by Kristi Cook
“I should probably be studying, too,” Aidan said. “You’re making me feel like a slacker.” He folded his arms across his chest, causing his newly cut biceps to bulge. My attention was drawn to his new tattoo—the medieval-looking dagger with the scripted M atop it. M for Megvéd.
M for Matthew.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I took a deep breath, forcing them to remain at bay. I’d already shed an ocean of tears over Matthew.
“Do you think he made the right decision?” I asked, probably for the millionth time. “Matthew, I mean.”
“I think it was the only decision he could make,” Aidan answered, same as always. “More than anything else, he wanted you to be happy.”
I nodded, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. I’d thought Kate’s death had been difficult, but it was nothing like the agony I’d felt when I’d been told of Matthew’s. Even now, it felt like a limb had been torn from my body.
It turns out my Sâbbat blood was in the cure—its most vital element. Matthew hadn’t told anyone except Charlie. Once he’d figured it out, he’d kept the formula a secret from the rest of us, locked away in a password-protected file. We’d been completely oblivious to the risk when I’d injected it into Aidan. But the moment my blood had entered Aidan’s bloodstream, Matthew’s heart had stopped beating. Just like that.
Looking back, I’m pretty sure that he’d expected it. Prepared for it, even. And yet he’d given the cure to Aidan anyway, insisting that he try it, certain that it would work. And it had.
But at what cost?
I’d asked myself “what if” over and over again, driving myself crazy. What if we’d known my blood was in the serum? What if we’d realized the risk? Would we have done it anyway? Matthew had made sure that we never had to make that choice. He’d made it for us.
“He loved you, Violet,” Aidan said softly. “We’ll never forget him or what he did for us.”
“Never.” Not as long as I lived.
My cell pealed a lengthy text tone—the Batman theme—startling me. I picked it up with a scowl.
“Not again,” Aidan said. “Second time this week.”
“Afraid so.” I quickly scanned the message. “A situation to be neutralized in Montparnasse—that’s weird, in the middle of the afternoon? Must be Wampiri. We’re supposed to meet at the Trib in an hour. Just great.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll text Amelie and see if she wants to do backup. I think Sasha has some family in town this week or something.”
“That’s okay. Sasha scares me.”
I set aside my textbook, rising to join Aidan by the balcony’s railing. “Yeah, she kind of scares me, too.”
Amelie and Sasha—my two Sâbbat sisters. It hadn’t taken us long to find each other. Turns out we were drawn to one another once we’d all reached our eighteenth birthdays—go figure.
Amelie was from Switzerland, a tiny, angelic-looking blonde who seemed so sweet and gentle—right up until you saw her in action with her stake. Sasha was from the Ukraine, and she looked much more the part. Spiky blue-black hair, tattoos everywhere.
Both bore the same mark as me on the inside wrists of their dominant hands, and both had a Megvéd counterpart. We were a happy little family of six. And then there were the Krsnik, Slovenian vampire slayers who morphed into animal form at night to hunt their prey, who’d recently come to Paris, eager to join our cause. My Sâbbat sisters and I had welcomed them, glad for their assistance.
My new slayer friends didn’t fill the hole in my heart left by the absence of my Winterhaven friends, but still . . . they were good people. I liked them. Eventually, I might come to love them.
“You think we’ll get back in time for class this afternoon?” I asked idly. “I really don’t want to miss art history.”
“We probably will.” Aidan wrapped an arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer. “I was thinking I’d take you out to dinner tonight. Someplace special, to celebrate our anniversary.”
I still remembered the first day we’d met—exactly two years ago today—like it was yesterday. I’d dropped my schedule like a total klutz, and he’d picked it up and handed it to me with the most brilliant smile. But it had been his eyes that had gotten to me—that still got to me. Well, that and the British accent.
I love you madly, he said inside my head.
I turned to grin at him. I know.
It still surprised me that we’d retained the ability to speak telepathically. We hadn’t expected to, once he became mortal again. But then, he was my Megvéd now—at least, my substitute one—and a Sâbbat and her protector were supposed to be psychically connected. Maybe the injection of my blood into his veins aided that connection, strengthened it somehow. Who knows, maybe he was always meant to take Matthew’s place. Fate was weird that way. We tried not to question it too much.
Just then, a butterfly—its vividly colored wings a mix of black, violet, and indigo blue—fluttered down toward us. Instinctively, I held out my arm, wrist up, and it came to rest directly on my mark. For several seconds it sat there, its wings slowly moving up and down, as if it were studying the image of the stake inked onto my skin. I could feel the air stirred by its wings, the tickle of its legs.
I held my breath, keeping as still as possible, wanting to make the moment last. It reminded me of Matthew, made me think that he was there with us in spirit. After all, I’d been with him in his office when I’d first envisioned my tattoo—I’d pictured the stake with a butterfly resting on it. I’d later realized that the butterfly wasn’t meant to be part of the mark, and yet here it was . . . just as I’d seen it.
And then the beautiful insect took flight again, its tiny wings beating furiously as it rose and fluttered away.
“Good-bye,” I whispered, watching until it became a tiny speck against the Parisian skyline and then disappeared.
Aidan released me and took a step back toward the open French doors. “You ready to go slay some vampires, Sâbbat?” he asked.
I nodded. “How ’bout you, my Megvéd?”
“Together?” He reached for my hand.
I took it, clasping it firmly in mine. “Always.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As this series comes to a close, I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the following people:
My agent, Marcy Posner, who believed in a book featuring a vampire in a time when “no one was buying vampire books.” Thank you for always working tirelessly on my behalf—for an entire decade now!
Brilliant editor Jennifer Klonsky, who began this series with me, and equally brilliant editor Nicole Ellul, who stepped in and helped me see it through to the end. Thank you both for your amazing insight, support, and guidance along the way.
Amalie Howard, for helping me get this book done, chapter by chapter. Seriously, I couldn’t have done it without you. Your friendship, encouragement, plotting genius, and always-insightful comments kept me going—and kept me sane. Tres leches!
Cindy Thomas, for always being there to work out plot tangles, listen to me whine about my characters, and to deliver the stink-eye when needed. Thank you for being such an awesome friend. Much love!
The HB&K Society, for all the fun, food, and conversation. Here’s to many more Berkshire writing retreats. Sit-n-dance!
The readers and bloggers who got behind this series from the get-go, for sharing the love and spreading the word. You have my heartfelt thanks and gratitude!
My brilliant daughters, Vivian and Ella, who read my chapters without complaint and don’t mind talking endlessly about imaginary people and what they should or shouldn’t do. Thank you for helping me plot and for coming up with really awesome ideas. Love you both!
And lastly, my husband, Dan—for everything.
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