Page 57 of The Agent and the Outlaw
I licked my parched lips and reached for the cup of watered-down wine on my tray.
“Why did you kidnap Charlotte from Versailles?” Daphne pressed. “Let’s start there.”
“I didn’t kidnap her,” I insisted. “I was protecting her. I thought she was a young man and that the marquis was going to take advantage of her. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were about to be discovered, and at her feet was a dead marquis, shot through the chest, and her with a quiver of stupid costume arrows. I did not want her to be accused of the murder that I knowingly committed.”
“Most honorable,” Daphne said. “Why did you murder the marquis?”
“Didn’t Charlotte tell you?”
She answered with a noncommittal shrug, which could have meant anything. I sighed, angry with the coy machinations of these women.
“My reasons are my own,” I ground out.
“Your reasons must also be ours, if we are to protect Charlotte,” Daphne replied. “And you.”
“I do not need or want your protection,” I snapped. “I just want to be left alone.”
“Mon dieu,man, you murdered a damned marquis! You cannot just be left alone,” the emissary laughed. “We are beholden to the king and the Order, but we will do what is necessary to protect Charlotte and respond appropriately.”
He had a point.
“Monsieur, we are very good at keeping secrets,” Daphne said.
My mood darkened. “Sade abused, tortured, and murdered my nephew,” I said, bile rising in my throat. “My beloved sister, Marie, killed herself from the grief and shame of it. My father knowingly placed young Louis in Sade’s charge, likely offering the lad’s innocence in exchange for Sade’s tutelage and influence. Because of my father’s need for power and control, my family is destroyed. I will not hide from the consequences of my actions, but if you are here to elicit some sort of apology and request for absolution, you will not get it. Sade deserved far worse than the quick death I gave him, and I regret nothing.”
Daphne was quiet, but I recognized something like anguish flashing in her eyes. Her gaze shuttered before I could be certain. The emissary seemed to sense her feelings, though, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“We understand,” he said. “More than you know.”
“Sade’s fate had already been decided by the Order,” Daphne said, rising. “He was marked for death by Charlotte’s hand, but it was to appear as an accident. Now that it looks like murder, there may be an investigation. Étienne and I will do what we can to settle things, but there are grave consequences to your actions, Antoine. The danger we are all in is very real. Sade certainly deserved death, but you should not have intervened.”
“My vengeance is not your concern, nor is it the Order’s or the king’s. Sade was a deviant and a predator, and I’ve just saved everyone the trouble of figuring out what to do about a murderous aristocratic problem. You should be thanking me for doing your dirty work,” I grumbled.
Daphne smiled, but there was something dangerous in it. “I do not shy from dirty work, Antoine. Neither does Charlotte. She is not simply acomtesse. She is not simply my cousin. She is not simply an agent ofles DDand the Order. Hell, Charlotte is notsimplyanything.”
“I know that!” I shouted, angry that the duchess was deigning to tellmeabout Charlotte.
She placed a hand on my arm. “Charlotte is not evensimply humananymore.”
My gaze flew to hers. “You know?”
Étienne chucked darkly. “Of course, we know. We’re fucking vampires, Antoine, don’t you think we’d recognize a werewolf in our midst?”
The sickness I felt had nothing to do with the pain of my injuries or the dread at spilling my secrets to these powerful and dangerous individuals. I looked at Van Helsing.
“The beasts in the cave,” I said. “One of them was her.”
She nodded.
Horror and despair washed over me. Even though Charlotte was still alive and was not mine to mourn, I felt a keen sense of loss. I had not protected her, and because of me, she’d become a monster. The forgotten self-loathing returned, and I attempted to quell my rising nausea.
“What now?” I whispered.
“Now, you rest,” Van Helsing insisted. “If you don’t allow yourself time to heal properly, it won’t matter what happens with the Order or Charlotte. You will die from festering wounds and not be alive to plead your case to either.”
“You know what I meant,” I growled at her. “I care not for my own future. Where is Charlotte? What happens to her? Can she be saved?”
“Saved?” Daphne inquired. “Why, Antoine, whatcanyou mean?” She grinned, and the firelight glinted on her vampire fangs.
