Amaia trudged back up the hill, stopping in front of Zenas. “Don’t ever call me away to stand idly by again.” Amaia threw the head of the teenage girl she had just killed at his feet and walked away.
Lawrence ran up and grabbed her arm. Amaia shook him off without even sparing him a glance. In the background she heard Zenas say, “Let her go.”
Lawrence stopped, and Amaia kept going. She didn’t know where, only that she needed to get away. If she couldn’t kill any longer, she didn’t want to be in a place that would stir her bloodlust. She walked in the opposite direction of the nearest town. That was probably why Zenas was willing to let her go. He knew she wouldn’t cause any trouble with the locals. Or maybe he understood her. Regardless, for the first time in her existence, Amaia found herself grateful to the leader of her clan.
Chapter 39
Helsinki, February 1799, 11 months later
The green eyes staring out of the head were vacant. It was done. The last of the vampires who hadn’t appeared at Zenas’s summons for the battle were dead. When Zenas ordered their deaths, Amaia had leapt at the chance to carry out the executions. It gave her something to do. The hunt sustained her. She could have been done months before, but she had drawn it out. She’d hoped it would distract her from Michael’s rebirth. However, there weren’t enough traitors.
With the executions complete, she didn’t know what to do with herself. If she were anyone else, she would go home. But where was home? Was it with Lawrence, Meg, and Liam—her own little clan? At one time, she had thought so. But how could she live with them, fit in with them, after everything that had happened? She was damaged, different, an outsider. There was no sense forcing her presence on others. It was best to let them be. She had not spoken to Meg in months. Amaia had always been unworthy of Meg’s friendship. Perhaps Meg would realize that now and let the break stand.
Amaia had wandered the countryside between executions. She didn’t want to see people. People only made her feel conflicted. She wanted to murder them, to feed from them, and that just made her realize she had no chance to be happy. She didn’t even know where she was when Michael was born. She had just fed from an old hermit when Michael’s energy reentered her life. It was sometime in late December or January. She didn’t know. She only knew that it was time for the cycle to start over yet again.
The hunger began in her stomach. She found the sensation puzzling when it was really thirst. A vestige of her mortal life? She had never really thought about it before. The dull ache morphed into a sharp pain as the days wore on. Days filled with nothing but walking and empty thoughts. What was left for her? Would she simply follow the orders given to her, move about in the wind, swayed by each gust no matter the direction?
“Are you done yet?” Lawrence’s voice didn’t surprise her. She had been expecting it.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“I didn’t see the point.” She didn’t see the point in anything anymore.
“How long ago did you finish?”
“A day, two, three—I hardly know.”
“Are you all right, Amaia?” The concern in his voice was clear. She didn’t need it.
“Fine.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Amaia, you’ve got to pull yourself together. Come home.”
“And where is home, Lawrence?” She desperately wanted an answer.
“I’m at the Paris house.”
Ah, home to Notre Dame, her favorite residence. She must be pretty bad off if Lawrence was trying this hard to make her happy. “I’m a ways away. It will take more than a day to get there.”
“Longer if you haven’t eaten. Feed, and then come home.”
“What for?”
“Because I told you to, my dear.”
It seemed as good a reason as any. Lawrence would know what to do. He always knew.
***
“What’s wrong, Amaia?” Lawrence stood behind Amaia where she sat perched in front of her bedroom window. As soon as she’d entered their home, he’d started with the questions.
“Nothing.” All she wanted was to stare at Notre Dame in peace. If she sat there long enough in her natural state, would her body harden like one of the gargoyles she knew so well? The cathedral stood like a shadow of its former self, looking much the way Amaia felt. The revolutionaries had desecrated it, beheading statues and transforming the beautiful work of art into little more than a warehouse. Stupid humans, destroying one of the few things their species had to be proud of. At least they had spared the rose.
“Don’t tell me that, child. I know you better than you think. Something disturbs you. I might be able to help.”
“You can’t help, Lawrence.” She wanted to tell him her secret. Perhaps it was time. He had always loved her, cared for her. She was so tired of being alone in the world.
“You won’t know that unless you tell me. It’s him, isn’t it? What is it? Has he been born again?”