Chapter 58

ELIZABETH

I sat in the lobby, playing on my phone as I waited. An elder human shuffled past me, giving me a pointed frown and muttering about “generations” under her breath.

I gave her a big grin.

The elevator binged, and I glanced up as the human assistant, Miss Bell, appeared. Her limp blonde hair looked frazzled from all the blow-drying.

She scurried toward me, straining against her tight polyester pencil skirt. She gave me a kind, somewhat sad smile.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mcnoxnoctis, your husband is still in his meeting. Would you like to head home now? It’s getting late.” She gave a small condescending giggle.

I gazed up at her, my brows arching. I stood slowly, towering over her tiny frame. She took me in with a little step back.

“Did he say he would meet me at home?” I asked. She nodded quickly, her expression more serious. I pursed my lips and gave her a wicked smile.

“Then you’ll tell him I’ve gone out for dinner. He can meet me at the restaurant. It’s near Central Park.” I grinned at her.

She nodded quickly and walked me to the door, tilting on her heels. She pushed the button, and the door swung open with a swoosh.

“I’ll see you soon, Mrs. Mcnoxnoctis,” she called as I exited into the night.

I could never understand why Damon enjoyed hiring humans. I knew he got a kick out of their jumpiness, and he did enjoy watching them fall over themselves to serve him.

He especially liked to hire women who tended to fall head over heels for him.

I glanced at the tiny woman in the doorway, her eyes wide, trying to give me a condescending, pitying look. It didn’t suit her. I pitied her. Damon would drain her pretty soon.

I gave her a curt nod, then slipped into the bustling streets of Manhattan.

Damon and I were only in town for a week. We had plans to travel to France to attend Grace Chen and James Eternelle’s wedding.

The sun had only recently set, and the streets were full of humans relishing the hot summer weather, walking home, hurrying to the subways, and heading out for drinks with their friends.

I made my way through the dense streets to Central Park. It stretched out in front of me, dark and quiet.

I slipped into the wooded area, slipping my stilettos off and letting my toes dig into the dirt.

The earth shuddered with every car that passed by, every human that walked nearby.

I could feel the worms in the earth below my feet making their tunnels, the owls that swooped low in the sky hunting their prey. I watched as a long-eared owl slipped through the night silently.

Only the faint beating of his wings could be heard. I watched as it snagged a mouse from the undergrowth, and with a beating of its wings, it pulled back up into the night sky with its fresh prey.

My throat felt dry. I let my head fall back and took a deep breath. There were many humans in the park, most of them grouped together, picnicking with friends, running, or heading home.

In the distance, deeper in the wooded area, I heard the heavy footsteps of a runner, his breathing coming out in light puffs.

I concentrated on him—the racing of his heart, the whooshing of his sweet blood through his veins, the salty scent of his sweat.

I followed my senses further away from other humans and deeper into the woods, where I spotted him stretching. He was listening to a podcast about the recent economic crisis.

He wore only a pair of basketball shorts, his shirt rolled up and placed on his shoulder. He drank greedily from his water bottle.

I stepped through the undergrowth into his line of sight. He glanced up at me, squinting in my direction. I looked into his eyes.

I felt my whole body tensing, the scent of his hot blood making my throat constrict. I took in the furrowing of his brows, the warm olive tone of his skin, his dark curly hair falling into his eyes.

I felt like I was flying through time, and I was staring at Romulus. He stood before me with his chest heaving, sweat dripping down, his chin lifted.

The man raised his hand to me and gave me a little smile. I moved closer to him, my heart constricting in my chest.

Memories of Romulus flooded toward me—the hours we spent in his quarters as I gave him lessons on philosophy, astrophysics, algebra, ethics.

The way he would follow me around, call out for me when he had a nightmare.

I remembered the years spent in exile where he would seek my calming words, come to me with his latest romantic embarrassments, tell me of his favorite gladiators.

No matter how much I wanted to think about it, the memory of him betraying me, burning down the house, digging through the dirt to find me and burn me would not surface.

I only saw his round, happy face as a child—eager to learn, wanting to tell me about his life.

