“Fine. You may take the night off. But I expect you to be ready for your engagement tomorrow night.”
She wouldn’t be ready. There was no possible way for her to be ready to relinquish her obsession. All she could do was fake it.
“Thank you.”
There wasn’t time to think about how she would deal with tomorrow. She was almost to her destination. Her legs slowed, and when she found the familiar tree, she climbed it as nimbly as if she were a cat. At the top, she was just in time to see the last traces of sun disappear below the horizon. As soon as it was out of view, she turned her gaze to the east.
Michael’s window was empty, as it had been the last three nights. A voice in her head insisted that it would remain that way. Nevertheless, calm enfolded her as she watched his window. In a strange twist, her stomach relaxed, and she was at peace. It didn’t matter whether he signaled for her or not: she was where she was meant to be, and there was comfort in that.
Her eyes were locked on his window. As the moon rose higher, Michael entered, bringing with him a light. Watching, she ceased the ruse of breathing. Her heart paused its beating. The stillness of the dead overcame her. Just like the previous nights, he gazed out of the window for a few minutes and then retreated. His light burned for a couple of hours, and then was extinguished. It would be easy to let her hope be extinguished with it. He had made his feelings clear. Just the same, Amaia knew she would be in the same spot the next night, still as death, waiting for the light that would give her life.
Chapter 33
Palermo, December 1794, 24 years later
A bird landed on her shoulder, pecked at her neck, and then flew away. Amaia didn’t stir. She was almost a part of the landscape now. Every night found her in the same tree, as motionless as the bark beneath her. Michael’s life had ended without him giving the signal. Still, she had gone every night as soon as she was done with her work. Now she stalked Michelle’s abode.
Amaia’s most recent home had been Paris. Once again, she had haunted the great Notre Dame with Meg and Liam. Even with the turmoil in the city, she still loved it. With Meg’s support, Amaia strove for contentment. Michael had spurned her. Somehow, the fact that he’d made the decision with the truth in hand consoled her. It was what she had wanted, after all, to move on. She pretended to be happy, so well that she sometimes even convinced herself.
Amaia watched the city she most thought of as home succumb to mobs and riots. She had wanted to stay regardless, but the guillotine made the decision for her. Zenas ruled that a systematic method for beheading aristocrats made France too dangerous for vampires. All of his clan was commanded out until some order was restored. He had wanted Amaia in Poland to quash the rebellion against Russian rule. He liked Empress Catherine and wasn’t happy with the revolt, but Amaia was too familiar in Catherine’s court to be of use. With no need for her anywhere, Lawrence allowed her to pick their next destination. And that was how she ended up in Palermo, the same city Michael—who had returned as Michelle—inhabited.
Amaia watched through the window as Michelle repaired a shirt collar. She worked with her mother as a seamstress in her home outside the city. Often, she worked until there was not enough light and then resumed once the sun appeared. Michelle set her sewing aside and came to the window. Amaia’s hand tightened around the branch as she leaned forward. This wasn’t a new development. Michelle often gazed out of the window before retiring. Seeing her served only to make Amaia want her more. Her delicate features were framed by raven hair that brought out the paleness of her eyes. Her plain brown dress couldn’t hide her beauty. No matter how long she stood at the window, it wouldn’t be long enough. And when she retreated, leaving the window bare, Amaia would feel empty.
Michelle turned away. Tonight’s window gazing had been shorter than usual. Still, Amaia would sit and wait until the rays of the sun signaled the end of her vigil.
She saw movement at the window.
Two lit candles moved to the sill.
Amaia flew.
She leapt to the ground and easily scaled the house. When she tapped on the window, Michelle jumped from where she sat with her back toward Amaia. Her head snapped around, and her eyes widened.
She opened the window and held out a hand to help Amaia inside. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Amaia accepted the hand. She tried to calm the swell of hope in her breast at the feel of Michelle’s skin against hers. “I told you I’d be watching.”
“Yes, I suppose this will take some getting used to.” Michelle sat in her bare wooden rocking chair and gestured for Amaia to take a seat in the chair opposite her.