“I know you won’t.” I turn to Poppy one last time. “Don’t leave this room. Don’t open the door. Don’t—”
“Julian.” She cuts me off gently. “I’ve got it. Go do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you get back.”
I want to kiss her again. Want to memorize the way she looks right now—brave and beautiful and choosing to trust me despite everything she knows about what I am.
Instead, I nod. Turn. Walk out the door.
Bastine falls into step beside me as I move down the hallway.
“Marcus is patched in,” he says. “Elena and Sofia are in position. Nathaniel’s set.”
“And Damien?”
“Still in his room, sir.”
I nod to him and leave.
The east cliffs are beautiful at dawn.
I’ve watched thousands of sunrises in my lifetime. Seen the light break over the Alps, over the spires of Prague, over oceans I’ve crossed and recrossed as the centuries turned. But there’s something about a Bahamian dawn—the way the sky shifts from violet to rose to gold, the way the water catches fire before the sun fully crests the horizon.
It would be a good place to die, if I were capable of appreciating such things.
I can smell Damien before I see him. Old blood and older fury, carried on the salt wind.
Elena materializes from the shadows to my left. Her movements are smooth and silent—two centuries of predator instinct honed to perfection.
“He’s coming,” she says. “He’s approaching from the north path.” Elena’s voice comes through my earpiece, crisp and steady. “Two minutes, maybe less.”
“Sofia?”
“In position. Nathaniel has the retreat covered. If he runs, he won’t get far.”
He won’t run. I know that with the certainty of someone who helped shape the creature he became. Damien has been waiting for this moment for a hundred and forty-six years. He won’t flee from it now.
“Julian.”
I turn.
Damien stands at the edge of the tree line, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He’s dressed simply—dark clothes, practical shoes, nothing that would impede movement. He’s come prepared for what this might become.
“You brought friends,” he observes. His eyes flick to the positions where Elena and Sofia wait, invisible to human sight but obvious to one of our kind. “I’m flattered.”
“I learned from my mistakes.”
“Did you?” He walks closer, unhurried. “I wonder. A hundred and forty-six years of mistakes, and you’re still making new ones. The girl, for instance. Poppy.” He says her name like he’s tasting it—tasting her. “You really think this time will be different?”
“I think you’ve given me no choice.”
He stops ten feet away. Close enough to strike. Close enough for me to see the emptiness behind his eyes—the place where my friend used to live.
“The Council approved this, didn’t they?” He sounds amused. “Let me guess—they heard my plans for the reception. Exposing our kind to a room full of humans. That crossed a line even they couldn’t ignore.”
“Does it matter why?”
“Not particularly. I always knew it would end this way. One of us standing over the other.” His smile is sharp, brittle. “I just assumed I’d be the one left standing.”
“Damien.” I take a step toward him. “It doesn’t have to end at all. You could walk away. Leave this place. Start over somewhere far from here, far from me.”
