“Before you were manipulated into killing me? Yes. So it lived up to your expectations?”
Amaia nodded as she skipped ahead of him then turned to face him, still holding his hand as she walked backward. “You’ll love it. Notre Dame is gorgeous. Do you think you could remember your French from when you lived in Calais?”
“How’d you know I lived in Calais?” Michael’s brow furrowed.
“I was there the day you were born. It was the first time I saw you as a child.”
“I had no idea. Well, yes, I think I can recall enough French to get by if it hasn’t changed too much, and I’m sure I’ll become fluent again with a little practice.”
“Good. Then we can try it for a time, see if you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. I want you to show me everything you love about it.”
“It will take us about two days to get there, less if you’ll let me carry you on my back.”
“I hate doing that. It’s not—” Michael clasped his chest with his right hand. “Ugh.”
“No!” She had been trying. She had almost convinced herself it wouldn’t happen. When his energy spiked, she calmed it, soothing the frantic jumps. It did nothing. She had been a fool to hope it would work. “Michael, no!”
Michael fell to his knees, and Amaia followed him, sitting behind him, easing him down into her lap.
“Amaia, I love you.”
“Don’t. You can tell me later. Please, don’t leave me, Michael.” She had meant to be strong. She had meant to make this easier on him. Intentions meant nothing now. “I need you.”
“I’ll see you later. We have a date, remember?”
Even though his words were hopeful, the sadness in his eyes wrenched Amaia’s insides. He deserved better. “Yes, I remember. Don’t worry. I won’t forget.”
“Good.”
And then he was gone. Just like that, life left him. Amaia couldn’t contain it anymore. She sobbed, tearless, rocking back and forth, clutching his body to her. She hoped a god waited for him.
Chapter 48
Baden, March 1823
Slouching away from the fresh grave with the little cross made out of sticks, Amaia didn’t know what to do with the next almost twenty-one years.
Without a plan in mind, she made her way back to their current boardinghouse. Their room held few personal belongings. They preferred to travel light. Amaia didn’t want to take anything of Michael’s. It wouldn’t make it any easier. She decided to leave it all except her purse and left. She couldn’t stay where they had just been laughing and talking earlier in the day.
It was dusk when she stepped onto the street. She didn’t know where she headed, only that it was away. Hunger pains pierced her stomach. Now that Michael wasn’t around, she was free to drink blood again. Her mouth watered at the thought. It had been so long since she had felt the hot, thick, tanginess slide down her throat. It would warm her, bring her comfort. Even before she had sworn off blood completely, she hadn’t been able to enjoy a kill. She had gone soft in deference to Michael’s squeamishness.
A part of Amaia that she hadn’t entertained in years was eager to come forward. Already, she felt the fear of her potential victim excite her. It had been so very long. Anyone would do. There was no need to be picky. The first human she came across who was alone and looked like he wouldn’t be missed much would be hers for the taking.
She scanned the street, but all she saw was a pair of gray eyes. Since she had been with Michael in the flesh, the haunting had ceased. The return of his eyes was not welcome. She knew she could never kill again if she would have to see those eyes. Michael would be disappointed in her. He never needed to find out.
But she would know. She supposed if killing was out, then so too was feeding. In one moment, she realized that she would never again taste human blood on her lips if Michael accepted her. She couldn’t. Her heart was Michael’s. She would honor him.
Amaia continued feeding off the energy of the people around her. Knowing she did it for noble, altruistic reasons did nothing to make it any more satisfying. Maybe in Michael’s next life, if they were together, she would insist he give up all meat and subsist on just vegetables. She had a feeling she would develop a deep moral conviction against the killing of animals for food.
***