No one said a word.
“The rules are simple,” he continued. “We coexist secretly and in peace with mortals. We avoid the kill when we feed. We eschew innocents. We create our own kind sparingly and with great care. If you cannot abide by this code, speak now and suffer my judgment.”
From somewhere ahead and to my left, I heard a shriek of fury. A black-haired female appeared to fly forward, a blur that stopped short on the end of Aidan’s sword. In an instant, Matthew’s baselard flew through the air, into her eye, and I sprang forward with my stake, dealing the deathblow with practiced precision.
“Who’s next?” Aidan taunted, removing the weapons from the corpse. He handed them to Matthew, who wiped them on the leg of his already-bloodstained pants before returning me my trusty length of hawthorn.
My body tense and rigid, I waited for the next attack, but none came. One by the one, the dissenters began to drop to one knee.
“My Dauphin,” came a whispered voice, and then another. And another. Another still. On and on it went until they were all kneeling—every last one of them. Even the one called Galina, her blond head bowed reverently.
Mystified, I looked to Aidan, unsure of his next move. I watched in wonder as he lifted his chin proudly in the air, looking every bit the young king they believed him to be and nodded.
“This is done,” he said, his tone commanding. “Go now.”
31 ~ Like Breathing Air
It was only when we’d stumbled back to Aidan’s apartment near dawn that I noticed what a ragtag bunch we were. My hair had obviously caught fire at some point, a big chunk burnt off almost up to my chin on one side, and Matthew’s eyelashes had been singed clean off. Both of us were sporting numerous bruises from head to toe, along with cuts and gashes that were just beginning to crust over.
Tyler, too, was covered in bruises and cuts caked with blood, and Joshua sported a deep gash along one cheek.
Aidan remained unblemished, though like Matthew and me, his blood-soaked clothes were ruined and his skin was coated with a thin film of putrid ash. So was his hair, which now looked a dingy sort of dishwater gray rather than its usual golden blond.
Only Marissa appeared unscathed. Thank God. I couldn’t help but remember how Marissa had suffered in our fight with Julius, her throat ripped open, her skin deathly pale. I was relieved that the guards had kept her safe, that she’d come through this fight without a scratch. She deserved that. She’d earned it.
As soon as we walked through the door, Sophie and Cece came running toward us. “Thank God you’re okay!” Cece cried. “I watched the whole thing—you guys were awesome!”
Sophie looked peeved. “Yeah, and I was stuck with the shell of her body and two scary-looking vampires. I had no idea what was happening till the very end, when Cece decided to come back here.”
“Hey, I was busy causing distractions,” Cece shot back. “Could you tell?”
“I noticed,” Aidan said with a smile.
He had? He hadn’t mentioned it, but then, he had been pretty occupied.
“Anyone need me to check anything out?” Sophie offered. “Any injuries?”
“You should look at that cut on Joshua’s face,” Matthew said, his brow knit. “He might need stitches.”
Sophie nodded. “What about you, Tyler? You’re a mess.”
“Hey, you can check me out anytime you like,” he quipped with a wink.
Sophie’s cheeks pinkened. “Very funny. Okay, how about you all go get cleaned up, and I’ll set up triage in the kitchen. Aidan, do you have any first aid supplies?”
He nodded. “I have no idea why I do, but yes. I’ll go get them for you.”
“Guys, I’ve got to get in the shower,” I said, my knees suddenly weak. “Like, now.”
“Go on up.” Aidan gestured toward the stairs. “The master bath is all yours.”
I made straight for it, stripping off my clothes and dumping them in a trash bin while the enormous claw-foot tub filled with water. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a real shower—just one of those old-fashioned, hand-held thingies hanging on a hook, but it would have to do. A few minutes later, I sank gratefully into the steaming water, thinking that I’d never been as sore, as exhausted, in all my life.
Finding a bar of violet-scented soap—how had Aidan managed that?—I hastily ripped off the wrapper and began to scrub myself raw. I wanted to rid myself of every trace of the night’s work, to scour the memories from my brain. It was always the same—I was perfectly fine while in Sâbbat mode, finding satisfaction, almost a thrill, as my stake hit its mark. But afterward, it hit me hard.
How many vampires had I destroyed tonight? Eight, ten, twelve? I’d lost count. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t taken their lives, not exactly. Their mortal lives had already been ended in ways that had nothing to do with me. Besides, if I hadn’t destroyed them, they would have killed me. Killed Matthew, Tyler, Joshua, Marissa. All of us.
I set aside the soap, my skin red and raw now. Holding my breath, I slipped beneath the water, submerging myself. I stayed there, my eyes squeezed shut, until I thought my lungs would burst—a test. Unable to bear it a second longer, I propelled myself upward, gasping for air the moment my mouth broke the surface. The survival instinct was too strong to deny, just as it had been last night—just as it would always be when I came face-to-face with a murderous vampire. I had to accept that, or I’d drive myself crazy.
Sighing resignedly, I reached for the shampoo, squeezing an untidy lump into my palm. It smelled good—vaguely tropical—but I cringed as I ran it through my lopsided, burnt-off hair. I wondered just how bad it looked.
“It’s pretty bad,” Aidan confirmed, once I’d finally gotten out of the tub and pulled on a tank top and a pair of pajama pants. “I think you’ll have to get it cut. But as luck would have it, you’re in Paris. Get some sleep, and then we’ll find someone to take care of it.”
I just nodded, exhausted as I climbed into the bed that would be mine come fall. I’d have to do something about the duvet cover, I decided, snuggling beneath it. It was way too masculine. The room needed something brighter—maybe a sage green in shantung silk.
My mind was just beginning to drift off when Aidan leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. I reached up to cup his cheek, wondering suddenly what it would feel like with stubble. It was hard to imagine him any differently, since he remained perpetually unchanged.
He turned his face toward my hand, his lips against my palm. And then he froze. “You’re bleeding,” he said.
I sat up. “Where?”
“Your arm. It’s deep. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have sent you straight down to Dr. Sophie. She was having so much fun down there with antiseptic and bandages that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I could heal minor wounds myself.”
I examined the arm in question. He was right; there was a gash on the inside edge of my right biceps, about two inches long. I must have opened it up when I’d scrubbed myself clean.
I shoved down the sheets and duvet, noting with a frown that I’d bled all over them. “Crap. I need to strip the bed and get these in the wash before they stain.”
Aidan laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, restraining me. “Don’t worry about it, not now. Here, just pull it back and I’ll get you a quilt or something.” He went to the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and dug around, then returned with a heavy chenille blanket. “This should keep you warm enough. Now, let me see your arm.”