Follow The Night (Bewitch The Dark) (35 page)

He smeared a palm across his face. Roxane’s blood touched him everywhere. And yet, to look upon his hand, the whorls and lines infused with crimson, he did not feel the burn. No pain. Just…hunger.

He hugged her legs so tightly he knew it must hurt her. But he could not believe it. He lived! He’d had no qualms to sacrificing his life to save hers, and yet… he had been rewarded with life.

“Gabriel, stand up. My blood,” she gasped. “It did not burn you? Let me look at you.”

Pushing up from the scatter of blood-soaked faggots, he rose and quickly licked the wound on Roxane’s arm where he had dragged his rapier in a sacrificial slash. Saliva would heal her.

Securing hold against the wall behind her he stretched higher, kissing her neck, sooted and stained with her tears and blood. He bracketed her face with his palms and kissed her deeply. Inside her kiss he found a perfect untainted moment of bliss. Pressing his body to hers they could not be closer.

Yet they could be closer—Roxane’s blood pulsed within his veins.

“Your blood, when I first drank from you…” He kissed her effusively, so thrilled he was to be alive and holding her. “…it is inside me yet. It has made me immune to the danger.” Another kiss. “Yes?”

“That is
my
blood all over your face?”

He followed Roxane’s gaze to the puddle of blood on the floor behind them. Fabric and any metal that had been on the vampire were mired in a goop of pulpy, crimson muck. Only great strength would see Roxane free from the irons.

The elation of having survived lightened his strides and returned a much-needed smile to his face. A thousand suns could not beat him down this day!

Arriving at the window that had served as entrance, he stuck out his head. High above, a stony visage watched over the city. “
An evant
!” he shouted. “Your mistress needs you!”

Gabriel dodged as Charles took matters into his own hands—er, wings. Glass shattered, scattering inside the window sash like a crushed sweet. The limestone wall crumbled in a powdery haze of stone and pebbles. The gargoyle’s every step punched into the wood floor.

“Careful!” he warned as the gargoyle neared the dungeon door. “She’s to the left.”

And so Charles smashed through the wall on the right and bit into the manacle around his mistress’s wrist. The iron sliced open and her arm dropped to her side. Charles bit off the other manacle and Gabriel caught Roxane’s weak body as it tumbled into his arms. He settled to the floor and swept a hand over her body.

Charles lowered himself before the man in the shadows. A soiled hand thrust out and trembling fingers touched the beast behind its stone ears.

“He knows him,” she reassured.

Damian climbed onto Charles’s back, clutching the beast’s neck and wrapping his legs around his back as if a child clinging to a huge family pet, seeking safety—and finding it.

Charles preceded Gabriel and Roxane to the vicomte’s home. They ran up to the roof to find Damian sleeping peacefully in the gargoyle’s protective shadow.

“The window.” Roxane stepped to the edge of the shattered oculus.

What had gone on in her absence? She hadn’t felt as though she had been with Anjou for long. But the thrall had drained her. Now she wobbled and gasped as Gabriel clutched her from behind.

A kiss bonded them beneath the midnight sky. They had survived the ultimate test to their love—the blood sacrifice—nothing could separate them now.

Forcing himself to leave Roxane’s arms, Gabriel lifted the thin slip of a man clothed in rags and smelling of his own filth and carried him downstairs to the guest room. Crisp linen sheets received Damian’s body with a welcome that Gabriel hoped would comfort. How to chase away the dark demons of madness?

If Anjou had bitten him again had he begun the change? What hell reeked silent havoc behind the man’s closed eyes?

He examined Damian, tilting his head to study his neck and under his chin. “Anjou didn’t have opportunity to bite him.”

“Help me, Gabriel,” Roxane whispered against his neck. She threaded her fingers through his and tilted her head to rest upon his shoulder. “I want to make things right for my brother.”

“Do you think he could manage a lucid moment? If we questioned him perhaps he could make the choice himself?”

“I think that option was stolen by the moon.”

“Witch,” Damian spat. Awake, he struggled upright on the bed to crawl across it and sprawl before them. The liege lord of Bicêtre had been released to reign over Paris. “Take my blood, vampire.” Seduction coated his voice. The devil danced in his eyes. “It has begun. Do not deny me again.”

“Burn the witch.” Damian curled to his side and balled his legs up to his chest. He closed his eyes. “My faithful! Where are my faithful?”

Roxane settled cautiously on the bed before her brother. “I love you, Damian.” She made to touch him, but at his flinch, drew back. “I will never deserve your forgiveness, and you mustn’t worry to grant it. If I could take back the days and make you whole I would.”

“Witch,” muttered out from the man’s tucked head.

