After a long day and a longer night, I gather Cyrus up into my arms. I don’t worry about his head falling off anymore. He’s solid. Reattached. But still, I’m careful. Just like he was sleeping and I don’t want to wake him up.

Through the castle we travel. With sunshades on, I step out into the brilliant sun.

We climb the stone steps that rise up the back of the castle to the clearing. The air grows thick as we get closer, and there’s a taste to it. Sweet, bitter.

The logs smoke heavily as I cross the clearing with Cyrus. Set in their perfect circle, they burn and smolder. The smoke is so thick I can hardly see more than three feet in front of me.

I step over the line. Gently, I lay Cyrus on the stone alter. I straighten his legs, lay his arms straight at his sides.

My first instinct is to fold them over his chest. But that is what I did with the dead.

Cyrus is not dead.

Cupping my hands on the sides of his face, I straighten his neck. But I just study him for a long moment.

He seems so peaceful. And for a moment, I feel guilty for forcing him back into this life. There is so much turmoil happening now. So much about our world could change.

Cyrus has done this all for so long. He is finally getting some rest.

But it’s my turn to be selfish.

I want him back.

Early this morning, I changed Cyrus clothes. There was still blood all over his previous ones. So I took some from our bedroom and carefully changed him into black jeans and a light blue button up.

I’m wearing a matching light blue dress. Thin straps wrap over my shoulders, the skirt hangs loose around my knees. My hair is curled, half of it tied back behind my head.

This has to be perfect.

Everything will be perfect.

Just like something out of a fairy tale.

It flashes through my brain for a minute, how these events will be retold decades down the line. How Cyrus was finally killed, how it was finally Sevan’s turn to fight for Cyrus.

Our legend will grow tenfold.

But first, this has to work.

I straighten, looking around. The logs continue to burn. A weak spot to the south draws me, and I carefully set another in the line. I add more herbs to the east side, making the smoke a pale green for a few minutes.

I nearly choke on the scent of the air.

But as I turn in a circle, observing, it’s perfect. Everything looks exactly like it did in the vision Cyrus gave me.

Checking the time on an old timepiece Cyrus used to carry with him everywhere that I brought with me, I see it’s exactly one o’clock.

Eleven minutes.

Each one of them feels like a full day.

So I stand beside Cyrus and close my eyes, listening.

Voices float across the valley, but they aren’t loud. It’s calm, or at least it sounds calm. I know it isn’t really down there, where six thousand soldiers question and detain my four hundred descendants here in Roter Himmel.

Guilt rips through my veins. But I swallow once. I did what I had to.

There. Subtle, but so obvious to a vampire, I feel it. A drop in temperature.

I pull on the special glasses, and look to the sun.

A small crescent cuts into the side of the sun that is my most powerful enemy. It slowly, slowly creeps across it.

It’s amazing really. That something as powerful as the sun can be overtaken by something as tiny as the moon, even if only for a brief amount of time.

As vampires, one of the biggest things that separates us from the humans we once were, is that we can no longer enjoy the sun. We cannot be out during the day without extreme pain.

If anything can guide a vampire soul back to his body, it is this power.

The air grows cooler and my heart rate triples.

Turning, I stand over Cyrus.

“It is time, im yndmisht srtov,” I say. My voice trembles. I’m scared. I’m so scared. What if this doesn’t work? “Wherever you are, it is time to come back to me. After all these years of separation, now is our time. Come back to me.”

The world fractionally grows dimmer. The temperature continues to drop. I look up at the sun once more with my special glasses.

Half of the sun is covered by the moon.

I look at the time again. 1:09.

“Please give him back to me,” I beg as I turn my face up to the sky. “There will never be anyone else I can turn to. I have never and will never love another like I love him.”

The sky grows dimmer and the air continues to grow colder.

“He has made mistakes, over and over,” I tell the universe, the sun, the moon. “But this is a good man. And the world needs him.”

Silently, I stand, feeling a heavy darkness press down on me.

Dimmer, dimmer. Darker and darker the world grows.

And finally, I feel it.

The world surrounding me goes dark.

The night during the day.

I remove my eclipse glasses as I look down at Cyrus.

He lies there without moving. His chest does not rise or fall. His fingers do not twitch.

I set my glasses on the altar beside him. The air shifts, blowing the smoke into us and I inhale, tasting the bitter sweet.

Through the darkness, my eyes can see him.

“Cyrus,” I whisper. “It is time to come back.”

I tremble. I’m a quivering leaf as I stare at him so hard I could burn holes right through him.

Open your eyes, I silently plea.

But he’s utterly still.

Total darkness. I feel it.

Now. Now is the time.

I feel the seconds ticking. Ticking, ticking until they’re gone and the sun will once more take over the moon and the earth.

“Cyrus,” I say, my voice growing frantic. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “Please wake up, Cyrus. I need you to come back to me!”

Fractionally, the worst feeling I’ve ever felt creeps over my skin. I feel the temperature rise just a degree.

Panic stricken, I pull the timepiece out and check.

1:12.

“No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “No. Cyrus. Cyrus, please wake up!”

This is it. If this does not work, I have no other options. I don’t know what else to do.

