CHAPTER 28
JULIAN
Poppy sleeps.
I watch her breathe in the darkness of our suite, her hand still resting on my chest where it fell hours ago. Her fingers curl slightly with each exhale, as if she’s holding onto something even in sleep. Me, perhaps. The idea of me. Or the version of myself I’m trying to become for her.
For a moment—just this moment—everything is quiet. No threats. No century-old vendettas. Just this woman who looked at a monster and saw a man.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand. I reach for it slowly, careful not to disturb her.
MARCUS: Council response came through. LaChance reviewed the audio from Poppy’s poolside conversation.
I type one-handed, keeping my other arm around Poppy.
ME: And?
MARCUS: They’ve approved any course of action to neutralize the threat. Full authority. No restrictions.
The words settle into me like something clicking into place. After decades of bureaucratic caution, after being told that Damien’s surveillance wasn’t a violation, that humans weren’t protected—now, finally, the Council has seen what I’ve always known.
Damien isn’t grieving anymore. He’s hunting.
ME: What changed their minds?
MARCUS: The part where he described his plans to expose our kind to a room full of humans. Apparently that’s the line they’re not willing to cross. LaChance called it “unacceptable risk to the collective.”
The collective. I couldn’t care less about the collective. For me, it’s about protecting the woman sleeping beside me, not vampire society. But I’ll take the approval however it comes.
MARCUS: There’s more. Nepenthe will arrive by sunrise. I’ve arranged transport from Nassau.
Nepenthe. The witch we’d hoped might help wipe the memories of anyone who witnessed too much. A contingency plan for the chaos Damien promised to unleash at the reception.
ME: We may not need her if the Council has approved extraction.
The word feels clinical. Extraction. As if we’re removing a splinter rather than ending the existence of someone I once called brother.
MARCUS: Agreed. But she’s useful insurance. If anything goes sideways, she can clean up.
ME: Where are we positioning?
MARCUS: East cliffs. Damien’s been using the old utility passages—I’ve mapped his patrol pattern. He checks the perimeter every morning at sunrise between 6 and 7 AM. Creature of habit, even after all these years.
6 AM. Less than an hour from now.
MARCUS: Elena and Sofia are already moving into position. Nathaniel’s covering the north approach. I’ll coordinate from the security hub.
ME: And Poppy?
MARCUS: That’s what I need to discuss. She can’t be alone. Not with what we’re about to do.
ME: Agreed. Options?
MARCUS: Lucas inside the suite. Bastine outside. Both armed with silver. Neither will let anything through that door.
Lucas and Bastine. Two of Marcus’s most trusted operatives. They’ve been with my operation for over a decade—long enough for me to know that they’ll do anything to protect her. Two of our best.
ME: Send them up. I’ll brief them when they arrive.
MARCUS: Already en route. ETA ten minutes.
I set the phone down. Poppy stirs against me, her breathing pattern shifting.
“Julian?” Her voice is thick with sleep. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Where you’re awake and worried and trying not to wake me up.” She pushes herself up on one elbow, hair falling across her face. “What time is it?”
“A little after five.”
“And you’ve been lying here for hours, haven’t you? Watching. Thinking.”
“Possibly.”
She reaches up and touches my jaw. Her palm is warm and comforting.
“What happened?”
I consider lying. Consider telling her to go back to sleep, that everything is fine, that tomorrow will unfold exactly as planned. But she’s earned more than comfortable lies.
“The Council approved our plan,” I say. “We’re moving on Damien at dawn.”
She goes still. I can hear her heartbeat quicken—that beautiful, vital rhythm that reminds me why I’m doing this.
“Today? But what about the wedding? What about—”
“This ends this morning. One way or another.” I sit up, pulling her with me. “I need you to stay here, Poppy. In this suite. Don’t open the door for anyone except the two men I’m about to introduce you to.”
“Two men?”
“Lucas and Bastine. They work with my security firm. For Marcus. They’ll keep you safe while I’m gone.”
“While you’re—” She stops. Processes. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
The question deserves an honest answer.
“If I have to.”
“And if you don’t have to?”
I think about Damien as he was in 1852. Dying of consumption, reaching for my hand, trusting me to give him a future. I think about the time we spent together before Vienna tore us apart. The man I knew is gone—buried under 146 years of grief and rage—but some part of me still hopes.
