My booted feet sent sounds echoing against the stone walls of the castle. With my ladies, we headed from the lower chambers to the kitchen, but the sound of voices, loud, angry, some terrified, stopped me on my route and changed my trajectory.

I turned, walking down the passage and into one of the many great halls.

There, kneeling in the middle of the room, their hands bound behind their backs, were two men. Their clothing was torn, saturated with blood. Their faces, bruised. Cuts marred their skin.

I knew they were human the moment I stepped foot inside.

Before them stood Cyrus. Other guards surrounded him.

“What is going on?” I demanded, my eyes locked on my husband’s.

“Wolfhard found who broke into the storehouse a few days ago,” Cyrus said, as he looked back at the humans. “These two were hiding in the tower of the abandoned church. Apparently, they have been watching us for over a week.”

I looked back at the men. When they met my gaze, their eyes widened with terror. They physically recoiled from me, as much as they could considering they were bound.

I understood without anyone having to explain.

These two were not part of the human community that lived here in Roter Himmel.

Outside of our safe haven, humans knew nothing of our kind.

“I’m sure they can be reasoned with,” I said, as I stepped forward, toward them. “I’m sure they understand the gravity of what this place is. Surely they can keep a secret.”

Both of them nodded their heads frantically, a few tears leaking down one of their faces.

But Cyrus’ expression hardened. I recognized that familiar set to his lips, his jaw.

“We let them walk and who knows the price they could obtain for information,” he said. I felt it growing—the darkness that existed in the man I had loved for so long. It gathered like a physical thing, and all any of us could do was brace ourselves for it.

“Please,” one of the men begged. “I only stumbled upon your town while traveling through the pass. I swear on both our lives, we won’t breathe a word.”

Cyrus’ face was stone cold. “I’m afraid I cannot allow that. I value secrecy above all else.”

In a blur of a movement, he crossed to them. Gripping them each by the scalp, he yanked in one clean movement, relieving them of their heads.

Blood sprayed, a warm splash of it flew across my right hand.

Cyrus took a step forward, dropping their heads to the stone floor with a wet thud.

“There are other ways,” I said as he walked past me. He paused, listening. “Not everything has to end in death.”

I felt him lean in close, and then his lips just lightly brushed over my cheek. “I will do whatever it takes to protect our life, my love. Whatever it takes.”

I swallowed as he walked away, my face and hands going numb.

---

Someone brings me food. I eat.

Hector sends up a woman for me to feed from, and I drink.

In my past lives I’ve never gotten control very quickly. But I manage to let go of her before I kill or turn her.

A messenger comes to tell me that if I need anything, all I have to do is ask the House of Valdez and they will do it.

A few hours after dinner, someone drops by a note. It says that Cyrus has arrived in Roter Himmel and it was uneventful. It requests that I send word to let him know I am all right.

Glancing over at my phone on the nightstand, my heart feels pulled in two.

One side is annoyed, angry that Cyrus isn’t exactly giving me the space I asked for. Another is so grateful that he thought to let me know he’s safe, and ask if I am, as well.

I remember the look in his eyes just before we parted ways.

And my chest cracks.

I grab my phone.

I’m fine. I’m at the House of Valdez. Thank you for letting me know you’re safe.

I send the text to Cyrus.

Instantly, it says it’s been read.

A tiny smile forms on my lips.

There’s a quiet humming sound suddenly, and the coverings on the window begin retracting, disappearing into the wall. My view of the city slowly opens up.

I walk to it, looking out over the dazzling lights of Las Vegas at night.

I can see everything from up here. Up and down The Strip. There are thousands of people going from place to place. There’s an electric excitement that promises a night of sinful possibilities.

I go to the closet and dig through my bag, grateful that the House of Valdez didn’t go through my things and hang them up for me. I drag out a dress, bright red and form fitting. Stripping out of my clothes, I change into it. I curl my hair and do dark, smoky makeup. Finally, I strap on some black heels.

Quietly, I open the bedroom door and peek out.

Rath lies on the couch, one arm over his eyes. He snores softly.

Without making a sound, I cross the space to the entry door. I place my hand on the pad, and silently, it slides open and I slip out.

I’m grateful there’s not another soul around as I walk down the hall toward the elevator. I press the button and just five seconds later, the doors slide open and I slip inside.

Alone, I plummet through the casino and the doors open on the ground floor.

If I thought the smell was bad before, it’s nothing compared to it now. There are ten times more bodies around, and I realize just how popular The MetroCosmo must be. It’s packed. The energy is crazy. The volume is nearly overwhelming. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol nearly knocks me on my ass.

Looking around, searching for familiar faces, and smelling the area for other Born, I work my way through the crowd toward the front doors. I smell someone across the casino, but far enough away to not be spotted.

Without being caught, I slip through the main doors and work my way to the crowded sidewalk. Down a block I quickly walk, making sure to get lost in the crowd and not be spotted.

And finally, I stop. I look around.

I revel in the anonymity.

It won’t be long. Cyrus was right. It won’t be long until word of my return spreads throughout the world. The House of Valdez might have already told others. It could be slipping down the chain as I stand here.

