Page 62 of To Vanquish Darkness

"Of course, I have friends."

She grinned. "Vampire friends."

"Yes." He kissed the top of her forehead.

"Will I get to meet them?"

Florent blew a breath out of his nose. Rachel knew what that meant. He was always so cautious, so worried about how other people would react to him. But she knew of vampires. Her parents had been relentless in their teaching, and recently she’d learned the reason why.

Even after Oren had told her the truth, they'd still decided to protect their own children from it while they were young. There was no need to terrify them, especially when they were never far from their parents.

Now that she'd met Florent, she wondered about that decision. Had they been wrong? Rachel still had so many questions, none of which she'd get the answers to now that their parents were gone. Where were the other guardians? Why had they decided to go underground?

Her relationship with Florent was proof that guardians and vampires could live side by side. Their blood had the power to save humankind—to keep vampires from feeding. It seemed selfish to keep masking it.

"I'm going to talk to Oren."

Florent stiffened under her. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Rachel pushed up to look at him, her hair falling like curtains around her face. "I can't live the rest of my life sneaking around in the shadows, Florent. I want to be partners. Equals."

"Your family won't accept me."

She exhaled, dropping back to his chest. "I don't understand. You won't allow me to introduce you as human, but I'm not allowed to be honest either?"

"Your brother would figure it out."

"I didn't!"

"You weren't looking for it."

That was probably true. She'd been so enamored of him, she hadn't thought to question much. She was lucky it had turned out as well as it had, considering.

"My girls are only going to get older. They're going to stay up later. They'll notice if I'm always slipping in and out without a good explanation."

Florent brushed his hand up and down the side of her arm. "Then let's find a good explanation."

27

1836 NORTHERN NORMANDY, FRANCE

Amalie's fingers trembled as the cool water hit her face. After tossing and turning for most of the day, she finally opened the shutters. The afternoon light filtering through her window had been a welcome reprieve. She’d taken a cold bath, not calling for Henriette, and pulled a coarse linen towel from the shelf, pressing it to her cheeks.

She glared at the far wall, the knot in her stomach tightening. How dare he discard her like a used handkerchief? Amalie dropped the towel. It wasn’t anything new, though, was it? Men were always interested until they got what they wanted. That was why she tried to steer clear of them as of late.

Her stomach growled as she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back into a tight braid. She’d given him her blood, and now her body was starved. She would have to wait for Henriette since traipsing around the castle wasn’t an option. She doubted Clémentine would be waiting outside her door with another offer. She hoped she wouldn’t be.

What had Clémentine meant about offering pleasure? Did vampires . . . couple? She’d always assumed they were only interested in humans, but Theo had only touched her out of necessity.

The other humans assumed she’d slept with him. The thought of them doing such things with their minds addled made her want to vomit.

Amalie stared at her face in the mirror. She looked well. Normal. Pink cheeks and an even complexion. Not like a vampire had feasted on her the night before.Hopefully.

Heat pooled below her belly button thinking of his breath against her cheek in the dark, and she gritted her teeth. The memories were so visceral. She groaned and turned from the mirror.

She hated Theo Vallon.She needed to discover how to vanquish him and his kind, which meant she could not give in to this sick curiosity for one second longer.

But would it hurt anything? It wasn’t as if shewoulddevelop feelings for him. She was only experimenting. Gathering information. As long as she wasn’t wasting time . . .

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