Page 140 of You’re So Vein

I frown. “But that’s our problem, isn’t it? I want this thing between us to grow and to see where we end up. I want you and Hannah in my life. But we can’t, can we?”

“I don’t have any solutions,” he says. “The husker is still out there. And now Irene and Callista know about Hannah. We could still face Upyr justice. I might have to go into hiding again and I won’t drag your light into the darkness with us. Plus, I have to think of Hannah. She is my first, my everything. Not only are Dhampir illegal, but so are vampire–human marriages. Being with you puts her in danger.”

I nod, tears streaming down my face. “You’re far too noble for this century, Durant.”

“Noble, or stupid?” He nuzzles my cheek. “I don’t want to let you go – not now, not ever. But I fear it’s the only way until the husker is caught and the laws change.”

“So that’s it?” I say. “This is where we end?”

With an exhale, Augustin blows out the blossoms. The wind still roars outside, but there’s a thin ribbon of golden light.

“We have this moment,” he says, even as his body slumps. “We have a beautiful golden dawn.”

51Komal

AUGUSTIN DROPS INTO A DEAD sleep, and I roll him into the emergency blankets, tucking in his feet and head so not a single band of light can peek through. It looks like I have a giant stack of naan wrapped up in the back seat.

The storm rages all day, the winds rocking the helicopter. My radio pops off with updates on the storm and the damage to Argleton and the surrounding villages. The rain continues, unceasing.

I stare into the clouds and think. I try to come up with a way that Augustin and I can be together, but I keep coming back to only one solution.

We can’t be together until the laws are changed. Until Hannah’s existence is no longer considered a threat.

Until the husker is caught.

I have to catch the husker.

I have to fix this.

But nothing about the huskings makes sense. Why switch from human victims to vampires? Why save the blood instead of drinking it? Why team up with Kael to go after Augustin personally?

I think and think and come to no conclusions. And just when I’m nodding off, Augustin sits up with a gasp, shoving the emergency blanket aside like a baked potato fighting for freedom. “The storm?” he asks, his voice thick with hope.

“It’s starting to calm.” I flick over to the weather again. “Give it another fifteen minutes for this cloud to pass over, then we’ll attempt a flight. Come look.”

I throw open the door and drag him outside. We walk up to the circle in gentle rain until we’re framed by the ring of ancient stones. Now that they’re no longer covered in the blood of the people I love or scattered with the bodies of dead vampires, they’re much less sinister. Tall, lichen-choked monoliths lean in towards us, like ancient gods listening for secrets. Water slicks their surfaces so they shine faintly, catching scraps of moonlight and throwing back muted glimmers.

Beyond the stones, the valley spreads out in a brooding palette – mist clings to treetops, roofs glinting faintly through the grey, the river a pale stripe of pewter. But all of it, even the stones, pales beside him. His outline is sharp against the wild landscape, a stubborn flame of warmth against the cold.

My damp hair clings to my cheeks and neck as I stare at him while he stares at the view. His clothes are dark with blood and soaked enough to trace every line and curve of his body. Wind tugs at the hem of his jacket, making it flare slightly around him. Goth kite mode.

I pause, breath catching – not from the climb, but from gazing at him, the most breathtaking sight on that ancient hill.

“Tourists always head straight to Stonehenge,” I say. “Most people don’t even know this stone circle exists. There’s no way to drive up to it. You have to hike on a badly maintained track to get here, and I’m the only tour operator who has a license to land. Some local Druidic and Wiccan groups use the site for their rituals – even the Nevermore Coven sometimes. I’ve always thought we could do more with it. Maybe—”

“It’s beautiful.” He reaches for me, cupping my face, his thumb brushing the chill from my cheek. “And I’m not referring to the old stones.”

He leans down and kisses me.

Cold rain droplets run down the back of my neck, but I am fire inside as I taste rain and warmth and the faint, maddening hint of moss. He holds me against him like he’s been waiting for the storm between us to finally break.

Rain patters against us, and I’m cold everywhere except where our mouths meet and where his fingers curl around my neck, press into the small of my back. The kiss is a goodbye – the stones stand witness to all the things I’ve been longing for, all the hope he’s stoked inside me that we have to extinguish until Hannah is truly safe.

When I draw back, breath unsteady, I feel it. The magic of this place. The magic of him. The earth and the plants and the ancient stones hum with it. It reminds me of how I felt when he showed me his garden. As though we’re standing out of time, safe in a bubble where no one can hurt us.

But I know the bubble is a lie. When we leave this place, he leaves me, and my heart isn’t ready to survive it.

“One last taste,” he says sadly, stroking my cheek. “Before we return.”