So I appreciate it, here in this moment that I get to stand here alone. And no one around knows who I am.

No one bows.

No one jumps to fulfill my simplest wishes.

No one looks at me with fear because they know what my husband is capable of.

He isn’t your husband, half of me shouts as I set off down the sidewalk. He’s never even told you he loved you. There’s no ring on your finger. You’ve never even kissed the man.

Not my husband, I think to myself as I cross the street and disappear into the crowd.

I duck into a casino Amelia and I visited when we came here last summer. We weren’t even old enough to sit at the tables and play. But we did shop our hearts out. At least as much as our tiny budgets allowed.

I hold my head high and make my way to a table.

I won’t claim Cyrus as my husband just yet, but that money is just as much mine as it is his.

Before long there’s a good gathering of people at the table. Others begin to gather to watch as the seven of us play. One by one, I take their money, winning three games in a row.

I’m kind of shocked, myself.

I’ve always had the world’s worst luck. I lose money. I don’t get lucky winning. So the fact that I’m here, rocking this hand and another, it has nothing to do with me as Logan Pierce, and everything to do with Sevan.

Apparently Sevan is good at gambling.

“I think three is my lucky number,” I say as I collect my winnings and turn to leave. The other players and the crowd groan audibly. “Learn this lesson: quit while you’re ahead.”

I smile as I walk away and go to collect the cash.

I move from one casino to the next, in all stopping three times to play, in all winning nine games. The money I make is more than I earned in the last year and a half of my life.

Still nothing, in the scale of Sevan’s life. But it’s major in the scope of being Logan.

The night stretches late, but the energy doesn’t fade. The crowds are still thick. The scents of alcohol and drugs and sex grow thicker.

It starts as a little tickle in the back of my throat. I raise my hands to it as I walk down the sidewalk. I swallow once. The heat ignites.

I swallow again. But the temperature rises.

I look around. Thousands of people surround me.

Just one.

I just need one body.

A man walks by himself, stumbling slightly. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine and he looks sheepish, slightly embarrassed at his near fall. But I see the hunger that lights in them. He looks me up and down.

I smile at him. I step to the side, eyeing him as I work my way to a dark alcove.

It’s not even hard. I lure him over without a single word.

“And how are you, this very spectacular evening?” he says, cocky and seductive. He steps forward, his hands instantly going to my hips.

One second of the presumptuous pig is all I can take. I smile as I reach forward, lacing my fingers behind his head. I guide him to me, and before he can think this is leading anywhere but to him dropping his pants around his ankles, I sink my fangs into his neck.

I pull. One deep suck.

Another.

Four.

Five draws.

On six, I release him, a satisfied sigh rushing over my lips as I lick his blood from them. As soon as I let him go, he collapses to the ground.

He gives a little groan, rolling his head from one side to the other, as if trying to figure out why his neck hurts.

I wipe at my mouth one last time. I glance back at him over my shoulder before walking away, leaving him in the dark.

He’ll be fine. He was drunk enough before he ran into me that he won’t remember a thing.

I walk another block, and head into another casino. I just wander this time. No destination in mind. Just traveling among the people.

After ascending a grand flight of stairs, a flashing sign points the way to a club. I follow it, and push open the doors to find loud, thumping music.

Maybe it’s the confidence I’m portraying tonight, maybe they can sense just how old my soul really is, but not a person has asked for I.D. all night. I walk right in without anyone even giving a questioning glance my way.

Through the crowd of dancing bodies I make my way. Past intimate couples in booths. Beyond the women and men dressed in little to nothing, serving drinks. At the far side of the club, I find an empty table, and I sit.

Not five seconds later, a woman wearing only a leather bra and a thong comes to take my order.

I may be over two thousand years old in one way, but the other part of me is only twenty, and honestly, alcohol has never been that appealing.

I order a Coke with lime. Not two minutes later she returns with my drink.

“Either you’re one of the few law-abiding underage people in this city, or you’re smarter than the rest of us and know alcohol almost never leads to anything good.”

I look up and see a man standing at a table just a few feet from me. He’s alone. He holds a glass in his hand, though I’d guess he hasn’t taken more than a sip from it.

“I’m sure I can’t be the only one not drinking in this city,” I say, crossing my legs and lifting my chin slightly.

He doubtfully cocks his head just a little to the right. “It’s one of the few reasons people flock from all over the world to this city. They can lower their inhibitions and not be judged.”

“I don’t know,” I say, swirling my drink. “I feel a little judged right now.”

He laughs and takes a step in my direction, his drink still in hand. His other slips into the pocket of his slacks. “It wasn’t my intent. Merely an observation.”

He’s average height, in good physical shape. His hair is a dirty blonde, maybe needing a cut. Green eyes and a chin that I’m guessing was shaved this morning, from the barely-there hint of five o’clock shadow.

He’s overall attractive, in a simple way.

“Are you here by yourself?” I ask, looking around the room. But there are hundreds of people here, he could be attached to any of them.

He stops beside my table and turns, scanning the crowd. He points to a group of four guys, all dancing and generally looking like fools. “It’s my buddy’s bachelor party. He’s getting married in four days.”

