They continued walking. “Well, it won’t be the same as if I were mortal. We won’t be able to have children.”
“I don’t care about that. I never did. All I’ve ever wanted is you.”
“I just hope I’m enough.” She found it intimidating, being the sole focus of his love.
“Of course you are. You’ve always been this way, never believing that I really love you as much as I say I do.”
“I believe you, Michael. I just think maybe your love blinds you to some things.”
Michael turned her to face him. “I know you, Amaia. You’re mine. I see you for exactly who you are.”
“You’re the only one who ever has.” Amaia placed a hand on his chest, convincing herself she could feel his strong heartbeat through his layers of clothing. “I was thinking we should talk about where we want to settle. We could make friends.”
“I’d like that, showing you off to everyone.”
“What kind of work would you like to do?”
“I trained as a cobbler.”
“You’re not restrained to the skills you learned in this life.”
Michael laughed. “No, but we’d be living in town, around plenty of people so you could get the energy you need.”
“It doesn’t bother you, me sucking energy from people?”
“No. It can’t. I need you to stay strong. It’s better than the alternative. But if you don’t want to live in the city, we could live on the outskirts, close enough for it to be easy for you to feed, but far enough away that you don’t have to deal with all of us lowly mortals.”
“I’m happy anywhere, as long as you are. Where would you want to live? What city?”
“I don’t know. Do you have any favorites?” Michael pulled her in front of him with her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.
“Paris. It’s always been Paris for me.”
He brushed her hair behind her ear and placed a kiss on her neck. “Sometimes I wish we had run away together to Paris when you asked me to before I died the first time.”
“You mean before I killed you?”
“Before you were manipulated into killing me? Yes. So it lived up to your expectations?”
Amaia nodded as she skipped ahead of him then turned to face him, still holding his hand as she walked backward. “You’ll love it. Notre Dame is gorgeous. Do you think you could remember your French from when you lived in Calais?”
“How’d you know I lived in Calais?” Michael’s brow furrowed.
“I was there the day you were born. It was the first time I saw you as a child.”
“I had no idea. Well, yes, I think I can recall enough French to get by if it hasn’t changed too much, and I’m sure I’ll become fluent again with a little practice.”
“Good. Then we can try it for a time, see if you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. I want you to show me everything you love about it.”
“It will take us about two days to get there, less if you’ll let me carry you on my back.”
“I hate doing that. It’s not—” Michael clasped his chest with his right hand. “Ugh.”
“No!” She had been trying. She had almost convinced herself it wouldn’t happen. When his energy spiked, she calmed it, soothing the frantic jumps. It did nothing. She had been a fool to hope it would work. “Michael, no!”
Michael fell to his knees, and Amaia followed him, sitting behind him, easing him down into her lap.
“Amaia, I love you.”
“Don’t. You can tell me later. Please, don’t leave me, Michael.” She had meant to be strong. She had meant to make this easier on him. Intentions meant nothing now. “I need you.”
“I’ll see you later. We have a date, remember?”
Even though his words were hopeful, the sadness in his eyes wrenched Amaia’s insides. He deserved better. “Yes, I remember. Don’t worry. I won’t forget.”
“Good.”
And then he was gone. Just like that, life left him. Amaia couldn’t contain it anymore. She sobbed, tearless, rocking back and forth, clutching his body to her. She hoped a god waited for him.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Baden, March 1823
Slouching away from the fresh grave with the little cross made out of sticks, Amaia didn’t know what to do with the next almost twenty-one years.
Without a plan in mind, she made her way back to their current boardinghouse. Their room held few personal belongings. They preferred to travel light. Amaia didn’t want to take anything of Michael’s. It wouldn’t make it any easier. She decided to leave it all except her purse and left. She couldn’t stay where they had just been laughing and talking earlier in the day.
It was dusk when she stepped onto the street. She didn’t know where she headed, only that it was away. Hunger pains pierced her stomach. Now that Michael wasn’t around, she was free to drink blood again. Her mouth watered at the thought. It had been so long since she had felt the hot, thick, tanginess slide down her throat. It would warm her, bring her comfort. Even before she had sworn off blood completely, she hadn’t been able to enjoy a kill. She had gone soft in deference to Michael’s squeamishness.
A part of Amaia that she hadn’t entertained in years was eager to come forward. Already, she felt the fear of her potential victim excite her. It had been so very long. Anyone would do. There was no need to be picky. The first human she came across who was alone and looked like he wouldn’t be missed much would be hers for the taking.
She scanned the street, but all she saw was a pair of gray eyes. Since she had been with Michael in the flesh, the haunting had ceased. The return of his eyes was not welcome. She knew she could never kill again if she would have to see those eyes. Michael would be disappointed in her. He never needed to find out.
But she would know. She supposed if killing was out, then so too was feeding. In one moment, she realized that she would never again taste human blood on her lips if Michael accepted her. She couldn’t. Her heart was Michael’s. She would honor him.
