few decades.”
Becca’s eyes widened. “God, I hope not.”
There it was—that spark Irena had wanted to see. She grinned and reshaped the spear to resemble Mackenzie, the novice’s vampire lover. She tossed the statue to Becca.
“Oh, wow. Thanks. Holy crap, it’s just like him.” Her fingers ran over the chest, the face. She jerked her hand away, sucking in a breath. Blood welled on her thumb, and the novice stuck it between her lips.
Irena frowned. “You put blood into your mouth but balk at eating a heart?”
Becca yanked her thumb out. “Was that a lesson? Was I supposed to learn something useful?”
Learn something useful—from a statue of a skinny vampire? Yet Becca was in earnest. Irena closed her eyes and fought to remain silent. The sort of laughter she was prone to might destroy the small progress she’d made in drawing out the novice.
“Yes,” she heard Alejandro say with dry amusement. “A simple lesson: Fangs are sharp.”
“Oh. I already know that.”
“Good,” Irena said, rocking up to her feet. She didn’t know if ten minutes had passed, but it felt as if they had. “And if you do specialize with me, bring Lao Tzu’s book with you.”
She sensed they were both going to need it.
Rosalia sat on the edge of a narrow bunk with her arms crossed, running her hands up and down the sleeves of a soft red sweater. She’d showered, Irena saw, and left her dark hair to dry into damp curls.
Guardians could clean themselves by vanishing dirt into their cache, but sometimes there was no replacement for water.
And even water couldn’t always clean deep enough.
Hugh had pulled a chair to the bedside. He’d leaned toward Rosalia, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady on hers.
It was, Irena noted with relief, a few moments after she and Alejandro entered the room before Hugh and Rosalia broke eye contact.
Trust still existed between them, despite the changes in Hugh after his Fall. He’d aged in the eighteen years since he’d become human again, growing from the boy he’d appeared to be as a Guardian into a man. He wore glasses to correct his vision; he had to eat, sleep, and breathe again.
But his psychic scent was the same, as was his core of strength. Rosalia would be able to take comfort in that—would need to take comfort in that. Because everything else had changed.
Little of it was for the better.
Rosalia glanced at Irena, then looked to Alejandro. A sad smile touched her mouth. “Hugh has just told me of the Ascension.”
Lead balled in Irena’s stomach. Had Rosalia been in the catacombs that long? More than a decade had passed since the Ascension—when thousands of Guardians had given up the fight, their duty, and moved on to their afterlives.
After the Ascension, less than a hundred Guardians remained—and half of those had been lost in battle with Lucifer’s nest of nosferatu two years before. Though she’d once counted many Guardians among her friends, Irena despised those who had Ascended. Those who had died fighting—those she still grieved.
But whether they’d Ascended or been slain, Rosalia had likely just learned that most—if not all—of her friends were gone.
“Is there anyone?” Alejandro asked.
Rosalia nodded. “Mariko and Radha,” she said, then looked to Hugh.
“Radha is on assignment in Calcutta, and Mariko has taken over most of eastern Asia as her territory,” Hugh said. “If you wish, Jake or Selah can teleport them here, or bring you to either of them.”
Rosalia nodded, and her eyes filled. “I cannot remember anything you say has happened to me. I shouldn’t need to see them, but I do. It is so stupid.”
In her distress, Rosalia had spoken in Italian, and so Irena’s quiet reply was in the same language. “It is not stupid.”
“If you say.” Rosalia firmed her jaw. “I left Caelum not long after you Fell,” she said to Hugh, then sliced her hand across the air in front of her when his brows rose in
Becca’s eyes widened. “God, I hope not.”
There it was—that spark Irena had wanted to see. She grinned and reshaped the spear to resemble Mackenzie, the novice’s vampire lover. She tossed the statue to Becca.
“Oh, wow. Thanks. Holy crap, it’s just like him.” Her fingers ran over the chest, the face. She jerked her hand away, sucking in a breath. Blood welled on her thumb, and the novice stuck it between her lips.
Irena frowned. “You put blood into your mouth but balk at eating a heart?”
Becca yanked her thumb out. “Was that a lesson? Was I supposed to learn something useful?”
Learn something useful—from a statue of a skinny vampire? Yet Becca was in earnest. Irena closed her eyes and fought to remain silent. The sort of laughter she was prone to might destroy the small progress she’d made in drawing out the novice.
“Yes,” she heard Alejandro say with dry amusement. “A simple lesson: Fangs are sharp.”
“Oh. I already know that.”
“Good,” Irena said, rocking up to her feet. She didn’t know if ten minutes had passed, but it felt as if they had. “And if you do specialize with me, bring Lao Tzu’s book with you.”
She sensed they were both going to need it.
Rosalia sat on the edge of a narrow bunk with her arms crossed, running her hands up and down the sleeves of a soft red sweater. She’d showered, Irena saw, and left her dark hair to dry into damp curls.
Guardians could clean themselves by vanishing dirt into their cache, but sometimes there was no replacement for water.
And even water couldn’t always clean deep enough.
Hugh had pulled a chair to the bedside. He’d leaned toward Rosalia, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady on hers.
It was, Irena noted with relief, a few moments after she and Alejandro entered the room before Hugh and Rosalia broke eye contact.
Trust still existed between them, despite the changes in Hugh after his Fall. He’d aged in the eighteen years since he’d become human again, growing from the boy he’d appeared to be as a Guardian into a man. He wore glasses to correct his vision; he had to eat, sleep, and breathe again.
But his psychic scent was the same, as was his core of strength. Rosalia would be able to take comfort in that—would need to take comfort in that. Because everything else had changed.
Little of it was for the better.
Rosalia glanced at Irena, then looked to Alejandro. A sad smile touched her mouth. “Hugh has just told me of the Ascension.”
Lead balled in Irena’s stomach. Had Rosalia been in the catacombs that long? More than a decade had passed since the Ascension—when thousands of Guardians had given up the fight, their duty, and moved on to their afterlives.
After the Ascension, less than a hundred Guardians remained—and half of those had been lost in battle with Lucifer’s nest of nosferatu two years before. Though she’d once counted many Guardians among her friends, Irena despised those who had Ascended. Those who had died fighting—those she still grieved.
But whether they’d Ascended or been slain, Rosalia had likely just learned that most—if not all—of her friends were gone.
“Is there anyone?” Alejandro asked.
Rosalia nodded. “Mariko and Radha,” she said, then looked to Hugh.
“Radha is on assignment in Calcutta, and Mariko has taken over most of eastern Asia as her territory,” Hugh said. “If you wish, Jake or Selah can teleport them here, or bring you to either of them.”
Rosalia nodded, and her eyes filled. “I cannot remember anything you say has happened to me. I shouldn’t need to see them, but I do. It is so stupid.”
In her distress, Rosalia had spoken in Italian, and so Irena’s quiet reply was in the same language. “It is not stupid.”
“If you say.” Rosalia firmed her jaw. “I left Caelum not long after you Fell,” she said to Hugh, then sliced her hand across the air in front of her when his brows rose in
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