the frescoed ceilings of the cathedral, the sound of her pain stirring the shreds of his heart. Bringing it back to life.
“Do we have a deal?”
LOVE IS NOT LOVE
The first of my people hailed from Carthage.
From a time when blood reigned supreme. When monsters and mercenaries ruled the known world. This was the beginning of the Brotherhood.
Not much has changed since then.
I stand along the pier, gazing toward the waters of the Mississippi, at peace for the first time in a decade.
When I first heard the news that Sébastien Saint Germain had been struck a fatal blow in the skirmish at the cathedral, strange pangs coiled through my chest. I know now it was the last vestiges of my weak human heart finally dying so that I might embrace the better, stronger version of myself.
There is no chance Nicodemus will have turned Bastien.
Not when he refused me ten years ago.
Amusing how tethered to his morals the great Nicodemus Saint Germain can be. Especially considering all the death and destruction he has wrought over the centuries. Bastien was the last living scion of the Saint Germain line. Now the one thing this four-hundred-year-old leech fought to protect above all is gone. His purpose has been taken from him, as mine was taken from me.
I have dismantled his legacy.
And it is sweet. The kind of sweetness that overshadows the bitterness, consuming it whole.
For I once loved Bastien more than I loved myself. I even gave my human life for his.
My beautiful little brother.
But my loyalties lie elsewhere now. With the creatures who offered me the gift Uncle Nico refused to grant me ten years ago. With the true immortal beasts of the Otherworld. The same ones the vampires have always cast aside, to be used as watchdogs and fed the scraps from their dinner table. Treated as nothing more than fodder in a centuries-long war with the Sylvan Vale.
But no matter, that is a tale for another time.
Once I walked among the Fallen. Saw them as family.
But I am no longer a Saint Germain. I do not need to mourn the death of my brother. He was complicit in my uncle’s misdeeds. His impetuousness brought about my mother’s death those many years ago. Bastien is the reason no one sought to save me, a mere girl, destined to become nothing.
My thoughts linger on Celine Rousseau. A formidable quarry, I will admit. She was close to uncovering the truth of what I have become.
But close counts only in cannon fire and horseshoes.
It was something my father used to say.
I move from my spot along the pier, slinking toward the shadows beneath it, comfortable in my skin for the first time in ages. The stars twinkle with abandon, oblivious to how they exist by the grace of the moon. But I am aware. She is our mother in all ways.
Luca will be waiting for me, as he always did, even when we were children. Beneath the silver light of our mother moon, we will run free together. Our families may have been mortal enemies in life, but it doesn’t matter now. For I am among his kind. One of them. A member of the Brotherhood, evermore.
And Luca will always love me, as he has for over a decade.
I love him, too. In my own way. Just as I loved Marin.
Beneath the dock, the change begins. The magic burns through my bloodstream, sending shudders down my spine. My fingers curl into claws, my fangs lengthen, my long hair twists and reshapes.
And I become who I was always meant to be.
Émilie le Loup, an immortal wolf howling at the moon.
Ready for whatever may come.
* * *
Celine opened her eyes with a start, as if she’d fallen from a tower in her dreams. Her body felt battered and sluggish, like the hull of a ship after a summer storm. A cloud hovered over her mind, causing everything around her to appear filtered as if through a haze.
She cleared her throat with a weak cough.
Immediately a figure moved to her side. “Celine.”
It sounded like the voice Celine wanted to hear. But different. In her dreams, it had been different. “Michael.” His name cracked on her tongue. She cleared her throat again, realizing how dry it was. How long she must have slept.
“Do you want some water?” he asked.
“Please.” Celine drank from the cup Michael held to her lips. Every movement he made was slow. Careful. Unmistakably tender.
Celine blinked hard, but the film clung stalwart to the edges of