“Nevertheless,” Vincent said, pushing his tall, reedy human form up from the sofa. “The Dogs and Snakes, along with some of the other lowly castes that have organized their little crusade to see you into the role, need to know where you stand. They need to be shown. Definitively.”
Whenever Vincent spoke like this, enunciating each word as if Luc were an imbecile, his lower lip drew down and exposed his small, yellowed bottom teeth. Right now, Luc resisted the urge to put his fist through them.
Vincent came to common grounds every few days. His tireless quest to convince Luc to openly announce his support for him as elder had long since rubbed Luc’s patience to shreds. The Dogs and Snakes and some other lower castes had thrown their weight behind Luc for reasons he couldn’t understand. Gaston, the representative for the Dogs, had tried to explain that they believed Luc could forge a stronger bridge between the Dispossessed and the Alliance. Stronger than even Lennier had been able to manage. The Alliance here in Paris liked Luc. They trusted him. The same couldn’t be said for Vincent.
“They do know where I stand,” Luc replied. “It isn’t behind you.”
Vincent’s thin nostrils flared, the way they did every time Luc refused him.
“The Chimeras and the Wolves are with me, Luc, and you know their numbers are stronger than all of yours combined.”
Luc strode past Vincent, toward the door to the dim corridor. Outside of these apartments, the grand town house was in near ruins. The handful of rooms Luc used was well kept, though lacking in modern touches like electricity and plumbing. Gargoyles required neither of those things, and anyhow, Luc had existed in far worse conditions.
“Marco is not with you,” Luc said. The Wolf was by no means Luc’s friend, but Ingrid was a Duster, and it was obvious to all the Dispossessed—and many of the Alliance—that Vincent had begun picking off Dusters one by one.
Vincent formed a smug grin. Luc wouldn’t have minded smashing his fist into that, either.
“Marco is no longer the voice of the Wolves. He’s become too obsessed with his new human toy, that Duster abomination, to maintain his standing within his own caste.” Vincent stepped away from the hearth. Luc had already opened the door for him, though he would much rather have tossed him through one of the windows.
“Tell me, Luc,” Vincent said as he approached. “Do you think he has touched her yet?”
Luc gripped the doorknob hard enough to fissure the sculpted glass, his body shivering with the desire to erupt into true form.
“I have eyes on them,” Vincent went on, no doubt enjoying Luc’s fury. “Just as I had eyes on you.”
“Get out.”
Vincent’s lips hardened back into a thin line. “Pledge your support to me.”
“Go to hell. You’re killing Dusters, and I won’t support that,” Luc answered.
Vincent swept up to the door, his long black cape reminding Luc of a pair of wings. “You took a human consort, and I don’t support that.”
Luc released the fractured glass knob, aching with the urge to coalesce. He imagined sinking his talons into Vincent’s throat. Silencing him forever.
“Do you think any of the others will side with you once they know the real reason you were removed from the abbey?” Vincent asked. “Even your own Dogs will turn against you.”
Marco had fed the Dispossessed a convincing story: that with only three humans remaining on abbey grounds, Irindi had decided the territory required just one protector, and since Marco had so recently been reassigned, she’d chosen to send Luc elsewhere. The lie had rolled out of Marco without hesitation, though Luc knew it hadn’t been meant to protect him. If caught in an illicit relationship with a human, a gargoyle would meet his final death. The human would not be forgotten, either. Luc had seen human consorts torn to ribbons in the past. It had been long ago, during darker times, but neither he nor Marco had wanted to take the chance that sentiments had not evolved.
Marco’s explanation had been widely accepted, but clearly not by everyone.
Luc was certain he’d been careful with Ingrid. A gargoyle could feel another gargoyle’s presence by the pounding chime at the base of his skull. Whenever Luc had touched Ingrid, or kissed her … when he’d told her he loved her … they had always been alone.
“You know nothing,” Luc said.
“I am offering you your life. Refuse me again and the truth will be made known. Do you honestly want to test Marco’s ability to protect his human against a horde of gargoyles?”
His human. The words gouged Luc more deeply than Vincent’s hollow threat. The abbey and rectory had been Luc’s territory for more than three hundred years. His human charges had come and gone, flowing in and out, and he’d had stretches of hibernation in between. No human had ever awakened Luc the way Ingrid had. Not just from a stony sleep, but from a monotonous existence. She’d given him a purpose. Ingrid was his, not Marco’s.
“Bring me your proof,” Luc said to Vincent.
“Perhaps I’ll bring the girl herself,” he returned.