Poppy hasn’t moved. She’s still curled on her side, her face peaceful, her hand reaching for the empty space beside her. The food poisoning has passed—her color is better, her breathing easier.
I stand in the doorway and watch her.
I’ve watched lovers sleep before. Margaret. Corinne. Anya. Their lives lost before it was time.
They’re all gone now.
I cross to the bed. Lie down beside her.
She stirs. Reaches for me. Her hand finds my arm and she sighs, settling back into deeper sleep.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Now I have to keep her alive long enough to build the future those words promise.
I close my eyes.
All I can think about is Vienna.
I try not to—I’ve spent years trying not to—but tonight, with Damien’s threats fresh and the weight of what’s coming pressing down, I can’t stop the memories.
CHAPTER 20
JULIAN
Vienna, September 1878.
Iturned Damien in the spring of 1852.
He was dying when I found him. Consumption. A slow drowning in his own lungs. We’d been friends since I was human, before the darkness found me. When it became clear he wouldn’t survive the winter, I offered him a choice.
He chose immortality.
For twenty-six years after that, we were inseparable. Closer than brothers. I taught him to hunt, to hide, to navigate the centuries stretching before us. He learned fast. My progeny, my responsibility, my closest friend.
Then Damien met Katya.
She was a violinist in the Vienna Philharmonic, one of the few women to break through. Fierce and brilliant and unafraid when Damien told her what he was. She loved him anyway. I’d never seen him so happy.
I understood. I had Margaret.
We’d built lives in Vienna. Real lives, as real as creatures like us can have. Separate dwellings in the same building. We’d eat dinners together—which was really our women eating while Damien and I enjoyed their company. Theatre and concerts and long walks through the Stadtpark at midnight.
For a few years, I let myself believe we could have it all.
The hunters found us on a September evening.
They’d been tracking us for months, we learned later. Mapping our routines. Identifying our weaknesses. When they moved, they moved with precision.
I was returning from a meeting with a solicitor when I heard the screaming.
Two screams. From opposite directions.
Margaret’s voice came from the west—our apartment, where she’d been waiting for me. Katya’s from the east—the concert hall where she’d been rehearsing.
I ran toward Margaret. Instinct. The woman I loved. The woman I’d sworn to protect.
The hunters had her pinned in the drawing room. Three of them, silver chains around her wrists, a fourth pressing a blessed blade to her throat. She saw me in the doorway.
