Chapter 31 Esmerelda
ESMERELDA
The carriage rocks, a jarring sway that yanks me out of sleep for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour.
My heart slams against my ribs, wild and frantic, as if it hasn’t realized we’re still safe for the moment.
The air is stuffy, smelling faintly of dust and trepidation, and my pulse thunders so loudly it drowns out the steady clatter of the train.
Marcus’s hand is already there, warm against my arm, his thumb drawing slow, unhurried lines up and down my skin. Always the same rhythm. Always steady. And every time I wake with panic clawing at my throat, he does this, like a reflex, like he knows exactly how to anchor me.
It works. The constriction in my chest eases, my heartbeat steadying into something less erratic, though not without a fight. His touch doesn’t erase the fear completely, but it presses it back, gives me something solid to cling to. Him. Always him. When did it become always him?
I almost laugh at the strangeness of it, how predictable I’ve become, how predictable he’s become in turn. But I don’t complain. I can’t. Because even if the fear is stubborn, that hand—his hand—reminds me I’m not facing it alone.
As if he can sense the words rushing through my mind, he says, “You’re safe. Everything is good. I’ve got you.”
I’m tempted to fall back to sleep in the belief that he does in fact “have me” but it’s then I realize—horror of horrors—that my head is on his shoulder.
Heat scorches my cheeks before I even dare move, but the real punch to the gut is that I’ve been drooling. Actually drooling all over him. Gods alive, just smite me now.
I jerk upright, swiping at my damp cheek like that might erase the evidence, but it’s too late.
The proof is right there, a dark wet patch staining the fabric of his shirt.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
Of course I would drool. Of course it would be when I was using him like a human pillow.
The humiliation crackles across my skin.
I can’t even look at him. My brain scrambles for some witty comment, something to smooth over the fact that I’ve just branded his perfectly pressed shirt with my saliva, but all I can do is stare at that cursed spot and wish the train would derail just so I could tumble out and escape this moment forever.
Fucking damn it all to Hades.
“I’m so sorry, why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Because I don’t mind a bit of bodily fluid. You should know this.”
The words hit like a spark to a hay bale. His grin—mischievous, wicked, entirely self-assured—only fans the flames. My skin prickles, heat crawling up my neck and spreading across my cheeks until I’m certain I must be glowing like a beacon.
I try to roll my eyes, to play it cool, but the effort dies somewhere in my throat. My pulse is racing far too fast, thudding low in my belly where his meaning lingers, unspoken but unmistakable. Gods, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I’m betraying myself with every flush of my skin, every shallow breath I can’t seem to steady. One grin from him, one double-edged tease, and suddenly I’m a mess of nerves and want.
I can’t tell if Marcus is just saying all this to distract me, to keep my mind from spinning itself into knots over what could go wrong next.
Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. But whatever game he’s playing, whatever words he chooses, I cling to them like a lifeline.
Gods, I’m grateful for him—grateful for the steady way he makes the world feel a fraction less terrifying.
This stretch of the journey gnaws at me the most, because the longer we go without a hitch, the louder the voice in my head insists that our luck is running out.
Each mile we cover feels like a countdown.
My chest tightens with the certainty that this is the part where fate catches up with us.
This is where we get caught. I’d lost the luxury of safety a few weeks ago.
Now, anything could break without warning—the ground beneath us, the plans we so carefully laid, the people we thought we knew.
Faith in outcomes, in order, in tomorrow…
it all felt like it would, could, disintegrate at any moment.
The choice to return home wasn’t one any of us made easily.
My gut twisted the second the words were spoken aloud, because once we decided there was no going back, home called to us.
Familiar ground. Familiar allies. The devil we knew versus the devil lurking in the dark.
It felt wrong, dangerous even, to risk drawing Maximillian’s gaze straight to our doorstep, but at the same time…
it felt like the only chance we had. Out here, in unfamiliar spaces, we were prey.
Back home, at least, we could fight on our soil.
And maybe that’s what it came down to in the end—fear outweighed by the need for the familiar. A desperate hope that we’d find strength in the place where it all began.
