55. Chapter Fifty-Five - Desiree
As the moon settles overhead, I kneel in the frozen dirt.
Winter rain falls like a cascade of tears around me.
The scent of damp soil and dry grass fills my nostrils.
Before me, the inscription etched into my headstone reads : “Desiree Dunn, beloved daughter, sister, and gifted healer, taken from us too soon until we meet again.”
The words blur as tears well up in my eyes, their weight bearing on me.
Would all this be easier to stomach if I had indeed died?
Maybe it would be better if I were dead-dead now.
No one would miss me.
Wilder is busy with Leigh.
Jaxson is finally living his life.
My death would hurt him, but after what happened outside Mom’s house, it wouldn’t haunt him like before.
Mom would pour her grief into her research, incurring more of Vyvyan’s wrath.
Vane—wherever he is—would be free of me.
I fist the muddy grass, and the icy rain intensifies as if punishing me.
Tilting my head back, I allow it to wash over me, cooling the hot tears streaming down my cheeks.
Suddenly, the onslaught stops.
My eyes flutter open, and I find myself beneath a large, batwing-style umbrella.
The umbrella’s cane rests in the hands of a man dressed in black standing opposite my headstone.
“Vane,” I whisper.
He doesn’t smile as the rain dampens his hair and clothes.
I struggle to swallow.
“How are you here?”
“Someone has to keep you dry,” he murmurs.
More tears spill down my cheeks.
I never expected him to be the one showing up for me in this, my darkest hour, especially after how I pushed him away.
Suddenly, Vane crouches before me in the mud, heedless of his fine clothes.
The umbrella becomes a shield, blotting out the world.
I meet his red eyes, which are so warm I melt inside.
“Why did you come back? You shouldn’t have—” Another sob breaks free.
I’m not worth his concern or pity.
Vane catches my tear on his index finger.
He studies the iridescent bead, his brow furrowed.
“I felt your pain,” Vane admits, his voice low.
My mouth falls open.
Does that mean he’s been in Borealis this whole time?
“Vane, I . . .”
Something unreadable glimmers in his eyes.
“Come.” Vane stands with his hand outstretched toward me.
“I want to show you something.”
I hesitate, glancing between his hand, and the headstone that bears my name, a silent reminder of the life I once had—the life I can never reclaim.
Then I reach for his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet and lead me away from the grave.
As we navigate the cemetery, the ancient trees loom over us, their gnarled branches creaking in the wind.
We pass the mausoleum where Balam attacked me, its entrance now sealed with yellow caution tape.
Without Vane’s intervention, I would have joined the ranks of the forgotten dead, forever bound to this place.
I squeeze his hand in thanks, and he offers me a half-smile, likely sensing my gratitude.
We venture deeper into the cemetery’s older section, where the headstones become more weathered.
Their inscriptions are barely discernible beneath the thick layers of moss and grime.
The ground beneath our feet is spongy from the tears of countless mourners.
Vane abruptly stops before two graves.
One has a crack running through its center, rendering the name illegible, while the other bears the name “George Auchincloss” in faded, worn letters.
“My parents,” Vane declares over the howling wind.
The pain in his tone is palpable.
Whatever happened between him and his parents, time has failed to heal the wounds.
“Your last name was Auchincloss?” My brows lift, and a sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh bubbles within me.
“Vane Auchincloss?” He glares sidelong at me.
I stifle my laughter, clearing my throat.
“Vyvyan’s name suits you better.”
“Vane Alvise Auchincloss,” he clarifies with a melancholy pride.
“They named me after my maternal grandfather. He was a good man, and I was proud to have his name. Still am.”
“Is he buried here, too?” My gaze sweeps over the surrounding graves.
I want more of a glimpse into the enigma that is Vane.
Vane shakes his head.
“He was a merchant Sea Witch. He never returned from his final voyage.” There is a slight tremor in his voice, and I ache to take his hand.
I can’t reconcile the man who has treated me with such cruelty with the man bleeding emotion in front of me now.
“My grandfather was the only one standing between me and my parents,” Vane confesses.
His shoulders are round.
“They were gamblers and used their gifts to manipulate emotions and trick people out of their money. When my abilities manifested, they forced me to join their schemes, exploiting my empathic powers to cheat. Despite his ineptitude at cards, my father used me to read his opponents, to know when they were bluffing. What he earned in riches, he equaled in enemies.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides.
What kind of father would use his son in such a despicable manner?
“What about your mom? Did she do nothing to protect you?” I ask.
“She was too devoted to him,” Vane replies, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“She endured his cruelty long before I did.”
