Chapter Twenty-Three

MICHEL-LEON STIRRED next to him, muttering in his sleep in agitation. His long, naked body moved against Constantin and stirred his interest all over again. They’d dallied deep into the night until both of them were spent and sated. He slid his arm around Michel-Leon, loath to wake him, and Michel-Leon’s muttering died off.

There was still so much Constantin had to learn about him. He wasn’t sure if his troubled dreams manifested from the confrontation with Nightingale, or their looming deadline, or if his ancestors hounded him in his sleep as well.

He hoped not the latter. The man deserved some respite from his duty. The dreams probably weren’t because of the end of the magicman either. It was a goal finished for the chevalier, nothing more.

To Constantin, it was everything.

He didn’t have to worry anymore about Nightingale targeting his brothers’ children or any of the other little ones. He could move forward with his life, find new goals. Like helping Michel-Leon teach a new brand of chevaliers. Finding ways to blend magic with constructs. And if he was fortunate, building on the growing relationship between them. Constantin pressed a kiss to Michel-Leon’s naked shoulder as his thoughts continued to wander.

He should be elated and energized, but Constantin couldn’t quite get Nightingale’s parting shot out of his mind. He knew that’s what the monster intended—to get in his head, to cause him further sleepless nights forever.

Restless, Constantin clambered from the high bed and yanked on his breeches. Dawn wasn’t far off, and there was the faintest hint of light on the horizon. Michel-Leon would insist on relocating them to the town house today. There was no point in staying at the château now that it was no longer needed as a prison. All the answers to the swarm were in Paris.

Constantin leaned against the embrasure and studied the horizon as streaks of color appeared along the east. He brooded over Nightingale’s last words. “When you feed off innocents too, you’ll remember me.”

It was nonsense, utter nonsense. He’d never hurt a child. But the uneasiness remained. Gabrielle’s memory haunted him as well, the hunger that struck with her fear. It hadn’t been as strong as the call to heal, and he’d been distraught when he recognized he’d scared her. But what if there was some merit to what the monster had said?

Constantin pushed away with a shake of his head. No, no more. Nightingale had haunted him his entire life. He wasn’t about to let the monster haunt his future too. He had a future, a purpose. If he let Nightingale taint that going forward, then that was on him. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots.

He sensed Michel-Leon right before his arms slipped around Constantin. “What are you thinking about so hard?” he asked softly.

Constantin shrugged as he laid his hand over Michel-Leon’s. “I am troubled. It’s probably nothing. I feel like I should know what Nightingale was talking about.” He gestured toward the window. “About Paris, I mean, and where the swarm is.”

“Moi aussi,” Michel-Leon said with a heavy sigh. “It is right there, tantalizing, but the answer eludes me.”

Constantin hesitated. He didn’t want to address his concerns. He didn’t want to give them any weight. It was insanity…but what if Nightingale’s story had a germ of truth in it? He couldn’t take the chance. Michel-Leon would tell him what he needed to know, and if he didn’t know the answer, he would track it down. He wouldn’t let something like that slide away without confronting it.

“Do you think there’s any merit to what Nightingale said?” Constantin glanced over his shoulder at Michel-Leon in the early morning light. He would smile and tell him not to let the monster concern him. And then Constantin could put it behind him. “That I’m doomed to be like it?”

Michel-Leon went still, and his eyes reflected his concern as fresh denial and pain hit Constantin. Non, non, non. I won’t be like that monster. I can’t be.

“There is a danger,” Michel-Leon said slowly, carefully. “But it’s a danger I fully believe you can fight, and as time goes on, that danger should lessen.”

Sickened to his soul, Constantin pulled away roughly. “What are you saying? I am nothing like Nightingale. Nothing!”

“Non, you’re not.” Michel-Leon’s quiet, instant affirmation eased some of the tumult inside of him. “The magicman was a monster in every sense of the word, and it was a monster long before it fed off souls. It served a man, Gilles de Rais, who lured children to his home with the promise of a better life. He preyed on those whose station wouldn’t give them a chance to fight back. Once he had them, he butchered them. The man that Nightingale was then helped de Rais with every part, from the tricking to the burning of the bodies. You are a protector of children, not their nightmare.”

Constantin shoved away from the bed, weighing Michel-Leon’s words. “Then why do you believe there is a danger if I am nothing like it?”

Michel-Leon hesitated again, and Constantin felt another stab of fear. “The danger lies in your origins. You are fey kissed. As far as I have been able to tell, all magicmen are corrupted fey kissed. The key here is corrupted, Constantin.”

Constantin paced, absorbing that information and its implications. “So all I have to do is keep from being corrupted.” He found his shirt and pulled it on with jerking motions, trying to make sense of it. He didn’t even know what that meant. Constantin was not an innocent man. He had not been innocent in a long time. He’d killed. He’d sold his body. He’d stolen. What did corruption mean for a man like him? “I have done things in my life I’m not proud of, things that kept me alive.”

Michel-Leon waved that concern aside. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. That’s not what they mean by corruption.”

A gnawing fear wouldn’t let Constantin be. “Then what do they mean? S’il te plaît. Michel-Leon, you must tell me.”

“I need to look further into it, and I am. I’ll do whatever is in my power to keep it from happening.” Michel-Leon studied him soberly and rose to slip on a robe. “It’s why I warned you not to steal power from the magicman. From what I can tell, what happened is you fed off his soul. Soul feeding is addicting. I’m still piecing it together from a book loaned to me.”

The room spun on a wave of lightheadedness. Constantin gripped the bedpost for support, physically sick. “Are you saying I have some of that monster in me? Get rid of it!”

