“I know. I do too. I wish I could stay alive, marry you, have children, live out our lives together until we’re old and gray. We’d make good old people, you and I, one of those old couples who seem to not care about the world because they have each other. That could be us.”
No, it couldn’t. No matter what happened today, no matter if the cycle was somehow broken, that could never happen. If Michael didn’t die, he would age, and Amaia would stay forever youthful. They would be able to pretend for a while, but eventually there would be no denying the truth. She would have to reveal herself to Michael or just disappear. Disappearing seemed the more likely route.
When Michael finally released her and stepped back, Amaia didn’t know what to say, other than, “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. You’re sure it’s going to happen today?”
Amaia nodded. “In a few hours.” It was an impossibly small amount of time. She could blink, and it would be gone.
“How can you know that?”
“I’ve had practice.”
Michael appeared satisfied with that answer and gave a grim nod.
“What do you want to do?” Michael’s voice was strong. She would call it courageous, but the word courage denoted an acknowledgement of fear. She wasn’t entirely sure Michael felt any. He faced death, but all he wanted was to ease her burden.
“Could we just hold each other?” Amaia felt small making the request. Perhaps that was best. Something in her yearned to be small enough to fit into the palm of his hand where he could keep her safe and warm. There was no use pretending anymore, no need to keep a physical distance. It seemed safe now to admit to herself that she regretted not being closer to him during his life, not marrying him as he’d wanted, even though she knew it was foolishness. Love had crept up on her, and it seemed silly to deny it. Somehow along the way, listening to his memories of their time together, creating new memories to share, she’d been forced to acknowledge that she’d always loved him, no matter how much she wished she didn’t.
A soft smile graced his lips. “Of course. I can’t think of anything better.”
Michael retrieved the blankets from his bed and arranged them in front of the fire. Hours passed in silence as Amaia rested her head on Michael’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“Are you scared?” His heart beat steadily. She didn’t think she would be able to face death so bravely.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know what’s coming. I know that I’ll survive, and I know that you’ll be waiting for me.”
“Oh.”
“What about you?” Michael nudged her.
“What about me?”
“What happens to you each time I die?”
Amaia was silent. She hated that he had to ask questions she couldn’t answer. She didn’t realize the danger of her silence until she saw the anxiety creep onto his features.
“You die too, don’t you?” It was accusatory, as if she had been holding a painful knowledge from him. “How else could you always be waiting for me at this age?”
“You don’t need to worry about what happens to me.” The words were ironic considering that this was the first time she had feared. Given their new relationship, Amaia wasn’t sure exactly what would happen.
“How can you say that? Of course I worry about you. I don’t want you to suffer.”
“I won’t suffer, Michael. I promise. You really have nothing to worry about. I’ll be here waiting for you when it’s time.”
Wrinkles still creased his forehead. Amaia tried to smooth them with her thumb. When that didn’t work, she graced his lips with a kiss, peaceful rather than passionate. It was the first time their lips had touched in over one hundred years, yet it felt as natural and right as if they did it daily.
When they broke apart, Michael asked, “How much time left?”
Amaia shook her head. “Not much.”
“I love you.” Michael leaned in and kissed her. When he pulled away, his face was drawn. “I’ll see you soon.”
Amaia couldn’t help it. She wasn’t brave. “No, Michael.” She shook him, as if that would somehow stall death.
Michael’s face grimaced, and Amaia knew he was trying to keep the pain from showing. It was no use. She felt it in his energy. She wouldn’t disclose her knowledge, not when he was working so hard to keep it from her. It would hurt his pride, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him dying without that.
Through the pain and panic, he somehow forced a smile on his face. She gripped his hand, holding it to her chest, maintaining eye contact. It took a great deal of effort to suppress her strength and not crush his hand. She forced a smile, grateful that vampires were unable to cry. His last sight in this life needed to be a good one. And then, he was dead.
Amaia lowered his hand and closed his eyes. A strange peace descended on her. She knew he would be back, and she knew they would be together. She could wait until it was appropriate. In that moment, she knew, just as vampires died for their mates, she would live for hers.
Chapter 32
Daventry, December 1770, 22 years, 10 months later