Which meant every step of our journey had to be layered in secrecy, misdirection, and control.
Marcus had been up all night, making the travel arrangements.
He had to be exhausted, and yet every time I woke, he was wide awake, bashing away on his laptop or writing in a notebook. Never mind reassuring me as well.
Like the last time, all the arrangements were handled with the precision of a man who’d spent years orchestrating covert movements. His transport network had been built to ferry high-profile clients without leaving a trace, and now, we benefited from his expertise and infrastructure.
No direct routes. No paper trails. No obvious patterns. This time, a train versus a private jet. We were hiding in plain sight, as Belvedere loved to say.
And we all know—whether we say it aloud or not—that word of our movements will slither its way back to Maximillian.
It always does. Secrets don’t stay buried long in this world.
The only comfort I can find is knowing Victoria is on our side.
If anyone can help us figure out the mind of a vampire, it will be her.
But even she never saw this coming. The shock in her eyes when the truth hit—that Maximillian would turn his fangs on his own coven—still lingers like a bruise in my memory. Family is supposed to be a line you don’t cross. He shattered that line without hesitation.
For now, though, we have a sliver of an advantage. He doesn’t know that we suspect there’s a mole among us, that the betrayal he counts on is not actually an advantage at all. It’s not much, but it’s something, and right now I’ll take anything.
I scan the cart and see how everyone else is doing.
Minerva is busy knitting a purple square.
About an hour ago, she was busy with a red one.
I guess that’s how she keeps calm, although there is a nervous energy emanating from her right now.
She must feel me staring, because she looks up at me and gives me a weak smile.
I shoot one of my own back, wishing I could reassure her, but I’m too nervous to actively pull it off.
Belvedere is out cold, his head tipped against the rattling window.
Across from him, Serafina stares through the glass, lost in the wash of colors bleeding across the horizon.
Sunset. Almost dark. Relief loosens something tight in my chest. We’re always more exposed in daylight, even with Belvedere’s glamours.
And then there’s the inconvenient detail of Marcus’s glamour—and mine—failing. I shove the thought aside before the nerves can sink their claws in. I can’t afford that spiral. Not now. Not for two very specific reasons:
1.I refuse to relive the humiliation of being exposed like that again.
2.I absolutely cannot give Leonard the satisfaction of being right about this “true love’s kiss” nonsense.
Ridiculous. That’s what it is. No matter how steady Marcus makes me feel—or how incredible the sex is, and gods, it is incredible—I can’t let myself believe it’s anything more than chemistry. Anything else is far too dangerous.
For now, I’ll take the simple comfort of dusk settling over us. The fading light makes me feel safer, even if it’s only an illusion.
“Min,” Marcus calls, lifting his brow. “You’ve made at least five knitted squares a day. What are you doing it for? Are you making something?”
Min shakes her head, needles flashing in the lamplight. “No. I don’t want to think about what I’m doing the squares for, or else I’ll get overwhelmed by the commitment.”
I smirk from her chair. “That’s not true, you’ve committed your life to my shit.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
I’m pretending to look for something to throw at her when Leonard sweeps in with Victoria on his arm. He looks theatrically exhausted, hair slightly mussed, shirt collar undone. He plops down opposite Minerva and shuffles along to make room for Victoria to sit next to him.
“Speaking of addictions, has anyone else noticed that our dear Minerva knits through the night without pause? Click, click, click. My beauty sleep is in ruins. Do you know how much effort it takes to maintain this face?” He gestures dramatically to himself.
Victoria arches a delicate brow, lips curving. “You know, Leonard, you could always change your sleep schedule. Sleep during the day, like me.”
He snorts. “Ah, there’s just that small detail of the pesky sun. Not to mention my body’s utter refusal to manufacture melatonin properly on command. Believe me, darling, I’ve tried.”
Her smile tilts wryly. “Well…you could always share my coffin.”
The words hang in the air a beat too long. Then realization floods her expression, and her eyes widen. “I—I didn’t mean it like that—”
Leonard’s grin is instant and wolfish. “Oh, but I heard exactly what you said, sweetheart. And I’m flattered.”
