the day she’d fled Señorita Ana’s home. That was something that had always bothered her. She’d tried several times over the two years after that fateful day to approach her, but always there had been at least one Enforcer watching her abuela’s home, and following her everywhere she went.
The last time Ildaria had tried, she’d arrived to see Juan outside, talking to several of the neighbors. She hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying, but she’d spotted a friend of her abuela’s standing, weeping, amongst the gathering and had read her mind. The woman had been visiting when Ildaria’s abuela had suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the floor. She’d run for help, but by the time she returned with the local healer, there was nothing he could do. Ildaria’s abuela was dead. Juan was now telling them that he would take care of her burial and everything else.
Ildaria had stumbled away, heart both broken and guilt laden. Her abuela had died alone. The logical side of her brain had assured her that it wasn’t her fault, but the emotional side had berated her for failing her abuela, the woman who had championed and raised her. Ildaria had wanted to attend the funeral, but Juan was there with Señorita Ana and her fiancé who had surely been her husband by then. There had also been about a dozen Enforcers in attendance. She’d had to watch the proceedings from a distance, unable to see her abuela one last time to say goodbye. She’d simply watched hollow-eyed as a beautiful and surely expensive wood coffin had been lowered into the ground.
Ildaria had stayed until long after most of the others had left, but while the guests, and even the Enforcers had left, Juan had remained behind alone, watching silently as they filled her grave with dirt. Most of the time he’d stood unmoving, but every once in a while he’d glanced around as if expecting someone. Her, she’d supposed, but sure it was a trap, she hadn’t dared approach. The man had been furious to the point of hatred that night in the alley, and that had been before she’d maimed him. And he’d hunted her for two years at that point, his men seeming everywhere all the time. A man did not expend that kind of energy and manpower without very deep feelings. She was sure he wasn’t doing it because he wished to welcome her to the immortal fold, and was terrified of what retribution he’d demand if he caught her.
Ildaria’s largest fear was that he’d have her executed. Señorita Ana had made it very clear that each immortal could turn only one, and saved it to turn a life mate should they be mortal. While Juan hadn’t intentionally turned her, his blood was what had brought on the turn. Did that mean he couldn’t turn a life mate should he meet one? Unless he killed her?
Or perhaps he’d already turned his one and she was one too many. He had been mated and had children, but his life mate was apparently dead, although Ildaria didn’t know the story behind it. She did know that Señorita Ana had said should an immortal turn a second mortal, the immortal that had turned them would be executed. But she was quite sure as head of the Council, Juan could dictate that she be executed instead. He hadn’t turned her deliberately after all.
Survival had seemed a perfectly good excuse to put off trying to see her abuela until another time while the woman had still lived, but once her abuela was dead Ildaria had berated herself for not trying harder. She should have risked death and walked straight up to her and told her everything, or as much as she could before she was dragged away and set on fire. She should have . . . done something. Or so she’d berated herself for decades afterward. The mental self-flagellation had ended eventually, but the guilt had remained, clinging to her like cobwebs.
Now though, Ildaria felt she was willing to let go of the burden of that guilt. She had been very young, and had done the best she could. Her abuela must know and understand that.
It left her feeling lighter somehow. Forgiven.
A peaceful smile curving her lips, she glanced at the clock. It was a little after two in the afternoon. She’d slept about seven hours. Good enough, she decided and slid from bed to go to the closet to