it.
Now was not that time.
Soft laughter trailed behind Celine, its echo searing through her soul. She could not stop to question why Nigel wasn’t chasing her. There was no time to idle in curiosity. Choking back the rising bile, Celine continued racing down the aisle, her body taxed by every footstep.
Why was she so goddamned weak?
The doors to the cathedral stood sentinel less than ten paces away. All that mattered now was escape.
A rush of air gusted past Celine, her sight blurring from the breeze. She blinked, a cry of astonishment escaping her lips.
Nigel was standing before the cathedral doors. Only a second before, he’d been at the opposite end of the church.
Her senses dazed, Celine stumbled to a halt, grasping a pew to steady herself. “How?” She despised the way her voice trembled. “What are you?”
A beat passed in awful silence. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” His words were lethal in their calm.
Nigel began to change. His eyes darkened to black, the color spreading like a drop of ink through water. His features sharpened, the tips of his ears tapering to points.
Celine gripped the pew in her hands, swallowing her cries. Nigel’s teeth had begun to lengthen, his canines resembling those of a wolf, gleaming like daggers in the low light of the tapers.
Panic gripped Celine’s stomach. Acid collected on her tongue, its sharpness washing down her throat. She took a step backward, her heart hurling against her chest, demanding to be set free.
Then Nigel blurred toward her. One moment he was ten paces away. The next he loomed a hairsbreadth before Celine, as if he’d manipulated the air around him, like a ghost or a spirit or a demon of the night.
Celine clasped her bound hands before her, as if she were in prayer. She leaned against the pew, struggling to hold herself upright. Hoping her perceived weakness would grant her an opportunity to draw the dagger from its sheath at her hip.
“Ask me again what I am.” The scruff on Nigel’s chin gleamed like molten copper, his eyes chips of obsidian.
Celine could not respond. Nor could she look away.
With a soft laugh, Nigel grabbed her wrists in an iron vise, pulling her against his chest. Then he leaned forward and licked the wound on her neck. Celine