The chains wrap around his wrists. His ankles. The silver sizzles against his skin, and he snarls—an animal sound, nothing human left in it.
Nathaniel and Elena hold Damien as he thrashes around while Sofia secures the bindings.
“Nice of you to finally join,” Elena holds Damien’s legs while Nathaniel is on the torso.
“It looked like you guys had it,” he shrugs. “I would have stepped in if you needed help.”
“Sure you would have,” Elena shakes her head. “It’s like Berlin all over again.”
“You still mad about that?”
“Da!”
“Hey, Nathaniel,” Sofia stares him down. “How about you earn your keep now?”
“I didn’t bring gloves. You know what silver does to us.”
Sofia pushes Nathaniel out of the way. “Julian, why did you bring him?”
“Hey, I didn’t know that was the plan,” Nathaniel looks up to me. “You got to believe me. I knew about the weapons, not the chains.”
“You were there when we talked about it!”
“Can you just kill me, so I don’t have to hear all this complaining?” Damien spits blood at my feet.
I stand over him and take a deep, useless breath.
“What will it be, Julian?” Damien’s voice is a rasp. “Stake through the heart. Decapitation. Whatever method you’ve chosen—do it already! I’ve been ready to die for decades!”
“I know you have.”
I crouch down so we’re eye level. Instead of the intense fire of hate, I see something else. Exhaustion. Emptiness. The hollow space where hope used to live.
“Death is what you want,” I say quietly. “You’ve wanted it since Vienna. Since you realized that revenge wasn’t filling the void—that no matter how many people you hurt, Katya was still gone and you were still alone.”
“Then give me what I want. One last gift from sire to progeny.”
“No.”
He blinks. For the first time since this began, uncertainty crosses his face.
“You told Poppy that death was too quick,” I continue. “That loneliness was the real punishment. That you wanted me to feel what you felt—alone, forever, with nothing but memory for company.”
“Julian—”
“You were right.” I stand. “Death is mercy. And after what you did to Margaret—after Corinne and Anya—you don’t deserve mercy.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. Then horror.
“No.” He starts to struggle, but the silver holds. “No, Julian, you can’t—”
“The ocean floor is dark,” I say. “Cold. Silent. You’ll be conscious—we both know that. You’ll feel every second of every hour of every year. Decades. Centuries. However long it takes for the chains to corrode or the currents to shift.” I hold his gaze. “Maybe forever.”
“You can’t do this.” His voice cracks—actually cracks, like the facade he’s maintained for a hundred and forty-six years isfinally crumbling. “We were brothers. We were friends. Julian, please—”
“We were.” The words taste like ash. “And then you burned Margaret alive in an asylum. You whispered poison in Corinne’s ear until she walked into a river. You left Anya’s body on my bed like a gift.” I feel something crack inside me—something I’ve been holding together for decades. “You killed my friends. My lovers. You took everything I cared about and destroyed it piece by piece. And you want me to give you the easy way out?”
“Julian—”
