“She stayed.”
Uncertainty crosses his face. The first crack in his centuries-long plan.
“She’ll run,” he says. “They always run.”
“Maybe. But that’s her choice. Not yours.”
“You think telling her changes anything?” His voice hardens. “You think one night of honesty erases the past hundred and fifty years?”
“I think you’ve been nursing this grudge so long you’ve forgotten what it was for.” I meet his eyes—still carrying the echo of the friend I’d loved before Vienna burned. “I’m sorry about Katya. I will be sorry about it for the rest of my existence. But destroying everyone I love won’t bring her back.”
“No.” His smile returns. Sharp. Final. “But it will make you feel what I felt. And that’s enough.”
He turns. Walks down the beach.
“You have until the wedding,” he calls back. “Two days. After that, I stop waiting.”
He disappears into the joggers and tourists.
I stand there until the sun climbs high. Until my phone buzzes twice.
Then I decide.
Not to run. Not to hide.
If my progeny wanted war, I’d give him one.
The suite is quiet when I return. Poppy still sleeps, curled on her side, one hand under her pillow.
I think about waking her to tell her what I learned—that the man from the cocktail party killed Margaret, drove Corinne to the river, murdered Anya. That I created him. How everything he’s become is my fault.
But right now, I need to stop Damien from repeating history. I step onto the balcony, pull out my phone, and call Geneva.
“Julian.” Matthew LaChance’s voice carries centuries of experience. “I heard rumors you were in the Bahamas. Something about a wedding?”
“I need help. Damien Ashworth.”
Silence. Then: “Your progeny? From Vienna?”
“He’s been hunting me for a hundred and fifty years. Killing everyone I love. I just found out.”
“The Council has already ruled. Damien has no authority to—”
“He’s not acting with authority. He’s targeting humans under my protection to hurt me.”
“Hmm, that is an interesting predicament you’re in.” Matthew observes. “If he’s violating the Prague Accords by targeting civilians to harm another vampire, you have grounds for defensive action. I’ll make inquiries.”
“Thank you.”
“Julian.” His voice softens. “You created him. That bond carries weight. Whatever you’re planning—be certain.”
“I am.”
Inside, Poppy stirs. Her eyes open.
“Julian?” Sleep roughens her voice. “What time is it?”
“Just after seven.”
