“I will be. I promise. Get some rest tonight, and try not to worry. Everything will work out in the end. You must believe that.”
“You’re right. I will. Thank you, Amaia.”
“Good night, Michael.”
“Good night.”
It was getting harder to extricate herself from his presence. There were times, like tonight, when it was easy to forget that her life was elsewhere. It was amazing how quickly Lawrence, Meg, and Liam just faded into the distance and became memories, dreams, not reality. Sitting in a small stone hut eating rabbit stew with a man whose very existence was a mystery to her seemed more rooted in reality.
***
Amaia stepped into the village tavern. The bartender likely knew everyone in the area. He would have the answers she needed.
“What can I get you, miss?”
“Some information, if you don’t mind. I was wondering if you know Juan Medina?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you know where I might find him?”
“Right behind you. Table in the corner. The one who looks like he thinks he owns the world.”
Amaia looked over her shoulder and easily spotted him. Despite the humble surroundings, he wore a formal wig that was currently askew, though Amaia doubted he noticed given his inebriated state. Wine stains spotted his protruding gut. He was surrounded by men dressed more appropriately for the setting, chatting and laughing. Facing the bartender, she grinned. “That would be him. Thank you. I’ll take a pint.”
A businesswoman herself, she wasn’t about to sit in this man’s tavern all night without buying something. She situated herself by the fire where she could easily watch Medina without appearing obvious. Amaia steadily sipped her drink. It would be easier to just entice him away, but that would cause too much of a scene. It was bad enough that the bartender was likely to remember her.
Finally, at nearly midnight, Medina made his move to leave. Amaia waited a few minutes and then followed. Tracking him would be easy. The scent of the tavern hung heavy on him, and she followed him down the darkened street. When she saw an alley ahead, she made her move. He didn’t even falter as she crept up behind him. She slipped a hand over his mouth and pulled him into the alleyway in one swift movement. Shoving him against a wall, she waited until his frantic eyes slowed enough to settle on her.
“Are you Juan Medina?”
The foolish man nodded.
“Good, I’d hate to kill the wrong man.” She slid her fangs down and dove for the man’s neck. He screamed, barely audible through her tight hand, frantically trying to shake her off. It had been a long time since her last kill. Too long. She savored more than just his blood. The draining of his life, the ending of his hopes and dreams, were much more gratifying. Just before he lost consciousness, she put her lips to his ear. “This is for trying to take what isn’t yours.” She dug her fingernails into his skin as she sucked the last of his blood.
Outside the village, she found the nearest place to bury the body without risking it being found too quickly. She hated digging with her bare hands, but there was nothing else available. Once she’d buried him, she started toward home. Her hair and fingernails were a mess. She could bathe somewhere, but her dress was ruined. A worthy sacrifice. After all, what were friends for?
Chapter 31
Algar, February 1748, 4 months later
There was no justifiable reason for her absence from Madrid. Lawrence wasn’t away. She had simply told him she was leaving for the day. Today was too important. She didn’t even bother to see if Lawrence suspected anything.
“Amaia? What is it?” Michael had been seated at his table chopping potatoes when Amaia entered the room, but he stood when he saw her.
“Nothing.” Such a pathetic lie. She knew it was written all over her face.
“No. Something troubles you. Let me know so I can help.” Michael lifted her hand to his lips, cupping it in both of his after kissing it.
“You can’t help, Michael. After today, you won’t be able to help me for a great while.”
Comprehension dawned on his face. “Today’s the day, isn’t it?”
Amaia couldn’t confirm it with words, only a nod of her head.
Michael pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. “It’s going to be all right.”
“How can you say that when you don’t know?”
“I just do, Amaia. It might not even happen this time. We’ll just have to see.”
“It’s always happened right on time, like clockwork.”
“So? Even if it does, things are different this time. We’re different. You know I’ll come back. I know you’ll find me. We won’t have to waste so much time anymore. We can be together.”
“I want it all to stop.” Amaia couldn’t help the vulnerability she felt. In the moment, she didn’t see any reason not to be completely honest.