The Van Alen Legacy

“Now go. Before I change my mind. But you know I’m right. I’m always right, Schuyler.” He never called her Schuyler, only when he was serious. Or angry. Or maybe a little of both. This couldn’t be easy for him. It wasn’t easy for her to listen to.

“But what about you?” she asked. “I marked you. . . .” The Sacred Kiss would mean he would pine for her forever. She couldn’t let him live the rest of his life that way.

“I’ll be all right. You’ll see. I don’t believe in fatalism. And you’ll call me, won’t you? Once in a while? I can still help you . . . from over here. I think I can, anyway. But I know this is what was meant to happen. I can feel it . . . the rightness of it . . . and, like I said, I’m never wrong.” Oliver shoved the tickets into Jack’s hands.

Schuyler pulled Oliver close and hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. Thank you for loving me enough to let me go.

“You’re welcome,” Oliver said. He smiled, and she knew she had heard what she’d left unsaid. The connection between them—vampire and Conduit—sparking at last.

“Good-bye, Ollie,” Schuyler whispered.

“Take care of her,” Oliver said, shaking Jack’s hand. “For me.”

Jack nodded and shook Oliver’s hand vigorously. “Always.”

Oliver saluted them both, then he walked quickly away, jumping into the nearest cab he could find. Schuyler watched him go, finding that her heart ached in the deepest way . . . but it did not break. They would be friends. They would always remain friends. She loved him still.

Next to her, Jack put out his hand.

Schuyler grasped it tightly. She would never let go. Not in this lifetime. She knew what this meant. They were going to risk it. They were going to go against the bond, the Code, everything that stood in their way, so that they could be together. They would risk everything for their love. Just like her mother. Just like Allegra.

No one would choose your life, she had told her mother.

She had been wrong.

Together, hand in hand, the two of them walked into the terminal.





EPILOGUE

Saint-Tropez


Isabelle of Orleans, at home, looked just as intimidating as she had at the party. The countess received them at her villa in Saint-Tropez, on the sun-splashed terrace that looked over the bright blue Mediterranean. It was their first stop on the way to Florence, and it had been Jack’s idea to try to achieve what Schuyler had failed to secure months before.

“So, you are refugees from Michael’s tribe,” Isabelle said, her voice low and gravelly. “What makes you think I shall give you what you ask? Why should the European Coven even care about two wayward children?”

“Your Grace, we understand your skepticism . . . but we are desperate. Without the protection of the vampires, we will not be able to carry out Lawrence Van Alen’s great work,” Jack said.

The countess raised her eyebrows. “So you are here in Europe to try to fulfill his legacy?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Schuyler nodded.

“Then why did you not mention it sooner?” the countess demanded, causing her two lap dogs to yelp.

Jack and Schuyler exchanged a glance. “Our apologies,” Jack said.

“I shall grant you access to the European Coven, and give you my blessing. While you are within our borders, the New York Coven will be unable to touch you.”

“Thank you, Countess. You don’t know how much this means to us,” Schuyler said, relief and gratitude evident in her voice.

The countess ruminated. “This war has taken the life of my most trusted friend.”

Schuyler nodded. She had heard the body of the real Baron de Coubertin had been found floating in the Seine, a few weeks after the attack. “We are so sorry to hear that,” she said. She knew what it meant to lose a Conduit.

The countess shrugged sadly. “You know, I was always a friend to Lawrence and Cordelia. It was Charles I could never stand,” the countess sighed. “I know he had to punish my brother, but I thought the punishment was unnecessarily draconian. Surely there must have been a way to live in peace together without resorting to such stringent measures. Well. There’s not much we can do about that now, is there?”

“Your brother, Your Grace?” Jack asked.

“Why, Valerius, have you forgotten me so soon?” The countess smiled, looking suddenly coy and flirtatious. “Oh, how much we three sisters fought over you when you came of age! Handsome Valerius! But of course Agrippina won you, as always. Well, perhaps not anymore.” She winked and looked at Schuyler. “You’re a lucky girl, my dear.”

“I’m sorry?” Jack asked.

“Back in Rome, you knew me as Drusilla,” the countess told them as she got up from her chair. “Come, children. I believe lunch is being served. And my chef makes an excellent tomato salad. You will join me, won’t you?”





Acknowledgments