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I lean over them both, my hand cradling the tiny, perfect back of my daughter, an overwhelming, fierce wave of dark protectiveness washing over my entire soul.

She’s ours. A dark, perfect creation born from our bloodlust on Halloween night.

The nurse smiles down at us, clicking her pen against a chart. “She’s beautiful. What’s the baby’s name?”

Harmony looks up from our daughter, her warm golden eyes gleaming with a quiet, lethal brilliance as she meets the nurse’s gaze.

“Azriel Lilith St. James.”

The nurse quirks a pleasant eyebrow, writing the letters down on the birth certificate form. “Azriel... what a pretty name. What does it mean?”

Harmony raises her eyes to meet mine, a devious, intimate smile forming on her lips, then she looks back at the nurse.

“Angel of death.”

Epilogue 2: Family Tradition

THREE MONTHS LATER

October 31st

HARMONY

The crisp autumn chill hangs in the air bringing a familiar, electrifying hum straight back into my veins.

Tonight is Halloween, but for the first time in fifteen years, I’m not hunting alone in the dark.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, smoothing down the heavy black velvet folds of my hooded reaper costume.

Beside me, Ryder finishes fastening a bone-white skull mask over his face, his towering frame clad in a sweeping, midnight-black cloak as Death incarnate.

But the real star of the night rests on our bed, gurgling happily in a cloud of soft black tulle and tiny silk black feather wings.

For her very first Halloween, we dressed baby Azriel up as the angel of death—a sweet, ironic nod to her namesake.

Ryder steps up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist and resting his gloved hand over my stomach. His dark brown eyes gleam behind the skull mask as he leans down, pressing his cold lips against the bare skin of my neck.

We look down at Azri, who kicks her tiny feet and lets out a high, squeaky coo.

“She looks perfect,” Ryder rasps, his voice muffled slightly by the mask.

“She’s our little Angel of Death,” I whisper, a cozy, mischievous excitement growing in my chest.

We gather her up, securing her into her plush stroller, and take her out into the suburban neighborhood for her very first round of trick-or-treating.

Laughing kids, glowing jack-o’-lanterns, and parents drinking hot cider fill the streets.

We play the part of the normal, glowing young family to absolute perfection, accepting praise for Azri’s costume from smiling neighbors who have no idea what monsters walk among them.

Once the streetlights flicker fully to life, we head down the block to our neighbors’ house for an adult Halloween gathering.

My skin prickles with an eerie sense of Deja Vu as the party snaps me back to the one we had at Blaire’s house that fateful night—with the living room full of people wearing detailed costumes, loud music playing, and punch bowls on hand.

The atmosphere gradually becomes stifling as the clock ticks closer to midnight.

Ryder catches my eye from across the kitchen island. He tilts his head slightly, his dark gaze locking onto mine with an unspoken, lethal understanding.

A subtle, electric current sparks between us.