The Damned

by Renee Ahdieh

  It is unsettling to realize the image I have of his greatness is not shared with those around me. My dead heart feels strange in the face of this revelation. I suspect it has something to do with Valeria Henri. Her nearness has kindled memories within me. Ones I have not contemplated for many years. The sound of my mother’s laughter. Of watching someone prepare a meal for me. Of listening to my father sing. Of squabbling with my stubborn sister.

  Of being loved without demand or design.

  I sense Arjun watching me. “What is it?” I ask.

  “I confess I’ve been living in fear for the last two hours.”

  “Because?”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t accosted me for refusing to take you to the Sylvan Vale.”

  It is sobering to hear this from a supposed friend. “What did you think I would do? Cut out your heart and feed it to Toussaint?”

  “The usual.” Arjun wipes his monocle and places it in a small pocket of his waistcoat. “Offer me immeasurable riches. Cajole me. And then begin the process of browbeating me into submission.”

  I frown. “That sounds rather uncharitable.”

  “It’s what your uncle would have done.”

  “It’s what I would have done, too,” I admit.

  “And what has changed?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “But for my own edification, would it make a difference if I offered you money?”

  “It might.” He grins.

  “Really?”

  “Not on your life. My mother would kill me if I brought a vampire to the Summer Court. There’s not much a dead man can do with a pile of money.”

  “Have you always been so afraid of your mother?”

  “Weren’t you afraid of yours?”

  I push my lips forward in thought. “I don’t remember being afraid of her. I remember wanting to make her smile. Wanting to hear her praise me. But I wasn’t afraid.”

  “Whom did you fear?”

  “My sister and my uncle.”

  He laughs. “Right.”

  “It’s telling that you chose to work for the sworn enemy of your mother’s court.”

  “As I said before, I prefer your kind to mine. At least there isn’t a dispute about who or what you hate. At least I know where I stand among vampires.” Arjun pauses. “Not to mention that I made your uncle a promise to work for La Cour des Lions for a period of no less than five years, with a handsome financial incentive both during and after my tenure. Promises mean something to us in the Vale. They are not to be made lightly. If we fail to honor one, we can no longer set foot on fey land.”

  We walk for half a city block before I reply. “Have you promised never to bring a vampire into the Vale?”

  “No.”

  “So then it’s not technically forbidden.”

  “I’m not taking you to the Summer Court, Bastien.” Arjun halts and turns toward me. “Why do you want so badly to become a human again? Isn’t it better when you don’t have to worry about dying? You’re stronger and faster now than you ever were before. Virtually indestructible. Why do you wish to forgo these advantages?”

  “Are you afraid of dying?” I ask.

  “I’ve never thought about it. I’m young, and it would take a lot to kill someone like me.”

  “I think a brave man fears death. It’s what makes him brave.”

  “So you’re looking for glory on the battlefield?” He crooks a brow at me. “A chance to be a hero?”

  “No.” I rub the back of my neck. “Honestly, I don’t have a good answer to your question. Not yet.”

  “Let me know when you do.”

  I laugh. “That will be the first thing—” I stop short, a strange scent assailing my nostrils.

  Arjun draws up beside me. “What—”

  My immortal blood rushes to my limbs, energy coursing through my veins. “Run,” I mutter. “And don’t look back.”

  A low growl resonates from behind us. Another from our right. Even though I cannot see them, I sense several wolves loitering in the darkness around the corner. A few more gathering to the left. They smell of overripe fruit and musty fur. The scent is cloying.

  Arjun drops his parcel of food and removes a set of silver claws from inside his breast pocket. He grips the weapons in either fist and assumes a fighting stance.

  “I told you to run, damn you,” I say through gritted teeth, my revolver at my side. My fangs lengthen, a low hiss emanating from my throat.

  “I’ll run when you do, Saint Germain,” Arjun replies. “And don’t fire that tiny cannon. You’ll wake the entire city.”

  “Hang the entire city.” I cock the hammer.

  From the shadows emerges an immense wolf, at least twice the size of any I’ve seen before. It crouches like a predator about to spring, moving with calculated slowness. An awareness of who I am and what it is.

  Of why we are here at all.

  More members of the pack materialize from the shadows. Saliva drips from their mouths, their long teeth glistening in the blue moonlight. At least eight of them surround us in a shrinking semicircle, their intentions plain.

  Arjun and I are outmatched. If we fight—as I am inclined to do—one of us could be injured. I may manage to escape unscathed, but Arjun is half mortal. He will not fare as well. It is not a risk I am willing to take.

  I grab Arjun by the shoulder and whirl us in the opposite direction. He does not waver as we race through the deserted streets of the French Quarter. Snarling wolves nip at our heels, their fury splitting through the night air. A howl echoes to my right, and three more sets of paws join the first eight, racing toward us from a side street.

  They intend to box us into a corner.

  I veer left onto Rue Rampart, Arjun following close behind. I scan the eerily silent buildings around us, searching for a way to escape. There is no place to hide unless we smash open a locked door. I consider scaling a wall of brick toward an open rooftop. At least that would give us the advantage of higher ground.

