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Isabel had tended to Tom with such care and attention for the last four nights, Adam had wondered if there was more to it than her guilt over the loss of his friend. But so many things had gone wrong – he couldn’t summon the energy to think about it. He was pleased in a detached way that at least he hadn’t been left alone to deal with Tom’s extensive injuries.

Back at the farm, Adam had regained consciousness at the sound of Émilie’s scream. Though every fibre of his being had protested the movement, he’d managed to right himself in time to witness the graceful arc of Erin’s figure as she fell through the air. He’d known, then. No one could come back from that. Not even one with the strength of a hunter.

He’d watched helplessly as Nick bounded past Émilie, who paused in the doorway just long enough to survey her handiwork. That terrible smile of hers – nothing like Isabel’s – would haunt him. She’d vanished into the rain the moment Nick’s agonised roar had ripped through the barn.

Adam had dragged himself closer as the vampire cradled the hunter’s limp form in his arms, stroking back her vivid auburnhair with trembling hands. Her soft grey eyes were still open and staring at the sky, yet she no longer saw anything at all, that much was immediately clear. Adam had never seen Nick in such a ruin in all their years – without tears, shattered, his body shaking over Erin’s lifeless form.

Half in a daze, Adam had made his way across to Izzie without noticing Tom in the dimness. Though he hated to do it, he’d cut his wrist to feed her with his own blood. She’d taken longer than expected to respond to the sound of his voice, but he found himself lost as to what else to do. The situation had been dire, and he could not deal with Nick without her help. Weak as she was, she knew how to proceed, removing and discarding the head from Alistair’s corpse before rousing Nick to stand.

They’d left the barn like a supernatural funeral procession: Izzie carrying Tom over her shoulder and Nick holding Erin out before him – a plea to the ancient gods. Someone had closed her eyes, and despite her battered form, she could have been sleeping. Adam drove them home in the mangled car. There was nothing else to be done.

The whistle of the kettle on the stove drew Adam from his trance. Out of habit, he’d set out two mugs. She had been so tiny in death.

Nick had never left her side. After they’d got back to the manor, he’d carried her carefully to his bedroom, and laid her out on his enormous bed. At first, he’d left the door ajar, and Adam observed as the vampire cleaned the blood from her face and body, re-dressing her in fresh clothes borrowed from Izzie’swardrobe – though Izzie was significantly taller – brushing her hair until it lay shining about her face like a halo of fire. She lay there, pale and doll-like against the ivory sheets.

Adam had forced himself to watch until his own pain drove him to seek relief, unable to accept the truth of what he saw. He’d sat in the music room, alone with a glass in hand for most of the night, working his way through a bottle of Golden Dram. The photograph of him and Erin in Whitby lay on the table beside the bottle, her bruised face beaming up at him. When he’d finished the whisky, he’d hurled the crystal glass at the wall, its shattered pieces scattering across their images. It did nothing to help.

That had been four days ago, and still, Nicholas stood, his clothing torn and burned, watching over her.

???

Isabel was reluctant to leave Tom’s room. In the absence of suitable words for Nicholas, she’d chosen to take care of thevânator’s friend instead. She remembered too well the agony of the loss Nick would suffer, but she also knew nothing she could say would make any difference. Besides, he was so far gone he wouldn’t listen to a word she said. She wasn’t sure he could even hear her.

Leaving her bedroom, where Tom still lay sobbing, she closed the door behind her and steeled herself to try again with Nick. Eventually, someone had to do something.

The door to his room was closed. Isabel assumed Adam must have closed it to offer him some small privacy, sinceNicholas himself hadn’t moved an inch in days. She pushed it open and crept inside. Erin lay in repose, her face surprisingly peaceful in the dim light of the guttering candles by the bed.

“Nick?” He didn’t move.

Closing the door behind her and tugging at the uncomfortable neck of her jumper, she went to stand beside him. Izzie Misery was not well known for her empathy – yet in this, she understood she shouldn’t force anything from him. Still – she had to.

“Nicholas. Her family must be informed. Her parents have a right to know their daughter’s fate,” she said eventually.

Nicholas shifted his footing and looked at her. The blistered, shiny skin of his face hadn’t healed as much as she’d hoped it would have – she could tell he hadn’t fed since they’d returned to the manor. Expressionless, he turned back to the red-haired girl.

“You cannot keep her here indefinitely. Her body will not… remain. You know this,” Isabel continued.

Nicholas stayed silent, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I should have known.”

Isabel took a step closer, placing a hand on his forearm gently. “What do you mean?”

“The woman. The witch. Alistair’s mother.” He didn’t seem to have heard her. “She promised I would find the red-haired lassie; that her son would lead me to her.”

“Erin,” Isabel murmured.

“I didnae think I’d find her, after… but he was living all along. He brought me here to her. Now he’s gone, and she’s—” hebroke off.

Minutes passed in silence.

“Nick—”

“D’you hear her?” he whispered.

Isabel grimaced. She’d thought it might be something like this, keeping him here. Waiting for her. But she obliged, regardless, to answer honestly. Opening her senses, she consented to listen. Neither of them breathed. There was no sound in the room.

“No,” she said.