CHAPTER 28 #2
“Start over.” He laughs—something hollow and cracked.
“You still don’t understand, do you? After everything.
After Margaret and Corinne and Anya. After a century and a half of watching you try to love and fail.
” He shakes his head. “There is no starting over. There’s only this.
There’s only us. There’s only the debt you owe me. ”
“I owe you nothing! My heart went out to you because I loved you like a brother. The grief I felt and gave was over love, not hate.” My voice roughens. “I didn’t owe you the lives of three innocent women. I didn’t owe you their screams.”
Something shifts in his face. A flicker of the man he used to be, buried so deep I almost miss it.
“They weren’t innocent,” he says. “They chose you. Loved you. That made them complicit in your happiness.” His voice drops. “And your happiness was built on Katya’s bones.”
“I didn’t kill Katya. The hunters did.”
“You chose!” The word tears out of him—raw, ragged, more emotion than he’s shown in decades. “And once you saved Margaret, how long did you hold her before you decided to try to help Katya? You let her burn!”
“Yes, I did. I was given an impossible choice—and I chose the woman I was in love with. You would have made the same choice if our roles were reversed.” I don’t look away.
“And I have lived with that choice every day since. But Damien—” I step closer.
“You could have run toward her, too. You weren’t there.
You were across the city, handling something for the Council. Where were you when the hunters came?”
He goes still.
“You’ve spent a hundred and forty-six years blaming me because it’s easier than blaming yourself. Because if it’s my fault, you don’t have to face the truth—that you weren’t there. That you left her alone that night because the Council called and you answered.”
“Stop.”
“You weren’t there, Damien. And neither was I, not until it was too late. We both failed her. The difference is I’ve spent my existence trying to live with that failure instead of using it as an excuse to become a monster.”
“I said stop!”
His eyes blaze with fury, and he makes his move.
I’ve been expecting it, ready for it since the moment he appeared, but the speed catches me off guard. He’s faster than I remember. Angrier. Grief has sharpened him into something fierce and desperate.
His fist connects with my jaw. I roll with the impact, use the momentum to create distance, and then he’s on me again—a blur of movement and rage.
We fought once, decades ago. A drunken disagreement over territory that escalated before cooler heads prevailed. It had been almost playful—two predators testing each other’s limits.
This isn’t playful. His fangs have dropped. A century and a half of pain compressed into fists, fury, and teeth.
I block. Counter. Take a hit to the ribs that would shatter a human’s skeleton. Give one back that sends him staggering toward the cliff’s edge.
My fangs extend fully and I dive at him, trying to tear out his throat. He moves enough so that I miss. Instead, I latch onto his shoulder.
He screams out in pain before hammering me repeatedly with his fist, knocking himself free.
We square off with each other again.
I wipe blood off my face as we scowl at one another.
“Elena,” I say through the earpiece. “Now!”
Wasting no time, I rush him. He rushes back. We lunge, each intent on killing the other.
Our claws are out, and we slash each other across the chest.
It hurts. It hurts bad. But I don’t let him see the pain I’m in.
Damien is so focused on me, he doesn’t spot Elena or Sofia as they materialize out of the shadows and flank him.
They move in perfect coordination—two vampires who’ve survived centuries by knowing exactly when to strike.
Damien fights. Of course he does. He’s always been stubborn—it’s one of the things I loved about him before our friendship turned into hate.
But he’s outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. And when Sofia produces the silver chains from the pack at her hip, he knows it’s over.
The chains wrap around his wrists. His ankles. The silver sizzles against his skin, and he snarls—an animal sound, nothing human left in it.
Nathaniel and Elena hold Damien as he thrashes around while Sofia secures the bindings.
“Nice of you to finally join,” Elena holds Damien’s legs while Nathaniel is on the torso.
“It looked like you guys had it,” he shrugs. “I would have stepped in if you needed help.”
“Sure you would have,” Elena shakes her head. “It’s like Berlin all over again.”
“You still mad about that?”
“Da!”
“Hey, Nathaniel,” Sofia stares him down. “How about you earn your keep now?”
“I didn’t bring gloves. You know what silver does to us.”
Sofia pushes Nathaniel out of the way. “Julian, why did you bring him?”
“Hey, I didn’t know that was the plan,” Nathaniel looks up to me. “You got to believe me. I knew about the weapons, not the chains.”
“You were there when we talked about it!”
“Can you just kill me, so I don’t have to hear all this complaining?” Damien spits blood at my feet.
I stand over him and take a deep, useless breath.
