Eternal

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.

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.”