Page 147 of Eternal Craving

Elijah glanced at the count, who lay sprawled on the floor.

I gestured towards Roman’s head. “Was he always that glum?”

“Whatever you tried here tonight didn’t work,” Elijah shot back. “Where’s Sunaria?”

“I have no idea.”

“We saw her enter.”

“You have Roman, or what’s left of him.”

He glanced at the head. “You told me he was alive.”

“He was a few minutes ago.”

“What have you done?”

“Ask him.” I pointed to Delacroix.

“Seems you impressed Lord Archer,” Elijah said. “But you don’t impress me.”

I shrugged.

“Out of all our ancestors your lover murdered,” Elijah said, his gaze locking on mine, “you were the last.”

The truth had been staring me in the face all this time and yet I’d not seen it. Elijah’s familiarity, a faint likeness distorted by time – and the feeling that I knew him even though we’d never met.

“She planned to start with your brother, Ricardo,” he said, “but his friends took care of him. You were next. That night in the mausoleum, she couldn’t go through with killing a boy. She waited for you to grow up.”

I showed no reaction.

“Why do you think she left you in that house with Roelle?” He looked smug. “She was waiting for you to age so that you would grasp the full extent of your suffering.”

My gut twisted. “Give me one minute with her.”

“Then you’ll hand her over?”

The quiet wreckage of what remained of my heart left me standing before him, doubting his words. And if this cursed breath still filled me, then perhaps, just perhaps, she had turned her dark heart back toward me and changed her mind.

If any of this was even true.

“She’ll be in the tower,” I said quietly.

“We’ll be outside.”

I disappeared too quickly for the human eye to see, ending up at the entrance of the church.

A coppery aroma flooded the nave, the scent of blood. There, scattered along the aisle and amongst the pews were men, some dead, others dying. The Creda had taken on the Stone Masters and won. I searched each man’s face. Glass and broken artifacts crunched beneath my feet.

I found Lord Archer on the floor leaning against the font, taking shallow breaths. I knelt beside him.

Archer’s complexion was morbidly pale. “We weren’t prepared,” he gasped.

“They’re ancients.” I offered him my wrist.

He turned away.

I ran my fingers up his blood-soaked sleeve. “Your right arm’s broken.”