Finding Gabriel (18 page)

For the first time in over seven years, she knew defeat.

She was quite certain he wouldn’t cause her any harm or disgrace – yet she needed to be free of this show of dominance. In the heat of the moment, a promising thought passed her mind: if she moved swiftly enough, she could reach her dagger …

As if reading her thoughts, Gabriel pressed her wrists together and secured them with a single hand. The other snatched onto the curve of her chin and aligned her face with his own. His fingertips curled against her skin in a merciless, demanding touch. His gaze burned into hers with the force of molten lava. When he spoke, his voice was a decadent, low rumble. “Tut-tut. Not a good idea.”

“Please. Just let me go.”

Ariah shivered as a low chuckle resonated against her body. The husky baritone seeped into her flesh and thrummed through her veins – she felt it deep inside.

Despite the cold weather, Ariah felt unbearably hot and clammy. Sweat formed along her brow and she fought to catch her breath.

“Look at me. Look at what you have saved.” Gabriel released her chin and tore away the bandage in a harsh movement. As his eyes bore into her own, pale moonlight fell upon the deformity, illuminating the twisted flesh and grotesque welts. The sight reminded Ariah of a beautiful chateau … a stunning fortress situated along the coastline … one that had fallen into ruin and neglect. The skin was concave, destroyed, cavernous – a remnant of former glory. And the surrounding features – his burning eyes, the right side of his face, his powerful body – dwarfed the disfigurement with a striking beauty.

“Look at the monster you have created. Look upon my face, Ariah.”

She shivered at the sound of her name; slightly muffled from the injury to his mouth, it slid from his tongue with equal parts venom and hunger.

“I was supposed to die that night …” The last of his words ended in a choked whisper. His face fell forward in despair until his forehead was pressed against her own. He was impossibly close. And he appeared every gram a flesh-and-blood warrior – coarse and ruthlessly untamed. Sweltering heat radiated from his body and engulfed all five of her senses. She was suffocating. Visions of that long-ago night echoed in her mind until she could perceive nothing else. Ariah gave a shallow cry as she struggled to free herself once more.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me. Please.”

Her movements ceased. The words struck a chord deep inside her chest. She connected her gaze with his and was rendered speechless by the naked anguish in his stare. Regret and desire were etched in every line of his face – but what stole her breath was something entirely different. For the second time, it was neither anger nor resentment that radiated from his eyes, but a longing so intense that it nearly overwhelmed her:
hope.

Regaining her courage, Ariah combatted a decade of fear and reached out to him. She trailed an unsteady hand through the thick waves of his hair and attempted to calm him with whatever comfort she could provide. Fanning against her neck in a dense cloud, Gabriel’s breaths grew steadier with each caress. Then his muscles slowly eased and fell limp within the circle of her arms. Emotion pressed hard on Ariah’s chest, making it difficult to breathe, difficult to think. As his steel mask fell away, her heart burned for his vulnerability and desperation; he was a proud man who’d endured horrors she could never imagine. And yet, within this moment, he was no different than a lost child aching for comfort.

“You are wrong. You are no monster. I have seen evil. I have seen true monsters … and you, Gabriel de Laurent, are just a man like any other man. That’s what I see. Strength. A man who brings a smile to a little girl’s face …” His hold on her wrists loosened with each word. Ariah lifted a hand to his looming face and gently grazed a fingertip over the marred flesh. It was rigid and coarse, twisted and corrupt. And yet it concealed a delicate soul that was in jeopardy of fading away forever.

He trembled against her. Ariah craned her neck as she battled to make out the angular lines of his face. “I see a man who is still handsome, who is noble, and who is, above all other things, a fighter.”

He collapsed on top of her body and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. Ariah exhaled a sigh of relief as he quivered against her breast. Then she embraced him with both arms and traced invisible circles along the length of his back. Up, down, up, down. Sweat drenched the sleek planes of his body and glistened like tears. Her fingertips cascaded over the thick ropes of muscle. She felt the tension ease within – and alongside it, her own fears gradually fell away. Then, without second thought, she inclined her face and inhaled his essence. Sandalwood and winter. His scent had a strange calming effect, and Ariah found herself relaxing in his arms.

“Yes. You are quite right. I … I am afraid. But it’s not your face I fear. Not your face, and not this cruel façade you force upon me. How blind do you think I am? You do not fool me, Gabriel. My fears run much deeper than your scars. The thing I fear lives inside me.”

Hours had passed since Gabriel and Ariah’s encounter. Abandoning himself to profound thought, he lurked beneath the archway while he watched Ariah and Emmaline contentedly sleep. Their bodies were pressed together and melded in a sweet spooning position. Exhaling a stiff breath, he leaned against the doorjamb and shut both eyes. Images from the nightmare flashed inside his mind: Lisette’s broken body, the blood-stained snow, her dark hair streaming across the ground, the wretched sound of his voice as he sobbed her name …

Papa will come home tonight, won’t he? He promised he would. He promised he would read to me.

