“Promise?”
“I promise.”
I fall asleep with his hand in my hair and the silence where his heart should be pressed against my ear.
It’s strange, I think as consciousness fades. I should be terrified. Questioning everything would make sense. Instead, I just feel—safe. Like the truth, as impossible as it is, has finally set something free.
My last coherent thought before sleep takes me: Sage was right.
I’m never going to hear the end of it.
CHAPTER 19
JULIAN
Poppy falls asleep curled against my side, her face pressed to my chest.
The strange, slow beating of my heart didn’t scare her off.
She didn’t run. She held on tighter.
I wait another fifteen minutes. Her sleep deepens, and I extract my arm from beneath her head. She murmurs something and rolls over, her hand reaching for me even in sleep.
I brush the hair away from her face. Let myself look at her for one long moment.
Then I slip out of bed and head for the balcony.
The night is beautiful.
A sky crowded with stars. The moon casting silver light across the water. The distant sound of waves. Warm salt air carrying the scent of jasmine.
But Damien won’t allow me to enjoy it.
My phone shows twelve messages from him since the party began.
8:23 PM — DAMIEN: Beautiful party. Chris really outdid himself.
8:47 PM — DAMIEN: The mother doesn’t approve of you. Smart woman.
9:15 PM — DAMIEN: Fifty humans. So many heartbeats. Does it ever drive you mad, Julian? The sound of all that blood?
9:38 PM — DAMIEN: She’s wearing the green dress. Your favorite color on her. How sweet.
10:02 PM — DAMIEN: I watched you leave the party. The garden alcove? Very romantic. Very exposed.
10:34 PM — DAMIEN: Food poisoning. How unfortunate. I hope she recovers. The wedding is only two days away.
The messages continue. Each one reminding me that he’s watching, that he knows where we are, that he could strike at any moment.
Damien has been nursing this grudge since 1878. A century and a half of plotting, waiting, watching me rebuild my life so he can tear it down again.
I lean against the railing and stare at all the ways Damien could approach this building without being noticed.
After hundreds of years, I still can’t turn off the tactical part of my brain. The part that kept me alive through revolutions and two world wars.
Tonight, that part of me is screaming.
Damien is escalating. His messages are more frequent, more pointed. He’s positioning himself for something bigger. Something at the wedding, when cameras are rolling and witnesses are plentiful and maximum damage can be inflicted.
