Epilogue
Wyatt had practically attached himself to Thomas’s hip now.
Wonderful. Fantastic. The man was sitting on the arm of his chair, as if he couldn’t bear to be more than a few centimeters away from Thomas. He was clingy and exhausting and Thomas had had enough.
They were sitting in what was quite literally the Green Room of Havenwrath. The clan’s annual winter solstice party was in full swing, and Thomas had huddled up in the lavish study with his university friends to enjoy drinks and casual conversation.
How he was going to get out of this… thing, whatever it was, with Wyatt was unclear. Regardless, something had to give. His mind was so preoccupied with it that he was barely tending to the conversation around him.
That is, until a waft of unfamiliar but pleasant energy fanned across his senses like a rush of warm and spicy air.
He looked up and saw that a new vampire had wandered into the room.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a finely cut suit and had golden-brown skin.
The new purebred glanced around as if assessing the landscape.
Thomas lifted his chin, evaluating in his own innate way, and picked up on the man’s essence. It was… very nice. Pleasing to his senses and registering as peppery and sweet. Comforting, like basking in the warmth of a crackling fire.
Who is he? Careful not to stare, Thomas mentally flipped through the well-cataloged Rolodex of Eden purebred lords and ladies within his brain.
Within seconds, a name came to him. Lord Cameron…
Ashford. Cameron Dwight Ashford. He’d seen him in a photograph, but pictures never did a vampire justice.
You needed the full impact of their presence to gain any understanding of their being—their essence, aura and scent.
Lord Cameron Dwight Ashford radiated a profound essence. It presented a discreet tugging sensation within Thomas’s own being.
The man walked halfway into the room, paused, then looked over the group. Clearly deciding whether or not he should join them. Thomas’s focus homed back in on the present conversation just in time to hear one of his peers ask if anyone had read anything new and interesting.
Following some wild instinct, he straightened his spine and spoke clearly. “I recently finished The Island by Aldous Huxley. It was a much different reading experience compared with Brave New World. Interesting what three decades and a plunge into psychedelics can do to a man.”
Thomas smiled and the group chuckled. Lord Ashford had turned to leave, but paused when Thomas spoke. Intrigued, the man drew closer toward the group. Thomas repressed the utterly insane urge to meet his gaze and openly welcome him.
“I enjoyed Point Counter Point and Brave New World,” Maia responded, swirling the liquid in her glass. “The Island felt rather… preachy, for me. A bit too pretentious in its messaging about enlightenment. Plus, the ending was dismal.”
“Ah, I disagree,” Thomas said, acutely aware of Lord Ashford’s eyes on him.
“The Island is a story of a broken man slowly finding redemption. And it challenges the widespread, systemic acceptance of unanalyzed words—usually those derived from religious figures and philosophy. The book challenges you to question and think for yourself apart from ‘society at large,’ which is… generally not encouraged. Least of all in Eden?”
Everyone tittered in amusement as Thomas brought his glass to his lips. When he applied himself, he was good at this—charming a crowd, making thoughtful conversation and reading the mood of a room. Of an individual vampire, too, if need be.
He didn’t know what he would do with this skill once he left university, but he felt confident that it would take him far.
He might not have been blessed with pretty, angelic-like features the way that his younger father and, subsequently, little brother had been, but Thomas knew that he was smart.
He could delight those around him with attentiveness and thoughtful conversation.
Lord Ashford’s attention was solely focused on Thomas now, unabashedly taking him in.
The intensity of the man’s gaze sent tingles up Thomas’s spine, and it was difficult to play at modesty, as one should in these social situations.
He didn’t know Lord Ashford and they’d never been formally introduced, so it would have been uncouth to blatantly stare back at him, even though Thomas wanted to. Badly.
Instead, as nonchalantly as he could, Thomas lifted his gaze to meet Lord Ashford’s. He not so innocently batted his lashes (he’d been told on more than one occasion that he had great lashes) and said, “What do you think, Lord Ashford? Have you read anything by Aldous Huxley?”
The man blinked, visibly taken aback. Or perhaps he hadn’t realized that he’d been staring at Thomas? Could Lord Ashford possibly feel the same pull that Thomas was experiencing?
It was subtle, but he gathered himself and took a breath. “I have,” he said, still focused on Thomas. His eyes were light hazel with flecks of something. Green, maybe? Beautiful. “The Island was my favorite.”
