Twilight Prophecy (Wings in the Night #17)

Twilight Prophecy (Wings in the Night #17) Page 12

Lucy slept on the beach, refusing to go into the house with James, though he cajoled. In the end she'd insisted, and also insisted that he leave her alone. She wasn't going to run. Where could she go? And how could she hope to escape with a dozen vampires hot on her trail come sundown? No, she would stay. But she wasn't going to pretend to be happy about it.

She slept until midafternoon, when hunger pangs hit, and then and only then did she come slowly awake. There was an umbrella stabbed deeply into the sand beside her, providing shade, and she wondered who had taken the time to put it there, even as she stood up, stretched and brushed the sand from her jeans. Staring out at the ocean, smelling the sea breeze that fingered her hair, she wondered how she could be in the middle of such utter beauty and perfect tranquility, and yet at the same time in the midst of chaos.

"Good afternoon."

Lucy turned around, not having heard anyone's approach. The man couldn't be a vampire, because it was daylight and he was standing right in the sun. So he must be-

"Willem Stone," he said. "Sarafina's husband. This is our place."

Frowning, Lucy studied him more closely. "You...you really aren't one of them, are you?"

"No, I'm human. And they're all dead to the world at the moment." He winked when he made the lame joke. "Except for Brigit and J.W., of course. They're out running some errands. Won't be back for at least a couple of hours. And in the meantime, I have coffee, a dozen doughnuts and one of the most luxurious bath rooms you could ever want to see. And you're welcome to all of them."

She sighed. "It does sound tempting."

"I promise, it'll just be you and me in the house. Awake, anyway. And I'll leave, if you want."

"I wouldn't throw you out of your own home." She looked at the place, with its giant deck. Seagulls perched on the roof, a few more coming in, a few others taking off. Constant motion, like the ocean itself, with its waves rolling up onto the beach and hissing as they fled again, leaving foam and shells in their wake.

"Come on. I'm a great cook. I'll make whatever you want, if you don't want doughnuts for breakfast. Or you can do both, real food and empty calories."

She smiled. "A doughnut and a cup of that coffee will do nicely. And thank you. I need a little normalcy more than you know."

"Oh, believe me, I know."

He walked her into the house, and just as he'd promised, the place seemed entirely empty. "Bathroom's upstairs, first door on the right. And I put a change of clothes in there for you, too. They're Fina's, and her style doesn't suit everybody. I hope they'll be okay."

Lucy felt a pang of regret for the things she'd left behind in the house the vigilantes had burned. Especially for the Kwan Yin pendant she'd left hanging on the bedpost. Thank God she'd imported the file to her phone. It was now the only copy of Folsom's "eyes only" version of the book in existence, as far as she knew.

"Are you sure she won't mind me borrowing her clothes?"

"She's the one who picked them out."

She lowered her head, sighing. "Thank you. I won't be long."

Lucy went up, half afraid of stumbling over sleeping corpselike bodies on the way, but she didn't. She imagined there was probably a suite of darkened rooms hidden in the bowels of the basement somewhere, with emergency exits and secret passageways, and big locks on the doors.

The bathroom was every bit as luxurious as Willem had promised, and Lucy allowed herself to relish a very long, very hot shower that would have been even longer, had it not been for the siren's call of coffee and doughnuts. The clothes were a decent fit, a long, broomstick type skirt of russet and orange, and a frilly white off-the-shoulder blouse with a gathered waist and short puffy sleeves. There were high-heeled black boots, as well.

She combed her hair and left it to dry naturally. She couldn't find a rubber band or a scrunchie, so she was forced to hold it in place with a pretty silk scarf, which she knotted at her nape, its ends trailing down her back. Finally she headed down the stairs. The smell of coffee greeted her as she entered the kitchen.

She accepted the mug Willem held out and took a grateful sip.

"Feel a little more human now?" he asked.

"A lot more."

"Good. Fina's clothes look lovely on you, by the way. She'll be pleased. And the doughnuts should complete the transformation." He waved a hand toward the table, where a familiar pink-and-white box stood open, an assortment of doughnuts, eclairs and muffins awaiting her selection.

She took a powdered sugar-coated jelly doughnut and told herself she would have the chocolate frosted eclair next. She'd earned at least two goodies today. Then she sank onto a tall stool in front of the breakfast counter, took her first bite, washed it down with more coffee and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Now that's heaven," she muttered.