Amaia continued feeding off the energy of the people around her. Knowing she did it for noble, altruistic reasons did nothing to make it any more satisfying. Maybe in Michael’s next life, if they were together, she would insist he give up all meat and subsist on just vegetables. She had a feeling she would develop a deep moral conviction against the killing of animals for food.
•••
Three years of subsisting off of energy alone had not been pleasant. If she couldn’t be with Michael, she wished she didn’t have to be around humans at all. As it was, she spent a fair amount of time in cities and villages. She hadn’t had an encounter with a vampire since Michael’s death. Perhaps Zenas had forgotten about her. Even if he had, though, she knew Lawrence hadn’t. He never would.
It would be so much easier to get the energy she needed if she had sex with someone. It would be so much more satisfying. Unfortunately, the thought of engaging with someone that way made her skin crawl. Michael had done a right good job of making her his. She was ruined. If he didn’t accept her this time, she knew she wouldn’t be able to revert back to her old ways. Something inside her had fundamentally changed. Her desires remained the same, but somehow she had tamed them to a greater will. Michael had destroyed her.
•••
The streets of Istanbul bustled, but Amaia hardly noticed. She effortlessly siphoned energy from the mortals around her. They were faceless sources of sustenance. It was one more city in which to pass the time, far enough from Michael to keep any other vampires from finding him through her and close enough that she could be to him in less than a day if something should happen to his aura.
A familiar peace pulled her up short. A distinct change in energy. Familiar.
“Cho?” Amaia looked around for the source of the energy. It was silly to call out his name. Even if it was him, he would be called something else. “Cho?” Amaia spoke a little louder. Futility be damned.
A man ahe
ad of her to the left turned his head. His skin was a darker shade of tan than Cho’s had been. His hair was longer and fell in loose waves.
“Cho?” Amaia approached him, pushing her way through the crowd.
The man met her gaze. His chocolate eyes swirled with warmth and love. The sunbaked skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. He bowed his head slowly, deliberately, and then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Amaia could follow him, but it would be no use. She had what she needed. His acknowledgement, his peace, gave her hope. She didn’t know if he remembered her as Michael did, but he was the same man, full of compassion and understanding. He had sated her more than anyone else, even though she hadn’t taken any of his energy. For the first time in more than a decade, she felt a smile tugging at her lips.
•••
The temptation to see him was great. Every fiber of her being reached out to him, but she had made a promise. Besides, she didn’t think she wanted to watch him if it turned out he didn’t want her. It would be too painful to know what he looked like in this life, to know what she couldn’t have. So even though Michael was in Italy, Amaia had made her way to France.
There wasn’t much time left anyway. Just a few more months. She could last until then. Except she didn’t know what to do to calm her nerves. Every day, they grew more strained. She could barely keep still. More than twenty years she’d waited. How would she ever make it through these last few months?
If there was ever a time she needed a friend, it was now. She yearned for Meg’s companionship and advice. She would be easy enough to find if Amaia searched. Meg’s energy was as familiar to her as her own. Over the years on her own, she had honed her ability to sense and track auras even further.
There had been multiple instances when Amaia had come close to Meg’s aura only to change course. It wasn’t wise to seek her out. What kind of friend could Amaia be to her? Her presence would only place Meg in danger. Amaia was wanted, a fugitive. If she went to Meg, she knew her friend would want to follow her, to help her. Amaia couldn’t allow it. Liam wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t put her best friend in such an awkward position.
However, she could write to Meg. At least it would be something to do, a way to release her nervous energy for a little while.
Amaia went to a little shop in the nearest village. A bell tinkled over the door of the cozy general store as she entered. The tall, bald, bespectacled man behind the counter wore a jovial expression. He had a generous, abundant energy. He wouldn’t notice if Amaia took some of it.
“How may I help you, miss?”
“I wondered if you had some paper and a pen you could sell me.”
“Absolutely. How much paper would you be needing?”
“A few pages will suffice.”
“Very well.”
While the man gathered her items, she surveyed the shop. The merchandise was quite eclectic, a little bit of everything. There was even a small display of books. Amaia leafed through a few. “I might be interested in a book as well. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Well, that there Frankenstein has always been a favorite of mine.”
“I’ll take it then.”
“Excellent choice.”
Amaia met the shopkeeper at the counter with her book. She pulled out her purse and paid for her purchases with some money she had earned telling fortunes. It was the only honest way she knew to make a living aside from her old profession.
“Do you happen to know where a good boardinghouse might be?”
“Madame Martin’s just across the way is a safe bet. Clean and respectable.”
“Thank you. I shall inquire if they have any vacancies.”
Madame Martin’s was just as clean as the shopkeeper had made it out to be.
Amaia sat at the small writing desk in her room, staring at the blank piece of paper. How would she begin? It was foolish. She didn’t even know how she would get a letter to Meg. What should she say? Maybe it was a bad idea.
Abandoning the writing project for now, she sat on the bed with her book. She had intended it to be a gift for Meg, but she supposed her friend wouldn’t mind her reading it first. Perhaps it would give her something to write about, if nothing else.
