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“Send them away, Roman,” Agnarr says, and the vampires funnel out of the morgue without even waiting for a command.The large man from before lingers, and I assume he must have been close to Ketill. Finally, Roman shouts at him to leave, and the vampire listens. Roman’s coughing and wiping tears from beneath his eyes, struggling to keep down what he just ingested.

Agnarr approaches me, slow and cautious, like I’m a wild animal. Perhaps I’ve become one. After all this, I think I reserve the right to have my guard up. Before I was even born, I was meant to be used, created to topple an abusive regime. Ever since, I’ve been hunted because of what I am—something that Ketill, in his pursuit of power, bastardized and twisted.

With nothing left to fear, I expect a yawning emptiness to form between my lungs, a black hole, ready to twist me inside out. All of my enemies, known and unknown, are dead. Most of my family, too. Nearly everyone who has cared for me has died for this moment.

What if it swallows me whole?

What if there’s a cavern inside me, forced open by all that I’ve lost, and I sway on the edge, tempted to throw myself in?

Roman moves to stand beside me, his hulking presence feeling like a safety net. He’d know, especially now, that trying to get me to back away from the ledge is futile. But he’s already spread himself thin for me before, ready to catch me when I needed it.

Perhaps in losing everything, I’ve also gained it.

Agnarr speaks, oblivious to my mental spiral, but his words don’t register.

“What?”

Roman clears his throat, half-choking on a cough as he tries to stand between us.

“I said I hope to give you my heart one day soon—when you are ready. I am done with this life, and I want you to rule over the remaining vampires beside your mate. Two kingdoms combined.”

I’m certain I didn’t hear him right. My heart pounds, a staccato drum racing to a crescendo, and my vision narrows.All I can do is stare at Roman. He coughs, rubbing a hand over his mouth, before stepping toward me. His hand settles on my waist as his eyes meet mine. I’ve never seen him uncertain, and yet he rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze.

I can’t look away.

From the man I’ve hated and sought to destroy. From the man who I’ve loved since before I knew him. The man I simply cannot live without.

My mate.

“I don’t remember that part of the story,” I say, soft and quiet. There’s a faint piano playing in my lungs, gentle fingertips expertly finding the lingering melody after striking major chords within me. Warm, brown eyes lift to meet mine, and he looks like Roman once again. Serious, his brow lifts in challenge.

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. You’re mine, mate or not. Aren’t you?”

I nod, unable to speak, and after a moment, when I’m certain he’s not going to be sick, I launch myself into his arms.

“Yours,” I say. “Mate or not.”

And when I kiss him in a bloody morgue, surrounded by gore and death and remnants of vengeance, I think it suits us just fine. Like a perennial emerging from a flowerbed choked by thorns, my heart blooms.

EPILOGUE

TWO MONTHS LATER

ROMAN

“You look fine,”Nico says from where he sits on Margot’s sofa, not even bothering to look up from the game on his phone. He just got back from his latest failed attempt to find Kayla and rescue her from the demons who took her. He’s pissed off and tired, and I don’t even know why he’s here. I told him not to come.

“Are you sure about that tie?” Margot asks as she emerges from her bedroom, dressed in a form-fitting, wine-red dress. It cinches at the sides and reveals a lot of thigh, and I don’t know if it’s appropriate for this. She tosses a lightweight cardigan on her arm before pulling her phone from a tiny purse that doesn’t have a strap. Which I find strange and altogether useless. “We’re going to be late.”

“Gwyn hasn’t even left,” I argue, but Nico laughs and I’ve lost before I’ve even begun.

“That girl will be late to her own funeral,” Nico says, sounding like Father Time himself.

“It will take us less than five minutes to get down there. I’m not worried,” I say, recalling the last time I was in the grandballroom a dozen stories below. I doubt this affair will be any less bloody. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I pop a breath mint into my mouth anyway.

It’s not that I’ve stopped smoking entirely, but the mints make me think of Remy. Like most days, I wish he was here. It hurts a little worse on special days though. And this one is pretty fucking special. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps he waited for me to confess my love for Gwyn before he took his own life. Like he needed to know I’d be alright because I’d have her.

“Do you have your speech memorized?” Nico asks.