anything.
The cure hadn’t worked. It hadn’t worked! He’d said that it would, but it didn’t. It hadn’t. I’d killed him— destroyed him, just like the rest of them, with a single strike to the heart!
I knelt over him, my hands shaking as I touched his face, my fingers skimming lightly from his cheek to his jaw, his lips. His skin was so soft, as pale and perfect as always. If it weren’t for his eyes, he could be sleeping. But he wasn’t—I knew that he wasn’t.
I’d killed him.
Entirely numb now, I somehow managed to pull the needle from his chest and toss it aside. I raised a trembling hand to my mouth and kissed my fingers, then pressed them to his lips. “Please forgive me,” I whispered, unwilling to say those other, far more permanent words. And then I reached up and closed his eyes.
This was what he’d wanted—to be set free. He’d wanted the monster inside him gone, no matter the cost. He’d been willing to take that risk, but what about me? Was I supposed to be happy for him? Happy that he’d won?
How could I be happy when it felt as if my own heart had stopped beating along with his? How could I go on, knowing that he was permanently erased from my future now?
With nothing left to do, I laid my head against his chest and cried, my tears soaking his shirt as I clutched his lifeless body to mine.
I have no idea how much time passed before I felt it—a subtle movement beneath my cheek. A pulse, a twitch. Something.
I imagined it. I had to have imagined it. But . . . there it was again. I held my breath, straining to listen more closely now.
And then I heard it—a faint but distinct
I let out my breath with a gasp and then held it again. Listening, waiting. Hoping, praying.
Followed by silence. Maybe I
But then there it was again, loud and strong against my ear:
It was rhythmic now, continuing on uninterrupted.
“Aidan!” I scrambled to my knees, my gaze snapping up to his face . . .
. . . just as his blue-gray eyes opened.
“Violet?” he asked dazedly, struggling to sit.
I threw my arms around his neck, laughing and crying all at once as relief washed over me in coursing waves.
“You okay?” he asked me.
“Are you kidding? Am
I stopped short, my breath hitching in my chest. “Matthew!” I cried out. There was a searing pain in my head, almost like a part of my brain were being ripped away. And then . . . emptiness. That space that Matthew normally filled—that connection we shared—it was gone.
I doubled over in pain—pure physical agony. What was happening?
The door banged open and Cece ran in, the rest of them following behind. “What’s going on? Are you guys okay?”
I was vaguely aware of conversation, of voices speaking all at once. My friends’ worried faces surrounded me. But I couldn’t make out what they were saying—the pain was too sharp, too intense.
“Matthew!” I finally managed to shout above the din. “Someone . . . find my cell,” I gasped. “I have to call him. Now. Now!”
Several seconds passed, and then someone pressed my phone into my hand. The pain was blinding me now, making white spots dance before my eyes. “Someone dial. Please!”
“Here,” came Cece’s calming voice. “I’m dialing. Just hang on, Violet. Okay, it’s ringing now.”
I raised it to my ear. Two rings. Three. And then someone picked up. Oh my God, someone picked up.
“Violet?” But it wasn’t Matthew’s voice on the other end. It was someone else’s. A woman’s. I recognized it—Charlie.
“Where’s Matthew?” I asked her, my voice shaking. “Is he okay? Charlie, tell me he’s okay. Please!”
I heard her take a deep, rattling breath on the other end of the line. And then I knew the truth—knew it right down to the marrow in my bones.
“He’s gone,” she said, her voice laced with panic. “He just collapsed, and . . . Oh my God! He’s gone. Gone! I called 911, but . . . it’s too late.” She was sobbing now. “It happened just like he said it would.” I could hear a siren now, growing louder, drowning out her sobs.
“No,” I whispered. “No.” The phone fell from my hand, tumbling to the carpet beside me. My mind struggled to comprehend it all, to reconcile everything that had happened in a matter of minutes.
Things seemed to move in slow motion then, like a hazy dream—a nightmare. Someone picked up my phone and pressed it to their ear. Someone else reached for me, an arm behind my back, cradling me. I saw mouths moving but couldn’t hear the words. There was nothing but a loud ringing in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of my own heartbeat, which grew louder and faster. Too fast, making me breathless.
And then I blacked out.
Epilogue ~ A British Ex-Vampire in Paris
Four months later, Paris
Be careful with that thing!” I called out from my seat on the terrace. I had a heavy textbook open in my lap, a notebook balanced on one knee as I scribbled notes, studying for an upcoming exam.
“Hey, are you doubting my dagger-throwing skills, Vi? Because I could hit that target with my eyes closed.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Yeah, that explains the nicks in the plaster beside the target board. And anyway, it’s a baselard,” I added. “Learn the lingo.”
“Semantics,” Aidan said with a shrug, stepping out onto the terrace to join me as he returned the weapon in question to the sheath strapped beneath his left shoulder. “I’m starving. How ’bout you?”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, starving. That’s still so weird to hear.”
His mouth curved into a grin. “It’s such a bloody inconvenience, all this needing to eat.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be mortal again,” I said with a shrug.
He leaned against the stone railing, the noon sun glinting off the Eiffel Tower behind him. I still couldn’t believe his physical transformation. His once-pale skin was bronzed now, thanks to lazy afternoons spent lounging shirtless in the Tuileries. His hair had grown longer, the golden waves nearly to his shoulders now—shoulders that were much broader, more muscled than before. He looked vibrant, healthy. Alive.
