Eternal

thinking that I’d never been as sore, as exhausted, in all my life.

Finding a bar of violet-scented soap—how had Aidan managed that?—I hastily ripped off the wrapper and began to scrub myself raw. I wanted to rid myself of every trace of the night’s work, to scour the memories from my brain. It was always the same—I was perfectly fine while in Sabbat mode, finding satisfaction, almost a thrill, as my stake hit its mark. But afterward, it hit me hard.

How many vampires had I destroyed tonight? Eight, ten, twelve? I’d lost count. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t taken their lives, not exactly. Their mortal lives had already been ended in ways that had nothing to do with me. Besides, if I hadn’t destroyed them, they would have killed me. Killed Matthew, Tyler, Joshua, Marissa. All of us.

I set aside the soap, my skin red and raw now. Holding my breath, I slipped beneath the water, submerging myself. I stayed there, my eyes squeezed shut, until I thought my lungs would burst—a test. Unable to bear it a second longer, I propelled myself upward, gasping for air the moment my mouth broke the surface. The survival instinct was too strong to deny, just as it had been last night—just as it would always be when I came face-to-face with a murderous vampire. I had to accept that, or I’d drive myself crazy.

Sighing resignedly, I reached for the shampoo, squeezing an untidy lump into my palm. It smelled good— vaguely tropical—but I cringed as I ran it through my lopsided, burnt-off hair. I wondered just how bad it looked.

* * *

“It’s pretty bad,” Aidan confirmed, once I’d finally gotten out of the tub and pulled on a tank top and a pair of pajama pants. “I think you’ll have to get it cut. But as luck would have it, you’re in Paris. Get some sleep, and then we’ll find someone to take care of it.”

I just nodded, exhausted as I climbed into the bed that would be mine come fall. I’d have to do something about the duvet cover, I decided, snuggling beneath it. It was way too masculine. The room needed something brighter—maybe a sage green in shantung silk.

My mind was just beginning to drift off when Aidan leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. I reached up to cup his cheek, wondering suddenly what it would feel like with stubble. It was hard to imagine him any differently, since he remained perpetually unchanged.

He turned his face toward my hand, his lips against my palm. And then he froze. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

I sat up. “Where?”

“Your arm. It’s deep. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have sent you straight down to Dr. Sophie. She was having so much fun down there with antiseptic and bandages that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I could heal minor wounds myself.”

I examined the arm in question. He was right; there was a gash on the inside edge of my right biceps, about two inches long. I must have opened it up when I’d scrubbed myself clean.

I shoved down the sheets and duvet, noting with a frown that I’d bled all over them. “Crap. I need to strip the bed and get these in the wash before they stain.”

Aidan laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, restraining me. “Don’t worry about it, not now. Here, just pull it back and I’ll get you a quilt or something.” He went to the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and dug around, then returned with a heavy chenille blanket. “This should keep you warm enough. Now, let me see your arm.”

He sat down beside me, running his fingers lightly along the wound. “I’ll take care of this,” he said, his voice soft. “Go on. Lie back down.”

I was too tired to resist, even if I’d wanted to. Besides, his method was way more appealing than stinging antiseptics and Band-Aids. Scooting down beneath the blanket, I settled my head on the plump, goose-down pillow and waited, my body taut with anticipation.

First he wiped away the blood with something cold and wet, dabbing gently, until the wound was entirely clean. And then he bent his head, his tongue against my skin now, making short, silky strokes that caused gooseflesh to erupt all over my body.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Do you have any idea how good that feels?” A calm seemed to wash over me, my body relaxing against the soft mattress as he continued to lick me, his strokes longer now, the pressure increased as my eyelids grew heavy.

“There. It’s healed,” he murmured at last, but his mouth didn’t leave my skin. Instead, he trailed kisses up toward my shoulder, across my collarbone, down to the dip between my breasts.

I arched against him, clasping the back of his head. My fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, guiding him lower, toward the exposed skin between the hem of my tank top and the waistband of my pajama pants.

“Violet,” he protested with a groan, but his mouth obeyed. “This is . . .” Kiss. “We shouldn’t . . .” Kiss.

And then, inexplicably, I yawned—a deep, breathless yawn wrought from sheer and utter exhaustion.

With a low chuckle, Aidan laid his head on my belly. “You need to sleep.”

I nodded, stifling a second yawn as I did so. “Did everyone else go to bed already?”

“I think so, once they got their bandages.” His fingers traced a path down my right side. “They’re exhausted, just like you.”

“What are you going to do all night?”

“I’ll stay with you for a little while, but then I’m going to see Nicole. We need to discuss her expectations from here on out. I won’t be gone long.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?” I asked, stroking his hair. It was damp from his shower and back to its usual golden color.

“Entirely so. Should I make an appointment for you somewhere while I’m out? For your hair? For first thing tomorrow, maybe? You and your friends can have a girls’ spa day or something like that.”

“Sure,” I said with a sigh. “That sounds nice, actually. When do you think we’ll go back home?”

“I don’t know—that’s why I need to speak to Nicole. How many days do you need in New York to prepare for our trip to England?”

“We’re still going?” I asked drowsily.

“Of course. I promised I’d take you, remember?”

I just nodded.

Lifting his head from my stomach, he scooted up in the bed and fitted himself beside me. Heart and soul, he said inside my head.

Heart and soul, I answered back, and then drifted off with a smile on my lips.

* * *

I opened the front door of Aidan’s town house in Manhattan—my town house, technically speaking—to find Matthew standing there, his hands thrust into his pockets, a messenger bag across one shoulder.

His eyes widened when he saw me. “I’m still not used to the hair,” he said, shaking his head.

I reached a hand up to my short, silky bob. “Yeah, me either.”

“It looks good, though. It suits you.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow at the airport.”

“I just needed to talk to you about something; it won’t take long. Can I come in?”

“Sure, of course.” I moved aside. “Sorry about the mess. I’m still packing, if you can believe it. I’m just not sure what to take. The weather’s apparently really fickle this time of year in Dorset—are you bringing a warm jacket, or just a raincoat?”

He didn’t move beyond the marble-tiled foyer. “That’s what I came to talk to you about. I’m not going with you to England.”

“You’re not? But I thought . . . I mean, you said—”

“I know what I said, but I was wrong. You don’t need me. You’ll be fine with Aidan.”

“Oo-okay,” I said, drawing it out, trying to figure out what had caused this change of heart. Because when we’d left Paris three days ago, he’d said he was coming with us.

Everything had been settled. Aidan had gone to Mrs. Girard and told her that her Dauphin was going on vacation, whether she liked it or not. He’d held up his end of the