Lothaire

But in five years, she never allowed herself to cry.

He experienced firsthand her near execution, the IVs sunk into her veins, her “rescue” to a place even more torturous.

He relived his own mocking, as if it’d been directed at him. He’d derided her background and her loved ones, wounding her repeatedly.

If he had, in fact, ever praised her intelligence, then she had no memory of it.

Not only hadn’t he recanted his hateful comments, he’d never righted the wrongs.

Lothaire heard her thinking, “Does he still consider me just a “backward and vulgar hillbilly”? He’ll probably be embarrassed of me around others. God, that hurts.”

No, you are everything to me!

From her point of view, he experienced the night that he’d told her he’d keep her, that he’d chosen her. He felt her flutter of hope; later, he felt her misery once she’d comprehended that he would still kill her, would destroy her soul.

In the beginning of her ordeal with Saroya, Elizabeth had accepted that she would die; yet then she’d let herself hope for the first time since the night he’d sent her off to death row.

The dashed hope was the worst.

Elizabeth had told him honestly, “I don’t want to live in your violent, messed-up world.”

Why would she decide to live within the violent realm of immortals—much less choose him as her protector amid it?

He’d given her no reason to choose him over her loved ones, simply decreeing that she’d never see them again.

Once he viewed her memories of her family—laughing with them, covering for them, always there to help out—he recognized how ridiculous he’d been to expect her to forget them.

Her family had proved just as loyal to Elizabeth. With no questions asked, two of her cousins had buried bodies for her behind the barn.

I hadn’t even thought—or cared—about what had happened to Saroya’s victims.

Elizabeth had once told him that her family was a unit, that their mountain was an ironclad support system.

My own family is lacking compared to that. Ivana had been betrayed by her father. Lothaire’s own father had tortured him.

The Peirces were invulnerable to deceit and cowardice like that.

But at last, Lothaire wasn’t jealous of Elizabeth’s devotion to others—no matter how much he coveted it.

Just because she loved her family and was loyal to them didn’t mean she couldn’t be loyal to him as well.

As long as he never crossed them.

Instead, he’d set events into motion that would separate her from her loved ones forever. He’d robbed her of her family.

Just as Serghei robbed me of Ivana.

In sleep, he began to sweat as he grasped the truth: I did to Elizabeth . . . what he did to me.

Lothaire had never seen her memories for a reason—because he couldn’t handle the way he’d treated his precious female.

Just when he was about to wake, despairing of ever winning her back, a flash of another memory arose. As he’d slept one night, suffering from some nightmare, she’d gazed down at him with tenderness. Her chest had ached with feeling for him—as his continued to do for her. She’d smoothed hair from his brow, soothing him with soft words.

He’d never known that before. Ah, gods, she did love him.

Lothaire could feel it burning strong within her. I could have the loyalty she showed her family. The love—

He woke with a yell. “Lizvetta!”

I knew she was falling in love with me!

He twisted around, but Nïx wasn’t on the couch. He found her sitting at the window, waving down at his subjects. She looked refreshed, her hair combed.

“Elizabeth did love me!” he barked without preamble. “So why would she lash out like that?”

Nïx shrugged, blowing a kiss to someone. “Because she was a new vampire with her emotions running high? Did you say anything that might have provoked her to that kind of rage?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “There might have been a few choice phrases.”

“Plus, she traced just as she swung the sword at you.”

“Impossible. She’d only been a vampire for hours.”

“She can trace all around the world now.”

Unexpected Elizabeth. “I am prideful. But if she can trace without limits, will she go back to her family?” He was unable to think of much beyond getting his Bride back, his mind seizing on one little task: get Elizavetta. “What did she say when she left Val Hall?”

Nïx turned to him. “I remember her standing dazed on our front porch. The vaunted queen of the proud Daci was alone, penniless, with her few clothes—all Valkyrie cast-offs, mind you—in a grocery bag. She had no idea what she was going to do or how she was going to feed herself, and feared her family would never accept her. Oh, and she was light one finger.”

He yelled in frustration, tracing to punch a fist into a fresh wall. “You tell me these things? You might as well gut me with a blade.”

“I’m just telling you so you know why she might be less than thrilled if you show up.”

“I felt her emotions, I know she loved me.”

“Before you broke her heart.”

Long moments passed. In a low tone, he asked, “Am I never to have her love again?”

“I’d hold on to the finger, Lothaire. It might be all you ever have of her.”

Family is her key. He threw back his head and yelled, “Stelian!”

When the big vampire traced inside, he gave a courtly bow to Nïx, who smiled absently.

Lothaire wasted no time. “Go and buy my queen’s family mountain. Put it in her name. Lie, steal, cheat, or kill to see this through.”

Stelian saluted sarcastically. “We have intermediaries who deal with humans. Consider it done.”

“And get the mountains next to it, just in case.”

“I see we’re planning to buy the queen’s forgiveness. It’s about time.”

“Cease. Speaking.”

Stelian disappeared.

Nïx nodded approvingly. “Now you’re starting to get it, vampire . . .” She trailed off, shooting to her feet, her eyes swirling silver. “Lothaire, something’s wrong.”

He’d also felt a heavy sense of dread. His connection to Elizabeth was clearer now, more so than it had ever been. “What do you see, Nïx?”

Gaze gone wild, she murmured, “Ellie spinning in blind circles, blood pouring from her mouth. Go to the mountain, Lothaire, follow the screams!”

59

“Elizabeth!” Lothaire found her on her knees in a sunlit field, covered in coal dust, holding her hands over her bleeding ears. He was half-tracing, but still the light burned him.

“L-Lothaire?” Tears tracked down her cheeks, more blood spilling from her mouth. She was frail, obviously