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Ana fixed Seraphina with all of her ancient authority. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I could, of course, remove your heads from your bodies one by one until you come to the conclusion that this is in the best interest for all of you.”
Alaric spread his palms. “I don’t see why we can’t make room for two more.”
“Will the baby be born a vampire?” I asked.
“Yes,” Lucian said. “Births between vampires are extremely rare. The result is typically abnormally powerful for its age. But that makes them targets. Typically, older vampires see them as threats and find a way to exterminate them before they grow too strong.”
“And that will not happen with our child,” Ana said. “I’ll personally see to it.”
Vlad clapped his hands. “Then it’s settled! Wonderful. And now that my lady is here, I think we can all agree that Vlad could set up a small, modest torture chamber again. Just for the occasional poking, of course.”
Alaric glared at him. “No torture chambers.”
“You promised you would let me have a torture chamber if I helped you.”
He sighed. “If you torture any humans, you will make sure it’s not fatal, they are fully healed, and their memories are wiped before you release them.”
Vlad held up his palms. “Vlad is a man of the times. Of course. The victims of my torture will never have any idea.”
“Alaric,” Ana said, snapping her fingers. “You will help me move my things into my room. Come, come.”
Alaric raised his eyebrow at Lucian, who shrugged, then gestured for him to go along with her.
I put my chin on Lucian’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “How hard could it really be for you to put a baby in me?”
A jolt of excitement and arousal ran through me just to voice the question.
“Statistically, it could be difficult. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy the challenge.”
I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Is it improper for you to put a baby in your vampire lady when you’re not married? Or does the whole mutual biting thing put us in the clear.”
Lucian chuckled. “If your human sensibilities would be more at ease with a ring on your finger, I would be happy to make arrangements.”
“No,” she said. “I was never really one to dream about wedding rings and white weddings. Maybe someday. But I kind of like the whole biting thing.”
“Remember,” he said. “It’s highly unlikely that we’ll be able to get you pregnant. Even after decades of trying.”
“Then we should probably stop talking and get started,” I said.
Lucian needed no further encouragement. He stood, then reached his hand out toward me. “Come.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
49
Epilogue - Lucian
One Year Later
I watched Cara lead an elderly woman into our country home outside Savannah, Georgia. The woman had arrived in a taxi and had given the house a firm, suspicious look before agreeing to follow Cara inside.
Cara was dressed in jeans and a torn t-shirt from some band she’d seen at a show in her youth. She took the woman carefully by the arm and guided her through the house.
I tried to be discreet, since I wasn’t needed for any of this. But I knew how much today meant to Cara, and I wasn’t going to miss the moment she saw if her prototype treatment worked.
She had explained the process to me several times in the way she always did when she talked about blood and medical things—breathlessly and so excitable that she often interrupted herself and hardly made sense at all. My understanding was that she’d chosen an obscure, relatively minor disease that caused tremors and some occasional issues with fine motor functions as her first test case. She had gradually worked her way up from animal tests until she found a woman who was willing to try the experimental treatment.
Of course, I’d had to make a few phone calls and pull some strings—namely providing bribes—to get the appropriate certifications to allow her to do human testing. When submitting the paperwork about her treatment, she claimed the “Lucios,” as she called them, were a lab grown synthetic agent, or something along those lines.
The woman sat down in what had quickly become a fully-fledged laboratory in the room that was once the ballroom. Beakers of colored fluids were neatly arranged and labeled. Microscopes of varying power were arranged on a long workbench with endless racks of sample slides. I hardly knew what half the things in here did, except that my Cara loved to spend her time in here searching for ways to use our blood to make some sort of miracle cure for humans.
I took a seat at the edge of the room, trying to be nothing but a fly on the wall. Cara reassured the woman, who sat down and looked around the room with calm, resigned eyes.
