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“Riding? You mean winning—”

“Whatever.” She sneezed again. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced up at the now-familiar space. The moonlight barely filtered into the interior of the building, but his superior senses allowed him to see the vaulted ceiling and exposed beams above them.

“I mean to buy it.”

Laria looked at him as if he’d gone mad. And maybe he had.

“You want to buy a bank?”

He swallowed, finding it difficult to say the words aloud.

His sister had known him for several lifetimes. She’d understand the significance of his revelation. And this time, she might even believe he was here to stay.

“Lawrence?”

“I’m staying.”

He’d already purchased the Addy Hutton Mansion, of course, but he’d only done so as an investment—and because he’d required a home base in Stone Haven in order to protect Alessandra. And while not as pretentious as Kenton, Lawrence had gotten used to a certain . . . standard of living throughout the ages.

Laria lifted herself onto the bank’s dusty counter, sitting on it as casually as if it were a sofa. “You said you were staying, after Alessandra. But—”

“Permanently.”

He listened to her steady breathing, waiting . . .

“It’s not an open town, Lawrence—”

Her words echoed his own thoughts, but he found himself revolting against them. “But could it be?”

“No, of course not!”

Watching confusion turn to horror on her face, Lawrence realized he’d taken it a step too far. Vampires had died attempting to create open towns. When the wrong people learned of, and refused to accept, their kind, the Sect could take advantage. Once the contingency of Cheld who hated all vampires learned they planned to settle in one place, the location would become a magnet for the one group of people who could threaten their lives. Neither they nor the Morleys had ever successfully eradicated the Sect, their threat always looming.

“I wasn’t thinking that far into the future,” he admitted. “But for now . . .”

“And the Cheld?”

“You and Torr—” He cut himself off. This conversation was so familiar to them, they could both probably rehearse it by heart. He’d said it before, meant it, and still he’d sprung into action the moment a Cheld required protection. He’d saved the lives of many of his brother’s descendants, but it was a mission that had the distinction of never ending. New Cheld continued to awaken. Always would. Families they’d cloaked centuries ago sometimes forgot why they were supposed to wear the dried rose stems at all times—or their children’s children would assume their ancestors had been telling tall tales. And so the cycle would begin again.

A duty as eternal as they apparently were.

“I know this is what you want, Lawrence. What you’ve always wanted . . .”

Her voice trailed off.

“When Alec died—”

Humans still used that age-old piece of wisdom: time heals all wounds. Lawrence was in a unique position to know it wasn’t true. Some wounds didn’t heal. They didn’t even scab over.

“Please don’t—”

“We never talk about it. For centuries, you’ve asked me not to talk about Alec. But you know what? I want to talk about him. He was our brother, your best friend. And you refuse to honor his memory—”

“Don’t.” The word came out so loud and sharp, it echoed in the empty bank. His nostrils flared. “Laria, I mean it. Stop.”

But Laria being Laria, she didn’t listen. “You never wanted to be chief. To be in charge—”