Anger dries the tears on my cheeks.
“What was her name?”
A flicker of warmth passes over his features.
“Antonia. They say she was the most beautiful witch in Borealis.”
I study Vane’s profile.
I believe it.
“Then why did she marry George?” I ask, unable to conceal the disgust in my voice.
“They were in love,” Vane murmurs.
“Love has a way of making you do things quite out of character.” His attention flits to me, then back to the graves.
“Poor Antonia,” I whisper.
Vane laughs.
“Don’t cry for her. In the end, she poisoned his money with arsenic.”
“She what?” My gasp makes Vane chuckle.
“There’s more.” Squaring his shoulders, he turns from his parents’ graves.
As he walks away, I cast one final glance at the resting place of Vane’s parents and offer a silent prayer for Antonia’s troubled soul and one last “fuck you” to George.
Then I hurry to catch up with Vane as he strolls up the path, entering an area so heavy with grief that even the air seems to stand still.
“This is where Antonia had me figuratively laid to rest.”
I glance at him, finding his gaze focused on the graves before us.
My brow furrows as I say, “But these graves are unmarked.”
“Yes,” Vane answers on an exhale.
“But why—” A cold dread settles in my core.
“Is it because you were a vampire?”
He nods.
Then his gaze bores into mine with an intensity that weakens my limbs.
“A group of thugs my father pissed off in one of his schemes beat me to an inch of my life. Vyvyan found and Turned me. When my parents found out, they refused to admit what I was or pay to make funeral arrangements for me like your mom did for you. Still, my mom brought flowers weekly to this grave until she died.”
Vane’s grief, a deep, resonant sorrow, strikes a chord within me through the blood bond.
It’s an unusual ache, the unmistakable lament for a lost mother.
I ease closer, my heart heavy, and stare at Vane’s grave, struck dumb that despite the century that separate us, we are buried in the same earth, united by this shared place of mourning.
Looking toward my headstone, guilt pierces me.
Despite their frequent absences, my parents mourned me.
They loved me.
The understanding cuts me like a shard of glass.
Just as Antonia loved Vane fiercely and protectively, despite his father’s cruelty, my parents loved me, even though I never truly understood it.
And I repaid their love with the ultimate deception—my fabricated death, a gaping wound in their lives that I carved myself.
“Why are you showing me this?” I lift my face to Vane’s.
Why is he sharing these intimate details of his past with me after nearly a year of lies?
Even when I believed we were happy, he kept his past guarded.
His eyes fill with an emotion that takes my breath away.
“I kept these details from you about who I was and where I came from because of the pain my past brings. I would have died if Vyvyan hadn’t Turned me. I owed her my life,” he admits.
“But I am done following her rules. I once thought I would have no one if I didn’t have Vyvyan. But then, I met you.”
I nod, frowning at the mention of Vyvyan.
That viper dangled details of Vane’s supposed feelings for me like a bloody lure, then tried to kill me.
He’s here, yet my racing heart silences me.
Did he really make me lie about siring me to protect me?
I can’t bring myself to ask if my suspicions were true.
Another lie would crush me.
He takes my hand.
“Desi, after bringing you to the Nest, I tried to keep my distance for your own good. I wanted you to have everything you were denied growing up. I was awful to you because I was furious with myself. No matter how I treated you, I still wanted you.” His voice cracks.
“I was terrified of what would happen to you if the others knew about us. I thought that you’d be happy by keeping my distance and making you hate me. You’d have friends. But I couldn’t stay away. Your scent, your beauty . . . it was like a drug. I saw myself in you. That night, you wandered into Little Death, I had to have you. And letting you go has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He pauses, his gaze intense.
“You are a dream that terrifies and tempts me whenever I close my eyes. The pull to be near you is beguiling. Your control over me makes me hate myself because I should have held you close, but I let you go. I am sorry for everything. And I will do everything I can to earn your forgiveness.”
My lips part.
His confession stirs too many emotions in me at once.
I pull free from his grip.
His touch clouds my senses.
“What are you saying?”
He exhales.
“From that first meeting, you have made me feel things that no one—not even Vyvyan—has ever made me feel. I never should have Turned you. I knew what would happen if I did. I knew Vyvyan would be pissed and that she would make your life a living hell. But I also knew if I didn’t turn you, you would make someone else do it, and I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else being your sire. It was my selfish mistake, and everything I feared came true. I made Vyvyan think I hated you, even though it was tearing me apart because I knew it was the only way she would let you have a normal life in the Nest. And it worked , Desi. You made so many friends. You seemed so happy. That was worth it, even if it tore me apart.”