  But any misstep could see us worse off. And I will not save myself at Arjun’s expense. He is here because of me. Even if he is not a vampire, he is one of us. I will not leave my brother behind.

  I leap across a set of streetcar tracks and blur toward the high walled entrance of the old cemetery on the outskirts of the Quarter. In a burst of speed, I kick through the iron gate, shouting for Arjun to join me. The second he crosses onto consecrated ground, I slam the gate shut and twist the iron bars around themselves so the wolves cannot follow.

  My chest heaves from the wrath mounting in my blood. I am not designed to run from a fight. The muscles in my arms shake as my fists search for something to destroy. I turn toward the wall as the largest wolf crashes against the gate.

  It holds, though its hinges whine.

  In this moment I feel more like an animal than I do a man. The nauseating smell of the wolves spreads as they mass just outside the iron gate, pacing back and forth, their eyes glowing yellow in the darkness.

  I want to tear them apart. Hear their bones break. Relish their dying whimpers.

  Another howl punctures the night air. The next instant, the largest wolf—undoubtedly the leader of their pack—leaps onto the top of the whitewashed stone wall. He glares down at us.

  I swear he is smiling.

  Like a strike of lightning, I shove Arjun forward and bolt for the center of the cemetery, aiming for one of the largest tombs. One replete with intricate carvings and towering pillars difficult for four-legged creatures to climb.

  “That one,” Arjun shouts, angling toward a recently completed marble monolith. A final resting place for forty of the city’s wealthiest Italian families.

  We are less than ten feet away from the tomb’s base when the wolf attacks. It leaps from the shadows, knocking us both to the ground. I roll to
my feet, my fangs bared. Arjun brandishes his silver claws and rakes one set of blades across the wolf’s immense jaw.

  Three gashes appear, the blood like salted metal as it drips from beneath the wolf’s ear. Incensed, it takes only a second to decide which of us to attack first.

  Arjun shouts when the wolf snaps its jaw around his forearm and hauls him backward, shaking him about like a rag doll until the claws fall from his hands.

  I fire my revolver. The silver bullet grazes one of the wolf’s hind legs, but all it does is enrage the creature further. I ram the full force of my weight into the wolf’s injured side just as another member of its pack snaps at my feet. Before I have a chance to turn around, the second wolf yelps and vanishes from sight. The crunch of breaking bones resounds from between a row of crypts.

  My smile is one of menace.

  My brothers and sisters have arrived.

  The hiss of stalking vampires blends with the growling of the wolves. In a burst of fluid motion, my vampire siblings flash between the granite and marble monuments, attacking and defending in equal measure. The wolves manage to hold their own. They are well organized. Well trained. Well led.

  From my periphery, I watch Jae throw a grey-backed wolf into the air. It cries out when its spine shatters a stone obelisk. Another wolf tries to impale Hortense on the tines of a low iron fence, but she manages to twist away, a delighted gleam in her gaze. Another blur of movement, and the wolf in question is missing an eye.

  Boone rasps through the darkness as he draws away two wolves from the pack.

  I do not see Jae, but I hear the damage he wreaks. The snap of lupine limbs and the howls of pain. The deathly silence that follows.

  I smell the wolf that attacks me before I see it. It moves faster than any of the others. It must be the leader of this pack, the one who first appeared from the shadows. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say I am facing a member of the Grimaldi family itself. I cannot be sure if it is Luca, but I do not have the luxury of worrying about what that might mean.

  I smash my fist against the side of the wolf’s face, right where Arjun raked his silver claws. Unmitigated wrath blazes in the wolf’s bloodshot eyes. It thrashes, then closes its powerful jaws around my wrist and bites down hard enough to nearly sever my hand from my body.

  Arjun jumps onto the wolf’s back and wraps his arms around the creature’s neck until it relinquishes hold of me. It does not miss a beat before it rolls across the stones and pins Arjun beneath its heavy body.

  Then the wolf sinks its teeth into Arjun’s throat.

  Without a second thought, I grip the wolf’s skull with my uninjured hand, then take my bloodied fingers to its muzzle and tear in the opposite direction. The animal’s jaw separates from its head with a sickening snap. Like the sound of a plate being smashed against stone.

  The wolf collapses to the ground, lifeless.

  Growls ripple through the pack. Teeth gnash together in fury. The sight of their vanquished leader has left them all the more crazed.

  Boone, Jae, and Hortense surround Arjun and me in a protective circle, their backs to one another. I stand, blood dripping from one arm, my vision swirling into focus. Power threads through my veins. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced in life or in death. As if everything around me has narrowed, converging on a single point.

  Destroy or be destroyed.

  I am a Saint Germain. I choose to destroy. Maybe it is not a choice at all.

  By my count, the wolves have lost a third of their number. At least four more are severely injured, one of them partially blinded. They come to the same conclusion I do the next instant. Snarling while they collect their dead, they vow wordless retribution as they slink back into the darkness.

  We stand in silence for at least a minute, waiting to see if they will return.

