Bonus Epilogue #2
Whether that makes him my master or…something else has never been clear, and thinking about it always makes a headache pound, so I stick to what I know.
And that is that Santiago crossed a line.
I adjust my grip and haul myself up another foot, the muscles in my arms burning pleasantly. Immortality is many things, but strength is the part I never get tired of. The part that still feels like a gift instead of a curse.
The window I want is dark, curtains half-drawn.
Third from the left. I’d memorized the layout days ago, watched the patterns of movement, the way Santiago’s security ebbed and flowed like a nervous pulse.
Tonight, it’s just him. He’s been paranoid since Elliot went back to Lucian. Even more so after the fire.
Good.
I hook my fingers under the window frame and ease it open, slow enough not to creak. Inside, the flat smells like expensive cologne and old fear. Leather furniture. Minimalist art that tries too hard to be expensive for a man pretending that taste can make him respectable.
Slipping inside, I pull the window shut behind me, landing without a sound.
Lucian would kill me if he knew where I was, what I was doing. He’s been…happy. It’s unsettling. He and Elliot are sickeningly in love, and she’s softened him in ways I didn’t think were possible, turned sharp edges and rigid control into something almost warm and soothing.
But I suppose I can’t complain too much.
At least he bosses Elliot around now instead of me.
And the little damsel turned vampire—as annoying as she is—is starting to grow on me. Especially after she turned. She wears immortality differently. Less like a crown, more like a weapon she’s still figuring out how to wield.
Still…being near them both for too long could make even a vampire long for death.
I move through the flat, silent as a thought. The bedroom door is closed. Light leaks from beneath it. Santiago isn’t home yet, but he will be soon. He always hunts around this time, and even though part of me would prefer him weaker for an easier kill, the other part craves the challenge.
I settle into the shadows near the entryway and wait. It takes exactly three minutes, then the lock clicks.
I still.
The door opens, and Santiago steps inside, shaking rain from his coat. He looks thinner. Older. Maybe not to anyone else’s eye, but I notice it. Fear does that, even to vampires. He tosses his keys onto a table and exhales.
“I knew I should’ve stayed in Madrid,” he mutters to himself, accent thick. “France is—”
I step out of the shadows. “Bonsoir, Santiago.”
He spins, eyes wide, instincts screaming too late.
I don’t give him time to run.
I slam into him, driving him backward into the closed door hard enough to crack the wood. He snarls, fangs flashing, nails raking across my shoulders as we crash to the floor.
We fight like animals.
He’s stronger than I expected, mostly desperate strength fueled by survival and rage. He gets a solid hit in, fist connecting with my ribs with a wet crunch. Pain flares, but I laugh through it and headbutt him, feeling cartilage give beneath my forehead.
He screams.
We tear through the flat, furniture splintering, art shattering. He throws me into the glass coffee table. I flip over it at the last instant and come back swinging. Blood coats my hands, slick and hot, the coppery tang filling my mouth. It fuels me.
“No one messes with Lucian Vale and lives,” I snarl, grabbing him by the throat.
“Is that why you’re here?” he spits back, eyes wild. “Lucian sent you to do his dirty work?”
Laughing again, I kick up, flipping over him to his back and lock my arms around his neck instead. My knee braces against his spine, and he struggles.
I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear.
“No, not Lucian,” I say softly. “Worse. I sent myself.”
He freezes, just for a second.
“Lucian may not want to waste precious time on you,” I continue, tightening my grip and using my leg for leverage. “But to me? What are a few more seconds when you live forever?”
Squeezing, I twist. Hard. His head tears free at the jaw, blood exploding outward in a red arc that paints the walls and ceiling. His body collapses lifelessly to the floor, twitching once before going still.
Silence rushes in.
I stand there, chest heaving, blood dripping from my hands. Shame. I expected more of a fight from him.
Satisfaction settles deep in my bones. It’s done and Lucian never needs to know.
