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Gwyn sits silently beside me, looking out the window, while Margot and Nico chatter in the backseat. They’re talking about some reality television competition, arguing about who they think should win, as if we aren’t on the way to put an end to one of the most gut-wrenching chapters of my life. As if Margot didn’t so nonchalantly mention the impending death sentence which hangs over Gwyn’s head, and in turn, mine.

I won’t let her die, no matter the cost. Be it the possessiveness of the Ascension or the loyalty I feel after swearing to her, I can’t let anything bad happen to her. The only reason I haven’t sent her away with Margot already is because of the lingering effects of her Ascension. At least that’s what I tell myself. I’m relatively certain she’d be alright if I separated us now, but since Margot has eyes on my father in Iceland, I prolong the inevitable for as long as I can. I try to convince myself that it’s because of the mind-blowing sex, but I know there’s more to it than that.

Iloathethat there’s more to it than that.

When I think about how I almost let things slip out last night, nearly told her what she makes me feel, my stomach twists into knots. Even worse, what we did at Last Drop feels like a lot more than sex. The fact I wonder if she views it the same as I do is fucking worrisome at best. What am I goddamn thinking? She might not have been the one to kill my brother, but she’s certainly why he was in Virginia. She’s the reason Charlie and the others went after him.

What would Remy think of me?

“Can you guys please be quiet?” Gwyn asks, quiet enough Margot and Nico don’t hear her.

“Hey, idiots,shut up.”

Gwyn’s tight-lipped smile over my command shows how nervous she is. One of her legs rests on the other, burgundy pants stretched over her thigh, and her foot taps a rhythm on the floor. Arms graced by thin black lace cross over her chest, and she chews on a fingernail. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was headed to the first day of a new job, the way her hair is slicked into a high ponytail. She’s that special kind of put-together I’ve only witnessed when she’s hungover, doing her best to fake it through the day.

Perhaps sheishungover. I have a bit of a headache thanks to the demon blood, but I thought she drank enough untainted blood to make up for it.

Margot kicks my seat, and I ignore it. Silence feels more fitting. After this, there will be no reason for Gwyn’s presence, no need to hold her hostage. I will have done untold damage to her, and the thought of abandoning her makes me feel ill. The thought of sending her off with Margot to protect her makes me hate that I ever involved her. But it’s not as if I can keep her.

It was far easier when I planned to kill her at the end. Hell, it was even easier when I planned to hide her until she was an old lady and release her when my father Slumbered. Now that she’s Ascended and after what I did last night, there’s no denying things have shifted. Part of me wishes I never knew she existed. If I hadn’t been selfish, desperate for closure, desperate for justice, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. If I had kept my distance, I wouldn’t be fighting my instincts. There would be no qualms about doing what my father has asked. There would be no fantasies of a future with her. There would be no almost-admissions to a woman who can never be anything to me.

Her heart is better off in a box than in my hands.

Gwyn has been quiet today, and I wonder if she’s realizing the gravity of this. Of what I’ve done to her. I knew she would hate me for this. Knew that, though she has changed me so fucking thoroughly, there will never be room for us in each other’s lives. And that’s for the best. That’s what I want—what I need—to respect my brother, to make my mother proud, and to protect my coven’s future.

There’s no room for a hunter, even if she is now so much more.

Sending her away saves her. The coven can’t know about her. They can’t know she has so much more control than a fledgeling ought to, rivaling that of mine and Remy’s own experience. They can’t know what I’ve done. And the thought of another coven finding out? Ketill’s coven out west is well-known for its ferocity.

“Margot, when we get back, I want you to show Gwyn those places you’ve picked out. And then we’ll need to draw some blood. All we can hope is Bjorn won’t think too much of the shifted scent.”

My friend nods in the rearview, but it’s Gwyn’s eyes burning a hole into the side of my head.

“Places? What do you mean?” She shifts in her seat, turning to face me.

“Margot is taking you out of the country until Bjorn Slumbers.”

“When?” She’s snappy, and I regret bringing this up in the car. I should’ve waited until we lined everything up, and not told her shit until I put her on a flight.

“I’ll get you on a plane as soon as the property purchase goes through. Sooner. I’m paying cash, so we can buy plane—”

“And my family? Sasha? Hale?”

“They can’t know you’re alive. Bjorn knows who they are, so it puts them at risk.”

“And you’re just shipping me off with Margot? Intohiding?”

“Yes.” She’s quiet, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her pushing her tongue against her cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere. My family thinks I’m dead and if you send me off into hiding, I might as well be. I’m not doing it; I refuse.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Am I still your prisoner?” The question knocks me the fuck back, and I’m stunned into silence. I’ve brought her over the threshold of vampirism with my guidance and my body, and I know I’ve crossed so many lines with her. What we’ve done, how I feel? It frightens me. And yet she thinks she might still be my prisoner? “Is that—Is that all this is?”

I don’t answer, dismissing the warm feeling her words give me. There’s no sense in it. Instead, I focus on what I need to happen. Perhaps there is some salvaging of the original arrangement that can be done. Perhaps I can force her to do my bidding without letting her know just how fucked I am when it comes to her. Just because I can’t compel her anymore doesn’t mean she isn’t my captive. There’s no sense in her finding out how little I want to send her away, how much I’ve come to count on her humanity, how her faith in me has made me consider things I once thought impossible.

“You’re still my prisoner, Gwyn. For eternity now.” All I see is her ponytail swishing as she looks out the window once more. She doesn’t argue with me, tapping her foot on the floor instead. But when her hand reaches up, I realize she’s wiping her nose. She isn’t breathing, probably trying to hide a sniffle. And it destroys me. I don’t care that Margot and Nico are in the backseat when I scramble to fix it. “Listen, I—”