His heart stirred, ever at war, as he recalled Ariah’s tender words:
I see a man who is still handsome, who is noble, and who is, above all other things, a fighter.

Over the last few weeks, Ariah Larochelle had touched something deep inside Gabriel. Something he’d believed was long dead and buried. Her delicate beauty, her compassion, their strangely unified and kindred spirit … they’d stirred a dormant fervor in his soul. He wished for true intimacy and connection. Even more, he yearned for the comfort of a family – to no longer be imprisoned by the ghosts of his past. And Ariah was wounded like himself. He ached to uncover her secrets and guide her from whatever horrors she’d endured. He ached to tell her the whole, unadulterated truth … to disclose the horrors of his past and Jacques’s death.

Could she be mine?

Rays of hope glittered inside his heart and set his emotions ablaze. But first, he could no longer hide from himself. He could not move forward while held back by chains.

Turning away from Ariah and Emmaline, Gabriel wandered into the drawing room. Unblinking, he stared into the hearth as the firewood perversely crumbled, split, and blackened.

Heart beating at full force, he grasped onto the mantel and summoned his inner courage. He knew what had to be done.

As one of Napoleon’s renowned colonels, Gabriel recognized the intricate qualities that measured a soldier’s greatness: the wisdom to surrender and the courage to sacrifice.

Tonight, he would free himself.

Tonight, he would confront his inner demons.

•

It was half past two in the morning when Gabriel departed from the home. Fingers of darkness crawled through the dank alleyways and skittered across the cobblestones. Low-hanging clouds blanketed the skyline as streams of moonlight illuminated the jagged horizon. On this night, the rows of shops resembled soldiers awaiting their colonel’s command. Far in the distance, glimpses of Paris’s domes and spires jutted into pure darkness. Even with a kilometer or so between them, the grandiose monuments of the city dwarfed the slim alleyways.

Gabriel quickly found that his assertion had been accurate. Ariah’s district was a poor one. Homeless wretches clustered about a small fire as they fought off the chill, an abundance of garbage and stray animals littered the walkways, and wounded soldiers roamed the alleyway with outstretched palms and haunted eyes.

Steadying his nerves, Gabriel secured the satchel in place after it slipped from his shoulder. He absently tracked his right hand over the worn leather, paying sentiment to the items that lay within. With each step, his boots echoed and his heart raced. Swaying in the breeze, lanterns flickered overhead and tossed long shadows across the stone walls.

Soon the alleyway gave way to a wide boulevard. He was getting closer to home; with each step, the buildings appeared newer, bigger … fewer animals infested the walkways, and fewer soldiers were found.

Gabriel turned a sharp corner and nearly ran straight into a prostitute. She gasped and clutched at her chest. As she regained her composure, he instinctively moved backward several paces, easing into the surrounding shadows. He hadn’t bothered with the wretched bandages, and his entire deformity was in sight. The street lanterns flickered, encircling her within a faint illumination. She awarded him a decadent smile and allowed the moth-eaten shawl to slide from her shoulders. Her flesh appeared creamy and whiter than snow beneath those wavering pools of light.

“Where you off to in such a hurry, monsieur? Give me a few minutes of your time and I’ll make it worth your while.” She reached forward and playfully grabbed hold of his sleeve. Her eyes narrowed, drinking in the ornaments that decorated his greatcoat. “A soldier, eh? Allow me to repay your service in kind …” With an insistent tug, she attempted to reel him closer. But he planted his boots in place, remaining as coarse and immovable as stone. A husky laugh echoed in the darkness. Then she grinned wide – exposing a gap-toothed smile that was admittedly endearing. “Aw, why the long scowl, handsome? Wouldn’t you like a welcoming pair of arms to warm you on this cold winter’s night?”

Gabriel obliged, stepped forward, and said nothing – allowing his face to speak. He felt the glow illuminate his marred skin. The whore squinted her eyes, as if not quite believing what she saw. With an uttered cry, she freed his coat and stumbled backward. As if fighting off a chill, she grasped onto the shawl and fisted the ragged material between quivering fingertips.

She behaved as though she’d seen a monster.

Gabriel rewarded her with a twisted grin. “Where’s your bravado gone to so suddenly? Hmm? It’s a cold night indeed, and I’d pay handsomely for a few hours of mindless fucking.”

She blessed herself with the sign of the cross and muttered a jumble of incoherent words. Gabriel leaned forward and plucked a chain from her bodice. A small crucifix dangled in midair. Swallowing the nearby beams, its grimy surface absorbed the lanterns’ light.

