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Jean-Claude’s voice: “In truth, I do not know if the gifts and curses you gain through the vampire marks will vanish if the triumvirate breaks. It may leave you as I found you, alone and safe in your own skin, if that is what you truly desire. Or you may retain some abilities, but lose the aid of…” He hesitated, finally finishing with, “all of us, in your struggle with the ardeur.”

I turned until I found his face, still out of focus, like I wasn’t working quite right. “The ardeur will go away,” I whispered.

“I simply do not know what will happen, because what I feel you doing is impossible. Only true death should be able to break you free of my marks. Since what you attempt has never been done, I do not know what the outcome will be.” His voice was utterly bland, empty, as if his words meant nothing.

I tried to think about what he’d said. Even my thoughts seemed sluggish. What was wrong with me? I was hysterical, that was what was wrong with me. The moment I thought it that clearly, I started to calm. I didn’t feel any better, really, but I could think. That was an improvement. I thought about being free of the ardeur, and that was a good thought. I thought about being free of Jean-Claude’s marks, and all the metaphysical mess that came with it. My life being my own again, that sounded good. I thought about being just me, as Jean-Claude said, just me in my own skin. Just me, alone, again. Alone again. I had a moment of absolutely joyous nostalgia for my life before I’d acquired so many people. To come home to an empty house didn’t seem awful, it seemed relaxing.

Micah touched my face, turned me to look at him. I could see him clearly, finally. His kitty-cat eyes were so serious. “Nothing that is happening is worth dying over, Anita, please.”

I thought he meant Damian, then realized he didn’t. I wasn’t cold just because I was trying to break the triumvirate. There was only one way to be free. One of us had to die. Could I break free? Maybe. Would I die trying? Maybe. The thought should have scared me, but it didn’t. And that scared me. I know it sounds stupid, but it didn’t scare me to think I might die, but it did scare me not to be scared. Stupid, but true.

I had to do better than this, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I had to do better than this.

Richard hugged me from behind, bending all that six-feet-plus of warmth and muscle around me. “Please, Anita, don’t do this.” His breath was so warm, almost hot, against my hair.

I looked up at him, from inches away. His eyes were perfectly brown, warm, and full of so much emotion. “You’d be free.”

He shook his head, his eyes shiny. “I don’t want to be free that badly.”

“Don’t you?” I asked.

“No, this price is too high. Don’t leave me, not like this.” He held me close, his hair long enough now that it tickled along my face. I buried my face in the warm, sweet scent of his neck, but I knew it was a lie.

I cuddled against him, as tight and close as I could. I buried myself against the warmth and strength of him, and it still felt wonderful. It still felt so right, but I knew it wasn’t. We were both too stubborn for it to work.

I was crying again, and wasn’t sure why. Crying my regrets out against the warmth of Richard’s neck. The coulda-beens, shoulda-beens, woulda-beens. I wrapped myself around him, legs, arms, all of it, and clung to him, clung to him and cried.

A hand stroked the back of my hair, and a voice said, “Ma petite, ma petite, drop these shields, let us inside again.”

I turned my head to look at him while I clung to Richard. I stared up into that face, those midnight-blue eyes. His hand stroked along the edge of my face, and it wasn’t enough. Whatever I’d done to myself, I’d walled myself up tight. Since I hadn’t tried to cut myself off on purpose, I didn’t know how to undo what I’d done. How do you undo an accident?

I tried to explain. “I’m head-blind. I can’t feel anything metaphysically. I didn’t mean to cut us up.” I knew now I’d survive what I’d tried to do, but would everyone else? I reached out to Damian. Even dead in his