Willem nodded, taking a huge bite of his own glazed sourdough doughnut. "I agree."

"Where are the others?" she asked, then added, "I don't even know who's here. Sarafina, Roland and Rhiannon, and...Gilgamesh-I mean, Damien. Anyone else?"

"Shannon. Damien's wife. You'll like her, she's...from this century." He made a sheepish face. "Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, they're all safely tucked away in the basement."

"I figured as much. Is it full of secret passages and hidden exits?"

"Just the one-there's a tunnel straight out to the cliffs above the ocean, but we've never needed to use it. It's just a precaution. And Pandora's down there, too, on guard duty, with a bowlful of food and a velvet cushion. But truly, we're safe. No one bothers us out here."

"Even now? I mean, the locals must...notice that they see you, but not her, by day."

"We say she works in Boston. It's a bit of a com mute. Gone before daylight, home after dark. It seems to work."

"And how long have you been here?"

"You think they'll wonder why she hasn't aged. But really, women seem to find aging optional these days."

She laughed. "Well, some do."

"Either way, I'm sure no one suspects we're anything unusual. Even with the madness going on in the world right now. Still, better safe than sorry."

"Speaking of what's happening out there-what sort of errands are James and Brigit running? I mean, if it's all right for me to ask."

He blinked rapidly. "Why wouldn't it be all right? You're family, Lucy."

She averted her eyes. "Because I have the Belladonna Antigen, you mean."

He nodded. "Yes. That, and the fact that you're turning your life upside down to help us."

Shaking her head, she said, "I didn't have a choice about the helping part. And as for the Belladonna thing, I don't really know what that means-I mean, to them. I know what it means to me. I've known for years now. And I'm okay with it. But other than that they all had it, too, when they were human, and that they can sense those of us who have it now, I know next to nothing."

"No one's talked to you about this?" he asked.

"No. I found that much out...on my own."

"I see." He nodded, but he looked slightly pissed off. "I suppose James is distracted."

"I'd say obsessed is a better word. And maybe starting to get a little bit drunk on his own power lately, but I think he means well."

"The antigen makes you prone to being a night owl, sleeping during the day. It makes you grow more and more sensitive to sunlight, and eventually it starts to cause some physical problems. Some weakness, dizzy spells. Are you having any of those yet?"

"No."

"Then you've got time before you really need to know any more about that."

But she already knew. The effects of the antigen would kill her before she hit forty. That was a lot to contend with. She frowned. "Do you have it?"

"No. I can never become what they are. We have ways around that, and I can fill you in as much as you want later on. Right now you're probably more interested in knowing about you. About how this thing impacts you. Do you know they can't harm you?"

"I...heard that somewhere."

"Well, it's true. Vampires are compelled to protect the Chosen-that's what they call people with the antigen. Sometimes they risk their own lives trying to protect them, and sometimes they do it in spite of themselves. They're driven. It's like a genetic imperative."

"I see." She was riveted.

"You don't need to fear them, Lucy."

"I guess not." She took another bite, then asked, "Do I get any other...you know, extra abilities with the antigen? I mean, like being able to read thoughts, the way they do?"

"You might. Mainly, though, that tends to happen with only one of them."

"Only one?"

He nodded. "The one. You see, for every vampire, there's one of the Chosen with whom the psychic bond is far stronger than with any other. It's a powerful connection. An unbreakable link. And it remains, even after that human becomes one of the undead, if indeed they do." Tilting his head to one side, he asked, "Why do you ask? Have you experienced telepathy with anyone?"

"No."

"Well, when you do, that one will protect you with his or her life, if necessary. More than likely you'll be compelled to do the same in return."

"That would be a switch. I'm not exactly the protective type."

He smiled at her as she finished her doughnut, then pushed the box closer. She took her eclair, reached for the pot in the center of the table and refilled her mug.

"You asked what the twins were up to. They got a few hours sleep, of course, and then headed out separately. They're trying to see if they can find their relatives. Their parents, grandparents. If they find them, they intend to stand guard until nightfall, then bring them back here."

"And then what?" she asked. "It sounds as if it's not safe for any vampire out there right now."

"We have a plan, a place to go. An island. We're spreading the information by word of mouth, vampire to vampire. Many are already on the way. I could actually use an extra pair of hands today, to help me get our yacht stocked with supplies, so we're ready to head out ourselves. Are you game?"