  Gruff laughter rolls from Hortense’s throat, her beautiful face filled with delight as she gulps in the night air. She is in her element, her face covered in blood, her fangs coated with crimson.

  Boone laughs with her, his arms stained up to the elbows like a butcher’s.

  Jae has not moved in the last two minutes. He stands like a statue, his gaze focused on the path before him in morbid meditation.

  With my good arm, I reach down to help Arjun to his feet. When the ethereal struggles to stand, I remove the torn jacket from my shoulders and press the fabric against the dripping wounds on his neck to stanch the flow.

  His smile is weak, his stance unsteady. “I slowed your escape. You should have left me behind. I would have left you behind.”

  “Fucking liar,” I mutter as I hold him upright.

  “It’s not a lie,” Arjun says, his expression grave. “Ethereals are taught from an early age to fend for themselves.”

  “As I said to Valeria, you’re my friend. A part of our family. I would never leave you behind.”

  He says nothing in response, but falters as he tries to take a step forward on his own.

  “Arjun is badly injured,” I say to Hortense, Jae, and Boone. “Where is Madeleine?” She is the best healer among us.

  “In the past, Le Pacte liked to set traps,” Hortense says, using the French name for the Brotherhood. “So my sister and Odette stayed behind to guard Nicodemus.” She licks blood from her fingertips as she turns toward me.

  “I’ll carry Arjun home,” Boone says, taking hold of the ethereal’s uninjured arm.

  “Like hell you will,” Arjun croaks, his face pale. “I’ll carry myself, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t be a damned fool, little fey brother.” Boone grins. “Besides, I don’t mind spilling a little blood of the Vale.” They begin leaving the cemetery, Arjun’s protests fading with each step.

  When he looks at me over his shoulder, his smile is one of gratitude. One of promise.

  I linger in their lengthening shadows, pausing to gaze at my hands. The puncture marks around my wrist have healed, though the skin there is lighter than normal. All around me are signs of a vicious struggle, blood splashed across the stones beneath my feet and the slabs of marble at my back.

  The thrill of battle begins to wane, and my features turn bleak. Hortense stands beside me. She rests a palm on my shoulder.

  “Are you ready for this war, Sébastien?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I would avoid it if I could.”

  She frowns. “You would?”

  “Blood begets more blood. I don’t relish the thought of harm coming to anyone I love.”

  Her lips thin into a line, her displeasure evident.

  I take her hand, realizing she seeks reassurance, not resignation. “But if these wolves want a war, they shall have it. That is my promise to them. And to you.”

  A smile ghosts across Hortense’s face. “Précisément.”

  CELINE

  The Devereux mansion stood stalwart on Saint Charles Avenue, one of the most moneyed addresses in New Orleans’ Garden District. Last week—a mere day after Philippa Montrose had accepted Phoebus Devereux’s proposal of marriage—the brick exterior had been whitewashed, the shutters painted a fashionable shade of dark green. Porches enclosed all three of the home’s elegant stories, offset by white latticework and intricate wrought iron. Vines of powdery blue wisteria snaked up one side of the impressive edifice. Flames danced in rows of small iron torches, winding around the lane leading up to the home’s entrance.

  It was a perfect spring evening for an engagement party.

  Pippa was radiant, dressed in a beautiful gown of wispy organza, her blue sash a match for the blue fire in her eyes. Her blond hair was piled on her head, demure curls framing her heart-shaped face like a golden halo. She lingered on the arm of a rather bookish-looking young man, his smudged spectacles sliding down his nose, his flashy cravat overpowering his otherwise unremarkable face.

  “She looks happy,�
�� Celine said to Michael as they made their way up the lane into the mansion’s immense back garden, where two long tables were set with Limoges porcelain and pressed linen, sparkling crystal and glowing candles in brass holders.

  “It’s a happy time in life,” he replied, pulling her arm through his. “She’s found her match.”

  Celine quirked her lips.

  “You disagree?” Michael lowered his voice.

  She shook her head. “Pippa always said how important it was for her to find a husband.”

  “Are you displeased with her choice?”

  Celine mused a moment before responding. “Phoebus is a kind man who will provide well for her. I just—I wish she thought more of herself. She could be so much more than a rich man’s wife. She is smart, capable, and resourceful. I hate that she thinks the only suitable aspiration for a girl like her is that of a bride.”

  “It’s important to see the merit in her dreams, even if you disagree with them. Isn’t that what a friend does?” Michael led Celine to one of the long tables and pushed in her seat before taking his own.

  “I don’t disagree with her dreams,” Celine said. “They simply . . . frustrate me in their simplicity. A wife is always second to her husband, and I don’t see the merit in settling for second place.”

  Michael leaned forward, an amused light in his pale gaze. “I agree. But perhaps an engagement party isn’t the best place to have this discussion.”

  Celine’s ears went hot. She wasn’t sure if it was because of what Michael said or his proximity. A hint of apple tinged his breath, the scent rather pleasant.

  “I’ve overstepped, haven’t I?” Michael said in a flat tone. “Nonna told me I shouldn’t be so forward with my opinions. It makes people less apt to like me.”