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His warm brown skin had turned ashen without blood, and the elegant, angled lines of his face were harsh under the wiry black of his trimmed beard.
He’d never been able to find them once he’d come to America from India—not that it mattered anymore.
Any human without magic remained blissfully unaware of what the town hid from them with Ender’s Blessing. Decker could flash his fangs at a stranger and all they’d see was a friendly smile.
“Would you like to know me, Decker Belmont?” Drawing back, he searched Laurie’s eyes. They were hopeful and tentative, as if he feared that even now, he wasn’t wanted. “I know you, Laurie Lane,” Decker said. “I am the one who made you.”
You’d be the death of me if we weren’t already dead.
will hold you close to me and you will be my only, until you tire of me.”
Miles away, in the cemetery at Amaretto, a woman with a gilt-topped cane stood between two graves.
Usually, the dead were eager to wake. This one tried her patience.
Under the wind-hardened crust of snow, the grave cracked open.
