choked back a scream. When he tilted his head to the cathedral’s rafters—to the brilliant frescoes of angels overcoming their demon brethren—his tongue was stained crimson with her blood. A sound of supreme satisfaction rose from his throat.
As if he found her blood delicious. As if he relished in meals of human blood.
Vampire.
A brutal shriek burst from Celine’s lips. She tried to free her hands from her bonds so that she might grab the dagger at her hip, but Nigel laughed at her once more, reveling in her struggle. Toying with her as if she were nothing but a plaything.
“That’s enough, Nigel.”
The vicious admonition came from Celine’s back. To the right side of the altar.
An air of triumph filled the space when Nigel glanced over her shoulder. He whipped Celine around, his skin vibrating with anticipation.
As if this had been his plan all along.
Bastien walked down the aisle toward them, his revolver trained on Nigel, his expression hewn from ice.
Nigel wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling Celine toward him, as if she were both a possession and a shield. Amusement tinged his voice. “The reckless Romeo has finally come to rescue his foolish Juliet. Tell me, Lord Lion, does our keeper know you’re here?” His black eyes narrowed to slits. “What will Nicodemus say when he realizes you’ve risked his legacy for the life of a mortal girl?”
Bastien ignored him. “He won’t harm you again, Celine,” he said, his tone even, his words soft. “Not if he wishes to see another moon.”
Nigel’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her back against the cool marble of his chest. “Don’t lie to your love, Sébastien,” he said. “For I haven’t had my fill, and her blood tastes sweeter than sun-warmed honey.”
The beat of her heart thudding in her ears, Celine nodded to Bastien, her bound hands inching toward her pocket.
With a subtle shake of his head, Bastien took a step forward, his thumb cocking the hammer of his revolver. “Your quarrel isn’t with her. Let Celine go, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Perhaps all I want is to drain her dry before your eyes. To watch you live the rest of your short, godforsaken life as the Ghost.”
The tips of Celine’s fingers grazed the edge of her pocket, her breaths quickening in her throat.
Bastien’s lips pursed together, something flashing in the depths of his eyes. “Don’t waste a winning hand on such foolishness. No one goes to all this trouble for something so small and petty. I know we can make a deal.” His smile was cold. Unforgiving. “Name your terms.”
“You are in no position to make demands. Put down your gun, Bastien,” Nigel said. “And perhaps I’ll agree to deal in good faith.”
“Fuck your good faith.” Bastien’s smile widened. “Let her go. Now.” He took another step forward.
“Aim true.” Nigel’s icy fingers wrapped around Celine’s neck, sending a shiver between her shoulder blades. “You may succeed in wounding me, but not before I rip the veins from her throat.”
Celine’s fingers closed around the handle of the silver dagger.
Before any of them could make another move, Nigel lifted Celine off her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. Then he sank his teeth into her neck. Terror raked its sharp claws across Celine, the pain almost blinding her as she struggled to wrench his auburn hair from his scalp, her fingers flailing against a wall of stone.
“Enough!” Bastien commanded. For the first time, Celine sensed fear in his voice. “Let her go, and I’ll put down my revolver.”
Nigel licked his lips before he replied. “Drop it first.”
Bastien said nothing. He disengaged the bolt on his revolver, though he did not lower it.
“Do it now, or I’ll finish her off,” Nigel taunted. “It won’t take much. She has so little left to give. Her heart slows with each passing moment.”
“Bastien,” Celine whispered, letting her posture cave in on itself, hoping Nigel would mistake the gesture for helplessness. The same kind of helplessness her attacker had expected that night in the atelier.
But Celine Rousseau was not helpless. While there was still breath left in her body, she intended to fight. Nigel would not escape this church unscathed. She swore it to the heavens.
Trembling uncontrollably, Celine eyed Bastien sidelong, her fingers brushing across her right hip. “Bastien, please,” she repeated, as if she were begging him to save her.
Though Bastien winced, he nodded once. Letting her know he understood her unspoken directive.
“It appears we are at an impasse, Sébastien,” Nigel said.