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Then he turned toward the cave, the darkness, and the future.

While Jackson and Garrett monitored the makeshift graveyard and scattered the ashes after the sun processed the remains, Dominique spent the day in the underground palace. There, sheltered from the sun’s direct influence, most of the blood-drinkers stayed conscious for several hours past sunrise and spent that time swarming around him.

A few remained subdued, grieving for friends lost during the battle, but most were openly curious. Many practically buzzed with excitement. When he settled on an ordinary sofa rather than on the throne, they pulled other seats close until they surrounded him. They shared their tales of woe and spoke of their plans now that their lives were their own—in some cases, for the first time ever. They crawled out of the shells in which they had cowered. They showered their new lord with gratitude and love.

Dominique basked in every moment, feeding on their emotions and letting them vibrate back out into the web. Any second now, he was sure, he would pass out with the sheer, drunken euphoria of it all.

Eventually, he did pass out, because eventually, the sun’s power reached even here. But he was the last to lose consciousness, long after the others had fallen one by one into their oblivion, leaving him with the silence, his thoughts, and the unnerving sense of unimaginable quantities of rock suspended above him. Adilla had found this comforting and thought of the mountain as a shield against the larger world he could never subdue. Dominique found the sensation claustrophobic.

He distracted himself with thoughts of Cassidy. Earlier, he had connected his phone to the colony’s Wi-Fi and started a video chat with her. He only wanted to see her and make sure she was safe, but soon he had a steady stream of blood-drinkers hanging over his shoulder, introducing themselves to their queen. She welcomed them with a confident grace and humor that made his chest swell with pride and his heart overflow with love. Before another night passed, he would be one with her again, hold her in his arms again, love her again. The anticipation brought on a whole different kind of euphoria.

Night had barely settled when Dominique and his hundred-plus new followers emerged from the depths into the cool damp left by a rainy afternoon. They all carried bags of personal belongings, and most soon vanished into the darkness with varying degrees of excitement and anxiety. None intended to return here. The villagers had already been compelled to consider the cavern and its mine devoid of all interest. He made sure that in the days and weeks to come, they would seal the place up, erasing it from existence.

Six of the new converts, four men and two women, joined Dominique’s original group in the RV and made themselves as comfortable as was reasonable, given the cramped conditions. As the miles passed, the vehicle filled with lively discussions about centuries of art and politics and history, both personal and global. Mostly they spoke in English, but references from several other languages peppered the conversations. New experiences were shared, old ones recalled. Connections were made, friendships formed and renewed.

While Jackson manned the wheel, Garrett joined in the discussions, adding the “modern human” perspective whenever he thought appropriate, which was often. His broken bones had mended thanks to more blood, and his spirits soared. A pseudo-mania shone in his eyes, the defiant, burning life of one racing toward death.

Of their six guests, one man had joined them solely because of Lyle, whom he said reminded him of his own long-dead brother. Looking close to the same age, but separated by many decades of time, the two huddled in the back of the RV, quietly plotting their new life.

Four of the others were two couples who asked to travel with Dominique to Florida. From there, they planned to continue to their native South America, where they would operate as official emissaries of the Lord of Night.

Then there was Leonidas.

The quiet blood-drinker had attached himself to Jackson the moment he learned of his prominent role in the Striker family history. He sat in the copilot seat and shared what he knew of his long-ago friend Lars, the Striker ancestor whose murder had created the Striker’s sworn mission to annihilate the vampire species.

“We almost succeeded, too,” Jackson said. “If it hadn’t been for Dominique taking over and convincing us to give his way a try.”

Leonidas exchanged a long look with Dominique before speaking again. “In all that time, how many did you kill, Jackson?”

The human man shrugged. “We’re good at what we do.” His hands tightened around the wheel. “Very good.”

“I see.” Leonidas became a little paler. “Will you believe me when I say that I was not responsible for Lars’s death?”

Jackson continued to stare at the road. “It was Adilla, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Leonidas said, the raucous background chatter almost drowning him out. “It was when I learned that, in Adilla’s world, there is…was only room for Adilla.”

Jackson’s mouth twisted with irony. “And all these centuries later, that one kill came back to end him. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she?”

A slow smile spread across Leonidas’s handsome face as he regarded his friend’s descendant. “Yes. She certainly is.”

Oui, c’est vrais, Dominique agreed as he sifted through what he recalled of Adilla’s memories. It had taken half a millennium, but the raging jealousy and ego that destroyed so many had ultimately come full circle and destroyed Adilla himself.

The equivalent of a polite knock on his mental door made Dominique look up and meet Isao’s solemn gaze.Have you decided about Garrett Striker, my lord?

Dominique glanced at the human, who was engrossed in a rousing exchange about medieval weapons technology with one of their immortal guests. Only last month, this scene would have been unthinkable. Garrett would not have set foot among this company without a solid plan to kill them all. No such thoughts crossed his mind now. In fact, he looked as close to enjoying himself as Dominique had ever seen him.

And yet…their history…

Would make an intimate bond uncomfortable?Isao ventured.

Dominique looked back at Isao.There is only one I ever hope to make. Garrett is not that one.

Then, with your permission, I would like to be the one to sire him.When Dominique just stared at him, the samurai slowly drummed the fingers of one hand on the table and continued.Normally, I wouldn’t consider such a step for a mortal I have known so briefly, but Garrett is running out of time.

Dominique wondered if Garrett was begging every blood-drinker he met to turn him, but he saw in his thoughts—and in Isao’s—that this was not the case. Garrett didn’t know what Isao contemplated.In my memories of him, you have seen what he is capable of. Why do you want to turn someone like that?

Because I have also seen what drives him, my lord, and I have worked with him these past few nights. He is a soul shaped of true suffering, and possessed of a will to live that has caused him to transcend even himself.With a glance at Makoto, seated beside him, he added,We have discussed this—Makoto, Douglas, and I—and we all agree on admitting him to our family.