She felt herself smile just a little bit. "I have no other plans for the afternoon," she said. "And as long as you keep using such lovely bribes as hot showers, fresh clothes, delicious coffee and gooey doughnuts, you'll probably find me quite helpful."

"I thought so."

James stood outside his parents' home, a beautiful Appalachian Mountain cabin.

Or at least it had been. Now it was a pile of rapidly cooling ash. And there was nothing left. Nothing. Not a stick of furniture, like the antique rocking chair where his mother had cradled him as a baby. Not a scrap of clothing, like the long leather coat that had become his father's trademark.

Nothing.

And he didn't know whether his beautiful parents had been at rest when the place had been burned and now lay, no more than ashes themselves, amid the ruins or not. He tipped his head toward the sky, whispering "Why?" as he dropped to his knees. Tears burned his skin, and his face twisted into a painful grimace as his fangs extended and his fury raged.

Finally his rage subsided, pushed out of the way by another thought. He wondered if he could find his parents' remains among all this ash. And if he did, whether he could restore them. Heal them. Bring them back.

Rising, scrubbing his knuckles across his cheeks, retracting his fangs, he stumbled into the still warm ashes of his childhood home and bent to press his hands to the charred remains, then closed his eyes and willed the light to come. Willed the power of life to beam from his hands. When it didn't, he moved to another spot and tried again, and then again and again. For hours he knelt in the wreckage, trying to restore life to ash.

But either his parents weren't there or their deaths were beyond his ability to undo.

It killed him to give up. But when it became obvious that staying was useless, he forced himself to get to his feet, to move on.

And he prayed with everything in him that his family had made it to safety before the humans-his other family-had attacked.

He was ashamed that he'd turned his back on his own kind in favor of trying to live as a human. That he'd been repulsed at the thought of living as a vampire. It was clear to him now who the real beasts were. And they were not the undead.

Two hours later, Lucy found herself standing on the deck of one of the most luxurious yachts she'd ever seen, not that she'd seen many. The Nightshade had four cabins, two Jacuzzis, a galley and a dining room, living room and wet bar. It was like a floating five-star hotel. She'd never been onboard a yacht before, but she seriously doubted most were this high end. Willem piloted it expertly through the waves. They'd taken it from the marina, and were speeding toward the harbor and the house. The shoreline was on their left-port, she corrected mentally. As she watched it speeding past, thinking this was actually a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, she suddenly caught a whiff of something that wasn't so pleasant.

"Willem, what is that?" she asked, pointing.

At the helm, he followed her gaze to where smoke and flames were licking up toward the sky. And then he swore. "God, that's my house!"

Lucy's jaw dropped, and she sent him a look of stunned horror. His wife was in there.

And not just her. They'd left five vampires asleep and defenseless in a home that was now ablaze. Rhiannon and her cat, and gentle Roland. The great king Gilgamesh himself!

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she willed the boat to go faster.

Willem pushed the throttle all the way forward, and the front end of the boat lifted above the water as it picked up speed. She could feel the immense power of the engines propelling it, and the ocean wind in her face kept her tears from spilling over.

As they drew nearer, they could see fire trucks rolling into the driveway, sirens wailing, lights strobing in the late afternoon sun. By the time Willem had guided the massive vessel up to its deep water pier, dropped anchor, jumped off and raced toward the house, the firefighters were manning their hoses, sending rivers of cooling water onto the place.

Racing up to them, a man in a heavy yellow coat and helmet, shouted, "Was anyone inside?"

Lucy opened her mouth, but Willem's hand closed on her forearm, making her bite off the words she'd been about to shout. "No," he said. "The house is empty."

Nodding, the man returned to his work.

Lucy sent Willem a searching look.

"They're either all right or they're not," he said. "If the flames reached them, they're already gone." His voice broke when he said it. "And if they didn't, then they'll be okay. The smoke won't harm them. This is the work of vigilantes. Hate groups. We can't risk revealing the presence of vampires to those bastards."

Just then a familiar blue vehicle came bounding to a stop on the roadside, blocked from getting any closer by the fire trucks. James got out, and one look at his face told Lucy of his horror. Forgetting everything else, everything bad that had passed between them, she ran to him, stopping herself just short of flinging herself into his arms.