“If you allow the vicomte to bite you…” She looked to Gabriel. In his eyes she found compassion so rich, so vast she wanted to dive in and lose herself—and bring Damian along. “Take the blood,” she whispered. “Pray it makes you whole.”

Damian rolled to his back and stared up at her with his pale green eyes. Celadon. Indeed, an ice forest waiting for its prince’s return. For a moment Roxane thought she saw understanding. Acceptance.

Damian let out a moan as the vampire’s bite pierced his flesh. His fingers clenched and unclenched and he kicked at the mattress, but he did not struggle. Soon he wrapped his arms about Gabriel and clutched, clinging, worshipping…becoming.

Had this been Gabriel’s moment? The attack under the stars interrupted by his valet? So intimate, the twining of their bodies, the drawing of blood. The gift of the night.

She felt her lover curl fingers around her wrist. Damian lay quietly gazing up at the ceiling. Blood trickled from two perfect wounds on the side of his neck. Her lover’s kiss.

A shiver traced her arm as Gabriel kissed her wrist. “He must drink from you,” he whispered. “Grant him the immunity that will protect a brother from his sister’s deadly weapon.”

“I—” She tugged away and clutched her wrist at her breast. “I don’t know.”

“Roxane…” he nuzzled his nose aside her ear. She scented the blood on him. Anjou’s blood, her blood, Damian’s blood. “Make him safe. Bring your brother back to you.”

“P-promise?”

“I can promise only that you are with two men who love and need you.”

Now was her chance to right the wrongs served Damian. Murmuring a blessing for success, Roxane pressed her wrist to Gabriel’s mouth. He drew a fang across her skin, opening her vein in an icy slice.

“To life,” he said as he directed her hand to Damian’s mouth.

“And love,” Roxane said as the pull of her blood tugged at her very being.

“I don’t want to know.”

Roxane roused from a drowsy sleep. Wedged between Gabriel, who snored softly, and Damian, whose leg twitched in his deep sleep. The voice had come from the open door. There stood Xavier Desrues, wearing Gabriel’s robe, looking as if the cat had gotten him.

She could only nod, for she knew now her father had loved the man, no matter his twisted mien. And if Toussaint had been speaking to Xavier, then she needn’t worry for him. Not at this moment.

Xavier tilted his head and closed his eyes. A smile crept onto his pale mouth. “It is good to be with my family.”

“It is.” And she laid her head aside Gabriel’s shoulder and drifted to sleep.

EPILOGUE

In two weeks Gabriel’s life had spun completely around. No longer did he stand facing the cruel mockery of his past. Now, he stared straight ahead at a future that promised much adventure, love, and probably a bit of danger. (Toussaint took immense pleasure knowing that.)

He was ready for a new life. The witch and the vampire had found their comfort, twined within one another’s embrace.

Xavier stayed on at the Renan estate. He wanted to gain the time he had lost with his children—and would. But presently he dealt with Anjou’s massive fortune. Together Xavier and Gabriel had plans to build a grand children’s home. In fact, last week the
Mercure de France
reported an anonymous donation to erect that very charitable home. Xavier’s influence at court would prove Gabriel’s boon.

Damian had improved remarkably, and was almost himself. He followed Gabriel, learning all there was to know about his new life. Gabriel every day learned new things himself, so he felt the student guiding the fledging. They often sought advice from Xavier, who could surrender to the vampire’s way, for now he had all he wanted in life.

Damian was more lucid than mad. His mental state could only improve. But there were still nights Gabriel and Roxane lay in bed listening to the pounding against the wall. Damian forgave his sister, in fact, he’d apologized for the cruel words and epitaphs the madness had worked against her. Gabriel prayed for the day Roxane would forgive herself for her brother’s condition.

Now he and Roxane visited the country often. They had plans to renovate the parish and raise their children far from the stifling confines of the city.

Yes, the future glowed brightly. Gabriel smiled from behind his blue spectacles. He had many lifetimes to hone his skills and become the exquisite beast he strived to become.

But his lover would enjoy a mere mortal lifetime.

Now, he held her as they lay in bed, naked, after love making. His muscles were languid and warm. Rosemary and cinnamon shrouded the room with their mixed essence.

“Roxane, love, tell me you can get your immortality back?”

She nuzzled against his chest and darted a tongue at his nipple; it hardened at her command. “It is possible. I would have to perform the ascension ritual again. Not a pleasant act by any means.”

He turned his head and stared up at the ceiling. The gaping circle where the brilliant oculus had once reigned had been boarded over. Xavier had already invited a glasscutter to dine with the family to discuss an even more brilliant replacement. The entire rainbow must be restored.

“There is Madame de Tencin’s salon tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ve a new damask frockcoat I’ve been dying to show off. Perhaps I could show off my fiancée?”