The pillow under my head twitches. It’s hard, and shaped wrong.

I roll, my brows furrowing in confusion.

I open my eyes, and find myself nose to nose with a sleeping Cyrus.

His ever-furrowed brows, always tense with stress or power, are finally relaxed. His lips are slightly parted. His head rests on his pillow, his arm extended out.

It was his arm I’m lying on.

His other is draped over my side. He shifts, his leg draping over mine, pinning me down. Holding me close.

I blink, slow, tired. I study his dark eyelashes. His hair is wild, standing on end, draped over his forehead. It’s thick. So thick, it’s all I can do to keep my fingers from running through it.

My heart rate increases. But I tell myself to keep it under control. The last thing I want is for it to wake him up.

Enjoy this while it lasts, I think to myself.

I relish the contact. My skin to his skin. Lying here as if he is mine. One unpleasant person tangled up in the arms and legs of another unpleasant person.

Contentedly, I let a little sigh loose.

Cyrus’ eyes flutter open. Slowly, he blinks.

A tiny smile pulls on my lips, and my insides flutter when his eyes are not empty this morning.

Slowly, he raises a hand up and cups the side of my face, his fingers splaying into my hair.

“Are you a dream?” he breathes, searching my eyes.

I shake my head slightly. “No.”

His search deepens. “Do you ever dream of me?”

My heart rate picks up. “Almost every night.”

My pulse doubles at that look in his eyes.

Emotions rage through me at lightning speed. The crack of thunder roars in my ears as I reach up, holding onto Cyrus’ wrist.

And I give up the fight as I lean forward, letting my eyes slide closed.

Like falling as you fall asleep, I startle back, because suddenly there is no body beside mine.

“What do you think you are doing?” a growl sounds from the opposite side of the room.

I startle, blinking fast, searching for Cyrus.

He stands beside the door, quickly trying to secure the towel from last night around his waist once again.

His eyes glow brilliant red, rage and disgust on his face.

“I…” I stutter. “Cyrus, I-”

“Who do you think you are, to be so presumptuous?” he growls as he marches to the closet. He closes it most of the way and I hear him yanking through the hangers. Raging through drawers. “What gives you the audacity to think you can kiss the King?”

My mouth hangs open as I shift, kneeling on the bed we shared last night. “Cyrus, I don’t-”

He stalks out of the closet. He wears a pair of jeans, still unbuttoned, showing his black underwear. But he does not wear a shirt.

“It is not your place,” he seethes, his eyes narrowed and burning.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I demand as my blood begins to boil. “You can’t look at a woman the way you look at me, you can’t hold me the way you’ve held me, without a woman thinking you might want her.”

His eyes burn with anger, but also something…else. But his lips remain pressed into a thin line.

“I need you to be very clear with me, Cyrus,” I say, my volume lessening just slightly. “You want something from me. You want me to be someone. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. I feel it every time you’ve touched me. You’re waiting to see if I’m…I don’t know. And it’s confusing the hell out of me. Because…” I hesitate, feeling the energy drain out of me. “Because there is something growing between us. And I can’t deny the ache in my chest anymore. I can’t handle the idea of the possible coming separation. So, I need you to tell me, exactly, who you want me to be.”

“I want you to be my wife!” Cyrus bellows, his eyes flaring brilliant. He swings an arm through the air with an exclamation. “I want to finally not be alone. I want to finally, finally be together once more.”

Everything in me stills. Stops racing. Stops raging with confusion and desire.

“Wife?” I question.

The both of us finally slow. Just staring at one another.

As the honest truth begins to come out.

“I have been hoping, hoping against all hope,” Cyrus breathes, the intake rough and jagged, “that you are her.”

My hands shake. I grip the white blankets below to try and tame it. But it doesn’t help the trembling. “What…what is that supposed to mean?”

The fight seems to seep out of Cyrus. His shoulders sag. His head hangs forward and the breath seeps out of his chest.

“It means,” he says, “that I have never, ever kissed another woman besides my wife.” He takes a step forward, and then another. “It means, that for 286 years, I have been alone. It means, that for 286 years, I have searched for her.” He drops to his knees at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on mine. “It means, that for the past twenty-seven days, I have prayed that you will be her.”

My body is very cold. Surely my heart has stopped. It isn’t pushing blood through my body anymore.

I shake my head, as emotions fill my eyes. “I don’t understand.”

His head drops and he shakes his head.

“I loved my wife, more than anything in this world,” he says. “But I did not realize it until after I achieved immortality. I did not realize it until after I took her free will and turned her against her choice.”

