Epilogue
Eve eyed the bar and considered another glass of wine, if only because there wasn’t anything else to do.
The bottle wasn’t that far away, but the deck had a habit of swaying more whenever she tried to traverse it. She was safest on the sofa.
All she had was her phone to keep her company, and they were so far out to sea there was no signal. Normally, four hours alone with her Kindle app and a bottle of white would be heaven, but it was a different matter when it was enforced, not chosen.
Technically, she wasn’t alone. Gabe had left her with Amir, but he stood stoically by the door with his hands clasped before him, eyes scanning the room for threats. Constantly. As in, they never stopped.
It was actually a bit disconcerting.
No, it was freaky.
Gabe’s yacht was the pinnacle of luxury.
The room she was in had floor-to-ceiling windows along both sides—though it was too dark outside to see more than white horses.
A mahogany bar, two cream sofas like the ones in his apartment, with a glass-top table between them.
The floor was polished wood; definitely not laminate. Probably teak. That sounded naval.
In short, no threats at all.
Other than the obvious one, of course, but Gabe was with him, down in the dive room, where he’d been the whole trip out. Keeping guard. Belle too, apparently.
Gabe hadn’t wanted to leave Roberto alone for long; their conversation had been brief. But she knew exactly why they were out here, and she wouldn’t wish such a fate on her worst enemy.
But then, from the brief summary Gabe had given her, it sounded like Roberto deserved it.
She still couldn’t believe Cally had risked killing herself with that damn foolhardy spell. They’d be having words as soon as Eve saw her again. Just very politely… now that she was a member of the Curia.
Eve couldn’t believe that either.
Maybe that glass of wine wasn’t a bad idea, after all.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked Amir as she pushed herself up. Either she’d grown used to the gentle sway of the deck beneath her, or she’d drunk so much that they were canceling each other out.
As with every attempt she’d made to engage him, Amir didn’t answer.
She steadied herself with one hand on the arm of the sofa, and leveled him with her best glare, the one that even got Cally’s attention.
“Is there a reason you won’t talk to me?
” Bluntness often worked when nothing else did.
“Do you not like me or something?” That was blatant manipulative psychology; how could he dislike her? He didn’t even know her.
Didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
His eyes paused on her for almost a whole second, then resumed their ceaseless wandering. “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan, but I’m on duty.”
At least he’d actually spoken.
“So no drinking. Got it.” Eve made her way to the bar and pulled the bottle of wine from its ice bucket. It was almost empty, just enough to fill her glass halfway. As she’d been the only one drinking it, that explained why the deck was swaying. Or why the deck wasn’t swaying anymore. Or something.
She couldn’t have been that tipsy; after all, she’d been stuck in here alone (Amir didn’t count) for the last four hours. Three glasses in four hours? She probably wasn’t tipsy at all. Maybe she’d got her sea legs.
She leaned back against the bar and tried to make it look casual, not like she was gripping on for dear life. “What is your duty anyway?”
“Whatever Gabe tells me.” His eyes didn’t stop moving.
“And right now, that is…?”
“Keeping you safe, Miss Sullivan. Which I can’t do as effectively if you distract me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Right. More Kindle, then.
“Gabe is on his way,” Amir said. “He wanted you to know.”
Then Roberto was on his way too, down to his watery grave. “Thank you.”
She made it back to the sofa with only minor spillage, and was doing her best impression of demure patience when Gabe walked in. His sharp suit was now bedraggled, the shoulders and shirt soaked by rain or sea spray. His gaze found hers, and he sighed in relief.
“You can go, Amir. Thank you.”
“Sure, Boss.”
Gabe waited until the door slid closed behind him, then gave her a smile, strained around the edges. “It’s done.”
“Good.” She paused to see if he would say anything else, then continued when he didn’t. “You were a long time.”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you anywhere near him.” He walked to the bar, swung the room’s touchscreen toward him, and tapped it. “Were you worried?”
“No, just bored.”
“You were quite safe. I checked in with Amir often.”
“I wasn’t worried, Gabe.”
“Right.” He nodded, as if to reassure himself as much as her. He hit a couple more buttons and some classical music began to play from the room’s audio system, bleak and somber. Perhaps it matched his mood.
“What is this? Tchaikovsky?”
