inordinate amount of ferocity. Their loved ones were often their greatest weakness. It was for their families that they did their worst.
Émilie wasn’t interested in that kind of weakness. In that kind of excuse.
She fought for herself and for herself alone. The family she had now was one of survival. She loved them because they gave her the strength of numbers. But her love was conditional. And she always made certain her conditions were met.
“The leeches are almost here,” a voice announced through the din.
Émilie refrained from going to the edge of the deck to peer at the sight she’d longed to see for so many years. Instead she walked toward the bow, to the dais reserved for musicians. The electric lanterns glowed beneath her. Along the horizon, a faint light began to bleed into the night sky. The first signs of dawn.
Luca came to stand beside her. He reached for her hand. Émilie wove her fingers through his. Something roared through her with the force of a summer storm when her brother stepped over the railing, a blank expression on his face.
Sébastien looked so much like their father. Handsome. Chiseled. Strong.
Émilie almost flinched.
A lie. In the end, Rafael Ferrer had been weak. So very weak.
When Bastien saw her, he stopped, a look of shock and dismay on his face. In the blink of an eye, he schooled his expression into one of calculated ambivalence. A part of Émilie was impressed. The little brother she remembered was far more ruled by the tides of emotion. He reached behind him to offer his hand to the young woman accompanying him.
Celine Rousseau, who disregarded her brother’s help and held the hem of her long skirts high before planting her booted toes on the deck. Émilie’s gaze narrowed. Odette Valmont, Shin Jaehyuk, Boone Ravenel, and Madeleine de Morny moved into position as all the wolves formed a protective semicircle around Émilie and Luca.
Émilie removed her hand from Luca’s and stepped toward Bastien.
“I appreciate you responding to my invitation, Monsieur Saint Germain. Though I’ll admit I expected your arrival a bit sooner,” Émilie said in a pleasant tone.
Bastien took in a breath as if he meant to speak, then stopped himself. Again Émilie found herself admiring his restraint.
“I’m certain you wish to ask me how I came to be here, mon petit lion.” She grinned.
“I do,” he replied. “But does it matter?”
“I suppose not.”
“Where is Nicodemus?”
“He came to me of his own volition, just as you have.”
“I am not here because I wish to be here, Émilie.” His piercing grey eyes cut through her. In another life, she might have been intimidated. “I am here because I was not given a choice.”
“You were given choices, Sébastien. You chose to come here to save our undeserving uncle, for reasons I am certain I will never understand,” she replied. “You could have left him to his fate, one he deserves more than most villains, to be sure.”
Bastien paused as if in thought. “I suppose it depends on how one defines a villain, does it not?”
“You sound so much like him,” Émilie said, her words taunting. “How proud he must be of you.”
“I am nothing like Nicodemus.” He frowned, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Delight warmed through Émilie. Finally she’d managed to strike a nerve with her little brother. Before Émilie had a chance to react, Celine Rousseau stepped toward her, her eyes flashing. “Enough of this. You asked Bastien to come if he ever wished to see his uncle again. What do you want from us?”
A formidable opponent, as Émilie had surmised. “Marceline Rousseau,” she murmured, appraising her slowly. “I’m happy to finally make your acquaintance.”
“You came to my shop once. I remember you asking Pippa about a mourning gown.”
“I did. I could not help myself. Tell me . . . how does it feel to realize you will one day destroy the boy you love? That your kind will forever be plotting to put an end to his kind?” It was deliberate of Émilie to bait this girl. She wanted to see what the half fey could do. What kind of Vale magic might flow through her veins.
“I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by provoking me,” Celine said softly. “But it won’t work. You won’t goad me to anger, though you are most deserving of it. The anger I feel for you is deep and strong. But I will not let it control me, as it has controlled you. I will not allow