cannot. He—he did not survive—he is mad!”
“I must!” He released her and paced before the pianoforte.
“You would look upon your own future? Is it not enough that I tell you madness waits, that you yet desire to see it and touch it?”
“Yes.”
Decided, Gabriel pulled his frock coat from the chair and swung his arms into it. “I need to know what I must fight, Roxane. I have mere days. Will you help me?”
“But I cannot return so soon. Please, I…you don’t know him. He’s—”
“Violent? A lunatic? You needn’t accompany me if it pains you to visit him. I’ll go myself.”
“You don’t understand.”
“But I do, Roxane. I promise you.” He gripped her forearms. “Your heart balks. Someone close to you suffers. Yet I need to learn, to know the future I must fight.”
“He’s my brother,” she gasped.
TEN
The road beyond Gentilly, a village sitting at the edge of Paris, offered little more than a dirt line carved from the bumps and grasses by carriage wheels. Nothing was flat. The horse had a hard time of it, even centered between the tracks. They made Bicêtre in under an hour and dismounted, tying up the horse.
Gabriel looked over the burnt-grass grounds before him but Roxane stepped into view and his thoughts lightened.
A gorgeous libertine, she defied every definition he’d ever conjured of a country rustic. She was neither simple nor uneducated. Kindness had compelled her to help a stranger, and it continued to show in her sacrifice now by agreeing to bring him with her.
And her kisses, well, they were exquisite. Never before had he been satisfied merely with kisses. Always his affairs had been rushed, unemotional, and fleeting. He wanted to spend time with Roxane, all the time she would give him.
But would she ever have a madman? Or worse, a vampire?
Couldn’t work, that pairing. He’d have her drained of blood in less than a fortnight. But you may enjoy it.
Shaking his head at the disturbing thought, he stepped up beside her to stare at the darkened façade of Bicêtre. Three stories high and stretching across a barren field, the limestone structure greeted visitors with barred windows. Few trees dotted the landscape, save the bare-branched elms behind the facility. Morbid, their blackened silhouettes like a hangman’s tree.
The wind swept a wretched perfume across his face. Gabriel squeezed Roxane’s hand. “You remain out here.”
“He is my brother,” she insisted.
“Exactly why you mustn’t continue to torture yourself. Your frequent visits only widen the ache in your heart. Give me his name. I can find him.”
“Doubtful. It took all of two hours the first time I visited. Not much for order or records here.”
She strode forward, and Gabriel followed, thankful that she accompanied him, and fearful of what he would see this day—his future.
A quiet, hump-shouldered man who smiled sweetly at Roxane accompanied them into the lower cells. Gabriel threaded his hand through hers protectively. The fetid smell clung to his clothes and hair. Agony and loneliness had never before felt so tactile, so present in his soul. He felt every whimpered emotion, every raging cry for sanity.
Could he divine the riddle to his own freedom from a man who had succumbed to madness? Whatever Roxane’s brother had done in an attempt to overcome the vampire’s taint had been wrong. Surely, Gabriel need only take a different approach.
With a guttural cry, he bent double in reaction to a sudden streak of pain. Drums beat at his temples. A heady gush of liquid flowed through his thoughts, a raging torrent of pulsing temptation.
“What is it?” Gentle fingers traced his brow, then touched his shoulder. “Gabriel?”
“Can you not hear it? It is like…pounding blood,” he whispered. “ Mon Dieu , it is so loud!”
At his outburst a scuffle from behind the iron bars erupted into moans of pain. The silver reflection of a mirror, a single shard thrust out from
“I must!” He released her and paced before the pianoforte.
“You would look upon your own future? Is it not enough that I tell you madness waits, that you yet desire to see it and touch it?”
“Yes.”
Decided, Gabriel pulled his frock coat from the chair and swung his arms into it. “I need to know what I must fight, Roxane. I have mere days. Will you help me?”
“But I cannot return so soon. Please, I…you don’t know him. He’s—”
“Violent? A lunatic? You needn’t accompany me if it pains you to visit him. I’ll go myself.”
“You don’t understand.”
“But I do, Roxane. I promise you.” He gripped her forearms. “Your heart balks. Someone close to you suffers. Yet I need to learn, to know the future I must fight.”
“He’s my brother,” she gasped.
TEN
The road beyond Gentilly, a village sitting at the edge of Paris, offered little more than a dirt line carved from the bumps and grasses by carriage wheels. Nothing was flat. The horse had a hard time of it, even centered between the tracks. They made Bicêtre in under an hour and dismounted, tying up the horse.
Gabriel looked over the burnt-grass grounds before him but Roxane stepped into view and his thoughts lightened.
A gorgeous libertine, she defied every definition he’d ever conjured of a country rustic. She was neither simple nor uneducated. Kindness had compelled her to help a stranger, and it continued to show in her sacrifice now by agreeing to bring him with her.
And her kisses, well, they were exquisite. Never before had he been satisfied merely with kisses. Always his affairs had been rushed, unemotional, and fleeting. He wanted to spend time with Roxane, all the time she would give him.
But would she ever have a madman? Or worse, a vampire?
Couldn’t work, that pairing. He’d have her drained of blood in less than a fortnight. But you may enjoy it.
Shaking his head at the disturbing thought, he stepped up beside her to stare at the darkened façade of Bicêtre. Three stories high and stretching across a barren field, the limestone structure greeted visitors with barred windows. Few trees dotted the landscape, save the bare-branched elms behind the facility. Morbid, their blackened silhouettes like a hangman’s tree.
The wind swept a wretched perfume across his face. Gabriel squeezed Roxane’s hand. “You remain out here.”
“He is my brother,” she insisted.
“Exactly why you mustn’t continue to torture yourself. Your frequent visits only widen the ache in your heart. Give me his name. I can find him.”
“Doubtful. It took all of two hours the first time I visited. Not much for order or records here.”
She strode forward, and Gabriel followed, thankful that she accompanied him, and fearful of what he would see this day—his future.
A quiet, hump-shouldered man who smiled sweetly at Roxane accompanied them into the lower cells. Gabriel threaded his hand through hers protectively. The fetid smell clung to his clothes and hair. Agony and loneliness had never before felt so tactile, so present in his soul. He felt every whimpered emotion, every raging cry for sanity.
Could he divine the riddle to his own freedom from a man who had succumbed to madness? Whatever Roxane’s brother had done in an attempt to overcome the vampire’s taint had been wrong. Surely, Gabriel need only take a different approach.
With a guttural cry, he bent double in reaction to a sudden streak of pain. Drums beat at his temples. A heady gush of liquid flowed through his thoughts, a raging torrent of pulsing temptation.
“What is it?” Gentle fingers traced his brow, then touched his shoulder. “Gabriel?”
“Can you not hear it? It is like…pounding blood,” he whispered. “ Mon Dieu , it is so loud!”
At his outburst a scuffle from behind the iron bars erupted into moans of pain. The silver reflection of a mirror, a single shard thrust out from
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