I stopped short, my breath hitching in my chest. “Matthew!” I cried out. There was a searing pain in my head, almost like a part of my brain were being ripped away. And then . . . emptiness. That space that Matthew normally filled—that connection we shared—it was gone. Gone.
I doubled over in pain—pure physical agony. What was happening?
The door banged open and Cece ran in, the rest of them following behind. “What’s going on? Are you guys okay?”
I was vaguely aware of conversation, of voices speaking all at once. My friends’ worried faces surrounded me. But I couldn’t make out what they were saying—the pain was too sharp, too intense.
“Matthew!” I finally managed to shout above the din. “Someone . . . find my cell,” I gasped. “I have to call him. Now. Now!”
Several seconds passed, and then someone pressed my phone into my hand. The pain was blinding me now, making white spots dance before my eyes. “Someone dial. Please!”
“Here,” came Cece’s calming voice. “I’m dialing. Just hang on, Violet. Okay, it’s ringing now.”
I raised it to my ear. Two rings. Three. And then someone picked up. Oh my God, someone picked up.
“Violet?” But it wasn’t Matthew’s voice on the other end. It was someone else’s. A woman’s. I recognized it—Charlie.
“Where’s Matthew?” I asked her, my voice shaking. “Is he okay? Charlie, tell me he’s okay. Please!”
I heard her take a deep, rattling breath on the other end of the line. And then I knew the truth—knew it right down to the marrow in my bones.
“He’s gone,” she said, her voice laced with panic. “He just collapsed, and . . . Oh my God! He’s gone. Gone! I called 911, but . . . it’s too late.” She was sobbing now. “It happened just like he said it would.” I could hear a siren now, growing louder, drowning out her sobs.
“No,” I whispered. “No.” The phone fell from my hand, tumbling to the carpet beside me. My mind struggled to comprehend it all, to reconcile everything that had happened in a matter of minutes.
Things seemed to move in slow motion then, like a hazy dream—a nightmare. Someone picked up my phone and pressed it to their ear. Someone else reached for me, an arm behind my back, cradling me. I saw mouths moving but couldn’t hear the words. There was nothing but a loud ringing in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of my own heartbeat, which grew louder and faster. Too fast, making me breathless.
And then I blacked out.
Epilogue ~ A British Ex-Vampire in Paris
Four months later, Paris
Be careful with that thing!” I called out from my seat on the terrace. I had a heavy textbook open in my lap, a notebook balanced on one knee as I scribbled notes, studying for an upcoming exam.
“Hey, are you doubting my dagger-throwing skills, Vi? Because I could hit that target with my eyes closed.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Yeah, that explains the nicks in the plaster beside the target board. And anyway, it’s a baselard,” I added. “Learn the lingo.”
“Semantics,” Aidan said with a shrug, stepping out onto the terrace to join me as he returned the weapon in question to the sheath strapped beneath his left shoulder. “I’m starving. How ’bout you?”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, starving. That’s still so weird to hear.”
His mouth curved into a grin. “It’s such a bloody inconvenience, all this needing to eat.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be mortal again,” I said with a shrug.
He leaned against the stone railing, the noon sun glinting off the Eiffel Tower behind him. I still couldn’t believe his physical transformation. His once-pale skin was bronzed now, thanks to lazy afternoons spent lounging shirtless in the Tuileries. His hair had grown longer, the golden waves nearly to his shoulders now—shoulders that were much broader, more muscled than before. He looked vibrant, healthy. Alive.
And mind-bogglingly hot. It was all I could do not to jump his bones every time he walked into a room—or out onto the terrace, as was the current case.
“Did you ever hear from Jenna?” he asked, mercifully oblivious to my current train of thought.
I shook my head, glad for the distraction. “Nope, and I don’t expect to. She’s got too much pride. She teased me once about being your pet, about how you kept me on a short leash. Well, who’s the pet now?” I had to laugh, thinking of Jenna’s current situation.
She was in Paris, too. Working as a model—high fashion, runway, and print. But there was a catch. She was living in a Tribunal safe house, under vampire protection. It was the only way she could remain safe from her vengeful pack, now that she’d graduated from Winterhaven. I didn’t know the details, but apparently she and Mrs. Girard had struck some sort of deal. She was working for them—the good vampires. Which was pretty funny, actually. Jenna and I, on the same team now.
And speaking of Mrs. Girard . . . she hadn’t gotten her Dauphin after all. But she did get an even more powerful weapon, instead—the cure. That helped a lot, in terms of her forgiving us. Instead of imprisonment and torture, the Tribunal now simply sentenced dangerous, uncooperative vampires to be cured. And once cured, a vampire couldn’t be turned back. In those first few months, several had tried—and several had died. For realsies, this time around.
“What about Trevors?” I asked. “How’s he doing these days?”
“He’s good, back in London now. Enjoying every day he has left, he says.” Because Trevors had chosen to take the cure. Aidan had been pleased for him—happy that Trevors had been able to decide his own future. It turns out Aidan had been paying him generously all these years, and Trevors would be able to live out his final days in style and comfort. He deserved that.
I picked up my cell, checking the time, smiling wistfully when I saw the photo that served as my wallpaper—the group picture from the prom. It had been only five months ago, but it felt like a lifetime. I set it aside with a sigh, glancing back down at my notes.
“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.