“Oh really? Do tell.”
Thomas listened intently, but marveled. How had he known? Was his nature truly capable of being this shrewd? He’d read many books lately and could have referenced any one of them. What entity within him knew to talk about this particular one? And what were the odds?
As he grew older, Thomas made it a point to lean more and more on his vampiric instincts. He found that often, his instincts were much smarter than he was, and he’d be remiss to ignore the ancient, enchanted entity within that offered to guide him.
“See?” Maia said, lifting a palm toward Lord Ashford. “Dismal.”
Something in Cameron’s disposition had faltered after he’d spoken. He’d even taken a step back from the group. Thomas countered with his own opinion, wanting to draw the lord back in. “But not untrue. This is an unpleasant but fundamental fact of life…”
When he’d finished, he locked eyes with Lord Ashford, not shying away anymore. Something was brewing between them, without question.
Thomas was deciding what to do or say next when he was gently knocked sideways. It caught him off guard and he almost spilled his drink.
“I’ll coat you in sugar and roses,” Wyatt said, dripping with lewd flirtation.
Merciful gods, I need to end this shit, Thomas thought, suppressing an outright scowl of disgust. “You’re insufferable,” he said, then tipped his head back and finished off his cocktail.
The group laughed as if he and Wyatt were a comedy duo performing their nightly routine.
When Thomas looked up again, his breath caught. Lord Ashford was gone.
“Where did he go?” Thomas asked without thinking.
“He who?” Wyatt said.
“Lord Ashford.”
Wyatt looked around, then shrugged. “Back out, I guess. Does it matter?”
Thomas sighed and slumped into the chair. His nature was flipping excitedly within his being, and he felt as if he’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow. “What a radiant man…”
Wyatt balked. “Excuse me?”
Thomas sprang up from his seat and set his empty glass on the bare table. It was a shame that the host hadn’t set out any coasters. “I’ll be back.” He stepped around Wyatt and headed for the door.
“Thomas!”
His long legs swiftly carried him through the Green Room, then into the ballroom with its glittering lights and raucous music.
It wasn’t hard to pinpoint Lord Ashford’s scent when he freely allowed his vampiric sense to home in on him.
His nature was designed for moments such as this, after all.
As long as he trusted in it, it would guide him.
He found Lord Ashford in the next room over, along the opposite wall.
Thomas didn’t approach, but headed toward the bar along the perimeter.
Lord Ashford was standing with a woman who was similar in complexion and essence.
His sister? Thomas stood at the bar and was immediately tended to.
He ordered another whiskey cocktail, then cast his gaze back to where Lord Ashford and the woman were standing.
To his surprise, they were both watching him. Bright vampire eyes assessing him from across the room. The directness of it made him flush, and he casually turned his back to them.
He wanted to talk more with Lord Ashford, but he shouldn’t be too direct. Sometimes, Thomas was too direct. He chalked it up as a catalyst for being the eldest son.
Maybe if he stood here, Lord Ashford would come to him? That would be ideal. They could continue the conversation about The Island and perhaps—
“Your drink, sir.” The bartender set the glass in front of him.
“Thank you.” Thomas pulled it closer. He took a breath, turned to look over his shoulder and frowned when he saw Lord Ashford’s back stalking away from him. Out into the main hallway that led to the front doors. “Is he leaving?”
“What in heaven’s name are you doing? Is who leaving?” Wyatt crept up behind him, then leaned against the bar with his palms on either side of Thomas’s body so that he was trapped. “If you wanted another drink, I would have gotten it for you.”
“Ugh, Wyatt, you suffocate me—you didn’t need to follow me in here.”
Wyatt gave him puppy dog eyes. “But I would follow you anywhere.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against Thomas’s earlobe.
Thomas rolled his eyes, turned his back to him and took a long swig of his drink. When he cast his senses outward, it was clear that Lord Ashford had left the estate.
Thomas sat up on a sharp inhale, his heart pounding in his chest and temples. Beside him, Cameron jerked in reaction to his sudden and abrupt movement.
“Thomas?” he said sleepily, voice rough and urgent. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”
Closing his eyes, Thomas placed a palm to his chest and breathed in deeply. The imagery had been so vivid and sharp. The memory of that night—the winter solstice party—rushed back to him in full color.