Page 76 of To Vanquish Darkness

Rachel followed the curves of the dark lines. She wanted to comfort him, but how did you make this better? How did you glorify a curse? "I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing her palm flat against his chest. "I didn't mean to pry."

Florent shook his head. "No, you have every right to be curious. It's just difficult to talk about sometimes." He dropped his hand from her back, and Rachel shivered.

“That’s why you’re strong. Why you know how to fix things.”

Florent gave a mirthless laugh. “Strong. If only.”

Rachel frowned. “What do you mean?”

He sat, draping his arms over his knees. “I used to have strength you couldn’t imagine.”

She swallowed, pushing up and settling next to him. "Do all vampires start out strong and then lose their abilities over time?”

Florent's eyes flicked to hers. He watched her a moment, then sighed. "I'm not sure where to begin." Rachel bit her lip, not wanting to say anything that would stop him from sharing more. “When humans are changed, they are gifted a portion of the vampire’s power who changed them.”

Rachel frowned. "They aren’t given the power of Le Sombre?”

“All power comes from the Shadow. But it flows through us.”

She nodded. “So if you change someone, your power is given? Shared?”

He huffed a breath. “Taken is more accurate.”

She watched him, the moon reflecting in his eyes. “You didn’t know this? When you changed someone?” He shook his head, and Rachel didn’t know whether to cry or clutch her stomach. The idea of Florent’s mouth on someone else’s flesh made her want to vomit.

“Can you ever get that power back?”

He turned to her, his eyes liquid. “I believe there is a way.”

She put a hand on his arm. “What is it?”

He shook his head turning back to the river. “It’s not an option.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not something I can do myself. It’s something another has to do for me.”

Rachel put out a hand and turned his face to hers. “All you have to do is ask.”

32

1836 SERVON, FRANCE

Amalie's palms grew clammy as she struggled to pull the shirt over her head.

“What is that?” Ren snatched her wrist, and Amalie’s heart jumped into her throat. No. The marks. She hadn’t checked to see if the cuts left by Theo’s fangs had healed.

Stupid. Ren was going to see that she’d been bitten—that they’d tried to hide it. The fabric obscured her vision. She tried to yank her hand from his grip.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Yes, I—” Amalie froze as her head popped free and the shirt pooled around her shoulders. She looked down. Ren wasn’t staring at the place where Theo had fed. He pointed to a small, gray—nearly midnight blue—faded blotch on the underside of her arm. Higher than her wrist, but not quite to her elbow.

“A strange looking bruise.”

Amalie blinked. “I spilled ink,” she murmured. “It stained my skin.” Ren let go of her arm, and she shoved her arms into the sleeves of the shirt.

How had she not noticed a mark like that? She had used ink, but she hadn’t spilled any. Ren seemed convinced by her story, but Amalie’s skin prickled.

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