To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 7

7

1836 COUNTRYSIDE TO MORDELLES, FRANCE

W hen the stairs stopped creaking, Amalie forced herself up. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and clutched the knit blanket as she crept to her window. She ran her hand over the sill, splintering white paint from the frame. A gust, cold and blustery, whipped her hair back, biting against her outstretched arm.

She shivered. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over the garden below. The ground seemed treacherously far below, but she had no choice. She glanced back at the closed door, imagining Bethany tucked into bed across the hall. She had to protect her, even if it meant isolating herself.

Amalie climbed onto the windowsill, the rough wood scraping against her knees. The wind howled around her, tearing at her clothes. Her fingernails embedded in the soft wood as she fought to keep her balance, her heart jerking in her chest. She murmured a prayer, then lowered herself onto the roof. The tiles were slick, and she slid feetfirst until she latched onto a tree branch. Once she caught her breath, she used the branch as leverage to move to the roof of the shed next to the house, then finally dropped to the ground.

The impact jolted through her bones as she landed, her knees buckling. She steadied herself and sucked in a breath of the cold night air. Amalie turned, sure she’d made enough noise to cut through even her uncle’s snoring, but there was no movement near the cottage.

She crouched and moved through the garden, a dark, tangled maze of clawing branches. The wind whistled through the trees, putting all her senses on high alert. As soon as she passed through the iron gate and reached the street, she broke into a run.

Amalie flew along the country roads, not at all worried about what might be creeping in the shadows. She’d already met the worst.

Mordelles was eerily silent. Shadows stretched and shifted in the dim light, playing tricks on her mind. Every alley seemed to hide a lurking danger, every corner a potential threat. She would’ve scolded herself had she not been face-to-face with a nightmare just moments ago.

She was becoming a nightmare.

Tears stung her eyes as she forced herself forward. There was only one option. She needed Marcel and Olivie to take her life before she turned. She’d stabbed Theo in the heart, and he’d still lived. Once she turned, would it be the same for her? Would she live to kill for eternity?

She couldn’t let that happen.

The town square loomed ahead, and the house she sought stood at the far end. She searched for light from a lamp or candle in the window and raced toward it, her legs burning with exertion, her lungs aching from the cold.

She stumbled up the steps, her hands fumbling for the knocker. The cold metal bit into her skin as she grasped it, lifting and letting it fall with a hollow thump. Seconds stretched into an eternity as she waited, her ears aching from the wind. She knocked again, pounding with both fists.

The door finally flew away from her, and Amalie scrambled back, nearly tumbling down the steps.

"Amalie?"

Before she could stop him, Marcel charged past the threshold and gripped her arm.

“No, Marcel, you can’t?—”

He yanked her inside and slammed the door behind them. “Amalie, what?—”

“You have to kill me!” Amalie pressed herself against the door, her palms flat against the polished wood. She couldn't keep her tears at bay, even though it made her look weak. Marcel stared at her, and the physical world around her began to invade her senses. The faint smell of smoke and the flicker of light from the fire burning in the room past the entry.

“Please. Explain why I should kill you?” Marcel raised an eyebrow.

Amalie turned her head, pointing at the marks on her neck. Marcel hissed air through his teeth. There was a creak on the stairs ahead of her. Amalie’s eyes snapped up. Olivie.

"Amalie? Did your uncle throw you out?" She raced down the steps toward her, but Amalie held out her hands.

“Stay back. Please.” She reached for the door handle, but her hands were shaking so hard, she couldn’t grasp it. She needed to get back outside. She needed?—

“Amalie, stop.” Marcel’s voice was hard. “Turn around.” Amalie obeyed. He pulled her wrists behind her back, and she felt the rough burn of thick rope against her skin. When he’d tied a knot and pulled it tight, securing it to the support beam next to her, he stepped back. “There. That will buy us a few moments if you start lunging for our throats.”

Olivie’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

Marcel pointed at her neck, and Olivie gasped. “A rope won’t stop her, Marcel?—”

“Start talking,” he growled.

