I swore I'd never put myself through that again.
And now here I am, watching a woman I barely know write in a notebook at 4 a.m., and I can't look away.
"Get some rest," Marcellus says quietly. "Tomorrow's going to be difficult."
He’s right. Then there's Celeste's training, the interrogation of the remaining prisoners from the attack, security preparations, contingency planning…
The list is endless. It always is.
But as Marcellus leaves, I know that's not what's actually keeping me awake.
It's not the strategic concerns. Not the tactical planning. Not even Konstantin's threats.
I tell myself it's because she's new. Untested. A potential vulnerability I need to monitor closely.
The fact that I don't believe my own rationalization should concern me more than it does.
Tomorrow night, I'll accelerate Celeste's training. Have Marcellus push her harder. Prepare her for what's coming. Make sure she's ready to survive what Konstantin is planning.
It's purely tactical. Konstantin has already identified her assignificant. That makes her a target whether I want her to be or not.
The fact that I'm more concerned about her survival than any other member of my inner circle is simply because she's the least experienced. The newest variable. The one most likely to make a fatal mistake.
That's all it is.
It has to be.
I lie down as dawn breaks, that familiar pull toward dormancy finally overwhelming. But my last thought before sleep claims me is of her face when she looked at me tonight after Michael's execution.
Not with horror or disgust or fear.
With understanding.
Like she saw exactly who I am. Violent, carrying six centuries of blood on my hands, and chose to see me anyway.
But she didn't see everything.
There are things I haven't shown anyone. Not Marcellus. Not anyone in three hundred years. The darkness Seraphina wove into my blood as a gift I never asked for. What it can do when I let it off the leash. What it costs every time I use it.
Someday she might see that too. I don't know what terrifies me more—that she'll run, or that she won't.
Chapter
Nine
Iwake with the memory of Michael's death still fresh in my mind.
The blackout curtains keep the room in complete darkness, but my internal clock tells me it's just after sunset. Night five since Maximus found me in that alley. The days blur together when you sleep through them and only exist in darkness.
I sit up slowly, testing my body. The bruises from training with Maximus and Marcellus are gone, healed while I slept. Vampire recovery is still startling sometimes. I could get used to never having lingering injuries, even if I can't get used to everything else.
My phone shows several messages. One from Elena asking if I'm okay after "last night." She must mean the execution.
Another from an unknown number that I assume is Marcellus:
Unknown
Strategy meeting 9 PM. Conference room. Don't be late.
