Until I Die

la Reynière, hôtel in this case meaning ridiculously huge, extravagant mansion.) Jean-Baptiste’s residence was home to our venerable host, Gaspard, Jules, Ambrose, Vincent, and, until tomorrow, Charles and Charlotte. After their move to Jean-Baptiste’s house near Cannes, two newcomers would arrive to take their place.
“Okay. To avoid World War Three, I guess I can give the first dance to you. But if Vincent tries to cut in, you better be ready to draw your sword.”
Jules patted the imaginary hilt at his waist, then took me in his arms and swept me to the middle of the floor near Ambrose and Charlotte. “Kate, my dear, the candlelight does suit you so,” he murmured.
I blushed in spite of myself, both from the bold way he touched his cheek to mine as he whispered, and from his flattery, which—though I was unquestionably into Vincent—still managed to warm me with delight. Jules was the ultimate safe flirtation, because I knew not to take it personally. Every time I saw him out at night, he had a different gorgeous woman with him.
He pulled me close until we were practically plastered to each other. Laughing, I pushed him away. “Jules, you incorrigible rake,” I scolded in my best Jane Austen lingo.
“At your service,” he said, and bowed low before grabbing me again and whirling me around. “You know, Vincent’s not the jealous type.” Jules smiled slyly as he held me tight. “He has no reason to be. Not only is he the most handsome of our kindred, or so I’m told by every woman around, but he’s Jean-Baptiste’s second”—he paused to dip me before scooping me back into his arms—“ and he’s won the heart of the most lovely Kate. There’s no fighting the Champion.”
Although I couldn’t help smiling at the “lovely Kate” bit, I latched onto the new information he had given me. “Vincent is Jean-Baptiste’s second? What’s that mean?”
“It means that if anything ever happens to Jean-Baptiste”—Jules paused, looking uncomfortable, and I filled in the blank for him: if he is ever destroyed —“or if he decides to step down as the head of France’s revenants, Vincent will take his place.”
I was shocked. “Why hasn’t he told me this before?”
“Probably because of one of his other fine points: modesty.”
I took a couple of seconds to absorb the whole “second” situation before looking back into Jules’s eyes. “And what did you mean by ‘Champion’?”
“He hasn’t told you about that, either?” This time Jules looked surprised.
“No.”
“Well, I’m not going to spill all his secrets in one night, then. You’ll have to ask him.”
I mentally tucked that in my to-ask-Vincent file.
“So if Jean-Baptiste steps down, Vincent will be your boss?” I said it to teasingly bait him, but paused as his expression changed from his usual lighthearted nothing-affects-me flippancy to one of fierce loyalty.
“Vincent was born for this, Kate. Or reborn, rather. I wouldn’t want the responsibility he’s going to have one day. But when the time comes, I will do anything he asks. In fact, I already feel like that, and he’s not even my ‘boss.’”
“I know that,” I said truthfully. “I can tell. Vincent’s lucky to have you.”
“No, Kate. He’s lucky to have you.” He gave me one final spin, and I realized that he had danced me across the room to where Vincent was standing. As he released my hands, he winked ruefully at me and deposited me gallantly into the arms of my waiting boyfriend.
“Still in one piece?” Vincent teased, pulling me close and planting a soft kiss on my lips.
“After dirty-dancing with Jules? I’m not sure,” I said.
“He’s harmless,” offered Geneviève.
“I take offense at that,” Jules called from the other side of the table, where he was serving himself a flute of champagne. “I consider myself very dangerous indeed.” He saluted the three of us with his glass before sauntering off toward a pretty revenant across the room.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?” Vincent whispered, handing me my glass.
“Only about twelve times,” I said coyly, flouncing out the skirt of the floor-length pewter-colored gown Georgia had helped me find.
“Perfect, then, because thirteen’s my lucky number,” he said, and gave me an appreciative once-over. “But gorgeous doesn’t quite do you justice. Maybe … dazzling? Stunning? Ravishing? Yes, I think that’s better. You look ravishing, Kate.”
“Stop it!” I