Marcus smothers a laugh. Min finally looks up from her knitting, eyes glinting. “Careful, this one suffers from delusions. One small mention of sharing a space, and he’ll be naming your kids.”
“Pffft, how do you know? It’s true, but how do you know?”
Min doesn’t look up from her knitting. “You talk in your sleep.”
Leonard looks horrified. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do,” Marcus sides with Min.
Leonard throws his hands in the air. “Not in front of my new roommate. She’ll never let me top and tail with her if you fill her head with nonsense.”
We all laugh, the sound tumbling out too loud, too bright for the cramped carriage.
For a heartbeat, it feels foreign on my tongue—like I’ve forgotten what it means to laugh and mean it.
The tension that’s been coiled so tight inside me loosens a fraction, enough to remind me I’m still human, not just a bag of nerves and dread.
Serafina, who has been watching quietly, suddenly leans forward. “Honestly? I think knitting’s cool. I always wanted to learn.”
Min’s face softens. Without missing a beat, she pats the seat beside her. “Come here. I’ll show you the basics.”
Serafina hesitates, then slides over, curiosity shining in her eyes. Min presses a pair of needles into her hands, guiding her fingers. “It’s just loops and patience. One stitch at a time.”
Serafina grins, clumsy but eager as she tries. “Okay, but if I stab myself, you’re responsible.”
“Welcome to knitting,” Min teases. “Blood sacrifice is part of the tradition.”
That earns a ripple of laughter through the group, even Victoria covering her mouth to hide a smile.
This time the laughter lingers a beat too long, like we’re afraid to let it go. Even Marcus softens, his mouth twitching at Serafina’s disastrous first attempt at knitting. For a second, it almost feels like we’re just people again—just a mismatched group, wasting hours on yarn and teasing.
But then Belvedere clears his throat. The sound slices through the warmth like a blade. My stomach knots instantly, because I know that tone.
“Enjoy the fun while you can,” he says, eyes sweeping over us, lingering just long enough to shake the smile off my face. “Because the matter at hand hasn’t changed. Your families are still petrified.”
He must see our faces fall because he grins. “I guess I woke up in a mood. Never fear, my sweets. There is a way to break the curse. But it hinges on Maximillian.”
The name alone instantly stains the mood. Leonard goes quiet. Victoria folds her arms like she’s holding herself together. Even Min’s needles pause mid-click.
My pulse kicks up. “You’re telling me we can’t kill him.”
“Not yet,” Belvedere replies smoothly, like the idea doesn’t sting. “The council identified the ingredients in the potion, yes—but not the ratios, not the rites, not the spellwork woven through it. Maximillian is the only one who knows exactly how it was done.”
The words burn going down. “So, he holds the key.”
“And until we have it,” Belvedere says, his gaze cutting to me, “your families stay stone.”
Silence crashes over us. The only sound is Min, clicking her needles again like she can knit away the tension.
Marcus’s jaw tightens, his voice low, dangerous. “Then we keep him alive. But once the curse is broken…”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to. I feel the promise in my bones, the echo of it thrumming in my own chest.
“It’s not that easy to kill a vampire.” Belvedere says.
“Oh, I know. If it was, I would pay my entire family’s fortune to hire every assassin there is to take the fucker down. No offense, Victoria.” I add as I realize I might well be making Victoria uncomfortable.
“None taken. If it was that easy, I would too. Lucky for you guys, I happen to know just how to do it.”
Marcus turns to me. “I swear to you on the Benyamina name, I will make sure both our families will be fine.”
The vehemence with which he declares this sits thick in the car. With every fiber in my body, I can feel what he is promising.
I take his hand. “I know.”
His eyes widen for a brief moment as I reassure him that I believe him.
The surprise hits me too. Somewhere along the way, my wolf and I stopped measuring and started following.
We look to him now, not with suspicion, but with trust. With faith.
It feels less like weighing risks and more like recognizing a leader, a mate, someone my bones know will do whatever it takes to keep his word.
The knowing is startling and intimate, a thread pulling tight between us.