Amalie swallowed the lump still choking her throat. "My uncle didn't need my proof. He's known of vampires all along."

Marcel let out a low chuckle. "’Course he has. They all do. They’re too cowardly to admit it."

"I don’t give a damn about your uncle, unless he was the cause of this. What happened?" Olivie was singularly focused, her eyes trained on the marks. She’d lost her brother to vampires. Seen him snatched from their doorstep just after dark. Marcel had lost his children. Louisa and Marc were stripped from him as he held their little hands.

“It doesn’t matter. I came here because I need you to kill me. Before I turn. Please.” Tears stung her eyes. How would they do it? Slit her throat? A bullet to the head? She hoped it would be quick. She hoped?—

“Where were you attacked?” Marcel paced in front of her.

“My bedroom, but it doesn’t matter! You need to?—”

“When?”

Amalie ground her teeth. “Less than an hour ago.”

“And you don’t feel any different? No added strength or strange thoughts?” Marcel tapped his temple.

“I just asked you to kill me, did I not?” If that wasn’t a strange thought, she didn’t know what was.

“We need to learn everything we can.” Marcel pulled a stake from the pocket of his overcoat hanging on the coat rack. “I can always kill you later.”

Her mind, which had been a mass of porridge, suddenly snapped into focus. “No. You can’t.” Marcel’s expression darkened, and Amalie’s mouth went dry. “You can’t kill me later. The vampire who attacked me in my room was Theo Vallon.”

“That’s impossible.”

Amalie let out a ragged laugh. “I know! Impossible! Yet I saw him with my own eyes. He gave me these marks, Olivie! He’s alive.”

Marcel’s eyes were predatory. “His blood was on the stones. You took his ring?—”

“It was him,” she groaned, her wrists aching from the pull of the rope.

“Did you fight him?”

Amalie bobbed her head. It was the answer she wanted to give. She’d tried, hadn’t she? Ice slid down her spine as she remembered the feel of his lips against her skin. The rough grasp of his hands on her waist. The fear coursing through her as his fangs broke into her flesh.

Bile rose in her throat at the swirl of clashing emotions. She’d been soothed by him. He’d tricked her. But she hadn’t wanted it. Had she?

Had that been a survival mechanism? Her body and mind blocking her from the pain and forcing her down from her conscious mind? She couldn't make sense of it. The lack of pain. The calm in her middle. The paralyzing fear of seeing Theo Vallon's face again. The dark desire to search him out again . . .

She was going to be sick.

“You’re saying a stake to the heart didn’t kill a vampire?” Marcel’s jaw worked.

She nodded. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Then what will?” Olivie’s face was white. “Everything we’ve done. All the vampires we vanquished . . .” She lifted her hand, running her thumb over her arm where she kept her trophy marks.

“We need answers.” Marcel’s eyes locked onto hers. “If Vallon was willing to split his power to turn you, there must be a reason.”

Amalie shook her head. “He killed my mother?—”

“But he didn’t kill you. Why?” Marcel took another step toward her.

“I don’t know. None of this makes any sense. I—” She flinched as metal flashed, then gasped as her hands dropped free.

“You need to find him.” Marcel loomed over her.

Amalie’s eyes widened. “No. I can’t. I don’t have time?—”

“You must use the time you have,” Marcel snapped.

The silence that followed cooled her skin like mist. Amalie's stomach plummeted to her knees. She'd sat in close to a hundred meetings with Marcel, Olivie, and other members of the Pourfendeurs. They had never preached relocation. They'd never fought for only their towns and villages to be free of the Shadow. They'd fought for total eradication. The Pourfendeurs wanted safety for the region—for the world.

If they couldn’t vanquish, the Pourfendeurs were impotent.

But there was nowhere she could go where she wouldn't hurt anyone. Whether tonight or in a few days, she would turn. She would seek out victims and lure them in with the same intoxicating pull she'd felt from Theo in her bedroom. Then she would drain their blood and leave them cold and pale on the ground to rot.