“Shostakovich.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you like Tchaikovsky?” He started flicking through the touchscreen again. “I have two of his symphonies here, and a few concertos.”
“I still prefer jazz,” Eve reminded him gently. He seemed distracted.
“My apologies.” A couple more button presses and Shostakovich was replaced with Miles Davis.
“You didn’t have to change it.”
“It’s no problem.” He came to the sofa and slumped into the seat next to her, giving her a tired smile.
“Is it just me, or are we a lot farther out than Antoine was?”
“Very much so. Cally said deep, so… we dropped him off the continental shelf.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though he were imagining Roberto’s long trip to the bottom. “That’s about eight thousand feet. Antoine was at nine hundred.”
Eve couldn’t help but shudder. “Wait. Cally said deep?”
“Well, I think she was pissed that Roberto tried to claim her.”
“Hmm.” Eve took a sip of her wine. “Eight thousand feet sounds reasonable.”
Gabe watched her, that look in his green eyes again.
“Do you need to feed?” she asked.
“Need? No, I suppose not.” He ran a hand through his still-wet hair, his shirt stretched taut over his biceps. “I just can’t get over how amazing you taste.”
“‘Like Cally,’” she quoted dryly.
“I said that once! You’re not going to let me forget, are you?”
“I had just woken up.”
“After I saved your life.”
Eve conceded with a nod. “True. I suppose I can forgive you then.”
“Besides, you taste way better than Cally.”
“Uh-huh.” She gave him a look. “Not convincing.”
He exhaled, irritated at himself. “I’m usually a lot smoother than this, but around you, I seem to keep tripping over my own tongue.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You make me feel like an infatuated teen.”
“That was quite smooth.”
“Would you mind, then?” he said earnestly. “I just can’t help myself. It’s like I’m drawn to you, every moment. I count the seconds until I can taste you again. It’s like an addiction, and trust me when I tell you it’s never been like this before.”
“You’re getting smoother.” She unbuttoned the cuff of her sleeve and rolled it back, while he watched her every move.
Gabe sank to one knee on the carpet before her, taking her forearm in his hands with a gentle reverence, gazing at her with wonder. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
It wasn’t pleasure, though. Or at least, not the rapture Cally had described with Antoine.
Gabe’s fangs pierced her skin, and with it came peace, a sense of feeling perfectly safe, like nothing could go wrong, and no harm would ever come to her.
He talked like her blood was addictive, but the feeling itself was the addiction—being wanted, being protected.
For the first time in her life, she truly felt both.
She sank into her seat and sighed in contentment.
The sliding door opened and Belle sauntered in, wearing a curve-hugging ivory satin dress that, on her, didn’t scream innocence, unless it was the weaponized kind.
Gabe licked over the wound in her wrist, and drew back.
“Was I interrupting?” Belle said in a tone that made it clear she knew she was, and sat on the sofa opposite, crossing one bare leg over the other. The corners of her lips curled as she watched them.
“I thought you would be in your room,” Gabe said a little stiffly, rising from his knees and walking to the bar.
“Too boring.” Belle regarded Eve much like a cat might regard a mouse. “I came to see my new favorite.”
It was unnerving, but Eve didn’t think she’d truly hurt her. Not with Gabe here, and Cally newly in the Curia. “Why do you call me that?”
“Because you are so much fun.” Belle tapped her lips with one fingertip. “I had thought to claim you for myself, but it seems I am again too late.” She gestured toward Gabe, who leaned against the bar.
“Well… sorry, I guess.” It didn’t hurt to be polite to the crazy psycho vampire everyone was scared of.
“He has fed from you, I see. Tell me, do you believe in magic?”
The abrupt subject change was jarring. “Of course I do. I’ve seen Cally cast spells.”
Belle flicked her eyes skyward, like that somehow didn’t count. “Before. Have you always believed in magic?”
“Anyone who has eaten seedless grapes believes in magic.”
This declaration was met only with confusion, Belle blinking slowly.
“Otherwise, how can they grow more grapes?” Eve nodded sagely. “Magic.”
“Are you deliberately avoiding the question?” Belle asked, her tone chillier by tens of degrees.
Eve swallowed nervously. “It’s… Humor is a defense mechanism,” she muttered. She was conscious that Gabe was watching and listening, leaning on the bar, but she gave Belle the answer she wanted to hear. “In truth, yes. Magic has always interested me.”
