“If you stand with Vincent, leave my territory. Now!” Luc shouted. “I will not follow a gargoyle hell-bent on executing humans. We might have been murderers once.” He slowly stood aside so Yann could pass. “But we aren’t any longer.”
Yann and a few others hovered over Vincent as the Notre Dame gargoyle pushed himself up on shaky arms. They wrapped him in his cloak; his other clothes were in pieces on the ground. Marco continued to shield Ingrid, backing up a few paces as gargoyles began to come toward them, heading for the exit into the gardens. Vincent shook off Yann’s steadying arm and pinned Ingrid with his small black eyes.
“You will be difficult to destroy, but I will see it done.”
She felt childish and weak, hidden as she was. She stepped out as far as Marco’s unyielding grip on her arm would allow.
“Funny,” she replied. “You were rather easy to electrocute.”
Vincent thinned his lips until they were hardly visible and, without another word, left the courtyard for the Luxembourg Gardens.
The moment he had gone, Marco pushed Ingrid away and stormed to the arcades, muttering under his breath. She stumbled, her legs suddenly weak. Her cheeks were hot, as were the tips of her ears. There were still Dispossessed present, staring at her. And, of course, there was Luc.
She turned, spotting Gaston first. Constantine’s gargoyle wore an unreadable expression. He was neither happy to see her nor angry. He nodded toward the few remaining Dispossessed, and they left through the arcades as well.
Marco shouldered past them as they went, coming back toward her, his fury carrying him like a tempest.
“Put these back on.” He forced her hand out and slapped her gloves into her palm. “And stop trying to get yourself killed.”
Ingrid fiddled with the gloves, her hands dampening the soft kid. Marco lifted his eyes and looked into the space over her shoulder. She knew Luc was right behind her.
“I’ll wait in the gardens. Five minutes,” Marco said, before vaulting his thick, dark brow. “And then it’s to bed with you.”
She recalled his threat to chain her to her bed and groaned inwardly. He wouldn’t do such a barbaric thing, of course, but she knew he would punish her in some way.
Ingrid waited until Marco had disappeared before slowly turning around. She realized that she was afraid. It was ridiculous. She had nothing to fear from Luc, yet her pulse leaped and her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. He was as close as Yann had been, less than an arm’s length away. He’d raked back his obsidian hair, and while Ingrid stood speechless, he allowed his eyes to rove over her. They coasted hungrily from her messy chignon to her lips to her neck and bodice and then up again.
“You should have told me where you were,” she whispered.
Luc abruptly moved back, toward the open ballroom doors. “And now you know why I tried to keep you away.”
Ingrid followed, her body shivering uncontrollably. “I’m not afraid of Vincent.”
She knew Luc wouldn’t believe the lie, but it felt good to say it anyway. Of course she was afraid of him. He was an angry, powerful gargoyle, and he’d just made a public vow to kill her.
Luc stopped in the center of the ballroom, underneath the giant chandelier hanging crookedly from the ceiling. He stood motionless on the dance floor, the cracked and stained tiles covered in filth, debris, and mouse droppings. The rotted piano had lost one of its legs and crashed into a tilt; yellowed sheet music lay scattered around it like leaves.
“He wants you dead,” Luc said, his back to her. He wore the same clothes he always had, the loose alabaster linen shirt and tan canvas trousers. He looked the same and sounded the same, and yet there was something different about him. Ingrid didn’t know what it was.
He turned to face her, the fading sun gilding the ballroom in a hazy golden light.
“And he wants me out of the way so he can be elder, unchallenged. What better way to do that than to prove to all of the Dispossessed that I’ve taken a human?”
Ingrid’s stomach bottomed out as she realized what she’d done.
“Oh,” she whispered, pulling back a step. “Oh, no. Luc—”
She’d entered gargoyle common grounds and defended Luc, attacking his opposition with her demon gift. And just moments after Vincent had accused Luc of falling in love with a human. With her.
“I gave him what he wanted.” She buried her face into her palms. “I’m so sorry, Luc. I wasn’t thinking. I heard him firing up the other gargoyles, and I knew they’d try to attack you and rip you apart like what happened to René, and I—”
Tears stung her eyes, and she was glad she’d covered her face. She hated when her lips and chin quivered in the effort to fight off a sob.
“Ingrid.” Luc had come to stand directly in front of her. He pulled her hands from her face, but she turned her head, not wanting to see how disappointed he was.