“We will find a way to fix it this time,” he whispers against my ear. His voice is so full of tenderness. It bears the weight of a billion promises. “Times are changing. There are whisperings. We will end the curse this time. I swear it to you, my love. I will fix what I did.”
“How, Cyrus?” I demand as I yank away from the dresser, out of his grasp. “Over and over you say this, making me promises. And I always believe them. And over and over, I starve. I wither. Over and over, I die a slow death while watching you cry and make more promises. You have had all this time, Cyrus, and still I die. Do not make me promises you cannot keep. Even you are not stronger than the universe who saw fit to punish you.”
We stand across the room from one another, staring, breathing hard.
Shock and hurt are written all over his face.
Logan is satisfied, pleased that I’ve put this man in his place, told it to him as was true. But she also can’t stand the sadness that’s growing in his eyes. She wants to wrap her arms around him and tell him that it’s all right.
Sevan is just so tired. So cracked and time worn. As much as she wants to smile and wrap her arms around her husband, she’s just so tired.
“I…” Cyrus begins to say, but his hands fall to his side. He doesn’t have the words.
“You don’t know what it’s like, to have to Resurrect. The pain you experience in those four days of lying there, dead. The horror of making your first kill,” I extend my hand to the dead woman lying on the floor. “The confusion of having to adjust to a new state of being. Over and over and over again, Cyrus. I have died eight deaths. And had to go through the pain of opening my eyes again to a new life eight times.”
Cyrus’ brows furrow, his expression unsure. “Seven.”
My brows furrow, as well. “What?”
He takes one step forward. “Seven. You have died seven deaths. And now Resurrected seven times.”
I search, thinking back through the past. Looking through each life.
But even though I know they are there, I can’t see through all the fog in my brain.
I may have remembered who I was immediately, but the details of my past lives have not come into focus yet.
I shake my head as tears once more come to my eyes. “Eight,” I say again, feeling sure of it.
Cyrus walks forward and reaches out to take my hand. He raises it to his lips, pressing them to my knuckles. “I cannot change the past, and you’re right. I cannot make promises about the future. But, Sev…” He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath. “Logan. I can only be a man in this moment. A man who is overjoyed, overcome with gratitude that after all this time, we are together again.”
I crack.
Splinter.
It’s all I wanted the past few weeks. To be held by Cyrus. To have him whisper in my ear. To have his hands on me. To know what it feels like to have his lips on mine.
But in this moment, I am consumed by pain.
I pull my hand out of his. I take another step back, away from him.
“I need to be alone,” I say quietly.
He looks at me, confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Logan…”
“Damn it, Cyrus!” I bellow. “I need a few moments to get it together!”
They were Logan’s words, and Sevan’s boldness.
Eyes wide, he takes one step back. He hesitates for four long seconds. But finally, he steps to the side. Never looking away from me, he steps around me, opens the door, and after another moment of hesitation, closes it behind him.
I stand there, breathing hard. The moment Cyrus is out of sight, the tears come. But they’re quiet tears. I don’t cry, don’t sob, just let them roll furiously down my face.
I look around the room. It’s the same room I’ve lived in for the past month. Those are my things on the desk. My shoes lined up behind the door. Those are my clothes hanging in the closet.
I walk to the bathroom and slowly step in front of the mirror.
Dark brown hair hangs most of the way down my back. A strong jawline and a balanced nose make my face appealing. Green-yellowish eyes mark them as unique.
My hands rise up to my face, touching it.
It’s the face I’ve had for my entire life, but a face that doesn’t even look familiar.
No more is my hair naturally curly. No more are my eyes dark. No more is there a scar on my left cheek. No longer am I as tall as the man who stands just on the other side of my bedroom door.
I’ve worn nine different faces over two millennia.
Which is the real one?
Who the hell am I?
Logan Pierce? Or Sevan?
Chapter 2
I Resurrected around six in the evening.
I take a shower at seven.
At eight I dare go to the blackout curtains that cover my bedroom window and peek outside. Only to slam them shut. It’s only twilight, the sun has long since sunk below the horizon. But even that minimal light is enough to make my eyes burn with incredible pain.
At nine, I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Thousands of thoughts are racing through my head. One event after another that has happened, is happening, or will need to happen in the very near future.
I died four days ago because I leapt in front of a stake meant for Cyrus. A spy infiltrated this house, intent on killing Cyrus. Just days before that, they ransacked the house. They looked for evidence that the King was indeed here in Greendale, Colorado.
Cyrus has had thousands of enemies over the centuries. As I think back, I know there have been countless attempts on his life. None of them successful.
I look toward the door, to where the hall is. To where Cyrus killed the man who ended my life.
Maybe this individual acted alone. Maybe not. Maybe this isn’t over.
I look back up at the ceiling. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to jump back into this life, these deadly games.
So I turn to something more familiar.
Rath.
I search, trying to find that name in the past. To recall any previously forgotten knowledge about him, but there isn’t anything. Nothing at all.
But Logan knows exactly where he is. I know what needs to happen now. He was to remain in the House of Valdez’ custody until I died.
It’s time for his release.
I let my mind wander, trailing from one thought to the next.
The betrayal I felt as Rath told me the truth about why he came into my life. The coldness of his cell. The strength of Edmond Valdez and the words he spoke to me. The hints at my birth mother.
I think of the gladiator game Cyrus made them play as punishment.
Punishment for the show they created for him.
Punishment for thinking Sevan…my story, would serve as entertainment.
The look in Cyrus’ eyes fills my vision. The brokenness I witnessed in his eyes. The way his hands fisted. The pain of centuries in his gaze. The sob that ripped from his throat when I left him to grieve.
I raise my hands to my chest, holding in the pain I felt for him then.
I may be two people right now, trying to figure out how to be one.
But in this moment, I’m Logan Pierce.
I’m that woman who read his pain. The one who dared speak out against a House of immortal vampires to end the tale that gave the man I love so much pain.
A breath of agony sucks into my chest suddenly. I bite my lower lip to hold in the cry of anguish and pain and longing.
I sit up in the bed and look over at the clock.
11:21.
Please, Logan, Cyrus begged me as he caressed my arm, my body. Don’t make me wait.
Guilty? I had asked him.
The guilt of feeling as if I am betraying my wife, he had whispered to me as I lay there dying. Because when I look at you, Logan…
My hand pulls the door to my bedroom open.
It never ceases to amaze me, every time I Resurrect, just how truly incredible being a vampire is. The absolute sense of balance. The feeling of strength and power that flows through my veins. The perfect clarity of vision. And the crystal clear hearing.
Cyrus is in his bedroom.
I hesitate with my hand on his doorknob for just a moment. I’m a shaking, trembling mess. It’s incredible that emotions can even outweigh my vampiric abilities. Can bring me to my knees.
In this moment, I let go of the past.
In this moment, I close off Sevan. And I’m just Logan Pierce.
I twist the doorknob and push the door open.