I’ve never been a hero, Eli. I’ve always been a monster. My intentions have never been pure or good.
I understood his horror, his desire to push it all away—his revulsion at what he had done. But he needed to know that while I didn’t condone his actions, I understood that he had protected innocent people. That still counted, regardless of his intentions.
Look, none of this is great. But your actions are what actually matter—and their consequences. Whether you planned to be a hero or not, you can’t deny that you’ve saved innocent people over the years, even while doing terrible things.
Before he could reply, the vision changed, and we were in the howling tunnel I had seen after Eric attacked me.
Dozens of voices—all of them mine—spoke at once, overlapping words and languages. Each one was a lifetime, a snapshot of who I was. They were all versions of myself that had lived before, each unaware of the continuity of experience we shared.
And I was all of them now—the sum total of everything that had come before. But none of them were me.
“This is astonishing,” Nicolas breathed. He was beside me, though neither of us had any form to speak of. “These are your past selves, aren’t they?”
As if they had heard him, the voices stopped at once—all except for one.
“Nicolas?”
Beside me, my vampire went very still. He recognized the voice all too well.
An image formed before us: the man Nicolas had loved while human—the version of me he had killed at Magnus’s urging. The young man with olive skin, dark eyes, and a thick French accent. The son of a bootmaker who had dared to fall in love with a noble.
“Eliott?” he said, somehow managing to speak aloud. “How?”
The young man reached out to him, then vanished into a puff of smoke. The tunnel went eerily silent, but I could feel dozens of sets of eyes on us—my past selves, all of them watching.
Then Nicolas froze as it clicked into place for him.The dreams you wrote about in your journal. How you knew my true name. How you knew about Thierry—
Nicolas, it’s okay.
But it isn’t!His grief and shame rolled through us both, causing the connection to shatter. Nicolas’s bedroom rushed back into focus.It isn’t okay at all!
Though only the bedside lamp was on, casting the room in a dim glow, I still blinked against the sudden brightness. It seemed too harsh after the warm, comfortable darkness—the immense feeling of safety at having been inside each other’s shared mental space.
Pressing my fingers to my neck, I found I was no longer bleeding. I didn’t feel as light-headed or woozy as I might have expected. He hadn’t taken much blood—probably less than a pint. He had been exceptionally gentle with me, because that was who he was now.
Nicolas’s mind was still pressed against mine, almost a physical presence. Happiness surged through me, bringing asmile to my lips. Strange that I had ever doubted telepathy could be possible.
Well, the world was certainly a far stranger place than I had ever given it credit for, wasn’t it?
But my smile faltered when I met Nicolas’s gaze, which was filled with a mix of horror and accusation.
“How long have you known?” he demanded. His words sounded odd when spoken aloud—duller than his mental voice, which had been rich with emotion and context. Speaking aloud was a pale imitation of real communication.
“Since you saved my life,” I said, feeling my brows draw together as confusion rippled through me at his reaction. “That’s when I knew for sure. But on some level, I think I’ve known ever since the night we met. And, I guess, even before that. I’ve always dreamed of you. I just thought you weren’t real.”
“You should have told me that you were… him.”
But his expression was all wrong—closed down and remote. His thoughts churned with grief and anger, a gathering storm that threatened to destroy everything.
“Nicolas—”
“You kept this from me.”
I grimaced. It wasn’t as though I had been sitting on it for ages—I had only halfway believed it until just now. But he wasn’t entirely wrong. Deep down, I knew that I hadn’t shared the truth because I wasn’t sure how he would react.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I was—I was afraid.”
“Of me.” His expression collapsed, becoming oddly neutral. Only his trembling lips gave him away. “At last, you’re frightened of me. And with good reason.”