"Rhiannon?" he asked. "Fina?"

"They're still inside-as far as we know."

He gazed down into her eyes; then, his arm anchoring her to his side as if she belonged there, he strode up to the nearest firefighter. "Who's responsible for this?"

The man shouted to be heard above the roar of the flames and hoses and trucks and pumps. "Rednecks trying to burn vampires while they sleep. Damn fools buying into all this hype on the TV. Press don't know what harm they're doing, playing into it the way they are. It's sensationalism, is what it is. They need to get a handle on things-and fast. This is our fifth call today. Every last one of them arson."

James turned, his eyes scanning the road in both directions, then the beach. Lucy noticed that his clothes were covered in ash and soot, and his hands were gray with it.

"You won't find 'em hanging around," the fireman said. "They throw their damned Molotov cocktails and run like hell. Cowards."

"Oh, I'll find them. Believe me, I'll find them."

James's voice trembled as he spoke, and he held himself in check. But Lucy could feel the pent-up rage in him, and it frightened her.

"Any word on your family, James?" she asked softly.

He met her eyes, and his were bereft. "My parents' home was burned. No sign of them. I don't know if they left before...or if they..." He swallowed, cleared his throat, started over. "The others' homes were empty. I just...I don't know. I don't know."

For the first time she saw tears well up in his eyes. And for the first time, she realized, she saw him as he was. Not as a heroic angel or as a savior, not as a demon, but as a man. A man who didn't know if his loved ones were dead or alive. A man in anguish. She did not stop herself any longer. She slid her arms around his waist, laid her head on his chest and just held him. "I pray they're all right," she whispered. "All of them."

James had still been having doubts about his actions, mostly due to Lucy's obvious disapproval of what he was doing, and why. He'd never been a man who believed a worthy end justified the use of immoral means. And yet he'd been employing just that: immoral means. He wasn't kidding himself. He knew it was wrong to dabble in matters of life and death, matters that belonged to the discretion of the gods themselves, or to fate, or to whatever higher power was in charge of the world and its inhabitants. He knew it was wrong of him to try to take charge of life and death. But he'd believed he had no choice if he wanted to save his people. He'd felt he had been born to do this, right or wrong. He'd chosen to proceed on a morally questionable path for the greater good.

But now that he saw what the world of man was capable of firsthand, he no longer had any question about the rightness or wrongness of his actions. This was war. His people needed a champion, and he'd been chosen to be the one. If this wasn't proof positive of that fact, he didn't know what was.

Any people who could try to annihilate innocents while they slept, completely helpless to fight back, had long since tossed morality to the winds. And one couldn't fight that kind of evil by following the rules.

He was going to do whatever it took to raise Utanapishtim from the dead, and then he was going to fight by that ancient immortal's side to preserve his race.

Lucy's arms around him, her head on his chest, finally drew his eyes to hers. She was shaken right to the core, and hot tears were burning streaks down her face as she tipped it up to his. "I don't see Willem anymore. Where did he...?"

Alarm clamored in his veins, and he looked toward the sea. "He's gone inside, after them. Thank God."

"But...he's just a mortal."

"And as such, he'll have a better chance against the flames than they have." He met her puzzled frown and went on. "Vampires are highly flammable. Fire is one of the few things that can kill them."

"But-how did he get in? How did he get past the firefighters, and-wait. The tunnel. He told me there's a tunnel."

"Yes," James said, nodding, and wondering just what else Lucy and Willem-the man his middle name had been chosen to honor-had spent the day discussing. "There's a tunnel that leads from the basement to an opening in the cliffs, above the sea."

"Where?" she asked, stepping away from him, shielding her eyes with one hand and staring out toward the water.

For the first time he noticed the skirt she wore. Full and whipping in the wind. And the blouse, baring her shoulders, hinting at the breasts beneath. And then her hair, long and loose, satin sable-brown locks he wanted to bury his hands in.

"James?" she asked.

He met her eyes and realized that he was falling for this woman. In spite of everything else going on, he was falling for her. And he was being forced to make her his enemy.

"It's right there." He nodded toward a spot farther along the shoreline. "Where the sand turns to stone and the beach rises."

"I see where you mean."

"Don't stare too long or you'll draw attention," he said.

She sighed as if relieved.

"Vampires have a penchant for escape hatches," he said.

