Epilogue

REQUIEM SPENT THE rest of the day in the downstairs area with Max. Rocco and I had a lot of ’splaining to do. We left out some things. Ava attacked him and he was forced to use the maximum of his power. He probably could have stopped sooner, but why? She was dead either way because of the warrant.

Bibiana asked, in private, “You gave him his first pleasure in centuries; why did he attack you?”

Max and I exchanged looks, and he said, “He knew he’d do anything to have that feeling again. He knew that Anita owned him lock, stock, and barrel, and he couldn’t have that.”

“He’d rather have power than the pleasure?” she asked.

“He knew it would be a choice,” Max said. “I think Anita’s leash may be shorter than the one you keep me on.” They had laughed good-naturedly and hugged.

Requiem suggested that we cut the burns away the next night, and try to heal it with sex, as we’d done with other fresh wounds in the past. It worked. He’s perfect again. It makes the idea of trying it on Asher possible. But we’ll start with a little piece of skin, just in case the deeper burns make it not work.

Denis-Luc St. John’s sister never gave him my message. He called, upset that he’d missed it all, but his sister wasn’t sorry—he was alive. I kind of agree with his sister.

Lieutenant Grimes said that if I ever get tired of being a vampire hunter, to let him know; I could test and see if I could become their first female member. I was flattered, really flattered. I actually didn’t say no. I can’t see living in Vegas, but I could see working on a SWAT unit like theirs. Their pilot program of using practitioners is successful enough that other cities are talking about it—not St. Louis so far, but I have hopes. Would I really give up hunting vampires? I’d still help hunt them, but the idea of working on a unit where the idea is to save lives and not take them is pretty appealing.

I took Crispin and Domino home with me to St. Louis. The redhead, I sent home to his clan. Their queen has requested a visit in a neutral city, since I keep poaching her males—one of them being her son, the first one, Alex. So far the red tigers don’t seem as affected by me as the white or the black. Sebastian went back to his life. He is drawn to me, but he doesn’t want to go back into servitude to anyone. I don’t blame him.

Cynric was a different problem. Yes, he was legal in Vegas, and yes, his legal guardians, Max and Bibiana, were fine with it, so no court charges, but he is besotted with me. It’s worse than Crispin, because he had fewer internal protections. He was just so young, so open, and because the tigers, or at least the white clan, try for monogamy, I was his first. The thought of a massive ardeur feed, with a group orgy thrown in, as anyone’s first time just makes me ill.

They’re keeping him in Vegas for at least a year, because next birthday he’ll be legal in Missouri. I told Bibiana it doesn’t matter, he’d still be a child, but she said, “You have made him your tiger to call, Anita, you must take responsibility for that.”

“I didn’t mind-fuck him, Vittorio did.”

“But you are who he pines for.”

I made the mistake of asking, “What do you want me to do about him?”

“Let him come visit next year.”

I told her we’d discuss it, but really, not only no, but hell no.

The SWAT operators in the hospital are all awake. They found a girlfriend, or wife, or child, or parent to give them a kiss of love. It all worked, though one operator had never married, parents dead, and so they finally brought his dog in; one good face-licking later and his master was up and around. Ain’t love grand?

Jean-Claude, Asher, and I have talked about what happened in Vegas, with the ardeur and Vittorio at the end. We agree with Max about why he attacked me, but why did sex disrupt all that ancient vampire ability? Jean-Claude finally said, “Everyone believes that Belle Morte’s line is weak because our power is love, but really, ma petite, what is more powerful than love?” I could have argued that I’d seen hate kill love, or violence, or . . . but in the end, maybe he’s right. I know that Vittorio wasn’t beaten by power. He was beaten by the offer of love. “ ’Twas beauty that killed the beast,” the old movie said. ’Twas love that killed this one, or maybe lust, but sometimes I’m not sure there’s as much difference as we like to think between the two. Not if you mean it.

I wasn’t lying when I offered the ardeur to Vittorio. In that moment, I wanted to give him back what he’d lost because I could feel his need, feel the great sorrow of it that had turned to such rage. I wanted to hold him and make it better, and I did, and he tried to kill me for it. Men—who knows what they really want?