Santiago will never bother us or VMR again and—
“A personal record.”
It’s Lucian’s voice, coming from behind me near the bedroom.
Turning slowly, I school my face into something like stone. Lucian stands there, hands behind his back, immaculate as ever. He looks surprised, maybe even a bit impressed. Elliot is beside him, blue eyes bright, taking in the carnage with unsettling interest.
“Well,” I say lightly. “You’re late.”
Lucian arches a brow. “I thought I told you to leave it alone.”
“No, you told me that you weren’t going to do anything about Santiago. I never promised anything about me.”
Elliot chuckles. “She has you there, Lucy.”
Lucian glances at Santiago’s mangled body, headless and ruined on the floor. “I see you found Santiago’s card on my desk.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and realization hits.
Tilting my head, I study him. “You left it there.”
He nods.
“You wanted me to find it.”
“I suspected you would.”
This is almost laughable. He never intended to stop me. He knew I’d go looking for Santiago.
He simply made it easier for me.
“I know I can never stop you when you have your mind set on something,” Lucian says.
I cross my arms, blood streaking my sleeves. “Are you going to punish me for it, then?”
Lucian glances at Elliot, who shrugs. “No,” he says. “Santiago got what he deserved.”
“Could have suffered more,” Elliot adds. “That’s my only criticism.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Thank you.” Lucian’s gaze returns to me, and something unreadable flickers there. “For always being loyal. And for being…a good friend.”
The word hits harder than any blow.
Friend.
I’ve known Lucian for a long time, but he’s never called me a friend. Business partner, yes. His ward, maybe. But friend?
Never.
I stare at him, something tight and unfamiliar pressing behind my ribs.
“Someone has to clean up after you,” I scoff, not knowing how to handle it.
Lucian chuckles. “Get back to VMR, Vittoria. They need you there.”
I blink. “What about you?”
He gestures toward the door. “Elliot and I are going to spend some time in Europe. Maybe visit our international offices or maybe my childhood home.”
“Like some kind of vampire honeymoon?”
“Whatever you want to label it,” he says. “But I think I’ve earned a break.”
Elliot touches his arm and looks at me. “And he wants you to run VMR while we’re gone.”
“Wait, me?”
“I trust you,” he says simply.
Friend.
Trust.
It’s absurd, the way it settles over me. I’ve been alive long enough to know better than to mistake approval for affection, but this isn’t either of those things. Lucian doesn’t trust easily. He never has. Not after what the world took from him. Not after what he took from it in return.
Running VMR isn’t a favor. It isn’t a task handed down to keep me busy while he plays house in Europe. It’s power, it’s control he’s relinquishing, which speaks volumes.
For someone like me, that matters.
I feel it spread through my chest, warm and unfamiliar. I swallow it down before it can soften me. Ruin me.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let it burn,” I say because promises are easier when you phrase them like threats.
Lucian’s mouth curves in a slight smile. He knows exactly what I mean. “Just…don’t kill Andrew,” he says, only half joking.
“Now, that I can’t promise.”
Lucian gestures for Elliot to go ahead of him. She steps over Santiago’s ruined body without hesitation and walks to the door. Lucian follows but pauses, his shoulder brushing the doorframe as he looks back at me.
“I’ll be checking in,” he says.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“We’ll be back in a month. Behave.” Then they’re gone.
The door closes. I stare at the blood pooling across the floor, already cooling. Santiago lies in pieces, reduced to what he always was in the end—nothing.
I stand there longer than I need to. The exchange between me and Lucian is still replaying in my head.
Is this what it feels like to have a family—as fucked up as it is, as sharp-edged and bloodstained and wrong by any normal measure? Is this what it feels like to belong somewhere?
I turn toward the window and slip back into the night.
All my human life, I searched for something more than the scraps I was given.
A home.
A family.
To be loved.
Simple concepts for most. Strangers to me.
Who would’ve thought I’d find those very things in death.
THE END