My chest quakes.
It’s everything I want to hear, but there are still parts of our history that don’t make sense.
“Okay, so after Vyvyan told everyone about us, why didn’t you stand up for me?” I ask.
“If your words are real, why were you still so cruel to me? You made my best friend hate me by telling Vyvyan secrets about me.”
His left hand tightens around the umbrella.
His knuckles turn bone-white with the force.
“Desiree, please.”
I shake my head.
He let me take the blame for our relationship alone, leaving me to face the consequences while he remained unscathed.
“Why did you tell me about Nyx’s bomb, then?” I press.
“Because I knew it would break you if something happened to Wilder.”
“Yet Vyvyan took her anger out on me for leaving the Nest that night— just me!”
Vane’s expression darkens.
“You’re wrong. She punished me, too.”
“Oh, yeah, how?” I don’t recall seeing him clean toilets.
“By hurting you.”
Silence falls, heavy between us.
My heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy.
“Vyvyan is my family; we’ve been together for over a century, but it has taken me decades to realize her deep fear of loneliness and rejection drives her to control those around her.”
My hand clutches my chest as it caves.
I want to believe him and trust in his words’ sincerity, but the last time I did, he broke me.
“Everything I did in the Nest—the ignoring, the pushing you away—it was all to keep you safe. I see now how wrong I was. I should have just claimed you, Desi. You are mine. Even if it meant isolating you from the others, they don’t matter. Only you do. That’s why I told Vyvyan those things. She would have suspected something if I hadn’t.” His voice drops, heavy with regret.
“I also hoped . . . that if you left the Nest, maybe we could be together. That place isn’t home to me anymore. You are my home. I’ll go where you go. Forever.”
The rain intensifies, a torrent against the umbrella, mirroring the tempest in my head.
He’s telling the truth.
The blood bond vibrates with his sincerity.
Tears prick my eyes, hot and angry, but beneath that anger breathes understanding.
I shift closer, my fingers curling around his neck, needing to touch him, to believe.
He leans into my touch, a silent plea for forgiveness.
And the crushing weight of loneliness lifts for the first time since Misty and I shared those last laughs in the Little Death bathroom.
His methods of protecting me were misguided, but Vane’s intentions were pure.
He thought he was giving me what I wanted when all I ever needed was him—someone who accepted me for who I am.
I once believed that living at the Nest and having Vyvyan’s acceptance were the only ways I’d ever feel genuinely happy, but that isn’t true.
Vyvyan’s bullying tactics, which I succumbed to, were merely a means for her to oppress Vane and me.
I also let Misty treat me cruelly after I made the mistake of lying to her instead of giving her the space to come to terms with my actions.
Fear of hurting those around me has always been a driving force, causing me to prioritize their happiness over mine to maintain peace.
I’ve been tormented one way or another my entire life, and I am sick of it.
Taking control of my life, without the fear of angering the wrong individuals, is a step I am determined to take.
I’ll take a page from Jaxson’s book and move forward.
Any sane person would run after how Vane treated me, but who said I was sane?
I fell in love with a vampire, for crying out loud.
“I love you.” I’ve only ever said those words to Jaxson.
I meant them then, just as I do now.
But this is different.
Through years of isolation and mistrust, Jaxson protected me, but Vane pursued me, fought with me, and now wants me to accept myself and show the world who I truly am, jagged edges and all.
“I’ve been in love with you since that night at my loft when the Blades came. It’s why your actions hurt me so badly,” I confess.
Vane frowns, but I cup his cheek.
“I’m willing to forgive you if you make it up to me.”
“Anything you wan?—”
I rise on my toes and press my lips against his.
His taste is a heady elixir.
Vane returns my kiss with a tenderness that makes my soul sing.
The connection between us resonates with a sense of belonging, a home I’ve never known.
In this moment, the Nest, and everything in it, ceases to matter.
I slide both arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
I need to fuse his flesh with mine.
Vane’s hard body presses against me, eliciting a groan from my lips.
He drops the umbrella, freeing his hands to explore my face.
His fingers thread through my wet hair before sliding down my body.
In one fluid motion, he lifts me.
I wrap my legs around his waist, desperate to be as close to him as possible.
Vane’s fangs graze the sensitive skin of my neck, sending shivers of pleasure raining over me.
I arch into his touch, every nerve ending in my body awakening at his caress in a silent plea for more.
Our lips collide in a fury of tongues.
The cemetery fades into nothingness.
A deep growl from Vane’s chest is my only warning before he peels off my leather jacket.
