Page 74 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Epilogue

A box arrived from Honey. He’d been sourcing pieces for me here and there, and about once a quarter, he’d package everything up—the items I’d already paid for—and ship them to wherever I was staying.

Sometimes, when I was in Edinburgh, I’d meet up with him in person.

But lately, we’d been spending more time at the cottage on Arran, so when the mail truck pulled into the drive and the postman brought a box to the door, I had a good feeling it was from Honey.

This time, he’d found something exceptional—a loose ruby, unmounted, discovered at an estate sale.

The seller’s daughter said it had been in their family for generations, but no one had ever set it into jewelry.

I was eager to see it in person. The pictures looked promising, but with stones, nothing mattered but how they looked in natural light.

The cut appeared clean, and while the accompanying paperwork was dated—a questionable forty-year-old appraisal from an independent jeweler—it suggested the stone had been valuable even then.

I’d gotten it for a steal. I suspected it might have been heat-treated, but for the price I paid, I didn’t mind.

I planned to send it out for a proper appraisal before setting it anyway.

I g rabbed a kitchen knife and sliced through the tape, then peeled back layers of bubble wrap tucked inside a rigid plastic case.

A few 14 karat charms and some scrap chains were nestled on top—items I’d likely melt down—but I was only interested in the ruby.

Honey had packed the stone in its own plastic case, and even through the clear lid, I could tell.

It was stunning.

The color was intense—what gem dealers call pigeon’s blood —a deep, vivid red with the faintest hint of blue.

That slight bluish undertone, rare and unmistakable, only occurred when the stone's chemical makeup contained chromium.

It glowed even in the dim light of the kitchen, like it was lit from within.

But the panic hit me before I even lifted the lid.

It was immediate—visceral. A crushing sensation, like being smothered under something vast and unseen.

The feeling radiated from the box in waves: something sinister , dark and ancient, pulsing beneath layers of time.

But threaded through that dread was something else—something equally overwhelming.

Love. Fierce, consuming love.

It twisted through the darkness, the emotions coiling around each other in an endless, looping figure eight—one born where the other faded, bound together in something both eternal and impossible to escape.

I could nearly see them: evil—bleak, black and cold as night, and love—radiant and red, burning like an ember in the dark.

Two forces, equally fierce, equally real.

I had never felt anything like it before. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But as always, my gift offered no such choice. My clairvoyance wasn’t something I could switch off. It didn’t ask permission. I didn’t wield it.

It wielded me.

My breath stuttered. My hands shook. Still, I forced myself to lift the lid. Inside, the ruby gleamed like a living thing. And I knew— knew —this was the most powerful object I had ever touched.

I reached out to touch it.

Bracing myself against the counter with one hand, I pressed the pad of my finger to the crown of the stone with the other.

And held on for dear life.