"I can see why they would. But there are too many of them for him to move by himself," she whispered. "Can't we try to sneak away, too?"

"We?" he asked.

"I can't stand the thought of all those people..." New tears flowed down her cheeks, and then she blinked rapidly, as she processed a new idea. "Can you talk to Rhiannon? You know, with your mind, to find out if she's okay?"

"Not while she's asleep, no. And believe me, it's killing me not to rush into the flames myself, but we'd definitely draw the notice of those firefighters. We'd have to pass them all to get to the shore. Look, they've already noticed Will's absence. And if they follow him and find-"

"I'll distract them," she said. "And when I do, you go. All right? Go help Will get them out."

"And how do you intend to distract them?"

"I...spent some time in the drama club in high school," she said. "Trust me, I've got a lot of angst to draw from right now. You can move fast, right?"

"Very fast."

"Then do it."

And before he could guess what she was even intending, Lucy lifted her voice in a scream that sounded as if it came straight out of a horror film and went running straight toward the burning house. It looked for all the world as if she planned to rush inside, despite the flames, and three firefighters dropped their hoses to race after her. All the others were entirely focused on the little drama she'd instigated as she shouted about having to try to save her cat.

Shaking his head in admiration, James poured on the speed. Three seconds later he was at the top of the cliff, and a moment after that he was diving over the side. He hit the water, plunging deeply, knowing exactly where to knife through it without cracking his skull on hidden rocks. Hell, he'd played here often throughout his childhood. He knew the beach like he knew his own sister.

That thought brought another as he broke surface again and began swimming toward the tunnel's hidden exit. Trails of weeds and brush covered the gaping maw, but he knew where it was. And as he neared it, he thought again of Brigit. She was on the warpath already, and this was only going to solidify the choices she was making. Hell, he wasn't even sure anymore that her notion to put together a resistance force and go head to head with the mortal vigilante groups was all that misguided.

Wipe the bastards out, she'd said. And why not? That was what the humans were trying to do to them.

He bounced out of the water high enough to grip a stone outcropping, then pulled himself up and, with a quick glance behind him to be sure he was still unobserved, pushed through the weedy entrance and moved into the cool darkness of a stone passage.

It smelled of smoke, and that worried him. He wouldn't die from smoke inhalation, as far as he knew. But Will might. Covering his face with one arm, James moved farther in, shouting Will's name as loudly as he dared. And then he tripped over something soft and, kneeling, realized it was Sarafina, Will's Gypsy bride. Her body was still and limp and lifeless, just as it should be by day. It was too dark to tell if she'd been burned. Bending, James scooped her into his arms and carried her closer to the entrance, where he laid her on the cool stone floor, far enough from the mouth to ensure no sunlight touched her.

He raced deeper again, stopping at the sound of a rasping cough. "Will?"

The coughing continued, and James followed it, the smell of smoke becoming stronger as he neared the basement. And then he met Will, carrying Rhiannon in his arms and coughing as if he were about to collapse at any moment.

"Is she...?"

"Don't know. But she's not burned." Will choked out the words, dropping to his knees.

James took Rhiannon's still body from the other man, anchoring her over his shoulder and then helping Will with his free hand. Arm around the man, he assisted him to the place where he'd left Sarafina, then set the beautiful Egyptian princess down beside the Gypsy. Then he put his hands on the other man and felt them begin to heat.

Will's coughing eased, his breathing becoming less raspy. But he pushed James away before the healing had taken full effect. "Leave me. Get the others. Shannon, then-Roland and Damien."

Nodding, James rushed back through the cave at full speed. At the end, a large steel door blocked entry into the basement. Will had taken the time to close it behind him to keep the tunnel from being flooded with smoke. Wise. Opening the door, James was stunned at what he saw. The sky, for one thing, beyond a crisscrossing web of charred beams. Piles of smoldering rubbish. A partial ceiling, still intact over two-thirds of the basement-including, thank the gods, the part where he stood and where his beloved ones rested beyond yet another door. He made his way through the smoky basement, opened that door and saw them there, laid out in their custom-made beds. And beside them, Rhiannon's cat, lying still and lifeless on the floor.

"God, no. Pandora." He knelt beside the cat, feeling its body, which was already beginning to cool.