All through the night, she read. And as she read, she thought. A few chapters would pass, and then her mind would drift. She was like the monster in this book: a creature. Michael had remarked on the existence of a soul. If there was such a thing, could she be in possession of one? She was the result of Lawrence’s ambition. Yet he hadn’t been able to control her as he’d hoped.
Perhaps she, like the monster, should have demanded a companion from her creator. In a way, she had. He had never intended to give her one. His entire existence had been wrapped up in denying her that one simple pleasure.
When she finally closed the book, she felt more confused than ever. She couldn’t take the work on its mere entertainment value. Indeed, it hadn’t been entertaining at all. It had only provoked thoughts for which she had no answers. At least now she knew what she would write to Meg. She would simply tell her what had transpired in the years since their parting. There was nothing more she could say, other than to express her longing for her friend and her sincere hope that all was well with her.
The letter complete, she slid it inside the book. There was no sense staying any longer. She needed to find Meg.
Leaving the boardinghouse, she headed north toward Paris. It seemed the most logical place to begin her search. As she ran, she blocked out everything, letting her instincts guide her body. In her mind, she held the visualization of Meg’s energy. It gained strength as moved north, wavered as she went west, and intensified as she changed course to the east. Meg’s energy eventually led her to Avallon, a small village a few hours south of Paris.
Amaia couldn’t just walk up to Meg. That would defeat the purpose. She also disliked the idea of leaving the book and letter in Meg’s room. What if Meg wanted to send her a reply? There was one place where they had always met, and it wasn’t too far away.
Amaia went to Notre Dame. If she and Michael did end up together in this life, there was a good chance they would settle in Paris. There was no reason to believe they wouldn’t follow through with the plans they had made. If that were the case, then she and Meg could swap messages at their old meeting place. Amaia could keep her energy cloaked, so Meg would never be able to find her. It was somewhat risky, but Amaia needed a friend.
Outside the Portal of the Virgin, Amaia found a loose stone she and Meg had noticed once. When removed, there was a small hollow space, just big enough for a book. Amaia placed the letter and book inside and then replaced the stone. No one would be able to tell it was there unless they were looking for it. Her task complete, she returned to Avallon.
She rented a room across the street with a window overlooking the entrance to the boardinghouse where Meg and Liam were staying. It was so tempting to go to her best friend. Meg would welcome her back. They would talk, and Amaia would feel better just by virtue of having Meg understand.
She watched them exit the house. They looked good. Meg chatted away. Amaia touched her hand to the glass. She was so close, yet she knew she couldn’t endanger her friends by associating with them. It would only bring more heartache. Keeping in touch by letter would be much less painful. They didn’t carry anything, so they would most likely return. As soon as they turned down another street, Amaia departed. Her instincts told her to hurry, but she knew if she gave in to them, she would move faster than was natural for a human and draw attention. Instead, she forced herself to go slowly. She would have to figure out which room they occupied. One room smelled distinctly less of human than the others. It would have to be theirs, or at least it was the best guess. Amaia took a pin from her hair and proceeded to pick the lock.
Once the doorknob turned, Amaia entered the room and immediately knew she had made the right choice. There wasn’t much inside, but what was there was clearly Meg
and Liam’s. Meg’s latest books were stacked near the bed, no doubt handy for that afterglow period following a session of lovemaking. On the nightstand sat miniature wooden figurines along with a carving knife and some scrapings. It appeared Liam was in the middle of crafting a flower.
There was no time to ponder these mementos of her friends. She didn’t know how long they would be out, and she didn’t want to risk being seen. She placed a note conspicuously in the middle of the bed. They wouldn’t be able to miss it.
Once she left their room, she knew she should leave town, but she couldn’t help wanting to see, or rather feel, Meg’s reaction. It was another six hours before Amaia saw Meg and Liam return. As soon as Meg entered the boardinghouse, Amaia turned away from her window. Once Meg found the note, she was likely to look for Amaia. Standing at the window would put her within Meg’s line of sight.
Amaia closed her eyes and focused on Meg’s energy. It was warm and comforting, like being wrapped in a familiar blanket. How had her life become so complicated? Everything in her told her that she should be across the street, laughing and chatting with Meg and Liam.
It didn’t take long for Meg’s aura to buzz. The corners of Amaia’s lips lifted. The excitement in Meg’s energy revitalized her, made her realize that she had been nothing more than a walking corpse these last years. The buzz came closer. Amaia clenched her fists to keep from turning to the window. She hoped Meg would go straight to Notre Dame as the note directed and not bother looking for her.
Once Meg’s energy was a distant hum, she retreated from the village. It was time to wait for a reply. She didn’t want to risk running into Meg, so she would check the hiding place in a fortnight. Wandering aimlessly, Amaia closed her eyes and relived the excitement of Meg’s energy. She pictured Meg and Liam’s room, imagined them in it, the air alive with their presence. When she opened her eyes, nothing but the stillness of night greeted her. She was alone.
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