could not bear children, but she had a younger sister who did. You look too much like her not to share the same blood.” He took the locket from her hands, his movements slow, careful, almost reverent. “ Elle était mon ange de la nuit . She found me, saved me, killed those who…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, as if to clear it of those particular memories.
He slipped the locket over his head, and it settled against the froth of lace spilling from his throat. He hadn’t changed out of the outfit he’d worn to the museum, and under the harsh overhead lighting, he looked so very young, barely twenty. But vampires didn’t age, did they? Assuming popular myth was accurate, they would remain looking as young as the day they were turned. Eternal youth but with more deadly side effects than Botox.
“She made me into what she was, and we were happy together. I loved her. We were meant to be together for all eternity. Elle était mon âme soeur .”
It took her a moment to translate and decide “soul mate” sounded too incestuous in French. Then again, everything about his bond with Angélique was disturbing.
He took a breath, as if bracing himself. “Then they took her away from me.”
He made it sound like the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets.
“Who are ‘they’?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Edmond’s pale face went taut with anger. Had he been human, she supposed it would’ve flushed with color. “The Council.” He said it like the organization was one of the plagues of Egypt. “Back then, I didn’t know who they were. They were small in number and scattered. Narrow-minded, as they are still today.
“Angélique wanted a baby, a child to love, to complete our family. But they didn’t understand. They called her a murderess but it wasn’t like they thought.” His tone turned pleading, as if wanting Mercy to side with him. “The children kept…dying before the transformation completed, so we had to keep trying.”
Mercy stilled, gooseflesh breaking out as her skin became icy. Oh, Jesus. She breathed deeply through her nostrils. Bile rose threateningly in her throat and burned, but she managed to keep from embarrassing herself.
Angélique sounded like a candidate for several life sentences in solitary confinement, but she’d been allowed to roam free and even managed to find a man after her own black heart. A soul mate, as Edmond had said. Mercy shuddered. Bonnie and Clyde. Angélique and Edmond. Who knew serial killers were pedantic enough to buy into the whole soul mates thing?
Mercy took a breath. Edmond had said “we.” He had helped Angélique in her sick quest, and in his quest to bring her back, he had tortured and killed at least five women in the last year. She was to be number six. Her laced fingers tightened until the knuckles went white. She didn’t want to be number six.
Her gaze went to the brass urn Edmond had carried in with him and placed beside her, and she tried not to shudder. She purposely kept her eyes from straying to the primitive stone triangle lying next to it, not wanting to remind Edmond of its presence.
* * * * *
Vanessa flattened a hand against Ryan’s chest and kept it there, as if afraid he would go after Savage, all the while yelling like a berserker.
He wanted to, but he didn’t.
Alive, Savage could provide intelligence.
Vanessa took out a semi-automatic and a silencer and screwed them together. Savage moved past them. Coolly, she extended her arm, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. There was a soft pffft . Before Savage’s newly injured knee could even buckle, Ryan flew at the man. His fist struck Savage’s ribs, where he recalled the bruising had been ugly, and the knife edge of his other hand cut across the Adam’s apple.
While the bigger man choked and gasped, Ryan slammed him against a wall, face first. He seized a wrist and twisted
He slipped the locket over his head, and it settled against the froth of lace spilling from his throat. He hadn’t changed out of the outfit he’d worn to the museum, and under the harsh overhead lighting, he looked so very young, barely twenty. But vampires didn’t age, did they? Assuming popular myth was accurate, they would remain looking as young as the day they were turned. Eternal youth but with more deadly side effects than Botox.
“She made me into what she was, and we were happy together. I loved her. We were meant to be together for all eternity. Elle était mon âme soeur .”
It took her a moment to translate and decide “soul mate” sounded too incestuous in French. Then again, everything about his bond with Angélique was disturbing.
He took a breath, as if bracing himself. “Then they took her away from me.”
He made it sound like the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets.
“Who are ‘they’?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Edmond’s pale face went taut with anger. Had he been human, she supposed it would’ve flushed with color. “The Council.” He said it like the organization was one of the plagues of Egypt. “Back then, I didn’t know who they were. They were small in number and scattered. Narrow-minded, as they are still today.
“Angélique wanted a baby, a child to love, to complete our family. But they didn’t understand. They called her a murderess but it wasn’t like they thought.” His tone turned pleading, as if wanting Mercy to side with him. “The children kept…dying before the transformation completed, so we had to keep trying.”
Mercy stilled, gooseflesh breaking out as her skin became icy. Oh, Jesus. She breathed deeply through her nostrils. Bile rose threateningly in her throat and burned, but she managed to keep from embarrassing herself.
Angélique sounded like a candidate for several life sentences in solitary confinement, but she’d been allowed to roam free and even managed to find a man after her own black heart. A soul mate, as Edmond had said. Mercy shuddered. Bonnie and Clyde. Angélique and Edmond. Who knew serial killers were pedantic enough to buy into the whole soul mates thing?
Mercy took a breath. Edmond had said “we.” He had helped Angélique in her sick quest, and in his quest to bring her back, he had tortured and killed at least five women in the last year. She was to be number six. Her laced fingers tightened until the knuckles went white. She didn’t want to be number six.
Her gaze went to the brass urn Edmond had carried in with him and placed beside her, and she tried not to shudder. She purposely kept her eyes from straying to the primitive stone triangle lying next to it, not wanting to remind Edmond of its presence.
* * * * *
Vanessa flattened a hand against Ryan’s chest and kept it there, as if afraid he would go after Savage, all the while yelling like a berserker.
He wanted to, but he didn’t.
Alive, Savage could provide intelligence.
Vanessa took out a semi-automatic and a silencer and screwed them together. Savage moved past them. Coolly, she extended her arm, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. There was a soft pffft . Before Savage’s newly injured knee could even buckle, Ryan flew at the man. His fist struck Savage’s ribs, where he recalled the bruising had been ugly, and the knife edge of his other hand cut across the Adam’s apple.
While the bigger man choked and gasped, Ryan slammed him against a wall, face first. He seized a wrist and twisted
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