Michel-Leon hesitated. “I don’t know how. Not yet, but I will. Constantin, I—”

“No more.” Constantin waved him to silence, his heart pounding. He was a monster, doomed to become what he hated the most. He had that thing fouling him. Constantin would always be fouled. The scars where Nightingale had carved out bits of him were bad enough. “I cannot hear anymore.”

“Constantin, don’t, s’il te plaît. There is hope.” Michel-Leon reached for him, and Constantin twisted away. He couldn’t bear to be touched right now, touched by him. Michel-Leon was the farthest thing from a monster. “You are a protector at heart, not a leech.”

“The ancestors should’ve warned you about me,” Constantin rasped and froze in place as something flickered in Michel-Leon’s eyes. He was laughably easy to read once Constantin had gotten to know him. “They have. Mon Dieu, they have.”

Before Michel-Leon could respond, he wrenched the door open, ignoring Michel-Leon’s call. He raced down the hallway, running from Michel-Leon’s increasingly frantic cries. Constantin ran from his past, from his future. He clawed at his chest as if he could physically remove Nightingale’s taint from him. Between one step and the next, he wrapped the shadows around himself, twisted, and disappeared.

Whatever else Michel-Leon said was lost as Constantin slipped into the hidden staircase, careful of the traps he’d memorized. Though what would it matter if the château killed him? Other than Michel-Leon would go to his grave blaming himself. Non, it had to be by Constantin’s hand. He could not bring any danger of this to Gabrielle. It had to end. He’d take what remained of Nightingale with him and make sure this never happened. He’d die free with no chance of more corruption.

His heart despairing, Constantin climbed to the top floor, entered one of the abandoned rooms, and crossed to the window. The sky was stained a gorgeous flood of reds and pinks as he flung open a window. He stared down at the paved ground impossibly far below.

He closed his eyes, bracing his hands on the sill, and doubt swamped him under. He pictured Michel-Leon’s face, the way he felt last night when they’d made love, the timbre of his voice. His heart caught. He did not want to put Michel-Leon in the position of having to hunt him down one day. He had to do this for him too.

Constantin swung his leg over the side and soon perched in the open window. Michel-Leon would care for Gabrielle when he returned to Sangipay.

If he returned.

Constantin sagged against the window, pressing his scarred cheek against the rough stone. Was he going to leave Michel-Leon alone to solve the mystery of the mists? After he’d given his word he’d help if Michel-Leon destroyed the magicman? Here he was hours later, seeking to break that promise.

Non, he wouldn’t be alone. He had Régine, and she was more than capable. I have two brothers now. Régine’s words floated back to him. He’d lost his sister when she was barely more than a babe, and he’d like to believe that if she’d lived, she would’ve been as fierce and fearless as Régine.

Constantin rubbed his chest and the stinging marks he’d left there, and his fingers curled into claws again. He couldn’t let Nightingale take root. He had to end this.

On the heels of that argument came another. He had time. Michel-Leon’s ancestors would warn him if Constantin was becoming a danger. He couldn’t leave Michel-Leon and Régine alone. What else did he have anymore but his word of honor? Constantin still needed to organize the volunteers. Needed to use his constructs to help Michel-Leon search for the swarm’s nest now that they had a direction.

But if even one child was hurt by his hand… Constantin couldn’t bear the possibility. He slammed his fist against his chest. There had to be a way to get the corruption out!

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there arguing with himself, fighting the waves of despair and anger mixed in with cutting hope. The door to the room opened, and Constantin stiffened until he remembered Michel-Leon couldn’t see him. He kept quiet and still as footsteps approached, cringing inside. He longed to glimpse Michel-Leon’s face one more time and yet was terrified of doing so.

“Constantin?” Michel-Leon said softly, his voice brittle.

His hand brushed over Constantin’s back, and the illusion shattered. Before Constantin could react, he was wrapped in muscular arms and pulled away from the sill, back into the safety of the room. Michel-Leon held him, murmuring his name over and over.

Constantin sagged against him, all fight gone. He was stuck at a crossroads, but he didn’t have to drag Michel-Leon with him. “How did you know I was there?” Constantin asked after Michel-Leon fell silent.

“I didn’t. Régine and I have been searching for you everywhere. When I saw the open window, I feared the worst.” Michel-Leon shuddered and pulled back. “Bon sang, Constantin. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“I can’t have that thing inside me.” Constantin clung to him, staring into Michel-Leon’s stark expression. Then he forced himself to let go. He couldn’t be with Michel-Leon, not when they had no chance at a future. “I can’t. I won’t become what it was. I’ll stay long enough to help you with the swarm, and then I’m ending it.”

“We will find a way,” Michel-Leon swore. “You won’t be doomed. You can fight this.”

“You don’t know that!” Constantin flung an arm out. “You are a man of hope. I am not. You see the good in things even when none exists. I can’t take that chance. I can’t harm a child. You don’t know what it was like. I can’t become that.” He turned away before Michel-Leon could reach for him again. It hurt too damned much. “We should leave for Paris. Get this over with.”

“Constantin.”

Constantin could not ignore the plea in Michel-Leon’s voice this time. He looked at Michel-Leon and saw for the first time he’d neglected to change. Michel-Leon stood there in nothing more than a robe, his feet bare, his hair sleep rumpled. He looked like home. “The fey kissed are corrupted when they turn from their purpose. They are meant to be soul healers. So do that. Heal, don’t destroy. You think on that these coming weeks.”

They stared at each other, challenging, neither willing to give way, both aching. Then Constantin nodded. “I’ll keep your words in mind.”

Michel-Leon tightened the belt around his waist with a sigh. “That’s all I ask.”

They left, side by side, but with a widening gulf between them, one Constantin dared not cross, no matter how much he longed to. It had to be this way.