He grips the edge of the bed, as if holding on for dear life. As if he might fall straight down to hell if he were to let go.

“I cursed myself then, not only with the craving of blood,” he says. “But I cursed myself to lose that which I valued most.” He takes one deep, ragged breath. “After only eighty-nine years of immortality together, my wife grew sick. She was frail. There wasn’t enough blood in the world to sate her thirst. And after only weeks of this, she died.”

He trembles, quaking. As if the story he tells will wreck him.

“But then, fifty-one years later, a descendant of Malachi died. And just a week after she Resurrected, she came to the castle. She said my name. And she knew. Everything. Everything of our past. Of our lives together. It was my wife, reborn. Once more returned to me.”

The bed trembles from his grip, as he quakes.

And I grow colder. I’m frozen. Rooted as if I have turned to stone.

“But once more, after one hundred and fifty-three years, she grew ill again.” His words are quiet. As if he can barely breathe. “Once more, the love of my very long, immortal life, died.”

Cyrus’ words echo around my head, as if bouncing against the hard inside of my skull. Knocking, hard, saying, hello? Can you hear me? Are you there?

“Over and over and over again, my wife would be reborn somewhere in the Royal bloodline. Around the globe. Always with a different face. Always awakening to remembrance after Resurrecting. And she would always die again and again in my arms.”

The dancers at the House of Valdez. The story they told of that Queen. It was the story of Cyrus’ wife. It was the reason he reacted in such a violent way.

My hands shake. But slowly, I raise them, looking down at them.

Edmond Valdez made a call to King Cyrus.

I understand that doesn’t mean she’s anything but human, but I’m asking you to consider the fact that this man is here guarding her. That has to mean something. And considering it’s the House of Conrath? From what I hear, he and their leader have some…interesting history.

“For centuries, longer, I have made sure to keep close tabs on all of the male Royals, and any offspring they may produce. So that is the reason I flew from across the world to meet you, Logan.”

When he says my name, my body loses strength. I can barely keep myself sitting upright.

“That is why when I tasted your blood, confirmed you were indeed a female descendant of a male Royal, I wished for your immediate death.”

“Because in four days, I would Resurrect, and you would know.”

Finally, Cyrus raises his head, and he looks me in the eye. “In four days, I could know.”

Wife. Wife.

I could be someone I have forgotten.

I could be Cyrus’ wife.

The world. The entire vampire world, the entire House of Valdez. Eli—Rath. They all know.

That is why they all have been watching me so close this entire time.

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” I ask. My voice shakes. With confusion. With betrayal. With embarrassment. “This has gotten so complicated and tangled and now I… Why didn’t you tell me right away who you hoped I was?”

Emotion pools in my eyes. But as I meet Cyrus’, I see them harden.

His jaw tightens.

His fingers clench harder around the blankets on the bed.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because sixteen years ago,” he says, his voice barely controlled. “I came to America to meet another female descendant. That of my enemy, Henry Conrath. A woman who had no knowledge of her birthright, of her world. But once she learned of it, she rose to her station and owned it well, even as a human.”

My heart drops into my stomach and I feel my expression slacken.

I know where this story is going.

And I think I finally understand.

“Sixteen years ago, I went to the House of Conrath with very, very high hopes. That after all this time, perhaps this woman would be the one.” A wicked smile curls on Cyrus’ lips. “And heartbroken Alivia, who had been forsaken by her love, she saw that hope in my eyes.”

My own hands tighten around the blanket. Tighten, wrinkling the fabric. My fingernails dig into my palms through it.

“Alivia played me,” Cyrus says through his teeth. “With the expertise of a slithering snake. She whispered in my ear about time and castles. She pulled me close and looked at me as if I were the sun and she a blooming rose.”

Cyrus’ eyes are unfocused, burning with rage.

“Alivia nearly broke me with hope.” His voice drops quiet. Empty.

I can feel his pain. So plain and laid bare.

“She let me believe,” he says. “She encouraged me, laid her head upon my chest and dared whisper the name husband.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing he would take back the words.

“All the while she snuck behind my back with my most trusted spy.” His words are a whisper, so filled with betrayal. “All the while her heart still longed for Ian Ward. She let me hope. And in the end, it broke the both of us.”

His head snaps up, and I quake from fear when his eyes meet mine.

I see it there. I know it.

He punished my mother for what she did.

“So, I swore I wouldn’t do it again,” Cyrus shakes his head. “I would not let myself be led along by another. So, I did not tell you and commanded that no other would. So that you would be yourself and never try to toy with my heart.”

