Not fast enough, I think bitterly. Sunwalker spells are the only way vampires can walk in the sun without catching fire. I’ve only made one since Grace became a vampire, and it was forher.
Forget the hundreds of thousands of vampires in the Night Realm. At this rate, I’ll die long before the manor’s residents can walk in daylight. I need help, and I need a lot of it.
I grind my teeth to the point my jaw aches. I pace the hallways, forcing myself to study the many oil paintings and to imagine what may lie behind each closed wooden door. After a while, I start counting my steps to try to keep the bad thoughts from overtaking me.
It doesn’t matter. I can’t escape my own mind, and before long, I’ve reached the end of the western wing. I could go to the next level. That’s what Ishoulddo, honestly, but I’m inexplicably drawn to the central wing. That’s where the ballroom is. The courtyard. The bloodletting room and the extravagant entryway. There’s no reason I should go there.
There are plenty of reasons Ishouldn’t.
It’s nightfall, the vampires are at their rowdiest, and the fact I stink to them won’t stop them from attacking. If they’re recklessenough,hungryenough, they will. Sebastian would kill them for it, sure, but that’s not much comfort if I’m already dead.
I rock onto my toes, then shake my head.
What am I thinking?
Why the hells would I leave my sanctuary, just because Ifeellike it? That’s a new level of stupidity.
I shift on my heels, back in the direction of my room. I’ll pace these halls again, maybe twice more, and then I’ll go to bed.
I barely manage a step when I hear it.
A loud, garbled screaming, coming from the entryway.
I don’t think, don’t register the who or the what or the why. There’s no moment of consideration, no thought of potential consequences.
I’m already moving. Heart racing. Eyes searching. Magic pulsing. Because even without allowing myself to think, my bodyknows. It will know him until the day I die. Maybe even after that.
I don’t stop running until I reach the front door. There, a handful of goons drag him in by the shoulders.
It’s been twelve years since I’ve seen Elliot Lyrie, but I swear, my breath catches in the exact same way.
Beautiful.
When we were teenagers, I thought he was the most stunning man I’d ever seen. But he wasn’t a man then, not really. He is now. Somewhere over six feet tall. Still lean, but far more muscular than he was at sixteen. His hair is darker. Longer. That curl over his forehead is more pronounced than I remember. Perfect lips, the bottom slightly larger than the top.
His mouth twists into another vicious scream, and my momentary daze evaporates.
Elliot.MyElliot is here.
The one place I hoped to never see him.
I should tell the goons to unhand him. These four vampires are under Sebastian’s protection, which means they’re under mine too. They’re not breaking any laws by dragging Elliot into the manor. Witches are forbidden in vampire territory, and by Night Realm rules, these goons can do whatever they’d like to him as punishment. Capture, torture, even kill him.
So yeah, I should tell them to unhand Elliot. It would be the fair, honorable thing to do—and I swear I’m trying to be a better person. But when Elliot cries out again, any thought of playing nice disappears.
I extend both palms at once, letting my magic loose. It latches onto each goon, hurling them in different directions.
One crashes against the door to the bloodletting room. Another smashes through the front window, sending shards of stained glass across the floor. The other two fling somewhere behind my head, their bodies crunching horrifically against the stone pillars.
I look over Elliot, cataloguing every single body part. He’s not injured. Not that I can tell.
The two vampires in front of me are unconscious. I imagine the two behind me are, as well. I know better than to look away from Elliot to check.
“Tell me if they move,” I instruct him. My voice croaks, raspy and strained. I’m breathing so hard I can barely see straight, and my magic is going haywire. It singes beneath my skin, as if branding me from the inside.
Elliot stares at me. He’s impossible to read, and I’m hit with a foul sense of nostalgia. Once again, my body is remembering somethingIdon’t. My heart squeezes, begging me to approach him. I don’t.
“You’re—” he starts. He blinks at me, hazel eyes wide, mouth parted. “You look just like…”