“Why am I not surprised? Allow me to impart a little secret: you can’t be saved. None of us can.”

What had compelled him to ridicule her so? God’s teeth, he certainly had no right to judge – he wasn’t grander than a common whore by any stretch of the imagination. It was the disgust in her face, he concluded. And the judgment in her eyes.

The blasphemy was too much for the whore to bear. Anger shadowed her eyes, and red-hot rage splattered her cheekbones. Scoffing, she wrenched the crucifix from his fingers. “The devil take you! You
are
a demon!” Then she turned away and receded down the alleyway without another glance.

Walking alongside the River Seine, Gabriel plunged both hands inside his pockets and continued on his way.

It would be several kilometers until he reached his destination.

•

Thirty minutes later, Gabriel’s breath hitched as he gazed upon his former home.
Mon Dieu,
he hadn’t stepped foot on this soil for over eleven years. And yet the memories remained crude and raw.

Though slightly dilapidated, the property was every bit as grand as he remembered. The chateau was located just off Élysée, one of Paris’s wealthiest arrondissements, and had much to show for it. Pale stone walls ascended into a velvet sky and scraped against the heavens. Vines strangled the columns in a deathly embrace, twisting up the smooth stonework like serpents. The grass was many years overgrown, cloaking the façade beneath a vast, untamed wilderness.

One of the chateau’s charms and curses was its seclusion; the nearest home was over an acre away, leaving the hustle and bustle of high society far from reach. Shortly before departing for the war, he’d sold the chateau to the government, who seemed to have forgotten about it. He’d needed a way to detach himself from the memories, to purge himself of its horrors. Afterward, Gabriel had sentenced himself to a self-imposed, personal exile. When he wasn’t fighting and ascending the ranks, he’d contented himself with shabby inns, whores, and mindless travel.

Gabriel’s breaths misted the night air. They grew increasingly labored as he edged closer to the chateau. Without any lights, it was impossibly dark … and yet he felt secure within the dank void. He circled the premises, stepping over the wild brush and weeds, tracking the mansion’s looming curves. The chateau had remained vacant over the years – its dilapidated, unkempt appearance told Gabriel as much – and it stood as a poor imitation of its former glory.

Heart banging against his rib cage, Gabriel drew to a dead standstill. He cocked his head back and gazed at a pair of enormous windows. The house was pitch black inside, and those windows returned his stare like two empty sockets in a death’s-head. One of them had been shattered – likely the result of a break in. A morbid idea bloomed inside Gabriel’s mind. Digging a hand into the satchel, he withdrew a gilded flask, downing a swig of brandy for courage. Then he adjusted his satchel and continued his pursuit.

His boots seemed to be filled with lead as he paced toward the broken window. He fetched a rock from the ground, approached a lower window, and smashed in the glass. It shattered, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Gabriel threw the rock aside, inhaled two more mouthfuls, and climbed through the opening.

Darkness swirled around him as he wandered through the endless corridors. Shafts of moonlight speared through countless windows, illuminating his pathway like lighthouse beacons. Broken furniture, amputated tables, and tattered rugs hulked within the darkness. The planks emitted eerie creaks as he edged up the winding spiral staircase. Gripping onto either side of the railing, his hands slid across the wooden banister with each step. Thick dust caked his palms. He clapped them together and gave a sharp cough as the debris filled his lungs.

Heart racing, he tracked down the corridor. It was blacker than pitch, only the occasional window relieving the darkness. Then he eased inside Lisette’s bedchamber and held his breath.

As if in warning, the door gave a defiant creak. Cobwebs hung from every corner and dust particles covered the strewn toys and furniture. The draperies were sprawled across the floorboards like a pair of unfurled, torn wings. Most of the items hadn’t been looted by trespassers. He wasn’t surprised. After all, children’s toys were hardly valuable commodities. And yet, through his eyes, each one was worth more than all the king’s gold.

He eased toward the small bed and ran his fingers over the faded sheets. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he shut his eyes and imagined tucking his daughter into bed for the night. Swallowing deeply, he pried open the satchel and removed one of the keepsakes: a miniature of Lisette.

Moonlight illuminated her smiling features and brought her eyes to life. With a profound ache, Gabriel passed a trembling fingertip over the smooth glass. His hand violently shook as he fought to steady his breathing. Then his fingers took the form of an unyielding fist and burrowed into his palm. His nails grated back and forth, back and forth, slicing through the scarred flesh. Blood welled the crevices and dirtied his finger pads.

Then a flash of light ensnared his attention. Gabriel set down the miniature and adjusted his languid posture. In the center of the nightstand stood Lisette’s favorite toy. His heartbeat picked up pace, and a nostalgic smile curved his lips. Barely breathing, he scooted forward and trailed his bloody fingers over the ornate music box …