“Aha!” Belle said, like she’d scored a major point. “And you are Cally’s age, are you not? Tell me, which part of Boston is your mother from?”
That segue was no coincidence, and Eve remembered what Antoine had said. Had Belle bitten her mother too? No… if she had, Eve would’ve performed her own magic by now. “Cambridge. She taught at MIT.”
“Cambridge,” Belle echoed with a frown and tapped her lip with one finger. Then she looked disappointed.
“Why the interest, Lady d’Aubigny?” Gabe asked.
“It is no matter,” Belle said. “It is simply that there is dormant witch blood in so many women in this city. I just thought…” She waved her hand dismissively. “As I say, no matter.”
“I think she has it,” Gabe said slowly.
Eve’s head whipped around to stare at him.
“Oh?” Belle pressed. “What makes you say so?”
“She tastes like…” He grimaced and shot Eve an apologetic look. “I drank from Cally, and her blood was… different. Since then, no one I’ve fed on has tasted as good, nor fully satisfied my cravings. Until I fed from Eve, last night.”
Belle chortled. “You took Cally’s blood? How many times?”
“Twice,” Gabe said slowly.
“And Eve? How many times?”
Gabe looked away. “A few.”
Four times in two nights.
“Does her blood call to you, like no other?”
Gabe tightened his jaw, then nodded once.
“The power of the vampiric bite.” Belle smirked. “My favorite… newest witch.”
“I’m no witch,” Eve said quickly, and she couldn’t help but glance at Gabe, only to see the shock in his face.
“No?” Belle arched one eyebrow. “Have you tried casting a spell?”
“No…” Aside from hours spent in vain to make crystals glow in the privacy of her room, once she’d seen Cally do it. But she wasn’t about to admit that.
“Try,” Belle said, then gestured imperiously when Eve didn’t immediately jump into action.
Eve sighed. “Fine, whatever.” She could try, she would fail. At least then the ancient vampire would have no interest in her. She looked at Gabe. “Do you have a crystal or something? Rose quartz, obsidian…?” She felt stupid for asking; of course he wouldn’t.
“You don’t need that,” Belle said with disdain. “Mere props for tourists. If you are truly a witch, any focus would work just as well. A piece of glass, say.”
Gabe walked over with a crystal tumbler, almost too eager. She took it with reluctance, feeling like he was siding with Belle. But then she caught his expression, and the wary curiosity that darkened his green eyes.
“May I have a needle, please?” Eve asked. “Or something so I can prick my skin for blood.”
Gabe gently took her hand in his, closing his lips around one fingertip. His fang nicked her flesh, and she barely felt it.
“I suppose that works,” she muttered. She ran her finger over the tumbler she held, leaving a red smear, feeling slightly foolish, and thought of the focus chant Cally had used back in the Order’s study. But that seemed feeble, now that they had been working with Gaeilge.
It was all about intent, anyway.
She closed her eyes, trying to remember any phrase that would fit the moment, and focused.
“Tugaim an solas chugam.” Literally, ‘I draw the light to me’.
If that didn’t work, nothing would. At least then she’d be able to put this whole farce behind her, once and for all.
She wasn’t the witch here, no matter how much she wished she were. No, that was Cally.
Light bloomed bright enough to see even through her closed eyelids, and Gabe gasped beside her.
“Ah! How delightful,” Belle declared.
Eve opened her eyes to see every cut facet of the tumbler shining like a torch had been shoved inside. It was a little disco ball of proof—until it slipped from her numb fingers, hit the wood floor, and shattered into dozens of sparkling pieces.
“Well,” Eve said, and paused to draw a breath that didn’t want to come. She swallowed, staring first at the smashed shards, then at the cut on her finger, and the blood that marked her skin. “That’s… interesting.”
Gabe slowly lowered himself into the seat beside her, taking her hand in his like it was the most precious thing he’d ever held.
“Fatum coniunctum.” Belle smiled and leaned back, as if savoring a victory.
“Shared fate?” Gabe asked, his voice hushed. “What does that mean for us?”
“Why don’t you both get comfortable.” Belle slowly uncrossed and recrossed her legs, the simple movement managing to carry all her smug satisfaction. “I think it’s time you learned the secret of how vampires were made…”