“Start over.” He laughs—something hollow and cracked. “You still don’t understand, do you? After everything. After Margaret and Corinne and Anya. After a century and a half of watching you try to love and fail.” He shakes his head. “There is no starting over. There’s only this. There’s only us. There’s only the debt you owe me.”
“I owe you nothing! My heart went out to you because I loved you like a brother. The grief I felt and gave was over love, nothate.” My voice roughens. “I didn’t owe you the lives of three innocent women. I didn’t owe you their screams.”
Something shifts in his face. A flicker of the man he used to be, buried so deep I almost miss it.
“They weren’t innocent,” he says. “They chose you. Loved you. That made them complicit in your happiness.” His voice drops. “And your happiness was built on Katya’s bones.”
“I didn’t kill Katya. The hunters did.”
“You chose!” The word tears out of him—raw, ragged, more emotion than he’s shown in decades. “And once you saved Margaret, how long did you hold her before you decided to try to help Katya? You let her burn!”
“Yes, I did. I was given an impossible choice—and I chose the woman I was in love with. You would have made the same choice if our roles were reversed.” I don’t look away. “And I have lived with that choice every day since. But Damien—” I step closer. “You could have run toward her, too. You weren’t there. You were across the city, handling something for the Council. Where were you when the hunters came?”
He goes still.
“You’ve spent a hundred and forty-six years blaming me because it’s easier than blaming yourself. Because if it’s my fault, you don’t have to face the truth—that you weren’t there. That you left her alone that night because the Council called and you answered.”
“Stop.”
“You weren’t there, Damien. And neither was I, not until it was too late. We both failed her. The difference is I’ve spent my existence trying to live with that failure instead of using it as an excuse to become a monster.”
“I said stop!”
His eyes blaze with fury, and he makes his move.
I’ve been expecting it, ready for it since the moment he appeared, but the speed catches me off guard. He’s faster than I remember. Angrier. Grief has sharpened him into something fierce and desperate.
His fist connects with my jaw. I roll with the impact, use the momentum to create distance, and then he’s on me again—a blur of movement and rage.
We fought once, decades ago. A drunken disagreement over territory that escalated before cooler heads prevailed. It had been almost playful—two predators testing each other’s limits.
This isn’t playful. His fangs have dropped. A century and a half of pain compressed into fists, fury, and teeth.
I block. Counter. Take a hit to the ribs that would shatter a human’s skeleton. Give one back that sends him staggering toward the cliff’s edge.
My fangs extend fully and I dive at him, trying to tear out his throat. He moves enough so that I miss. Instead, I latch onto his shoulder.
He screams out in pain before hammering me repeatedly with his fist, knocking himself free.
We square off with each other again.
I wipe blood off my face as we scowl at one another.
“Elena,” I say through the earpiece. “Now!”
Wasting no time, I rush him. He rushes back. We lunge, each intent on killing the other.
Our claws are out, and we slash each other across the chest.
It hurts. It hurts bad. But I don’t let him see the pain I’m in.
Damien is so focused on me, he doesn’t spot Elena or Sofia as they materialize out of the shadows and flank him.
They move in perfect coordination—two vampires who’ve survived centuries by knowing exactly when to strike.
Damien fights. Of course he does. He’s always been stubborn—it’s one of the things I loved about him before our friendship turned into hate.
But he’s outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. And when Sofia produces the silver chains from the pack at her hip, he knows it’s over.
