House of Cards
Page 22
It was settled, then: she and Lucas would be together. He’d turn her into a vampire—or not. After all, what if Lucas was right? No one, not even Sherry, knew what she was capable of. The possibilities were endless, and there was all the time in the world to explore them.
And they’d finally be able to consummate their relationship. Just the thought of abandoning herself, at last, in Lucas’s arms was enough to make her giddy with anticipation.
To no longer walk around with a vaguely aching heart, wondering how it felt to be on the inside of love. Now she would know. She would join the world of all those happy mortals she’d seen on the streets and in the squares. She’d know what it felt like to have someone to come home to, to be filled from head to toe by a warmth and love that not even time could tarnish. She knew that Kaileen, wherever she might be, was happy for her.
They walked down the aisles of the train in a comfortable silence, broken a few moments later by Lucas as they found their seats.
“I meant what I said, you know.” He turned to face her. “You don’t have to come with me if I . . . if I repulse you.”
“Repulse me? My love, have you completely lost your mind? Why would you repulse me? Is it because of . . . of what Gavin did? If there are scars, or bruises, I’ll love you anyway! Why, I’ll turn right around and go back to the House and chop off his head with my bare—”
He quickly covered her mouth with his white, silken hand. “No, my precious. Not that. There are no scars. There never will be. And Gavin . . . I don’t care about him. Or what he did. Over the long centuries I’ve learned there is nothing so draining, so antithetical to life as seeking revenge. I am grateful just to be gone from there and to have you with me. What I meant was . . . what if you cannot stand what I’ve become? It occurred to me, during my ‘punishment,’ that you may be unable to love me after knowing the unspeakable things I’ve done. It’s true that they weren’t by my own choice, but still, these hands . . .” He took his fingers off her mouth and looked down at his palms. “These hands have done terrible things. That may not be a story you want to hear, or a destiny you want to share.”
She wrapped her arms firmly around him, pulling him onto the seat as the train slowly began making its way out of the station. Her birdcage necklace glowed beneath the soft overhead lights.
“We’ll make up a new story. Our own destiny. You and me.”
“Together.”
THE END
Afterword
Thank you so much for reading House of Cards. If you enjoyed the book, let me know! I’m strongly considering writing a sequel. And feel free to review it on Amazon, Goodreads, LibraryThing, Shelfari, and more. You can post about it on Facebook, Twitter, or even your blog. If you are kind enough to do even one of these things, you’ll make my day—I guarantee it.
Don’t forget to visit me at ilanawaters.com, on Twitter, or shoot me an e-mail. You can also sign up for my newsletter. You’ll receive insider information on new releases, contests, giveaways, and other supercool stuff! While you’re at it, check out my other books and grab free samples on my website.
Look for more fiction releases in 2013.
About the Author
Ilana Waters is a freelance writer who lives in New Jersey. When not creating content for websites, she can be found working on fiction—as well as nibbling string cheese. She once pet-sat an electric eel, and enjoys walking in circles around the park for no particular reason. A Tarot practitioner for almost twenty years, she has yet to meet a vampire. But she never stops looking.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the following people for the following roles:
Marcia Trahan: Critiquer, editor, and proofreader extraordinaire.
Streetlight Graphics: Cover artists and formatters. Also, they get special credit for not killing me when I ask for ten thousand tiny changes.
Alexandra C., Jolene H., and Lynsey N.: bodacious beta readers.
Everyone I might have forgotten to add: helpers who, in any way, saw this project through to completion. If I omitted them, there is no one but myself to blame.