“He has not spoken with me since.” A flicker of sadness crossed his features, aging him another ten years in an instant. “Everett did not want this life for her, butshewanted it, and she believed it was her decision to make. It had been a source of contention between them for months—all of us, including the staff, had heard their many battles, and we all began speculating on when they might finally part ways.”
“When did it happen?” I asked.
“About six months into their relationship. She’d been living with us by then, and I found her in the study late one evening, reduced to tears after a particularly brutal argument. When I tried to comfort her, she told me that he’d finally broken up with her—that he’d told her if she wanted to become a bloodsucker, she’d have to find another vampire to turn her. He wanted no part of it, and no part of her.”
“So you offered to turn her?” I asked.
Ignoring the question, he said, “She was quite fragile, you see, and I’d grown rather fond of her. I worried she might harm herself or stumble into the clutches of a vampire who would take advantage of her desperation. I tried to reassure her that her stay in our home was not contingent upon her relationship with Everett—she was welcome to remain as long as she wished, and no harm would come to her under our roof.”
“Obviously, she took you up on your generosity.”
Grinaldi nodded. “She seemed content for some time. She had her own quarters, and Everett went away to university that fall, so she didn’t have to worry about running into him. But a desire rooted as deeply as hers does not merely fade with time, and it wasn’t long before she fell into a dark melancholy.”
I leaned forward on the settee, enraptured by the story. It was quite obvious my assumptions about Fiona’s turning had been wrong; Grinaldi was speaking of her not as a plaything or an insignificant human, but as a daughter-in-law.
One he cared for, deeply and sincerely.
“She began to drop subtle hints about becoming one of us,” he continued. “And finally, she asked me to do it. I refused, explaining to her about our custom—we were twenty strong at that point, and until one of our line passed, we could not make another. Of course, this only made her more determined. She begged, she threw tantrums, she threatened to… to take her own life.” His voice broke on the last word, shocking me with its raw pain.
“I’m… sorry,” I said, equally shocked to find that I’d actually meant it.
“As am I.” He offered a faint smile, perhaps the first genuine moment we’d shared. “You asked me, Mr. Beaumont, if I’d offered to turn Fiona. The answer is no. She simply… wore me down. So, when one of our clan was killed during a skirmish in Buffalo last fall, I finally turned her. Two weeks later, she was gone.”
“And you never heard from her again?”
“No. You know, the worst part of this ordeal isn’t that she betrayed me or broke our rules. It’s that she broke my heart.” He closed his eyes, and I saw his real age, the mask he’d worn for centuries finally dropping away. Behind his customs and pompousness and power, Grinaldi was no more than a tired old man, the last of a dying line struggling to bear the infinite weight of a heart besieged with regret.
Like so many of our kind.
It was a harsh reminder that with very few exceptions—Fiona notwithstanding—vampires did not choose this life. It was chosen for us, leaving us to march onward as best we could, or simply wither and die.
I sensed our visit had come to its end. Looking upon Vincenzo Grinaldi with new eyes, I offered my final farewell. “Thank you for your time and hospitality, Mr. Grinaldi. I shall be in touch about Fiona soon.”
He surprised me once more by bowing his head in respect, and without another word, I allowed myself to be led by another of his servants to the main entrance, my throat unexpectedly tight with some unnamed emotion.
Stepping out into the cool upstate New York night, I was overcome with the need to gorge myself on the scent of fresh air and moss and living things, and I took several deep breaths before sliding into my waiting town car.
“To the hotel, sir?” My driver asked, navigating us out of the wooded area that camouflaged the Grinaldi estate.
“Not yet, Michael. We need to make a detour.”
“Where to?”
“Phoenicia. The county courthouse, please.”
“As you wish, sir.” He spoke a new command to his GPS unit, which promptly recalculated our route. “Though they’re almost certainly closed for the evening.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Twenty-Three
GRAY
One week after I’d kissed Darius goodbye in our driveway, I awoke in Ronan’s bed from a dreamless sleep to the rich whiskey-and-leather scent of my vampire.
“Darius?” I whispered, sitting up and opening my eyes. His scent still lingered, but he wasn’t here.
Ronan was gone, too, and in his place I found a small gift box sitting on the pillow. It was wrapped in glossy white paper embossed with roses and tied with a gold silk ribbon, as lovely and tasteful as the man I suspected had left it for me.
