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His expression narrowed and darkened.

“Kambyses is old and powerful,” she went on. “What better way to influence him and the world of night than by being with him all the time? Maybe we can show him a better way?”

“He is not merely old.” The words emerged in a croak. “He is the oldest of them all. The so-called hunters I sent to end him have told me so. His destruction will end us all. Including you. If you join us.”

“The oldest?”

Brief nod.

“And you…you sent the Strikers to kill him? Even though that would destroy you and…every other vampire out there?”

“The price for your survival.”

She tried to comprehend such an inconceivable sacrifice full of desperate brutality—and desperate love. “I’m glad you failed,” she said, dazed, only her lips moving. “I’m glad you’re still here. I’m glad I have this choice to join you rather than mourn you for a lifetime.”

“Serge has said that those who want to be turned never survive long. What they expect never matches reality.”

“Has he?” She almost smiled. “I’ve lived in your head for months. And your—make that our—esteemed sire has shared plenty of his darkness with me. If I don’t know what I’m in for by now, I never will.” Hell. She was in for hell. But as long as Dominique was there with her, she could deal. “You’ve taken nothing else Serge says seriously. Why this now?”

His eyes widened. Her words had found their mark. “You never cease to amaze me,” he said. “I will never cease loving you.”

“Even if I’m a monster?”

“Never in my eyes.”

Cassidy rallied a smile. “So. Are we going to do this?”

Anguish filled his gold-flecked eyes. Human eyes, not a trace of vampire in them. The beginnings of a beard shadowed the hollowed cheeks, and an unruly shock of hair fell across his forehead. He had never looked so human, or so vulnerable.

She almost didn’t hear him. And then she wished she hadn’t.

“I cannot.”

30

One Last Day

It wouldn’t take much. Just a little, not even quite a sip, and the beast would triumph, taking her from the world of day. Within the hour, the darkness would rise from the cobalt depths of her eyes and turn her into a raging, bloodthirsty beast that would not recognize him for many nights to come. And when she resurfaced, the woman he knew and loved and needed above all else would be irrevocably altered.

All of this would happen—if Dominique gave her his blood.

He couldn’t.

She looked at him for a long time, surprised, exhausted. Disappointed. Finally she said, “You would prefer I die?”

He shook his head. There had to be another way. There had to be. But what? His mind careened wildly between the only three options before him.

Turn her.

Let her die.

End her misery.

He stroked her brow, felt her fever burn against his palm. She still fought, her mind still clear. She would survive another day, if not the next night. That would have to be enough.

“I will not let you die, mon cœur, but will you live one more day as a mortal for us both? Live it knowing that it will be your last?”

“If you think I can make it that long, you’ve got more faith in me than I do right now.”