EPILOGUE
ALL HALLOWS’ EVE
Lucien
One year later
New Orleans belongsto the night.
Our Creole Baroque manor hums with music and laughter; candlelight drips from the chandeliers like molten gold.
My guests, an eclectic mix of mortals, immortals, the curious and the damned, swirl through the ballroom in masks and finery, celebrating the season that once haunted me.
Tonight, it’s mine again.
Ours.
All Hallows’ Eve.
I stand on the balcony overlooking the revelry, a glass of blood-dark wine in my hand. The scent of it mingles with roses and smoke, and beneath it, faint but distinct, the perfume of lilies.
Elara.
She moves through the crowd like a succulent secret the world is honored to know. Her gown is scarlet silk, the color of blood and survival, the train whispering across the marble. Every head turns as she passes, but she spares no one a glance.
Her smile belongs only to me.
She is breathtaking. And beneath that perfection I know the truth: the faint silver scars that trail her skin, the old echo of sigils that gleam faintly when candlelight hits them just so. Proof that she loved me enough to die, and lived enough to come back.
I love them.
Every mark.
Every story carved into her skin.
She catches my gaze across the room, eyes flashing silver. The bond between us thrums like a heartbeat shared. The music slows to an old waltz, heavy with strings, and I descend the stairs to meet her.
The crowd parts without knowing why.
“Elara.”
“Lucien.”
She slips her hand into mine, her skin warm and perfect. “You’re brooding again,” she murmurs.
“Admiring,” I correct.
Her mouth curves. “It’s a fine line.”
“Then let me blur it into adoration.”
I draw her close. The waltz takes us, slow and inevitable, spinning us through the halo of light. Around us, mortal and mythical beings alike laugh and flirt, but I see nothing but her—my wife, my curse, my miracle. The scent of her blood calls to every dark thing in me.
“You promised not to devour any guests,” she says lightly.
“Notallof them. Only the one to dare to stare too long at my love.”
She laughs, soft and sinful, her breath brushing my throat. “Jealous as ever.”