“Cyrus, please!” I cry. I take his face between my hands, shaking him just slightly. All of my insides are trembling. I feel sick. I feel empty. “Cyrus, come back to me!”

But he does not move.

He does not pull in air.

His feet do not twitch.

I die inside.

Everything in me sinks.

The fire inside of me flickers.

“Please,” I whisper as I lower down to him. “Come back to me, im yndmisht srtov. I love you, Cyrus.”

I press my lips to his.

This is the last spark I have.

The last time I will ever feel hope.

So I linger, before I die the death of my soul.

The temperature rises another degree.

And then my hair is ruffled. A hand laces into my hair before cupping the back of my head.

Lips warm and press to mine.

A breath draws in, desperate, pulling me in.

A sound escapes my lungs and a cry becomes a hungry moan as I pull him tighter to my face, to my kiss.

Cyrus pushes himself up onto an elbow but never once breaks the kiss. He holds me closer. His lips part slightly. He tastes of time and immortality and power and pain.

I climb onto the altar, straddling him, never once letting go.

“Cyrus,” I weep, scared to open my eyes and find that this is only my imagination.

“Sevan,” he says my name. His hand cups the side of my neck, his thumb tracing away the tears pouring down my face. “I’m here, Logan.”

And now my eyes finally open.

I have to see if it is real.

He looks at me with those green eyes. Eyes as dark and deep as the forests that surround us.

They look at me with perfect clarity. Scared and tired perhaps, but so utterly solid and real.

“Cyrus,” I breathe again, touching my forehead to his. I can’t stop the tears of gratitude that slip down my face without stopping. I weep.

“I’m here, my love,” he says, gathering me into his arms as I straddle him. “You found me.” He whispers into my hair. “You found me.”

I tuck my face into his neck and cry and cry. I wrap my arms around his back, hugging him so tight to me that if he were human, he’d be crushed.

And for just a moment, I question.

Cyrus has never died before. He has never gone through a Resurrection.

What if…

I back up just a little, looking into his eyes.

“Are you…” I don’t even know what to ask. My lips tremble, and I’m so scared. Because what if I’m still alone? “The cure?”

Cyrus traces his eyes over me, his eyes rising over my neck. Over my lips. And finally to my eyes.

His own flash red dimly. “Nothing has changed, my love,” he breathes. “I will always be here for you, until the end of time.”

His words break me.

After weeks of separation, after so much longing and arguing with myself, here we are. Together.

Our eyes lock together. I melt. I fuse. My soul with his.

There were so many mistakes made in the past. So much darkness. So many angry words.

But right here, I feel it from my lips, to my stomach, to the very tips of my toes.

I love this man.

I will die for this man.

Over and over. And over and over, I will love him until the sun burns out.

“Cyrus,” I breathe, capturing everything coursing through me in one single word.

Cyrus.

I capture his face between my hands and bring my lips to his again.

They are so gentle. Reverent even. Cyrus’ lips are permanently impressed to the shape of mine.

He drags his hand up my thigh, sliding under my dress, and cupping my hipbone. His fingers are strong, possessive. Marking me as his own.

My own hands slide up his arms, my fingers digging deep.

His lips part and his tongue gently prods at mine. I let him in willingly, eager to taste him.

A blissful moan escapes my lips.

After all this time. After all the fantasies night after night as I was captive in his newly bought home, after watching him and wondering how he would feel, here we are.

“Logan,” he whispers against my flesh. His kisses trail from my lips, over my jaw, down my throat.

I moan, filled with ecstasy.

I tilt my head back, feeling weak with my longing for more, more, more.

But as my eyes slide open, I find the world a dim gray.

The sun is once more overtaking the day. It will be brilliantly bright once more in a matter of minutes.

I sit forward, lacing my fingers into Cyrus’ hair. He continues kissing my neck, his breathing a quiver.

“We need to get inside, Cyrus,” I say, and it has never been harder to speak words I did not want to say. “The sun will reappear soon.”

Like he’s just now realized that we are even outside, Cyrus’ gaze snaps skyward. I can’t read the expression on his face. Awe. Wonder. Disgust. Disappointment.

Cyrus always discounted his family’s star worshiping.

And here he is. Finally returned by the power of the cosmos.

“Come,” I say. Regretfully, I climb off of him and down from the altar. I take his hand, pulling him to a sitting position and then to his feet.

I step toward the path that leads back to the castle.

But Cyrus stops, pulling me to a halt with him.

The wind has shifted, blowing the smoke back toward the mountain. It clears the view, and the entire valley of Roter Himmel opens up before us.

We can see everything from up here.

The homes. The old church.

And the countless tents pitched. The thousands of bodies milling about.

A look of horror fills Cyrus’ face. He turns pale white. His body trembles.

“It’s alright, my love,” I say, squeezing his hand. “That was me. All of this was my doing.”

He blinks once, his mouth slightly slack. But he blinks again, even if he’s still pale white.

But he closes his mouth. He swallows once.

So I pull him behind me again. I guide us back down the path that leads to the side door. The world around us grows brighter by the moment.

The pain just begins to stab at the back of my brain when we step into the safety of the castle, and I close the door firmly behind us.