But his expression softens. He rises to his feet.

“I may not have been kind these past few days, Logan,” Cyrus says. Once more, I see it, how draining this information is. “But you…” he shakes his head, his eyes sliding closed. “You are slowly driving me mad. The things you say, the person you are…”

He takes in a deep breath, and I try to understand his meaning.

“I cannot take it any longer, Logan,” he says. Emotion tugs on his words. “I must know. Please,” he whispers. “Please end this uncertainty for me.”

I crawl across the bed slowly. When I reach the end of it, I rise up onto my knees. I place a hand on either side of his face, and slowly his eyes open.

Dark green. Deep as the ocean. Ancient as the forest.

“The last month has been an incredible, unforgettable one,” I say. Our faces are so close. We breathe the same air. I feel the heat of him. “And I never expected it, the way you’d twist my stomach up and confuse every emotion in me.”

His eyes slide closed and his hands rise to rest on my hips.

“I realized it last night, and just now, my heart told me the truth,” I whisper as it fractures. “I wanted you to love me for me. And for you to stop looking for someone else whenever you look in my eyes.”

I press my lips to Cyrus’ forehead as he stops breathing.

I squeeze my eyes closed. A tear pushes out onto my cheek.

Before I can shatter apart on this bed, I climb off and walk toward the door.

“Logan,” Cyrus calls.

I stop with my hand on the door and look over my shoulder.

He stares after me, the face of an anguished, confused man greeting me.

I watch him, waiting for him to say the words. To tell me that he does love me, no matter who I may turn out to be.

His wife or not.

But he can’t seem to find any more words.

So I open that door, and I walk out.

* * *

It’s Friday. My very last day of work at Sykes Funeral Home.

No one died last night, so there isn’t any work for me to do. Instead Emmanuel went and got a cake, and as a send-off, he, Craig, and Katie throw me a little going away party. I try my best not to, but as I gather my few personal belongings and hug each of them goodbye, I cry.

I look around my workspace, and I know it: I’m going to miss this, what I do, very, very much. Because somehow I know, I’ll never work as a mortician again.

Everything will change.

That afternoon, I sit in my car for a very long time, trying to decide what to do. Trying to decide how I feel.

Cyrus has been searching my face, overthinking everything I say, because he’s been watching for signs of his Resurrecting wife.

The acknowledgement of that truth sends shivers racing down my arms.

It’s why he has said my fate after I Resurrected wouldn’t be determined until the act was done.

If I am his wife, we’ll have a happily ever after, for a time, and I will return to Roter Himmel with him.

If I am not her, he doesn’t really care where I go.

Rath—he’s been watching over me nearly my entire life. Because once Alivia Conrath realized my father was a Royal, she understood that one day, the King would indeed come to find me. So she sent Rath to watch over me.

Alivia and Cyrus have a dark, twisted relationship.

I think I somewhat understand.

But the King… The man who took my acid… The man who killed a man to protect me…

Emotion instantly rips through me, and a sob escapes my lips before I can stop it. Tears well into my eyes and slide down my face.

I’ve fallen in love with Cyrus over the past month. I tried to fight it. Told myself it was insane and stupid considering how he came into my life; the way he took control over it.

But it happened. One intense gaze at a time. One charming encounter with those I care about it at a time. One act of heroism at a time.

Maybe I’m weak minded. Maybe I’m an embarrassment to all women. But it’s the truth.

I fell hopelessly, soul-endingly in love with King Cyrus.

A man I can never keep unless I am someone I don’t remember.

Sobbing, I drive my way over to Amelia’s apartment. With trembling fingers, I text her.

Are you home?

Just watching TV. What’s up?

Come outside.

Three seconds later, her head pops out of their door.

I lose it the second I see her and with a panicked look, she darts into the passenger seat of my car.

“Where is he?” she demands. “Point me in the right direction and I will slaughter him.”

I cry harder and shake my head as I collapse into her arms.

“What is it, Lo?” Amelia asks, running her hand down the back of my hair. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t…” I sob. “I wasn’t supposed to love him. It wasn’t supposed to turn real.”

“Real?” she questions, her hand stilling. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I shake my head again as tears stream down my face. “I knew who he was, right from the beginning. And I still fell in love with him.”

“Duh, Lo,” Amelia chuckles. “It’s been pretty obvious for a while. You’re in deep. What’s so bad about that?”

I shake my head, letting every emotion pour out of me. “Because there’s a good chance that in just a few days, our lives are going to permanently go separate ways.”

I’m out of my mind. I realize I can’t answer all of her questions, that to her, none of this is going to make sense.

