A Shade of Vampire 90: A Ruler of Clones - Bella Forrest Page 0,15

from Visio, or Herbert and his sanctuary. Would the ghouls of Biriane be even more different?

Unending took my hand in hers, gently pulling me closer. She kissed me, and for a moment I forgot all about Biriane and its strange ghouls. My wife’s lips were soft and sweet, her love for me undying.

She pulled away slightly. “You’ve been my rock this whole time,” she said. “Don’t let go of me now.”

“Never,” I replied. “I will never let go.”

She smiled, and I knew we’d be okay. One way or another, we’d get to every truth that had been hidden. There was nothing the universe could keep from us.

Unending

I was angry. Boiling, my consciousness bubbling like a pot on a blazing fire.

But my anger served no good. Not to myself, and certainly not to the incredible creature who’d chosen me to love and to be with for the rest of time. My anger brought nothing useful to the table, and I dared not let it take over. No, we had come a long way. Death’s secrets were coming apart at the seams, and I wanted to know everything.

I was tired, too. Tired of the lies and unspoken truths. Tired of the hypocrisy.

Biriane felt like the epitome of everything I had come to despise Death for. The World Crusher had been brought here. Hidden and locked away, and I wanted to know why. As much as the mere thought of my maker irked me at this point, I had to admit that she’d often had solid reasons for doing what she did. The World Crusher’s incarceration was no different; there must have been a reason. I wanted to understand what had driven her to make such radical decisions.

It didn’t minimize the gravity of her deeds. Oh no, I dared hope the universe would eventually repay Death in kind for all the times she’d disrupted its balance for her own personal benefit—Thezin and the soul fae’s survival were two solid examples, and I had a feeling the World Crusher would turn out to be a clear third. I couldn’t help but wonder what other things she’d been keeping from me and every other Reaper in the realm.

Dwelling on the big picture was too much to handle—it only made me angrier. So I focused on the Temple of Roses. I focused on the ghouls and the city itself. On the stories that needed to be told. On the man who’d chosen to walk this world with me, to build a life and a family with me. It was infinitely better than giving into the anger that nipped at my nerve endings.

“They cherished their city,” Tristan said after a few minutes of silent walking. He’d been looking around, studying the details and drawing conclusions regarding this place. “A lot of work went into the architecture. No house was left on its own. Not a single wall or roof was allowed to digress from the overall aspect. Notice the metal roof tiles. The same type of stone bricks and white sand mortar used for the walls.”

I offered a faint nod. “I suppose they functioned on a certain aesthetic.” We both knew the truth of this world was dark and probably dangerous, but peeling away at it layer by layer felt like the only sane approach. What had killed these people? And was there a connection to the World Crusher? Had this been like Visio, but worse?

“They did. All white. Minimalist lines. Sharp corners but perfectly round forms for the tall towers,” he said, then walked over to a villa ahead on the right side of the alley leading toward the city center. “And look here. Three steps in front of each house. Everything is slightly elevated,” Tristan added. There was certainly a pattern, an adherence to certain architectural and functional norms. Tristan continued, “My guess is the river would overflow sometimes, enough to flood the houses. So they built this final version of the city about five feet above.”

There was a story already weaving in my husband’s head. I loved that about him. He found meaning in everything, even where I’d never bothered to look before. It had come with the territory of being a living creature, and I looked forward to experiencing that for myself—the awareness of having limited time in this world.

As much as I enjoyed Tristan’s anthropological observations, however, there was something else I needed his advice about. He had yet to steer me wrong, and I’d become accustomed to relying on his counsel