He immediately raises his hands in defeat. “I’m kidding, man.”
Fuck, now I feel like an idiot. I quickly tell myself I reacted out of respect for one of our pack, and that it has nothing to do with the sinking ball of jealousy in the pit of my stomach.
“Leonard! Help me!” Alaric calls from where he’s pinned under a statue. Together, we heave it off him, tossing down a jacket to shield him from the sun. All around us, vampires are screaming for help. The room is almost covered in sunlight. I rush to help them as Serafina blasts the doors free.
“Marcus, you can’t save them. We have to go.” Leonard helps Esmerelda with Victoria and they rush to the corridor.
I whip my head around the room, bile stinging my throat as vampires burn to ash. Dorian begins to crawl off the dais, but a beam of light hits his skin, and within seconds all that remains of him is ash. Bending, I scoop Alaric up. Half-carrying him, we stumble into the catacombs, our footsteps pounding against the damp stone. The air down here is heavy and stale with dust and age. The walls close in around us, torches sputtering in their brackets with the threat that any moment now they will snuff out.
Alaric’s weight hangs at my shoulder. He’s not a small man, and with every step, it feels like he’s getting heavier. The heavy gold chains clink with each stumble, a grim reminder that the leader of one of the most powerful covens is now barely clinging to consciousness.
“Dorian? Augustus?” he rasps, voice faint.
“I’m sorry.”
The last ounce of strength leaves him. “Left. Then down,” he croaks.
We obey, no time to second-guess. Leonard fans out, taking point, ears pricked for any sign we’re being followed. Serafina takes up the rear, her bow half-drawn, arrow ready in caseMaximillian’s forces flood the tunnels. Belvedere keeps close to Esmeralda and Min, his face unreadable, though the tightness in his jaw tells me he’s already calculating how long before the next strike.
The catacombs stretch on and on, endless corridors that all look the same. My lungs burn. Sweat stings my eyes. Behind us, the dust thickens, stealing the oxygen from the air.
At last Alaric gestures weakly to a stone door. It looks like nothing more than part of the wall until he presses his hand against it. With a groan, it swings inward, stale air rushing past us. Beyond lies a narrow stairway that we follow. Finally, the early morning air hits us and I see the riverbank.
The sight of the open sky should be relief, but it isn’t. Dawn has already begun to stain across the horizon, a thin smear of gold rising against the dark.
A small boat waits at the dock, its canvas canopy scorched from neglect but still intact. We don’t waste time. Belvedere and Leonard are first across the worn planks, steadying the craft as I haul Alaric inside and under the cover. Victoria is laid beside him, barely conscious, her skin already smoking where the faintest light brushes it.
We pile in and push off. The boat rocks from side to side, water spilling in over the edge, but it carries us forward. Away from the compound, away from the carnage. Behind us, the faint glow of fire and the hiss of stone collapsing into sunlight fade into the distance.
By the time we reach the next dock, dawn is out in full force. Smoke curls in pale wisps from every vampire’s skin, the smell sickening. But not one of them complain. They grit their teeth, press forward, and let us drag them from the boat.
We push inside. The sanctuary’s basement door slams shut behind us, cutting off the day and the light. In the confined space, the smell of burning flesh is pungent.
Somehow, Alaric finds strength and searches the room. His face flits from panic to acceptance in a nanosecond. “This used to be an emergency house centuries ago. There used to be many more coffins.” His voice is ragged. “Place Victoria in the coffin. She is our only hope for the future. Our coven will need her to lead them.”
We lower Victoria into the coffin with care, as though she might shatter if we moved too quickly. Her dark hair fans across the pillow, her skin already paling to marble. For a moment, she looks less like the heir to a powerful coven and more like a girl caught between sleep and death.
Alaric kneels beside her, his robes pooling around him, chains clinking softly in the stillness. His gold-ringed hand trembles as he cups her cheek, thumb brushing gently along her jaw as if he could memorize the shape of her face with touch alone. He leans down and presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there, unwilling to let go. When he finally draws back, his eyes glisten with tears of blood.
“Will you tell her how much I loved her?”
I nod solemnly and Esmerelda wipes her eyes. “Of course.”
“My time is done,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I think I would like to see the sun one last time. Six hundred years since I have felt it on my face.”
No one argues. The room is too heavy with grief, with the weight of what’s already been lost.
Esmerelda and I move to either side of Alaric, supporting him as he straightens. His steps are slow, each one echoing through my head.
The door groans as it opens, flooding the threshold with light. For an instant, Alaric hesitates, as though gathering the strength for this final act. Then he lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, and steps forward.
The first rays touch him, and he exhales a sound that’s almost wonder. Tears of blood streak down his face as he tilts his head back to the sky. “It’s spectacular,” he breathes, voice thick with awe.
A soft sigh escapes him, almost peaceful. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, his body disintegrates. Ash scatters on the breeze, carried upward and into the wind.
29
ESMERELDA