“Just because his work isn’t taking him to Austria anymore, doesn’t mean it has to end. Nothing bad has happened, has it?” she asks.

I don’t know what to say. She doesn’t understand everything, she assumes wrongly. “No. The way things are going to go…it’s something that isn’t either of our faults. But it’s still going to wreck me.”

Amelia thinks for a moment, and slowly, she brushes her hand down my hair again. “Love wrecks us. And even if you do go your separate ways, it doesn’t mean that love ends. Maybe it’s just easier if you still love them, and be happy for what might come for them in the future. And tell yourself that when the time is right, that you’re allowed to be happy again.”

Her words sink into my heart, and begin to calm my raging storm. I take a slow breath, and sit up. “Why do you get to be so smart and so damn pretty?”

She gives me a sad little smile. She reaches forward and wipes my tears with her thumb. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on. You’ve kind of been keeping me in the dark when it comes to your first time love life.” We both chuckle at that. “But I know when you love someone, you fight for them. Even if there’s a chance you might not win. You’re a fighter, Lo. So go fight.”

I reach forward, holding her hand, and squeezing on for strength. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “Any time. Even if you’re about to be half way around the world.”

I smile sadly, hating that I have to keep letting her believe the lie. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says as she pulls me in for a hug.

Tanner pops his head out of the door and Amelia lets me go. “Call me when you get to your new place.”

“I will when I can,” I say, the only promise I can make her.

She waves and climbs out, and walks back into her apartment with her normal boyfriend and her normal life.

I sit there for a minute longer, contemplating everything she just said.

It’s too hard. I don’t want to accept it. To be the grown up who can have such an adult frame of mind.

But this is my life. And it’s rushing at me with supersonic speed.

With a deep breath, I put the car into drive, and I head home.

When I arrive, it seems quiet. Though I know most of the House of Valdez has been in the shadows, watching the perimeter, I don’t see any traces of them. Looking around, I get out of my car and head to the front door.

“Has the repairman arrived yet?” Fredrick says, looking out the door as soon as I walk in.

“Repairman?” I question as I set my box of things on the table.

“The internet,” Fredrick says. “It went out yesterday afternoon. The company is supposed to be sending someone to fix it today.”

“And that doesn’t seem suspicious to you all?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course it is,” Fredrick says, though his accent is so thick, it’s a struggle to understand any of his words. “Do not think that we won’t be on high alert.”

My heart rate jumps. “I assume Cyrus isn’t here with the risk.”

Fredrick looks back at me and glares. “Your challenge seems to have gone to his head. He refused to leave as a precaution.”

That was in fact my doing. But still, sweat breaks out onto my palms.

A utility van drives up just then, bright colors and words painted all over the side of it. As a man climbs out, I hear the trees and bushes rustle, and know the Valdez crew has stirred to action.

The man grabs a bag from the back and walks up to the door where Fredrick and I stand waiting.

“Afternoon,” he greets casually with the tip of his hat.

Fredrick doesn’t say a word, but I see his nostrils flare. He takes a deep inhale, smelling the man without being obvious.

I cover, giving a greeting.

“The equipment is in the living room,” Fredrick says stiffly. “I’ll accompany you.”

The man nods and heads into the house.

“Human,” Fredrick whispers as he follows the man.

I look out the door, searching for signs of the guards, but see none. I close the door, and wander back inside.

The repairman searches through a cabinet where the equipment is, quietly speaking with Fredrick. I can feel the tension, rolling through the house like waves. I wonder how many guards are inside, hiding where I cannot see them.

Satisfied that the repairman is nothing but that, I turn and head up the stairs.

Somewhere in this house is Cyrus. Being stubborn and arrogant. Demanding he can take care of himself.

Ugh. That stupid man makes my heart twist into knots.

I turn down the hall, about to head for my bedroom, when a slight squeak draws my eye to the closet across the hall from Cyrus’ bedroom.

Fight or flight. My nerves kick into high gear.

I look around, searching for anything to use as a weapon. I settle for a candlestick on the table in the hall. It’s heavy, solid metal.

I press myself flat against the wall when the door swings open, this time without making a sound.

Thunder. Roar.

My instincts go wild.

A tiny form of a shadow emerges from the closet.

Just then, the door to Cyrus’ bedroom swings open and Cyrus takes half a step out. “Logan, is that you?”

I started diving the second I saw the door opening. A sprint. A giant leap.

Because I saw that hand swing.

I saw the sharp tip of a stake.

Amelia’s words rip through my head as I jump. Maybe it’s just easier if you still love them, and be happy for what might come for them in the future.

