Two days passed before Amaia could get away. For some reason, she felt compelled to visit Michelle’s grave. Perhaps it was to mourn the life she didn’t witness, the loss of an opportunity. She dressed in a simple, black dress. It seemed appropriate.
She made the daylong journey with ease. Her body would carry her to Greece at an inhuman speed, perfect balance and senses ensuring she made it safely. Because of one decision, her body would persist throughout time, while the body of her one-time betrothed broke down and disintegrated over and over again. What was the purpose of traveling so far to see a grave? She knew Michelle or Michael would return. That was indisputable at this point. There was no use questioning her motives. She’d made her decision. This would be her last trip for a while.
Amaia made short work of the cliff, effortlessly adjusting to the slickness of the snow-covered rock. At the top, it appeared all the nuns were gathered in the chapel. She crept over to one of the windows and peeked inside. Nuns and monks filled every available space. One by one, they stepped up to the coffin, paying their respects. Between mourners, Amaia caught a glimpse of Michelle lying peacefully, a cross clasped in her hands. Her body was present, but her energy, her essence, was absent.
There was hardly a dry eye. Amaia found it easy to believe that Michelle would have many mourners. She had grown up in the monastery. Given what Amaia had witnessed of her disposition, it took no effort to imagine her touching the lives of those around her. Amaia wondered who would mourn her when she eventually succumbed to the strength of someone who wanted her dead. Her death was more likely to come at Zenas’s order than anything else. It was only a matter of time before she crossed him. She held no real loyalty to her clan leader, and she was obsessed with her reincarnating human lover. Besides, it would take a death sentence by a clan leader to provoke the strength needed to kill her.
Lawrence would surely miss her, as would Meg. Liam would at least feign grief. Amaia smirked. Actually, she secretly thought Liam did like her just a little bit. Other than those three, no one would even mind that Amaia was gone. Zenas would catalogue the news along with all his other knowledge and move on to whatever was next. Amaia barely even knew anyone else in his clan.
Inside the chapel, the mourners broke into song. Some of the monks lifted the coffin, and a procession formed. Amaia hid behind one of the other buildings to wait until the graveside service was over. Her position granted her a remarkable view of the sunset. Snow-capped mountains appeared blue in the distance. The rays of the sun illuminated the clouds with hues of orange, red, and pink and sparkled in the snow. As the sun descended, the orange that rested on the backs of the blue mountains morphed into a deeper pink and purple. Perched on top of this cliff, separated from the rest of the world, Amaia understood for the first time why Michelle believed in God. It was easy in this simple, beautiful setting. Amaia wished for just a moment that she could believe too, believe that there was someone larger than herself who cared for her. If there was a god, though, he certainly wouldn’t be concerned with her. If God existed, he had clearly cursed her. Amaia had no use for such a being.
Amaia waited until none of the sun’s light remained and all the nuns were in their sleeping chambers before moving. Standing before the freshly turned grave, Amaia didn’t quite know what to do. She felt she should say something, but what?
“I’ll see you soon.” It was the only truth Amaia knew in that moment. She lingered for a moment then fled. The clock was ticking on the months of peace she had left.
Chapter 24
Outside Angora, August 1718, 20 years, 8 months later
It was time. After years of watching him, he was finally old enough. Amaia felt nerves in her stomach, the flutter of butterfly wings that she thought should have been impossible for a vampire to feel. It made her giggle. Like everything else, it was a more intense sensation in her immortal form.
Up ahead, she heard the bleating of goats. Growing up on the outskirts of Angora in Anatolia, Michael had upheld the family business. His long stints away from home tending the flock made observing him easier. He was three months shy of twenty, more than four years before he died.
Thoughts of how it might be this time so consumed her that she almost forgot to slow to a human pace. Michael sat on a rock with his back to her, surveying the flock. She relished the sight of him. She had watched him his entire life, but always from a distance. Today, she would have the satisfaction of hearing his voice directed at her, of his eyes meeting hers. Today was the day that would change everything. She didn’t bother with stealth. She wanted him to see her.