Page 14

Lorcan

I pulled an old steamer trunk out from the back of my closet, brushing off the dust that had settled over decades. It had been a very long time since I’d opened it. I wasn’t even sure if its contents would still be intact or if time had reduced the leather and paper to brittle fragments.

I retrieved the small key from the hook inside the closet door.

My fingers hesitated over the latch before I inserted the key and unlocked the trunk, the cool metal biting into my palm.

The hinges creaked as I forced them open to reveal what appeared to be a bookshelf—my history, or at least part of it, lay out before me.

The scent of aged paper wafted up, filling the surrounding air.

Journals. A glimpse into lives long gone, memories I had tried to bury.

How many of these journals had I left at Dún Na Farraige?

How many centuries of my past had I abandoned?

It was a minor miracle that the books were still intact.

My fingers traced the spines, searching for the year of Lady Isobel’s trial.

I removed the one I needed. I’d have to comb through its pages carefully, removing any pages that mentioned vampires, blood, or death to ensure there was nothing for Briar to learn.

However, I had always been cautious in my writing, afraid someone might stumble across my words and use them against my family.

A knot tightened in my chest as I imagined Briar’s innocent hands leafing through these pages, oblivious to the darkness within me.

For the past few days, every time I fell asleep, I pictured her brown eyes.

Her gaze lingered in my dreams, warm and unguarded like sunlight breaking through the cloudy Irish skies.

My hand paused mid-page turn, the edge of the fragile paper threatening to tear under my grip. I’d always thought I’d wanted this life. Now, as I skimmed these words, I was no longer sure, but there wasn’t a way out. I eased over another leaf, my eyes running over the ancient lines.

“I spent the evening at a salon with my friends. And of course, Ashdowne was waiting for me afterward.”

I shook my head, the weight of the memory pressing down on me.

What would happen if Briar ever learned the truth?

That I was the same man she read about. That I had tried—honestly tried—to talk Ashdowne out of his murderous rampage?

The thought of her reaction gnawed at me.

I forced myself to stop thinking about her, to push the image of her from my mind.

I knew it would be nearly impossible to drop the journal off and just walk away—to leave and not look back.

But I had to because she would never love me once she knew the truth.

And there was still Aiden to worry about. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to deny it. If Aiden knew I cared, she would become a target to bring me to his side. Could I protect her from him? Or from me?

I laughed bitterly. “You mean the same protection Lord Harrowmont received?” I muttered to myself.

I never relished killing and hadn’t understood why Lord Ashdowne did. Forget about his obsession with Lady Isobel; when I turned him, the bloodlust changed him, and not for the better.

But, if I had been mistaken about him, could I be mistaken about Briar? Could she want to be with me? Not a chance. Not once she knew the truth about the monster within me. I compelled a woman every day to share her blood so I could survive. How could Briar ever overlook that part of me?

Her face on the night we first met flashed in my mind.

She had lifted her glass slowly, her lips curving into a soft smile.

She gazed at me, warm and unguarded. It had been so long since anyone looked at me that way.

Of course, it probably didn’t help that I rarely left my house.

But it didn’t matter; her look had stirred something in me—a wanting I thought was long gone.

But it couldn’t be just anyone. It had to be her.

My breathing quickened at my utter lack of control.

My hand twitched on the cover. I wanted to slam the book closed, throw it across the room, and forget it all.

The sharp crack of my hand hitting the wooden side of the trunk echoed through the quiet room, breaking the stillness like an accusation.

Why couldn’t I have been born a normal human?

Why did I have to be this? A monster with a foot in each world.

What was the point of this continued existence?

Why couldn’t I have a way out? If I made my way to the mountains, I could find a cave, bury myself inside it, and allow myself to desiccate.

I would never have to think about her or worry about any of my family again.

Of course, I wouldn’t be dead, but I wouldn’t be alive either, and I wouldn’t feel.

The thought was oddly calming, almost settling—like it was something I needed to do.

I could figure it out once I returned from the garden center. For now, I had a promise to fulfill. I owed Briar as much information as I could provide, enough to help her understand what had happened to her ancestor, without outright telling her.

But what was I supposed to say? “My sireling killed Lady Isobel’s husband. She figured out it was him, so she staked him. And then I compelled everyone around her to ensure her safety, to see her off to Australia, where I ensured she was given a prime position in a household.”

I ran a hand through my hair, the strands catching on my fingers.

When I heard Lady Isobel had remarried, delight had filled me.

She had everything I wanted for her: a new family, a new life, far from the madness of London, far from my kind, who had so nearly destroyed her. But she didn’t have Harrowmont.

Honestly, as much as it had hurt me to lose Ashdowne, as much as it tore at me that he was gone, I was relieved someone had finally dealt with him.

He had caused too many people to disappear and taken too many lives.

I was done with it, done with him. Isobel had done me a favor, though she would never know it.

It had been the least I could do to ensure her transition to the penal colony was better than it could have been.

Without my intervention, she might have found herself at the wrong end of the gallows.

I pushed the trunk shut, locking it again before placing it back in the shadows of the closet. I’d have to return and ensure that I removed all evidence of a vampire’s presence between these walls. Whoever found this house didn’t need to know it had been mine.

My mind was calm for the first time in what felt like forever. It didn’t hurt to think about the future—a future without my brothers. I didn’t have them now, and I wouldn’t have them again.

Journal in hand, I strolled toward Briar’s shop.

The cobblestones gleamed under the fading light, the scent of rain mingling with the faint, sweet aroma of her garden shop ahead.

The journal would provide her with the leads she needed, and the contacts I provided could figure out the rest. Part of me wondered if I could simply leave it on her desk and slip away unseen.

But I knew I couldn’t. My grip tightened on the binding, the leather flexing under the pressure of my hand.

Even though she could never be mine, even though I’d never hold her in my arms or kiss her, I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. The thought of her face—bright with curiosity, untainted by the shadows that followed me—was enough to make me falter for a moment on the threshold.