“Your bags, monsieur?” the driver called after him. Perhaps it was out of reflex, for there were none.
Antoine ignored him. He had only the clothes on his back and the purse Belle had left on the table. She was not usually so careless, and at first Antoine had suspected a trap. It would’ve been just like her to dangle a lure, only for her hooks to sink deeper. But the temptation had been too great to resist, she hadn’t caught him leaving, and now the purse sat heavy on his belt, full of gold.
The ship creaked as it strained against its moorings, the gangplank shifting subtly with the tide. Antoine hesitated, the water so black and deep, swallowing all the light. Trapped, helpless, and—
No. That’s now, not then.
All he had was his memories, and it was growing harder to separate them from the hell of his reality.
The gangplank seemed to lurch under his feet, the water swirling dark and inky beneath. His muscles lost their strength, trembling, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Irrationally frightened of water? Was that how it had been then, or was it only now?
He couldn’t be certain.
But it wasn’t enough to offset his fear of Belle finding him, and he staggered onto the ship.
A deckhand moved to stop him, but a flash of a gold coin stilled his tongue. Moments later, Antoine stood before the captain, a short, swarthy man, his jaw clenched in irritation at the disturbance so close to departure.
“I need a private cabin,” Antoine told him, counting out three louis d’or onto the table before him. “Never to be disturbed, at any time.”
“We’re full,” the captain said, leaning back in his chair in a show of indifference, yet his eyes glinted with greed.
Antoine didn’t care; it wasn’t his money. He added another three to the pile. “Your wind gauge’s turning. You’ll want the mains trimmed or she’ll yaw coming out past the break.”
The captain raised an eyebrow. “How does a fop like you know the ways of the sea?”
Antoine grinned, his fangs carefully retracted. “I wasn’t always a gentleman.”
“I’ll have to turf someone out,” the captain said, but he reached for the coins and stacked them into a neat pile. It was enough to rent the largest cabin twice over, and the man was no fool. He sniffed, making his decision. “Where’s your baggage?”
“I have none.”
“Traveling alone, with not even a change of clothes?”
“I’ll buy what I need.”
The captain jerked his chin toward Antoine’s belt. “Enough money in that purse to buy my ship.”
“Yes, and a sharp blade to ensure it remains with me.”
The captain raised his hands. “No quarrel here.”
“Keep that in mind,” Antoine replied. “You wouldn’t like how it played out.”
“Not a fop after all,” the captain muttered. He stood, forced a grin, and pocketed the coins. “I have much to do. We put to sea in half an hour, and now I have my cabins to rearrange. Yours will be ready by the time we leave.”
Antoine followed him onto the deck, striding to the rail farthest from the harbor. He couldn’t help but look back at the quay, yet no black coach had arrived. Had he gotten away with it?
Belle had once told him she could sense his direction wherever he was, just like he had been able to sense Éliane. Yet it was direction only, no distance, and if it worked the same for Belle, she had no reason to believe he had left Paris. It was a sliver of hope. Could he really escape her?
A fisherman sailed past in a squat, single-masted chaloupe, its prow painted a garish pink. He was either late or lazy enough towait for the tide, but Antoine envied the simplicity of the man’s life. At least he was free, and not bound to the whims of darkness, blood, and a sire who would entomb him if she caught him.
Antoine had no illusions about what Belle would do, for she’d done it before.
Abandoned in a hole until his mind had left him, and only the bloodlust had remained.
How long did he have? How long until he could no longer think, no longer even remember?