The face staring back at me was not Romulus. His brows were bushier, his jaw not as square, his eyes—they weren’t the same color.

Romulus had dark brown eyes, the man staring at me had blue-green eyes. I realized, very similar to that human child’s, Eleanor.

“Are you lost?” he asked in deeply accented English. He was obviously from South America.

He was taking in my clothing—the tight white skirt, loose blue blouse, and white stilettos dangling from my fingers. I wore my hair out, flowing down my back in a chaotic mess of fiery red.

“No,” I replied. I took a step toward him. His expression lit up. I heard his heart skip a beat, heard the rush of blood through his body.

“Can you help you with something?” he asked, smiling lazily at me, constricting his abs as much as he could.

I cocked my head to one side. He looked so much like Romulus. Romulus, who I was unable to kill. Romulus who tried to murder me, who hunted me down, who hunted my family.

“I think you can,” I breathed. This guy couldn’t believe his luck. He was grinning at me. He jogged closer to me, and I let the scent of his blood fill me.

“Bad day?” he asked, jutting his chin toward my bare feet. “We all have bad days. Do you want to come with me to get a drink? I’d love to buy you a beer or a cocktail.”

He cocked his head at me.

“No, I think I’ll stay here,” I purred, my hunter’s instincts kicking in, knocking me out of my memories. He was grinning at me, his hands on his hips.

“I’m David,” he reached his hand out.

“Lizzie,” I answered, taking his hand. It was hot and sweaty. I didn’t let it go. He took a step toward me. He was tall. He gazed down at me, his heart racing.

“What are you doing in the middle of the park this evening, Lizzie?” he asked softly.

“Hunting,” I breathed, allowing my eyes to meet his. A shiver went through his whole body. “I’m hungry,” I growled.

He went to speak, but I placed my finger on his lips, silencing him. He watched me wide-eyed as I placed my hands on his shoulders and stood on my toes.

His blood was racing through his hot veins. “You smell so good,” I whispered to him. He shuddered under my touch.

“Wait. You aren’t a lady of the night, are you?” he gasped. I chuckled, running my lips along his neck, tasting his salty sweat.

“That’s exactly what I am, David,” I whispered into his ear. “A lady of the night.”

I bit into his throat as my hand clamped over his mouth. His hot blood gushed into my mouth. I growled.

He staggered, struggling to get out of my grip. His punches were like a kitten’s swats.

I held his head back, giving me better access as I sucked on his blood. I felt his heart sputtering in his chest, his breathing haggard.

When I had my fill, I let him drop to the ground, a shell of the man he was. His breath was wheezing, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

I licked my lips. In the distance, I could still hear the other humans on their way home over the roar of the traffic. I crouched down next to David.

He was squinting up at me, great tears rolling down his cheeks. His eyes, those blue-green eyes, stared straight up at me.

“It was nice to meet you, David,” I breathed, gingerly pulling his phone from his fingers.

He watched as I dialed 911. “It’s a shame. I can’t bring myself to kill you. You look too much like a boy I loved long ago. He broke my heart. Don’t they all?

“I suppose this is proof that I’m not over it. A mother never forgets the pain of losing a child. She never forgets the cold blade when she’s stabbed in the back.”

He was blinking at me, trying to understand. I pressed the call button on his phone and placed it near his face. “Goodbye, David,” I murmured, standing and moving away.

I heard him mumbling his whereabouts into the phone, gasping for breath.

I made my way quietly through the park, gazing up at the stars occasionally. My clothes were coated in a light spray of his blood.

It wasn’t something that I minded. Being covered in blood was something I savored, my true nature. But not a good look when blending in with humans.

A swooping caught my eye, and I spied the owl descending through the air above me, its talons extended, still hunting.

For a moment, our gazes crossed with a flicker of recognition, kinship, then it was gone behind the trees.

I felt a small vibration in my pocket and pulled out my phone.

“Hello?”

“Mother, there’s something you should know,” Angus’s strained voice replied from the other end of the line.

“What is it?”

“That human child Rose adopted; she lives.”

“Oh. Not for long,” I breathed.