her. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, eyes that were haunted with sadness. He feared for her health, yet nothing he did, nothing Montroy did, had been able to assuage her grief.
"What's wrong?" he asked, searching the shadows for the source of her distress.
"Rayven..." She stared at him through eyes wide with terror. "He's in danger."
Bevins set the candlestick on the table beside the bed. " 'Tis just a dream, milady."
"No." She shook her head. "No, it was real."
"There, there, milady. I'm sure he's fine."
"No." She shook her head again. "Can you not feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"He wants to die." She screamed Rayven's name aloud. "I will not live without him." She stared, unseeing, into the night, her hands clenched into tight fists. "Do you hear me, Rayven, I will not live without you!"
She sobbed his name one more time, then collapsed on the bed.
"Milady." Bevins bent over her, frightened by the sudden lack of color in her face, the slackness of her skin. He shook her slightly, shook her again when there was no response. "Rhianna!"
He shivered as a cold chill swept through the room and knew, in his heart, that she was right. Rayven was seeking to end his existence.
And Rhianna was going to meet him there.
"Not here," Lysandra said. She ran her nails down the length of his neck. "Come."
He followed Lysandra to her lair, stretched out on the red velvet settee that was the room's only furnishing save for a sleek mahogany coffin.
Lysandra sat beside him, her fangs bared, her breath coming hard and fast in anticipation. She would drink his blood, drain him to the point of death, and in so doing, she would gain the strength he had accumulated in the last four centuries. And then, when he was too weak to resist, she would carry him outside and leave him there. The sun would do the rest, burning away all evidence that he had ever existed.
He stared into Lysandra's face. Her black eyes burned with the hunger. His fists curled in the folds of his cloak as he felt Lysandra's hand move in his hair, lightly stroking, and he imagined it was another hand, Rhianna's hand.
Rhianna... Rhianna...
He felt the whisper of Lysandra's breath against his cheek, felt her lips, cool as a winter wind, brush his.
Cold, he thought, when Rhianna's had ever been warm.
He flinched as Lysandra's hands folded over his shoulders, holding him in place. He had forgotten how strong she was.
Rhianna... Rhianna...
"Do it," he said, and closed his eyes.
He swallowed against the fear rising within him as he felt the prick of Lysandra's fangs against his throat.
There was a sharp pain, the sensation of blood being drawn from his body. He forced himself to relax.
This was what he wanted, an end to his wretched existence, the sweet oblivion of eternity.
He felt himself sinking into a swirling red mist, felt himself growing weak, weaker. Pleasure wrapped itself around the darkness, and he knew a moment of gratitude that she had decided to be kind and not cruel.
It was fitting, he mused, that he should find oblivion in the arms of the one who had made him.
Tremors wracked his body. Cold devoured him. Rhianna... Rhianna ... He would never see her face again, never feel her warmth, see her smile. He began to struggle as his body's instinct for self-preservation took over. He felt Lysandra's hands tighten on his shoulders as he tried to escape her hold, felt his cloak gather around him, enfolding him, loving him, and he knew the end was near.
Rayven! Rayyen! I will not live without you.Her voice, crying in his mind. Rayven, come back to me.
He tried to open his eyes, tried to fight his way through the smothering layers of darkness that dragged him toward eternity, but he lacked the strength. His heartbeat was slow and heavy in his chest. As from far away, he heard Lysandra's voice.
"I hope you find the peace you seek on the other side."
He wanted to speak to her, to tell her he had changed his mind, that Rhianna needed him, but he was empty, helpless. He had a sense of movement and knew Lysandra was carrying him outside. She carried him effortlessly, moving with preternatural speed through the dark streets.
He felt the wind upon his face, as cold and final as death itself, as she carried him away from her house, out of the city, into the middle of a graveyard that had been abandoned long ago. The sun would find