I rip off my shirt, exposing my black bra, skin, and skirt to the elements and his blown-out gaze.
We collide, a tangle of limbs and desperate need.
Hands roam, mapping familiar landscapes, seeking solace and reassurance.
The world outside mirrors the storm within, ice pellets stinging my skin as the sky descends into a brooding black.
Vane lowers me into the dirt, the cold mud a welcome relief from the burning heat between my thighs.
He settles between them, his weight a welcome pressure.
My hands work feverishly, ripping his coat away, and the gold buttons from his shirt.
A possessive sound escapes my throat at the sight of his sculpted torso.
Each plane, each defined muscle, is a masterpiece I yearn to explore with my hands and tongue, devour and memorize.
Vane’s hand slides between my legs, cupping me, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through my center.
My spine arches, a helpless offering.
I shudder, aware of my wetness, the slick heat mingling with the rain that sheens my skin, turning me into a living, breathing invitation.
“I know you love me, but I want you to fuck me like you hate me,” Vane commands, his voice low and husky.
I gasp, a broken sound torn from my throat as his fingers expertly play me like a finely tuned instrument responding to his every touch.
My eyes fly open as he withdraws.
His impatient fingers find the flimsy barrier of my underwear.
He rips them away with a single, sharp tug, discarding them into the mud and rain.
The sound of his zipper follows.
His pants get caught around his ankles.
A moment later, his crown probes my entrance.
I writhe as his lips graze my earlobe.
“I’m about to defile you in a cemetery,” Vane whispers.
“Where are my manners?”
I gasp, pushing my hips into his, inviting more than just a fraction of him inside me.
It’s enough to unleash the beast lurking beneath Vane’s polished surface.
He buries himself to the hilt.
I scream at the intrusion.
But he gives me no time to adjust, setting a brutal pace as he drives into me again and again.
“I . . . missed . . . you,” Vane admits between thrusts.
“Each day since I last had you, I imagined it was you instead of my hand.”
Vane’s words coat my thighs with more arousal.
“I thought of you, too,” I confess, my throaty voice barely recognizable.
“Each time I was alone . . . touching . . . mm . . . myself.”
“I know,” he growls, and I stiffen.
“I could—” He adjusts his position.
We groan.
“Feel your desire as your sire.”
When his touch detonates that spot, molten heat floods me.
I buck, desperate to take him deeper, to be stretched, molded around him.
His relentless tempo fuels the fire until my orgasm crests.
His fangs scrape my neck, a sharp, exquisite bite, and a litany of curses rips from my throat, loud enough to wake the dead.
Vane draws back to look me in the eye.
“Look at me, Desiree.”
Ecstasy has me in its clutches, but I pry my eyes open.
“Keep your eyes on me when you come.”
“Oh gods.” My legs shake uncontrollably, my entire body quaking beneath him.
My moans splinter apart, fractured by the overwhelming pleasure that overtakes me.
Vane smiles, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as he watches me break before him, reveling in my surrender.
As the tremors of my orgasm subside, Vane continues to drive into me, a savage, possessive force that echoes our hate-filled sparring matches.
He finally stills as he empties himself inside me, his forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling in the damp air.
The rain hasn’t stopped, drumming against the branches twisting above us, but the world feels washed clean, renewed.
My hands caress the tight, rippling muscles of his back.
“That was perfect.”
He kisses me.
“You are perfect.”
We stay locked together, lost in the afterglow.
Kissing, touching, and tracing the lines of each other’s bodies as if we had all the time in the world.
And then, with a sudden, breathtaking clarity, it hits me: we do .
“Get dressed,” I say, and Vane quirks a dark eyebrow.
“We are leaving the city.”
Vane studies me as if I am a different person.
“Really?”
I kiss him again, slow and deep.
“Let’s see the world,” I whisper against his lips.
Vane unsheathes himself.
I rise on my wobbly feet to retrieve my ruined jacket.
Dirty and the evidence of our cemetery tryst dirty my thighs.
“On second thought, let’s make a pit stop at the loft first.”
Vane laughs.
“Only if we can use the empty apartment while there.”
I bite my lip.
“Thank you for coming back,” I say.
Vane kisses me and my entire body sings.
Which direction is up?
He’s turned my world upside down.
“I’m the one who is thankful, Desiree. That after everything, you are giving me a second chance.”
I place a hand on my hip.
“Who says I am? Maybe I’m just using you for sex.”
Vane gives me a purely carnal look.
I yelp before sprinting through the cemetery toward the loft with him chasing me.