I don’t even get to look at his face. I just jump, wildly swinging the candlestick.

I hit them hard in the neck with a thump.

But the tip of the stake buries itself into my chest.

With a scream, I collide to the floor, my eyes fixated on the face of a man. Dark blonde hair. A longer, unkempt beard. And his eyes glow red with hatred.

A roar echoes throughout the entire house. An injured lion out for blood. A demon from another world.

The breath catches in my throat. I try to suck in air, but the feeling is all wrong.

Blood warms my chest.

The man is tackled to the floor instantly and Cyrus is a wild, rabid animal. Shedding. Ripping. Teeth flashing.

The attacker gets one muffled scream before it’s cut off with a gurgled blub.

Feet pound on the stairs and down the hallway.

Faces swarm, but all I can feel is pain.

My hands trembling, I search for the stake.

It’s buried in my chest, on the right side. Angled inward from the fleshy part where my arm and chest meet.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t get any air.

“Logan,” Cyrus’ face suddenly appears in my vision. He’s panic stricken, his face bone white, a stark contrast to his glowing red eyes and the blood sprayed across it. “Logan, why…why did you do that?”

I feel his arms slide under me and he lifts. A scream of pain rips from my chest, which causes more pain. I scream some more.

Gently, Cyrus lays me on his bed. His hands fuss around, hovering over the stake.

Other faces swim into the corners of my vision, but it’s darker where they are.

I keep looking at Cyrus, trying not to think about how I can’t breathe.

“She must have a collapsed lung,” a voice says. I think it’s Mina.

“How did he get in?” Cyrus growls, looking up at the others.

“The day we found the house in shambles,” she says. “I think…I think perhaps they never actually left the house.”

“Your Majesty,” another voice says, one I do not recognize. “They had been waiting for you. That stake in her chest was meant for your heart.”

Cyrus eyes drop back down to mine. He takes my hand, holding it up to his mouth. “Why?” he breathes. “Why would you do this, Logan?”

Tears well in my eyes. My lip trembles. “You know why,” I whisper. One tear breaks free from my eyes and rolls down my face.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. And I realize that he is shaking.

“At least you get what you want now,” I breathe. My chest hurts. My brain is screaming for more oxygen.

“No,” Cyrus says, shaking his head. “Not like this. It should never have ended in terror and fear.”

With my left hand, I reach up, lacing my fingers through his hair. “Better me than you. Had he gotten you, it would have been the end, and I…” The breath runs out of my lungs and I can’t pull any more words.

Cyrus shakes his head, and it makes me think that perhaps he doesn’t think it true.

“Logan, I…” his voice trembles. He falters, and my heart hurts even more for him when I see the confusion in his eyes. “Thank you. I am grateful to have the time finally arrive,” he whispers. He looks into my eyes. “So I can finally stop feeling guilty.”

“Guilty?” I manage just one more word.

He stares at me, and finally I see something different in his eyes. Me. Just me.

“The guilt of feeling as if I am betraying my wife,” he whispers. His words sound far away. The world grows a little darker. “Because when I look at you, Logan….”

Peace. It settles into my chest, overriding the pain. Taking over the fear and panic riding through me.

A small smile pulls on my lips.

Even as the strength seeps out of me. My hand falls away from his face, flopping to the bed, useless.

“I understand if I’m not her and you need to keep searching,” I say. I finally accept what I’ve been so terrified of. “I pray you find her.”

Tears well into Cyrus’ eyes and one breaks free, landing on my jawline.

“You deserve to find peace, Cyrus,” I whisper, knowing my words are running out. I let my eyes slide closed. “I’m ready.”

He hesitates. For a few moments. And in that hesitation, the pain and the suffocation come roaring back. Like a black, inky monster. It spreads from the stake, stretching out to every corner of my body.

But then there’s another pain.

A sharp bite. Fangs latching onto my neck, just over my carotid artery.

And then pulls. Long, strong pulls as Cyrus sucks my blood from my body.

Numbness spreads from the bite, and I nearly sigh in relief. My brain fogs and I stop caring about anything.

Pull after pull.

The world grows quieter.

The pain becomes less.

Deeper into the darkness I slip, eagerly embracing its welcome.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel the sensation of fangs retreating.

Deeper I slide.

Words whisper in my ear, but I’m too far down here to understand them.

The dark mist is comforting. It beckons me to join and never leave.

I swear, there’s a hint of warmth, just briefly. Soft lips tasting of guilt and love.

But I’m so far down here, and the dark cloak of death wraps around me, claiming me.