14
ELIAS
“Do you love her?” Osiris asked, his flames low and dull, a look he was only just getting used to. He was at peace. He no longer startled at his own shadow or stumbled over his words.
Together they leaned against the rough timber of the cottage, the cool air brushing past them, carrying smoke and earth and the faint laughter of the women at the fire.
Elias drew in slow from his cigar, the ember flaring in the dark. He let the smoke curl from his lips before repeating, soft, uncertain, “Love…”
Did he love her? Was that what this was?
Of all the wonders this world had revealed to him—its music, its paintings, its riches, the blood and carnage—she had undone them all making him feel as though he knew nothing at all. A secret hidden away. She was the eighth wonder. No—she was every wonder at once, wrapped in mortal skin, in the one thing he should never touch.
“How could such a simple word describe what I feel for her?” Elias murmured, bitter and reverent in the same breath. “To call it ‘love’ would be a cruelty to the notion.”
Osiris looked at Elias, canting his head to the side. “Will you tell her?”
Elias glanced as his friend before looking back at Penelope and Eleanor who were still whispering among themselves. He balanced the cigar between his fingers, blowing out another cloud of white smoke. “Her humanness is rubbing off on you, old friend,” Elias said, his mouth tugging toward something almost like a smile. “You’re becoming annoyingly perceptive.”
Osiris only shrugged, flames dimming further. “I remember having this very conversation—only a year ago. You told me it was a miracle to experience something as innocent as love. And yet you run from it yourself.”
“I am a vampire, Osiris.”
“And I,” Osiris replied evenly, “have no head. Eleanor accepts me as I am. And I would argue having no head presents a larger issue in having s—”
“It’s different,” Elias cut Osiris off, voice thick with burden. “I need blood to survive. And she—she will age. As the years pass, will I still take from her? Or force her to watch me feed from another? Or perhaps, I will give her one of those amulets like you did for Eleanor and ask that she watches as her family dies while she remains young.”
“You could change her.”
“Never,” he whispered, turning to look at Osiris once more. “She deserves to experience the beauty of life—all of it. The fleeting moments in each breath she takes. Warmth flowing through her veins and a heart that races no matter how hard she tries to hide it. Eternal death is not suitable for someone like Penelope.”
A silence settled between them, a sorrow threaded into the words that neither one spoke.
“I can never tell her how I feel,” Elias continued. “Because I know that she would change herself for me.”
“Then, you will carry the burden alone?”
Elias’ gaze lifted, meeting his friend’s steady eyes.
“Yes. And I will bear it gladly, if it means she can choose her own path.”
Osiris tilted his head, watching Elias with a quiet weight. “Have you asked her what she wishes?”
“She does not know what she wishes.”
“That does not seem fair of you to assume,” Osiris said, his voice low and even. “Eleanor oft burned with fury when I decided things for her. Her whole life had been ruled by men who told her what to do, what to feel, never once granting her freedom of choice. And Eleanor was not the Mayor’s daughter.” His flames flickered, sharpening. “I can only imagine the lack of freedom Penelope has known. Perhaps—even if her answer is not the one you desire—you should give her leave to make her own decisions.”
“Perhaps,” Elias echoed, drawing in his cigar again.
Yet it was not her saying no that scared him.
It was her saying yes.
It was the thought of Penelope looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes, and choosing to change herself for him.
To kill herself for him.
15