Amalie's heart thumped against her ribs. You don't know half of what you think you know. Those had been Theo's words. What if it didn’t happen like she thought? What if the venom didn’t take over her mind? What if she kept her sensibilities?

“I can’t take the risk,” she whispered, thinking of Bethany sleeping in her bed. Her cousins in the bedroom next to her.

"What risk?" Olivie pushed off the wall. "Is one more vampire going to make a difference? If we haven't been vanquishing them like we thought, then they're all still out there. We don't have any other ideas at the moment unless you know of some way to stop their hearts."

Marcel scoffed. "They don't have hearts."

Amalie frowned. Hadn't Theo's skin been warm to the touch? Wasn’t his heart beating against her back?

Marcel considered, wheels spinning behind his eyes. Amalie wondered if it was already working. If she already had a glamour. If she was manipulating them to preserve her life without knowing it.

But the idea of not being stabbed or shot to death against the door had planted itself and taken root. What if this was a blessing, not a curse? What if she could use the time she had? What if this was the key they'd been waiting for all along?

"I can find him," Amalie said with far more confidence than she felt. After they’d attacked him, there was no way Theo Vallon was going to show up along his typical routes. She would have to search like they had months ago and hope a vampire happened to walk past her on a dark street that would lead her to him. A chill slipped down her spine. "I'll go tonight. I'll leave you word in the city. If you don't hear from me by the end of next week, you can assume . . ." She trailed off.

Olivie’s face paled, and Amalie read her thoughts. Amalie knew where they met. She knew where both of them lived.

Olivie’s features snapped into focus. Her dark waves framed her face, and a splotch of pink bloomed across her cheeks. This was her friend. Marcel was her leader, but Olivie was her confidant. The person she laughed with and complained to. She was almost as close to her as Bethany.

Not anymore. The risk wasn't small.

Marcel stepped back and looked at her from under a hooded brow. "Go."

"Marcel—"

" Go. "

Amalie choked on a sob as she whirled and pulled on the handle. The door flew open, the wind whipping against her forehead. A drizzle had started while she'd been inside, and the droplets chilled her instantly. She bolted down the path, not looking back. Not because she doubted Marcel or Olivie but because she doubted herself. What was she doing? Where would she go?

Amalie’s breath came in ragged gasps as she darted through the narrow, cobbled streets of the village, her shoes slipping on the rain-slick stones. This town had once been a place of comfort but now felt like a labyrinth of shadow. The narrow alleys twisted and turned, each one looking the same in the dim light of the torches even though she knew these passages like the back of her hand. The rain soaked through her thin shawl and clung to her skin. Her hair, once neatly pinned, hung in damp tendrils around her face. She needed shelter, and while she knew most everyone in town, she was done putting anyone at risk.

Which meant she had to leave. Survive the night and see what the morning brought her. If she was lucid, she could begin her search for the vampires then. If she wasn't . . .

The rain began to hammer against her skin, and Amalie pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, though it did little to ward off the chill. Her trousers clung to her legs, making each step feel like she was slogging through mud. The air around her thickened as she reached the edge of town, leaving the warm glow of windows to fade behind her.

She didn't recognize the road until she passed the gnarled olive tree on the right, and her internal orientation reset. She was on the north side of town. The Ferrier farmhouse was up the lane on the right, and if she kept on up the path, there would be an old garden shed and?—

The back of her neck prickled, and Amalie spun. She pushed her matted hair out of her eyes and blinked into the darkness. It was laughable to think she could see anything in the gray glow of the moon filtering through the clouds overhead, and yet she stood stock-still searching the night. Nothing. Her teeth chattered as she continued on, huddling deeper into herself.

Her thoughts grew darker by the second. Even if she found the shed, she would be soaked through and would likely catch sick overnight. She could freeze to death or succumb to illness before the venom ever took hold.

The idea of lying alone on a cold stone floor without anyone to bring her a hot water bottle or steamed lemon tea made a sob rise in her throat. She'd lost everything. In one night, she'd lost her family and friends, her home, her safety.

