“But I don’t,” I say, my voice hoarse, scratchy, as though I haven’t used it all day. “I don’t know anything. All I know is that I’m no longer breathing, I think I might’ve killed someone who was already dead, and—” I close my eyes, unwilling to voice the worst of it, so I think it instead: And I think I might be a vampire.

“You are a vampire.” He nods, and by the glint in his deep, dark eyes, it’s clear he’s quite pleased by the fact.

And was I a vampire before—a hundred years ago?

He shakes his head. “No. Although Lucian tried to trick you into letting him turn you, when you discovered it was he, not me, who tried to sire you, you fled. And in your haste, knocked over a candelabrum, which burned down the house and took Lucian right along with it. By the time I returned, there was nothing left to save. You were gone, Lucian was six feet under, and though the servants clung to the hope that he’d someday hasten your return, I never believed it. But don’t worry about them—they bear no further allegiance to Lucian. Now that they know we’ve no plans to leave, they’ll happily serve us for the rest of eternity.”

I stare at the wall, the furniture, the heavy drapes that are forever drawn. Trying to make sense of it all, but it’s a lot to absorb.

“Everything you see here is ours, just as it was always meant to be. You’re an integral part of this house—without you, without our eternal love, it can’t thrive, it all falls apart. It’s been that way from the moment you first set foot in this place—over a century ago. The house was in a shambles but your mere presence was enough to start the process, and your artistic gift brought it to life. And that’s when I knew you were the one I’d been waiting for. Your connection to this place is very real—this is where you are meant be.” He looks at me, his gaze filled with reverence, voice soft and tender, when he adds, “I’ve waited so many years for you to return, Lily-Dani, and while Lucian may have sent you the dreams, it was you and I who were lovers. He met you first and swore that I stole you from him—but you can’t steal what was always meant to be yours, now, can you?” He smiles, smoothing my hair between his thumb and index finger. “I know you remember. I felt it in your kiss.”

“So what does it mean?” I ask, my gaze fixed on those deliciously chilled lips and longing to taste them again.

He smiles, exposing a full set of teeth, including, yes, fangs, kissing the tip of my nose when he says, “It means you’ll live forever. You’ll be young and beautiful forever. And you’ll never have to deal with Nina, high school, or the likes of Jake and Tiffany again.”

“And my dad? What about him?” I ask, suddenly overcome with the pain of missing him—a pain that subsides the moment I realize the truth: The person I miss is long gone. My old dad, the man he used to be, disappeared the moment he hooked up with Nina. Leaving behind a new, not at all improved dad in his place. One who barely takes notice of me. One who’s clearly eager to forget the past and embrace a future I prefer to avoid.

He shrugs. “That’s the only downside. You can never see him again. But still, there’s always something, right? Nothing ever comes without a price.” He slips his arm behind me, supporting my back as he helps me to sit. “But for now, you need your strength. You need to eat.”

He rings a bell and Violet, still transformed into her younger self, Camellia, hurries in. “Miss.” She bows before me, no longer wielding any type of strange power over me. No longer daring to make eye contact now that our positions as mistress and servant have been newly established. Setting down a plate piled high with sausage links, she says, “They’re fresh. Courtesy of that nice young stable boy from the next manor over.”

Bram glances between us, then dismisses Camellia with a wave of his hand. “So.” He leans toward me. “More of that blood sausage you seem to like so much?” He smiles. “Or—more of me?” He loosens his collar, exposing an area of his neck I vaguely remember feeding from—just after he bit me.

And when I look at him, I know it’s just one more experience I need to embrace—one that won’t just feed my art, but also free my soul—like he said.

I glance at the mirror before us, seeing him with his slicked-back hair, black waistcoat, black pants, and white frilly shirt, and me in my black watered-silk gown, with a jet-black tiara now secured at my crown.

And I reach for him, pulling him to me as my lips swell toward his. Remembering how it felt to be loved, truly loved, all those years ago, back when we first met, and knowing I’ve found that love once again, I lower my head, press my lips to his neck, and drink.

Aware of his arms circling around me, lovingly, protectively, bringing me home.

My real home.

The one that was always meant to be.

Earth.

She sits in her belly, swallowed by dirt,

desolate

bruised

broken.

Part of the world no one desires, entombed among creatures that slime and bloat with waste.

She is a tree root stuck below:

suffocating,

twisting to break

free.

Whispers from those that surround her tell

“you are safe

held in a warm embrace

Below.”

She is a virgin of safety. Always intimidated, attacked, tormented.

No air. No light. No possibility or wonder, joy, love, protection.

Home

she has not found you.

But Above…

The thought tickles her heart and makes her tan skin melt, sticky and warm. Her daydreams float images of happiness Above.

Above, she can be alive.

Above, she can be safe.

Anywhere is better than Below.

From her perch Below, she stares up. Her hair, the color of fallen leaves in dry season, falls down the back of her fur garment. Her neck muscles tight with dreaming. A crack in the hollow earth glistens with heat of a setting sun. Its width and length greatly reveals the blue Above and the possibility of looking upon

the Others.

She waits, searching for a glimpse.

Shaking with anticipation, excitement, her body sips shallow, noiseless breaths. If she reached up, her fingertips could play peekaboo with the floor of Above.

There! An Other! Heading to shelter, its home in the trees, as its sun fades. Its sweet smell drips through the cracks of her cocoon. Shattering fear.

They, the Others, are high-reaching and jointless. Their skin, barely covered by the hides of their kills, the dark of wet earth. She matches them, the Others. She too is dark skinned. Not the shiny brightness of stars like the ones Below; their pupils large, sucking light from the nothing.

She is unique, evolved, brave.

Her difference, the seed of abuse.

She touches, sees, hears, smells, tastes, wants…different.

Alone in a pit of ancestors who have forever grown Below. Who have forever grown afraid of the light and the Others Above, created strong and deadly, who survive by it.

She has been exposed to sixteen years of fear and hate, warned of the murdering Others that stalk Above, waiting to suck out bones of those Below who are captured. Their skin sacks left to ooze and twitch on mounds together, eyes left open to watch the flies hatch families of their own.

Still, she is forever in awe of the openness that is Above.

Sitting, staring, waiting, she dreams of an escape from Below, from her torturers who eat at her soul like grubs. A new life, name, family, home. To touch the sun’s warmth and drink the moon’s calm rays.

To love and be free.

To love and be wanted.

To love and be avenged.