Page 44 of The Darkest Oath

Rollant glanced at Élise, crawling toward the door with blood spots marking her path from behind the counter. “A man who treats his woman this way is no man at all.”

Gabin snorted like a bull and charged Rollant with his baker’s knife in the air—a madman bent on killing. Rollant stood like a sentinel and waited until the blade was ramming down. Rollant caught Gabin’s fist mid-swing, his reflexes honed by centuries of battles against men far deadlier. The familiar surge of power in his grip reminded him of the curse he carried, making mortal brawls too predictable.

Gabin yelled and put another hand atop his own, trying to force the blade down, but Rollant’s grip didn’t falter.

“I will kill you!” Gabin screamed. “You disgusting sea rat!” His face grew red with effort.

Rollant chuckled. “You will try.” He yanked the knife out of Gabin’s hand with a twist of his wrist and sent it clattering across the floor before shoving the brutish man away. Gabin shuffled backward into a table and chair, with his chest heaving.

Gabin yelled with teeth bared and spittle forming in the corners of his mouth.

“You want me gone?” Rollant asked. “Fine. But Élise’s life is her own. If she chooses to leave with me, you’ll let her go without retaliation. She doesn’t belong to you.”

“Élise is free to go whenever she wants.” Gabin spat. “I am not holding her captive, and yet she stays of her own free will. She wants me. Needs me. I am everything to her.”

“Is that so?” Rollant asked.

Élise slowly rose, her fingers slipping from her bruised jaw. Her tongue caressed the gash on her lip. Gabin’s wild eyes focused on Élise, whose gaze darted between Rollant and Gabin.

“Tell him,” Gabin ordered. “Tell him!”

Élise’s voice, though quiet, carried the weight of her past. “Six years, Gabin?—”

“Élise,” Gabin gritted in a hoarse voice, interrupting her. “You go with him . . . you don’t come crawling back to me.”

“Six years, Gabin,” she continued as she grabbed her coat off the hook on the wall. “Six years of bruises, beatings, bedding others, broken promises, and brash lectures. Six years I stayed, and not once did you think I deserved better. Tonight, I choose better. I won’t be crawling back this time.”

“You ungrateful wretch!” he yelled, lunging for her.

Rollant stepped in between Gabin and Élise, blocking the path. He deflected Gabin’s blow, then punched Gabin in the stomach and delivered a powerful uppercut to his jaw. Gabin’s head snapped back. He stumbled into the table, upending chairs and sending bread loaves tumbling to the floor. With a guttural groan, his legs buckled, and he collapsed in a heap, his chest heaving faintly as unconsciousness claimed him.

“Sleep well,” Rollant muttered and turned to Élise. He dipped his chin. “May we depart, Mademoiselle?”

“Before we go, I want you to know I’m leaving for myself. Not for you. I didn’t need anyone to save me,” Élise said with a voice full of conviction as she folded her arms across her chest one at a time.

He nodded. “I understand that, Élise. You chose this. Not Gabin, not me. You don’t have to come with me if you have somewhere else to go, but my offer still stands: a place to bathe, fresh food, and a warm bed that will be all yours. It’s a place you can call home.”

His gaze lingered on her resolute expression, and for a fleeting moment, admiration for her courage to leave Gabin warred with the weight of his curse. He reached for the door.

“I do not owe you anything,” she said, her arms still crossed.

Rollant peered back. “I never said you did.”

Her arms lowered. Uncertainty still weighed on her shoulders. Caution remained in her eyes, yet the allure of freedom prompted a reluctant nod of acceptance.

“Then, let’s go. You deserve more than this place. It’s time to leave it behind,” Rollant said, letting her step into the biting cold with her chin high. Rollant followed, closing the door firmly behind them.

CHAPTER18

The Road to Trust

CHARONNE, PARIS, FEBRUARY 1789

She walkedalongside Rollant down the uneven cobblestone street. Time seemed to slow the longer she walked on Rue de Charonne. It was farther down the street than she’d ever gone before.

The houses were spaced apart, each featuring a lit lantern hanging on the doorpost.

Quaint was the word that came to mind. It felt like a whole different world compared to just on the other side of the city wall. The scent of paint and wine replaced the acrid smell of the city to which she had grown accustomed. The frigid night wind whipped through her coat, causing her to shiver as she drew the collar up and slipped her hands back into her deep pockets.

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