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There’s a slight pause on the other end of the line, and I brace myself for more disappointment. It wouldn’t even surprise me at this point if she told me the covers are crap, I’m worthless as an artist, and she’s going with someone else.

Only that disappointment never comes.

“Well, Kenna, I’ve got wonderful news.”

38

Blair

A week after my fallout with Kenna, I’m back at Ari’s lakehouse.

I’m by myself this time, needing the peace and the solitude, the opportunity for some time to be truly alone. What it is about this place that feels right, I’m not certain, but bless Ari and her generosity, because it felt like the place I needed to be.

Perhaps because it’s the first place I could truly speak of Lizzy since the day I lost her, though I can recognize that had more to do with the person who was listening than with the words themselves.

But here, now, even on my own this time, the calm and serenity of this place makes it all too easy to unlock those memories again.

It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve let myself sit with her ghost like this.

I’ve been running from her, from everything that happened and all my guilt and shame about my part in it. In the way I refused to speak her name or welcome memories of her, in the way I refused to let anyone new into my heart, in the way I’ve chosen to live and what I’ve chosen to live for.

Some parts of it I’ll never regret—establishing Morgan-Blair with Elias, advocating for paranormals as long as I have, helping to build the Bureau into what it is today. But other parts? The single-minded dedication to working as hard and as long as I could, so there was no time for the memories. The lonesome years and refusal to let myself acknowledge and honor everything I lost. Those are harder to face.

The longer I sit, the clearer the memories become. Things I haven’t let myself think about in centuries come flooding back.

The way Lizzy used to sing on the deck of the ship, the sea breeze billowing through her black hair. The way she would so clearly talk about our future, like it was already alive in her mind. Her effortless charm and the endless enthusiasm she had for life.

Like everything else, those memories are hazy now, and faded around the edges, but sinking into them no longer fills me with dread and regret. I’ve held her spectre at bay so long, hardly able to face it, that it catches me off guard how easily and gently it returns.

But… perhaps that isn’t quite accurate. Lizzy has felt closer this past month than she has in centuries. Ever since… ever since I met Kenna.

And truly, it’s no surprise that meeting my second mate resurrected memories of my first.

That’s who Lizzy will always be, my mate. As certainly as Kenna is. Whether or not we ever bonded, I know who she was to me, and though fate had other designs for us, that simple fact will never cease to be true.

Lizzy was my mate.

I loved her, and I lost her, and now somehow I finally have to figure out how to live a life without her. An actual life.

Late in the evening, when the stars have come out and the fireflies are winking slowly off and on along the lakeshore, I finally end my vigil feeling fragile and battered, but somehow also stronger and more ready to face whatever’s coming next.

“I’m sorry, Lizzy,” I say to the night air, to the watching cosmos, to whoever might be listening. “For everything.”

It’s only the beginning, barely a start. As I head inside and get ready to sleep in the bed I shared with Kenna the last time we were here, I pull my wallet from my back pocket and look again at the card tucked inside.

A grief counselor—a paranormal grief counselor, to be more specific—one who we’ve referred plenty of clients to through the Bureau’s support services. From what I’ve heard, he’s a basilisk who’s nearly as ancient as I am, and specializes in the type of trauma only creatures who’ve lived too-long lives can even begin to understand.

The thought of being seen like that, of spilling my innermost heart out to a virtual stranger, still feels like a step I’m not sure I’m ready to take. But as I lay down and stare at the empty space across from me, I know I owe it to my mate—to both of them—to try.

Another week passes, and another hard, necessary day arrives.

“What’s that?” Cleo asks, sitting down across from me and gesturing to the paper on my desk.

“My resignation.” Her mouth snaps open, but I hold my hand up. “My resignation, and my strong recommendation that you be named as the Bureau’s next Director.”

She’s absolutely silent for a few long moments, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Blair,” she finally manages to say. “You can’t… you’re quitting?”