Page 25 of The Agent and the Outlaw
I snapped my mouth shut. I hadn’t meant to ask that last question.Damn it, Charlotte!No, damn this infuriating man. I’d never felt such a loss of control around anyone, and the fact that my life’s work depended on my ability to maintain said control meant I needed to put as much distance as possible between us. The less I became untethered, the safer we would both be.
Antoine said nothing, his inscrutable gaze and hard frown hadn’t even twitched when I’d fired my questions at him.The horse’s ass.
I took a deep breath. “Forget it,” I said. “Let’s just get what supplies we can from this town and leave. We’ve already lingered longer than is wise.”
He nodded once, picked up his things, and we headed downstairs. I smiled brightly at the innkeeper, jabbing Antoine with my elbow to remind him that we were undercover newlyweds. He flashed a grin at the elderly woman and inquired about the purchase of a second horse, some extra food, and additional warm clothes if possible. I handed her my sealed letter with a few coins, asking her to make sure it made its way to the next available mail coach.
We were successful with the extra food and warm clothes, but the innkeeper told us there weren’t any spare horses to be had. I grumbled inwardly as I secured the thick woolen cloak around my shoulders. I was not looking forward to another day and a half of travel, pressed up against a thick wall of exasperating masculinity. By Antoine’s sour expression, I surmised he felt the same way. He paid the woman handsomely, filled the saddlebags, and mounted his horse, then pulled me up in front of him.
Thankfully, the rain had let up, but the sky threatened more bad weather and the temperature had dropped considerably. Even with the additional warm clothes, we both shivered and sniffled, suffering each other’s company in vexed silence. Antoine kept Tartuffe moving at a steady pace, and it was some hours after our departure before we paused to stop for lunch and allow the horse to rest. We found a dry log to sit on and dug into the bread, cheese, and apples the innkeeper had packed for us.
“They aren’t mercenaries, you know,” Antoine said quietly, as if I’d just asked him a question and we hadn’t been riding for hours with nary a word between us.
I shrugged, still put out by our earlier argument. Surprisingly, he continued.
“They’re soldiers. An elite squad of young vampires, newly turned to provide a strategic edge to the army, to be exact. With increased strength, speed, and an unquenchable bloodlust, they’re the perfect warriors,” he said, biting into an apple.
“Soldiers. For France?” I couldn’t help it. My astonishment and curiosity overruled my hauteur.
He nodded.
I struggled to process this information. “How? Were they infected before or after they joined? It must’ve been after, but I can’t imagine them retaining their posts once they’d succumbed to the blood plague. No commander would allow for infected troops. The prejudice against vampires is too great, though it’s a silly prejudice, in my opinion. In fact, I could see how they’d be a huge asset to the war effort—what with them being mostly immortal and all. Wait—no! It cannot be that they were ordered to infect themselves?”
A shadow passed across his face. “Not quite. They volunteered for the post.”
“That’s preposterous. I know for a fact the king is unaware of any vampire troops. He wouldn’t trust them at all, given what’s been brewing in Paris. On whose orders were vampire soldiers created? And to what purpose?”
“The reasons are…complicated. As to whose orders, I’m afraid those come fromGénéral de Vaux, the LieutenantGénéralof the king’s armies and the current governor of Thionville.”
The name was familiar to me, as was his title, but I couldn’t recall having ever met him at Versailles.
“Is he your commanding officer? Do you take your orders from him, then?” I asked.
Antoine sighed. It was the kind of bone-deep, world-weary sigh that seemed to rise from his feet all the way up through his body.
“I’ve taken orders from him my whole life, Comtesse.Général de Vauxis my father.”
8
ANTOINE
November 2, 1767
The road to Gévaudan
Charlotte’s eyeswidened a fraction before she recovered her composure. Her brow furrowed as she studied the bread and cheese in her hands. She seemed to be puzzling things out, so I waited patiently for her to begin peppering me with the barrage of questions I knew would come.
“You told me your name wasde Valle,” she accused.
“De Vallecomes from my mother’s side. I have been traveling under that name since I left the front.”
“I see. A half-truth, then,” she sniffed. “Thebêtesare your father’s men?”
I nodded.
“Which means that he sent them after you. Is this because of some unresolved familial melodrama, or is this more to do with you being a deserter?”
My temper returned, quick as a flash. “I amnota deserter,” I insisted.