Part of her begged for death. But another part clawed desperately for some meaning she could bring to her last fleeting moments. She could find information—she could help the Pourfendeurs and save lives.

Amalie had barely turned off the main road when she felt it again. The hair-raising sensation of eyes boring into the back of her skull. Her breathing quickened as she broke into a brisk walk. She stumbled on an exposed tree root as she pushed further into the trees and fell, her knees screaming in pain as she scrambled back to her feet and started running.

The shed couldn't be much further, but the darkness was all-encompassing as she worked her way up the hill. Amalie spread her arms in front of her, her eyes straining. Just a little further. Just?—

A strong hand clasped around her waist, and she was whisked off her feet. Before she could scream, another hand covered her mouth. The air and rain whipping against her skin was her only measure of how fast she was moving. It felt as if she were flying through the air.

She waited for the jolt of her captor's feet slamming against the ground, but none came. They moved seamlessly up the remainder of the hill, and Amalie lost her strength to fight.

Warmth seeped into her from every point of contact, thawing her from the outside in. She gritted her teeth, refusing to feel relief.

It was him. Somehow she'd known it was Theo Vallon before she inhaled the scent of bergamot and jasmine. But why had he come after her? To finish what he'd started? To make sure he was there when she turned?

Amalie wanted to scratch his eyes out. To kick and curse and tear at whatever she could get a hand on. But she needed answers, and she doubted he'd give them to her under those circumstances. She had to be smart. If he was here, she wouldn't have to hunt him down in the morning. Perhaps she could get something out of him that night and go back to Marcel and Olivie before her wits left her.

There was a rush of air, and then Theo slipped his hand from her mouth and righted her, setting her feet on floorboards. The air was black and still. Cool. But no rain fell from above. “Where? How did you—?” Amalie blinked, but couldn’t see anything in the pitch-dark of the shed.

Theo left her side, and Amalie curled into herself, tracking the sound of his boots falling across the floor. So . He could make noise when he wanted to. She winced at the scratch of a match against wood then blinked as light poured into the room.

Theo walked the flame to an oil lantern hanging on the far wall. There wasn’t much oil in the glass, and what was there looked orange and rancid. As Theo lit the wick, the sour smell that filled the barn confirmed her suspicions.

Amalie stared at him as he returned the lantern to its hook and swiveled to face her. Her gaze traveled over the water dripping from tendrils of his hair. His shirt soaked and molded to his chest.

The same calm she’d felt in her bedroom washed over her, and her chattering jaw went still. “Stop that.”

Theo’s face was expressionless. “Stop what?”

“Whatever you’re doing to make me feel . . . strange.”

A twitch of his brow. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Liar.” Amalie glared at him. So much for catching bees with honey.

“A strong accusation. Why would you want to sully your reputation with such poor company?"

Amalie's jaw worked, just as her stomach swooped out from under her. Bastard. The last thing she wanted to admit was that his presence—the mere sight of him—made heat gather at her center. It should’ve been the opposite after what he’d done to her, but the effect had only grown.

His proximity was intoxicating, and she hated him for it. She hated that every time she looked upon his face, her body twinged, begging for a second dose. It was madness. It was the curse of Le Sombre. It was beyond her mortal understanding, and because of that, she could no longer trust her inclinations. She had to find a way to ignore her emotions, to lean only on her rational mind.

Theo stood unnaturally still, like he was carved of stone. His expression suddenly grew serious. "You know what I am."

Amalie pushed damp hair from her neck, exposing the wounds. "You've made that abundantly clear."

His eyes tracked her movement like a bird of prey, lingering on the marks he’d left. "Let me guess. You’re hoping for an apology?"

Amalie scoffed. "If you apologized, I wouldn’t believe it."

"You know my thoughts?"

"I know you're not capable of remorse." Her eyes burned.

He chuckled low in his throat. "And how would you know that? You've spoken with so many of my kind?"

Amalie swallowed, clenching her hands to get blood flowing into her numb fingertips. "I know plenty about your kind."

The corner of Theo's mouth twitched. "Of course. From your storybooks."