“That’s exciting,” I say, feigning interest.

“Not really,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s kind of a nasty person. We’re all pretty sure she’s marrying him for his money.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Why aren’t you out there looking like an idiot with them?”

He shrugs. “I spent too many years looking like an idiot. Been there, done with that.”

He offers a small smile, and something about how normal it is tugs at me.

“Would you like to sit?” I offer. Only because he’s being friendly, but not overly flirtatious in a way that makes me instantly recoil.

He smiles again and sinks into the chair beside me.

“I’m Trevor,” he says, extending a hand. I shake it.

“Logan,” I offer.

“You asked me, so don’t think I’m just creeping on you when I ask,” he says with a hesitant little chuckle. “But are you here by yourself?”

My eyes go to the crowd. I think about it. About the most familiar people around me in this town, even this state. Who? Edmond? Who I met when he recognized my mother’s face and ratted me out to Cyrus? Or Rath—who pretended to be someone he wasn’t for my whole life?

“Yes,” I answer. Because it’s true. And I try to pretend the answer doesn’t make my chest hurt.

“I only say this because I’m a junior defense attorney,” he says. “And I’ve seen a lot of bad, bad things. The Strip really isn’t a very good place to go by yourself.”

I smile into my glass as I take a sip. “I’m tougher than I look.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he takes another drink, finishing it off. He’s about to say something when I cut him off.

“Do you want to dance?”

He looks over at me, and I can see it; he’s surprised.

I am, too.

He smiles again, stands, and holds a hand out for mine. I take it, and follow him out to the floor.

The music is so loud that it’s more noise than actual music. But it pulses, wild and electric. Trevor sets his drink on a table and turns me to face him.

He holds my gaze as he puts one hand on my hip and moves to the music. He’s hesitant, going off of my cues. But right now I’m just lonely and so detached from anything real.

I place my hand over his, drawing myself closer.

There’s something hypnotic about the environment. The heat in the air. The fact that there’s very little room to move around. Our bodies have no choice but to press close together.

He’s not your husband, I think to myself.

I turn, my back to his front, letting my eyes slide closed as Trevor’s hands once more cling to my hips, pulling them toward his own. I reach up, looping a hand behind his neck.

Louder and louder the music pounds.

It reaches down through my blood. It pours into my heart. It saturates through my pores.

Less and less space exists between our two bodies. I try to eliminate it, one beat at a time, so I don’t feel so alone. So I don’t feel so lost.

The feel of his lips soft on my shoulder makes my eyes slide closed. Makes my lips part just slightly.

His fingers tighten on my hips and I pray he never lets go.

One hundred bodies moved in perfect synchronization. A stomp. A slide forward. A twirl. A dramatic drop.

My hair brushed the sparkling stone floor, and slowly, he raised me up. My eyes met his as I stood upright. They hide behind his glittering gold mask, but I knew those eyes. Had stared into them for decades and centuries.

He twirled me under his arm once more as the other couples slowly worked to form a circle around us.

But I didn’t see them.

I saw the heat in those dark green eyes. And for a moment, I was grateful. That despite our separation, over and over, I had worn four other faces, but his was always the same.

Always my Cyrus.

With my back to his chest, our hands raised together. They crossed in front of my chest, and he pulled me in close.

Gently, his lips touched my shoulder. Slowly slid toward my neck. They rose up, until they were just under my ear.

“I have loved you for centuries, Sevan,” Cyrus whispered. “And I swear I will love you for millennia more.”

Another pair of lips plays gently just under my ear, and I startle back to the present with a stiff jerk.

I straighten, taking three steps away from Trevor, into the crowd.

I turn, and see the confused, disoriented expression on his face.

“Thank you for the dance, Trevor,” I say, grateful that my voice is working better than I expected. “I hope you have some fun with your friends.”

He doesn’t say anything as I walk away. Just stares after me, his mouth slightly open.

When I break outside of the hotel onto the quieting sidewalk, the breath rips from my chest with a gasp.

I lean against a stone wall down the walk, my hands clutching my chest.

Alone.

Aching.

Both of us.

Both of you are hurting, Logan argues with Sevan. Damn it. You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to be alone.

And my mind wanders back, to just one week ago. When I found Cyrus standing at his bedroom window. Empty. Broken. Alone. I begged him then to tell me what would make him happy. He asked me to stay, and I slept in his arms that night.

For just a few moments, when I woke up the next morning, I was happy.

Staring into his face. I knew what he was capable of. How dangerous he could be. But I also knew how he would do anything to protect me. Staring into his face, I knew I loved that man.

I love Cyrus.

You don’t have to hurt this way, Logan whispers to Sevan. You’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting him.

Oh, but you don’t remember everything yet, Sevan quietly answers. We’ve been through this before. This pain. This recovery. This blending. Over and over. And it’s his fault.

I rub a hand up my arm as my face crumples with emotion. Tears well in my eyes as I stand straight again. My chest is tight and it’s hard, so hard to breathe.

Logan’s human legs would have shaken on the walk back to the House of Valdez. But Sevan has done this before. Over and over. And she walks back with her chin held high.