Amaia wondered if Lawrence knew that his lies were so easy for her to see through. Probably not, otherwise he wouldn’t tell them. If Zenas was aware of this new development, he would insist she teach it to others. It would endanger Lawrence’s long-term plans. She didn’t doubt that one day Lawrence would break from his sire. Zenas had been foolish to let her and Lawrence live. He had let his love for Lawrence and his thirst for Amaia’s knowledge blind him. He was weak.
But there was no time to think about any of that. It didn’t matter that she was going to Frankfurt to spy for a man she didn’t respect. She, an orphan who had gone from scullery maid to prostitute to courtesan to vampire, was crossing the Channel into a whole new chapter of her existence.
Chapter 6
Cadiz, February 1644, 18 years, 8 months later
The sand at the coast had been baked by the sun until it felt absolutely luxurious against Amaia’s feet. Even though the air had the slight chill of winter, the sand soaked up whatever heat the sun rained down. The sound of the waves rhythmically flowing in and out soothed her. Since it was the off season, no one else used the beach. Salt water, fish, and the smell that Amaia had discovered came from seaweed were the only scents that tinged the air. This was paradise.
Home at the moment was Paris, and had been for more than five years. They were only in Spain on holiday. While she enjoyed the seclusion and the break from her work, she loved Paris. Out of all her homes, it was her favorite. Years ago, she had dreamed of eloping to Paris with Michael. The visions she had conjured of the city were true. Life was so different there. People, or at least the class of people Amaia associated with, were obsessed with beauty. One of her first engagements had been at the exquisite new palace of Cardinal Richelieu. She had quickly moved up from the baron she had accompanied that first night and eventually rose into the confidence of Cardinal Richelieu himself and his successor, Cardinal Mazarin. Life was idyllic.
Their stay in Frankfurt had been short. The witch trials had been unstoppable, even with the influence of Zenas’s gold. From there they had gone to Florence, then Brussels, and now Paris. Amaia worried they would have to move soon. There were practical reasons, of course. The fact that she didn’t age would eventually draw attention. Still, it didn’t make the transitions easier. She loved traveling. She just hated having to leave home. There was no point worrying. It could still be a few more years. But a year wasn’t such a long time anymore.
“Amaia, come back to the house. It’s time we left.”
With a sigh, she picked up her shoes and placed them back on her feet. They had found a quaint little fisherman’s cottage on the beach, killed the family, and taken up residence for their holiday. This was supposed to be a break for them, a time to relax. She had expected at least another week. The walk back to their beach cottage was a short one, even at a human pace. The hem of her dress was wet, but she didn’t mind. The silky feel of the water on her ankles had been worth it.
A subtle and strange energy brought her up short three hundred yards from the house. Two energies to be precise. Vampires. In her twenty-one years as a member of the undead, she had learned to read their energies as well as she could read those of humans. Vampires were rare visitors. They were usually from Zenas’s clan and arrived with advance notice from their leader.
Amaia lowered her fangs and braced herself for a fight, should one ensue. “Show yourselves. I know you’re there.”
A second later, two vampires emerged from behind an outcropping of rocks that jutted into the ocean. One seemed to be a woman in her early thirties with plain features and blue eyes framed by dark blonde hair. Her face was open, and her aura clear. “I’m Meg, and this is Liam.”
She gestured to the man beside her. He appeared younger by a few years. He had a strong build, and his blond hair and blue eyes were a shade lighter than Meg’s. His aura was closed off and his expression guarded.
When it became apparent that Amaia was not going to say anything, the girl continued. “We’re from Prussia. We heard stories about you and came to see for ourselves.”
Amaia’s interest was piqued, though she wasn’t willing to relax her stance. “What stories?”
“You’re Christine, no? Or at least that’s the name you go by now. Before that, it was Jeanne in Brussels, Cecilia in Florence, and Maria in Frankfurt.” Meg took a slow step forward with each identity she revealed.
Amaia was too stunned to think. How could this woman know so much?
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” Liam eyed her with skepticism.
“Don’t mind Liam. He gets this way. He’s not very sociable.”
Something we have in common, Amaia thought. “What clan do you belong to?”
“None.”