"History. Fact. Not stories."

"History written by whom?"

Amalie ground her teeth. "I'm not going to stand here and argue with you."

"Then what are you going to stand here and do?" His voice rumbled through her.

Amalie dropped her eyes, busying herself with removing her dripping blanket and scanning the small room. It was sparsely furnished, with rough-hewn stone walls coated with a layer of dirt and dust. The floor was made of cold, uneven flagstones, and a single narrow bed frame without a mattress was pushed against one wall. Shelves lined with grimy jars and gardening tools hung on the opposite side, casting long shadows in the weak light.

Rainwater began to pool at her feet. Her clothes dragged on her frame, heavy and clinging. She needed to get dry. Whatever strange magic Theo was working on her, it wouldn't keep her from freezing to death. "Why did you steal me away from the road?"

"You were seeking shelter here, were you not?"

"That's not what I asked."

Theo's nostrils flared. "I hastened your journey. A bit of gratitude is warranted."

Amalie ignored his jab. "Why?" she hissed. She wanted him to say it. To admit what he'd done and give her some clue as to what she should expect. How her body would betray her. What he wanted with her.

A pit opened through her center as the past hours swam in her head. She couldn't go back. She could never go back. Theo was there because he knew what she was becoming. He might’ve done this before, or at least seen it done. She needed his answers before she lost herself.

Her family wouldn’t know what had compelled her to disappear in the middle of the night. What would Bethany think when she woke in the morning and found her gone again? What would she believe when her older sister never came back to visit? Never returned for her treatment?

What was she going to do?

Even after she got her answers—even if she could help Marcel and Olivie—where would that leave her? Amalie shivered, imagining an eternity of hunting as Theo did. Of living alone and never going near her family.

"I pulled you from the road because you’re going to help me,” Theo snapped.

"And why would I do that?" she spat. She would not allow him to feign altruism when he was the sole reason she'd had to run in the first place.

He shrugged. "I’m not a mind reader. But I assume it’s because you’d like my help in return."

Amalie gaped at him, all thoughts of her chilled skin and numb toes disappearing behind white-hot anger flaring through her middle. "Help with what?”

He motioned to the stone walls around them. “Protection. Food. Shelter. Unless you were planning to run back through Mordelles?—”

“You think I’d stay the night with you?”

“Would you rather spend it with your family?” He leveled a stare at her, his eyes cold.

She scoffed. “I’m sure you’d love that. To wait until I transformed into a dark creature like you and killed everyone I love. Is that how this normally works?"

Theo's eyes narrowed. He scanned her face, then glanced again at the wounds on her neck. Darkness flickered across his expression before his lips drew up in an arrogant smile. “Exactly why you need my help.”

Amalie’s skin heated under his scrutiny. She needed to say something clever, to back him into a corner so he would answer her questions, but she had no leverage. She knew nothing that could benefit him since any plans she’d had with Marcel and Olivie were moot, and her own transformation was a mystery.

Would she have power when she turned? Would she be Theo’s equal? Until she figured that out, she was at his mercy. The way Theo stepped forward, slow and catlike, he knew it.

“What will happen to me? How long will this take?”

He ignored her. “You must warm yourself. Rest. Then you’ll accompany me to safety and we’ll discuss our bargain.”

Amalie’s heart picked up speed. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. She didn’t have time to travel, to wait until her body wasn’t her own. And if he took her far, how would she get back to Marcel and Olivie?

A protest worked its way up her throat but couldn’t quite break the surface. Theo lifted a hand, and Amalie held her breath, both dreading and wishing for his touch, but instead, he stepped back. “You’ll know more soon enough.”

Amalie’s nostrils flared. Something flickered across Theo’s face, then his expression smoothed over into placid cold. He was darkness. Evil. Deadly . Of course he didn’t care about her questions. Her fear. Her grief.

Theo exhaled, and the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet as her body grew heavy.

“Stop. That.” Amalie’s face flushed, and her throat felt singed.

Theo crossed the room with fluid grace and disappeared into the night.