certainty of death’s hard stop, even though the pair of them had shared just two supervised greeting teas, the required parental dinner, and the announcement cocktail party? All told, he had spent maybe five hours in Rochelle’s company, and until now, it had all been witnessed.
“Boone, I want to explain. I’m in love . . . with someone else.”
As he smiled, he wondered what that kind of connection felt like.
“I’m really happy for you. Love is a blessing.”
Rochelle looked away, her face turning into a mask of composure. “Thank you.”
Boone wanted to ask questions about the male. But again, even though they were technically engaged, as the humans would say, they were essentially strangers, and that was what made all this so crazy.
She thought it was hard breaking the engagement? Try ending a full-blown mating.
“Just tell them I am not worthy,” he insisted. “And then you’re free to mate the other male.”
As Rochelle’s eyes came back to him, he reflected that they were the same color blue as his own, and for some reason, that irritated him. Not that there was anything wrong with her; it was just . . . enough already with the proper-bloodline stuff. They were so alike in terms of coloring, save for his dark hair, that they could have been brother and sister, and how creepy was that.
Rochelle flattened the handkerchief he’d given her on her lap, smoothing the square, running her fingertip over his monogram in the center.
“So you . . . you don’t want to do this, either?”
“I think it would be better if we knew each other”—at all—“and we were choosing this. I know that’s not how our kind do the mating thing, but why? My sire and my birth mahmen were never happy with each other, and they had an arranged mating. After she died, my father went and did it all over again with the same result. A part of me thought maybe I could show him how it’s properly done, but honestly? Especially if you’re in love with someone else? Not only what are the chances of a happily ever after for us, but why bother.”
“I can’t leave you with all the social stigma. It’s not fair.”
“Don’t kid yourself. If we end this for any reason other than me being unacceptable, the social fallout on you is going to be downright brutal. That male you love? He will not be allowed to mate you. You will be considered ruined and ineligible for a proper hellren for the rest of your life. On top of that, your whole bloodline will be shamed and they will blame it all on you. Are you saying you’d rather enjoy that result?”
Rochelle winced. “You’re going to be shunned to some degree, though.”
“It will be nothing compared to what the glymera will do to you. I’d rather be the talk of the party circuit for a year and get side-eye for a decade than know I ruined your life and the life of your male.”
Rochelle shook her head. “You’re getting the bad end of this. Why would you do this for anyone?”
“I don’t know. I guess . . . love is worth sacrificing for. Even if it’s not my own.”
“You are such a male of worth,” she whispered. “And you are so brave.”
Was he really, though? Maybe in the context of the glymera, but the realist in him knew that true bravery was not facing the slings and arrows of haughty stares and disapproving comments. After the raids, after the Lessening Society had killed so many innocents in their homes, how could anybody suggest that arbitrary social mores were the be-all and end-all of anything worthwhile? Or that thwarting them for a good reason should get you the vampire equivalent of the Purple Heart?
Rochelle searched his face as if trying to assess whether he could handle the pressure. “You really don’t care about what they think of you, do you.”
Boone shrugged. “I’ve never been a big fan of the social scene. There are people here in Caldwell who don’t have any idea that Altamere even has a son, and I’m fine with that. My father will take some heat, but I assure you, after the way he’s dismissed me all my life, I’m perfectly comfortable with not worrying about his problems. And please don’t feel guilty. This is the best for both of us.”
Rochelle dabbed at fresh tears. “I wish I were like you. I’m a coward.”