"Dammit!" But there was no time. Not just then. He left the cat where it was-dead on the floor, near Rhiannon's empty bed-and began carrying bodies out to the entrance, one by one. Shannon first, then Roland, and finally Gilgamesh. He was choking and his eyes burning when he went back in one last time to gather the limp and unresponsive body of Rhiannon's beloved panther, who, unlike her owner, had not been immortal.

The firefighters captured Lucy bodily as she shouted about her cat still being inside, and she fought them, just to keep them busy, until James was out of sight. Praying he would be able to save the others, she finally surrendered, and allowed the firemen to wrap her in a blanket and lead her a safe distance from the house. She perched on the tailgate of a rescue truck, watching them douse the flames.

Finally the flow of the hoses trickled to a stop.

Firemen stood nearby, shaking their heads sadly. The far end of the house still had two walls standing upright, but burned halfway down. The rest was gutted, nothing but blackened beams and piles of charred rubble. The smell was like nothing else. A house fire, Lucy thought, had an extremely distinct aroma to it. Not the comforting smell of a campfire, a hearth or a wood-burning stove. No. A house fire smelled evil. It had a bite to it, a sourness that was hard to describe but impossible to forget.

The fire chief came over, and looked her up and down. "Do you know where the owner went?"

"To a friend's," she said. "It was too much for him. This was his dream house, you know."

"Well, tell him for me that no one's allowed any where near the place. We'll have an arson investigator out here tomorrow, when it's cooled down enough to poke around safely. The police are on their way now, but-"

"The police?" She was wanted by the FBI. She had to remember that.

"They'll be a while. As I said, those vigilantes are keeping us pretty busy today. They probably won't be able to do much for now besides tape off the scene, anyway. But they're going to want to talk to the owner. Please pass along my regrets," he added. "I'm sorry we couldn't do more. These damned idiots with their minds set on wiping out vampires, are making our lives hell. And the worst of it is, most of the people they're burning out are just ordinary human beings, for cryin' out loud."

"Are you saying it would be all right if they were vampires?" she asked, and then wondered why she'd bristled in defense of the very people who'd ruined her life.

"Yeah, right," he muttered. "Vampires. Like that's for real." He shook his head slowly.

"Shoot, boss, I know they're real. I've seen 'em!" one of his men put in, overhearing as he passed by with a rolled-up fire hose over his shoulder.

The chief rolled his eyes. "You have somewhere to go, miss? You gonna be all right?"

"Fine. I'll call someone to pick me up. Thank you."

He nodded, then frowned. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

She shook her head. "I have one of those faces," she said, wishing he would just leave. The others were winding up hoses, stowing equipment. A couple of the trucks had already pulled away.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I could swear-"

His radio crackled, and he yanked it from his belt. "Hell, this better not be another freakin' arson. C'mon, boys! Let's move it!"

Already the voice on the radio was speaking in a feminine monotone. Structure fire, possibly multiple victims inside, 2938 Oak Tree Lane...

The rest was beyond Lucy's hearing as the firefighter dove into his truck and pulled away. His siren started wailing a second later.

She watched them all the way out of sight, then ran toward the spot where she'd seen James vanish. "Please, let them be all right. Please, please, please." She got to the edge and looked down. Rocks and frothy water were all she saw. If there was a secret passage, she didn't see it. And then suddenly a head poked out through the weedy vines that clung to the stone face, just above the spot where the waves were crashing in.

It was James! Relief flooded through her.

He looked up and saw her there, and she could have sworn he looked as relieved as she had felt at the sight of him.

"Are they gone?"

"Yes, but the police will be here next. Is everyone okay?"

"We won't know for sure until nightfall, but I think so. Meet me by the boat."

Nodding, she raced back along the shore to the end of the long, slender pier, then began untying the ropes that held the vessel in place and tossing them onto the deck.

James swam up to the pier as she worked, and she bent over, extended a hand and helped him up out of the water.

And then, without any warning at all, he pulled her right into his arms and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn't a long kiss, or a passionate one. But it was firm and powerful. And when he stepped back, he looked her in the eyes and said, "You were wonderful. Thank you, Lucy. Thank you for helping me save them."

She held his gaze, stunned, not by his gratitude but by that kiss. And as his eyes searched hers, he must have realized it, because he lowered his head again, and this time, he kissed her as if he meant it. It was long and slow, a soul-deep kiss. And when he stepped away, she wasn't sure she would ever be the same again.