“What will it be, Julian?” Damien’s voice is a rasp. “Stake through the heart. Decapitation. Whatever method you’ve chosen—do it already! I’ve been ready to die for decades!”
“I know you have.”
I crouch down so we’re eye level. Instead of the intense fire of hate, I see something else. Exhaustion. Emptiness. The hollow space where hope used to live.
“Death is what you want,” I say quietly. “You’ve wanted it since Vienna. Since you realized that revenge wasn’t filling the void—that no matter how many people you hurt, Katya was still gone and you were still alone.”
“Then give me what I want. One last gift from sire to progeny.”
“No.”
He blinks. For the first time since this began, uncertainty crosses his face.
“You told Poppy that death was too quick,” I continue. “That loneliness was the real punishment. That you wanted me to feel what you felt—alone, forever, with nothing but memory for company.”
“Julian—”
“You were right.” I stand. “Death is mercy. And after what you did to Margaret—after Corinne and Anya—you don’t deserve mercy.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. Then horror.
“No.” He starts to struggle, but the silver holds. “No, Julian, you can’t—”
“The ocean floor is dark,” I say. “Cold. Silent. You’ll be conscious—we both know that. You’ll feel every second of every hour of every year. Decades. Centuries. However long it takes for the chains to corrode or the currents to shift.” I hold his gaze. “Maybe forever.”
“You can’t do this.” His voice cracks—actually cracks, like the facade he’s maintained for a hundred and forty-six years is finally crumbling. “We were brothers. We were friends. Julian, please—”
“We were.” The words taste like ash. “And then you burned Margaret alive in an asylum. You whispered poison in Corinne’s ear until she walked into a river.
You left Anya’s body on my bed like a gift.
” I feel something crack inside me—something I’ve been holding together for decades.
“You killed my friends. My lovers. You took everything I cared about and destroyed it piece by piece. And you want me to give you the easy way out?”
“Julian—”
“Consider this a lesson learned.”
I stand. Step back.
Sofia and Elena lift him, keeping the silver chains taut. Nathaniel readies himself, like Damien is going to somehow break free.
Damien writhes against the restraints, but the silver has already weakened him—his movements are sluggish, uncoordinated.
“Please.” The word tears out of him. “Please, Julian. Kill me. Just kill me. Don’t—”
“You wanted me to understand loneliness.” I meet his eyes one last time. “Now you will.”
They carry him to the cliff’s edge.
Damien screams. Curses. Begs. He calls me every name he can think of, cycles through rage and terror and bargaining in the space of seconds. But the words blur together, meaningless noise against the crash of waves below.
“I’m sorry about Katya,” I look him the eye one last time.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. I’m sorry you’ve carried that grief alone for so long.
But this—” I gesture at the dark water below.
“This is what you built. This is what you earned. A hundred and forty-six years of cruelty, and now you get to live with it. Forever.”
“You’ll remember this moment longer than you’ll remember her,” he screams as I nod to Elena and Sofia. “That’s my gift—”
They let go.
Damien falls.
He falls—a dark shape against the brightening sky—and then the water swallows him whole. One splash. A moment of churning foam.
Then nothing.
He’s pulled under. Sinking toward the cold, dark nothing at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Where he’ll stay. Conscious. Aware. Alone.
Forever.
The silence that follows is absolute.
I stand at the edge and watch the surface settle. Watch the sun finally crest the horizon, painting the water gold. Watch the waves continue their eternal rhythm as if nothing has changed.
Somewhere below—far, far below—Damien is sinking. Conscious. Aware. Beginning an eternity of silence and darkness and regret.
“It’s done.” Sofia’s voice is flat. Professional, even though she’s been waiting decades for this moment.
“It’s done,” I agree.
But it doesn’t feel done. It feels like something has been carved out of me—a piece I didn’t know I was still carrying until it was gone.
Elena touches my arm. “Julian. You need to go.”
“I know.”
“The girl is waiting.”
Poppy. Yes. Poppy is waiting in our suite, probably pacing and checking her phone every thirty seconds. Probably driving herself mad with worry.
Poppy, who looked at a monster and saw a man.
Poppy, who chose love over fear.
Poppy, who I almost lost to a grief I didn’t even know existed until it was too late.
“Tell Marcus to stand down,” I say. “It’s over. All of it.”
I turn away from the cliff. From the sunrise. From the water that holds my oldest friend and greatest enemy.
And I walk back toward the woman I love.
Back toward the life I’ve chosen.
Back toward whatever comes next.