Se connecterI looked again.His eyes were brown. The same eyes that watched me over morning coffee, that softened every time I walked through the front door. Whatever I'd seen had lasted less than a second. The angle, the shadows, the low light. A trick of an exhausted mind.I searched his face for any trace of it. He smiled and kissed my forehead, and the concern dissolved before it could take shape.After that, his hands and his mouth and the rhythm of his body left no room for thinking.Morning arrived too soon.Sunlight hit my eyelids and I groaned. My body felt heavy and pleasantly sore. I turned my face into the pillow and pulled the sheet over my head. Every muscle protested the idea of standing.But the cathedral needed me. The fundraiser was tonight, and Father Moran had been planning it for weeks.I untangled myself from the covers and found Elias in the kitchen, already dressed, reading something on his phone."The cathedral has a fundraiser tonight," I said, pouring my coffee. "I want
After Roland and Dylan left, I stripped out of the tactical gear and stepped into the shower.The water ran hot. Garlic compound swirled green against the white tile before the drain pulled it away.I scrubbed my arms, my neck, the spot on my forearm where the glass had cut. The blood thinned to pink and vanished.I stayed under the spray until my muscles unclenched. Then I toweled off, dried my hair, and changed into jeans and a sweater.The tactical bag went into the closet. The closet door locked behind it.It was past two when I turned the key to our apartment. The rooms were dark and quiet. Elias's shoes sat by the door, neatly paired.The bedroom was lit only by the streetlight filtering through the curtains. He lay on his side with one arm stretched across the empty half of the bed. His breathing was slow and even.I changed into a t-shirt, brushed my teeth in the dark, and slid under the covers as carefully as I could manage.His arm found me before I finished settling.He pul
He let me go.That was the thought that filled the silence after my body hit concrete. Not the pain in my left shoulder, not the glass embedded in my jacket lining, not the soprano still singing through the shattered window above me.The Vampire King had held my life in his hand for the second time. For the second time, he'd opened his fingers.I lay on cold pavement between two dumpsters, staring at a strip of dark sky framed by rooflines. The alley smelled like trash and wet stone.My forearm bled where the window frame had caught it. Shallow. Already slowing.I pushed myself to sitting and tested both hands, both knees. My ribs ached from the impact, and my left shoulder protested when I braced against the wall. But everything worked.Every report in the hunter network said the same thing about Aurelian Ashbourne.Cold. Brutal. Without mercy.Fourteen confirmed kills in the last decade. Hunters who got close didn't survive. He ended threats with the efficiency of a creature who'd b
Elias had accepted Lucien's invitation for no reason worth naming.The opera tickets were gone. He'd dropped them in the wastebasket, two squares of cream cardstock sliding into the bin without ceremony.Clara had taken the excuse about her father and left with Dylan. The tickets had no purpose now.The theater was Lucien's newest acquisition. A building the city believed condemned, its exterior boarded with convincing decay.Inside, every surface had been restored. Velvet seats in deep burgundy, gilt-framed boxes lining the upper tiers, a chandelier system that predated electricity and now ran on it.The soprano onstage was Italian, turned in the 1700s, her voice preserved in a body that would never age. She sang Handel. Elias had heard the same aria performed at its premiere, in a theater smaller and darker than this one, before the composer went blind.Lucien had always confused display with authority. The chandeliers, the restored velvet, the singer kept for centuries — none of it
The first one lunged from my right.I ducked the grab and drove my dagger upward. The silver blade caught his forearm and he hissed, stumbling sideways.The second was already behind me. A fist slammed into my shoulder and knocked me into the brick wall.Four of them. They moved in coordinated shifts — two pressing while two recovered. Not fledglings. Not the sloppy guards I'd cut through in back corridors and warehouse basements. These vampires fought like they'd been doing it for centuries.I fired two rounds from my right pistol. One connected. The vampire on my left crumbled to ash before his knees buckled. Three left.The odds still weren't good enough.A blow caught my forearm and the bone vibrated. The next swing came from behind and clipped the back of my skull.My vision went dark at the edges. I staggered forward and tasted copper.One against three, and every second I spent trading hits brought me closer to the one mistake that would put me on the ground for good.Behind th
I watched the streetlights slide past the passenger window and tried not to think about the kiss Elias had pressed to my temple.He'd smelled like sandalwood and cold air. His hand had been warm on my hip. When he'd said be careful, he'd meant it the way husbands mean it. Come home safe from dinner.He didn't know what I was driving toward.Dylan kept both hands on the wheel. His jaw was set in the expression he wore whenever he'd decided something and wasn't finished saying it."Your husband's built like a soldier," he said."He works out.""That's not gym muscle, Clara. His arms, his shoulders, the way he carried himself in the courtyard. That's someone who's been trained.""He's always been disciplined about fitness." I turned to the window. "Brief me on the wendigo."He exhaled through his nose. Sharp, short. The same sound he'd made since we were teenagers whenever I shut down a conversation he wasn't done with. But he dropped it."Lower east side. Industrial corridor near the ol