“I hope that’s the case. That there’s another way,” I say. “But I don’t know. I won’t know until I’m standing in front of him.”
Poppy is silent. Then she takes my face in her hands.
“Come back to me,” she says. “That’s all I ask. Whatever happens with Damien—whatever choice you have to make—come back to me.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She kisses me, her lips soft but insistent against mine. The kiss carries the weight of vulnerability and dread. When she pulls back, her eyes are calm and focused.
“Okay,” she says. “Introduce me to my babysitters.”
A knock at the door. Marcus’s timing, as always, is impeccable.
I answer it. Lucas stands in the hallway—early forties, built like a boxer, with the kind of face that suggests he’s seen everything and nothing surprises him anymore. Behind him, Bastine: younger, leaner, but just as formidable.
“Sir,” Lucas says. “We’re ready.”
“Come in.”
No unnecessary words. Professional to the bone.
Poppy has risen from the bed, wrapped in a robe. She looks impossibly soft standing in the dim light—human and vulnerable and precious.
“Poppy, this is Lucas and Bastine.” I gesture to each in turn. “Lucas will remain inside the suite with you. Bastine will cover the hallway and the balcony approach from outside.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Her voice is steady despite everything. “I’d shake hands, but I get the feeling this is more of a ‘nod and get to work’ situation.”
Lucas’s mouth twitches—the closest he’s come to a smile since he’s worked for me. “You’d be correct, ma’am.”
“Poppy. Please. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel like I’m being detained.”
“Poppy, then.” He glances at me. “We won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I know you won’t.” I turn to Poppy one last time. “Don’t leave this room. Don’t open the door. Don’t—”
“Julian.” She cuts me off gently. “I’ve got it. Go do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you get back.”
I want to kiss her again. Want to memorize the way she looks right now—brave and beautiful and choosing to trust me despite everything she knows about what I am.
Instead, I nod. Turn. Walk out the door.
Bastine falls into step beside me as I move down the hallway.
“Marcus is patched in,” he says. “Elena and Sofia are in position. Nathaniel’s set.”
“And Damien?”
“Still in his room, sir.”
I nod to him and leave.
The east cliffs are beautiful at dawn.
I’ve watched thousands of sunrises in my lifetime.
Seen the light break over the Alps, over the spires of Prague, over oceans I’ve crossed and recrossed as the centuries turned.
But there’s something about a Bahamian dawn—the way the sky shifts from violet to rose to gold, the way the water catches fire before the sun fully crests the horizon.
It would be a good place to die, if I were capable of appreciating such things.
I can smell Damien before I see him. Old blood and older fury, carried on the salt wind.
Elena materializes from the shadows to my left. Her movements are smooth and silent—two centuries of predator instinct honed to perfection.
“He’s coming,” she says. “He’s approaching from the north path.” Elena’s voice comes through my earpiece, crisp and steady. “Two minutes, maybe less.”
“Sofia?”
“In position. Nathaniel has the retreat covered. If he runs, he won’t get far.”
He won’t run. I know that with the certainty of someone who helped shape the creature he became. Damien has been waiting for this moment for a hundred and forty-six years. He won’t flee from it now.
“Julian.”
I turn.
Damien stands at the edge of the tree line, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He’s dressed simply—dark clothes, practical shoes, nothing that would impede movement. He’s come prepared for what this might become.
“You brought friends,” he observes. His eyes flick to the positions where Elena and Sofia wait, invisible to human sight but obvious to one of our kind. “I’m flattered.”
“I learned from my mistakes.”
“Did you?” He walks closer, unhurried. “I wonder. A hundred and forty-six years of mistakes, and you’re still making new ones. The girl, for instance. Poppy.” He says her name like he’s tasting it—tasting her. “You really think this time will be different?”
“I think you’ve given me no choice.”
He stops ten feet away. Close enough to strike. Close enough for me to see the emptiness behind his eyes—the place where my friend used to live.
“The Council approved this, didn’t they?” He sounds amused. “Let me guess—they heard my plans for the reception. Exposing our kind to a room full of humans. That crossed a line even they couldn’t ignore.”
“Does it matter why?”
“Not particularly. I always knew it would end this way. One of us standing over the other.” His smile is sharp, brittle. “I just assumed I’d be the one left standing.”
“Damien.” I take a step toward him. “It doesn’t have to end at all. You could walk away. Leave this place. Start over somewhere far from here, far from me.”