The Rest Falls Away

Epilogue A Farewell

He moved through the silent house like smoke—quick, dark, noiseless. His house. His home he could enter uninvited.

If one of the servants saw him, they would think nothing of it. Nothing but that the master had returned home at last.

But no one saw him as he moved silently up the stairs. Need pulsed through him, and as he thought of the taste of her, of being sated at last, he felt her heartbeat moving with his. Even from that distance.

He smelled her, and his hands trembled at the relief that would soon be his. The awful need would dissolve, and he could think again. Breathe on his own. Rest. Feel something beyond hunger.

He would take her with him, be with her… forever. Make her like him, immortal. She was his destiny… had been, always would be.

He stood in the doorway of her chamber. Not hesitating… savoring. Experiencing the pull, her draw… and the stronger bond that he controlled. He knew it was strong enough. Their love was deep enough. He could do it… Powerful as she was, he could turn her.

She lay on her side, covered by nothing but a filmy white gown that left her arms and bosom bare, and the blue filter of moonlight through the open window. Her dark hair curled over the pillow. Her eyes were closed, deep in shadows.

He stepped in, his heart—no, her heart—pounding in his chest, his temples, his belly, his cock. His breathing deepened, slowed, as he thought of the relief he would have, sinking into her. His eternal love.

Victoria was waiting. She'd known he would come, had been expecting him since she returned home, refusing Max or Eustacia to accompany her. She sent Verbena away, gave the servants the night off.

She wanted to be alone when he came.

As he brushed against the side of the bed, she felt her breathing change. It was no longer hers. They drew in together, exhaled together. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

He was Phillip… beloved Phillip. She reached for him, and he fell onto the bed.

He kissed her, touched her, pulled the gown from her shoulders, and she let him. She allowed herself the desire, the comfort.

She felt it when he changed: the edge to his breath, the harshness of his pulse storming through her. The slip of his control. His eyes glinted rosy, and when he raised his face, his fangs glinted dull white and lethal.

But his voice was Phillip's. Unchanged. Familiar. Loving. "Let me, Victoria, my wife," he murmured… as he had done before. "I will be very gentle… and soon you will feel only pleasure. We will be together forever. My destiny."

When his incisors scraped over her flesh, at the tender joint of neck and shoulder, readying to sink in, she stiffened… sighed. Closed her eyes. Tears leaked from them.

She groped in the sheets, closed her fingers around the smooth wood. "I will always love you, Phillip." And she stabbed him.

When she opened her wet eyes, she saw someone standing in the door of her chamber.

Max. His stake was outlined by the moonlight.

"I followed him."

"I knew he would come."

He bowed his head, then looked up at her. "You saved him. You stopped him in time."

"I hope." She drew in her breath. "You were right about it all, Max."

"For that, and for this, I am sorry."

"You were right about me—I am a foolish woman."

"No. You are a Venator."