Page 97 of To Vanquish Darkness

Theo cleared his throat. “After our parting, I waited sixteen hundred years, three months, and?—”

Amalie put a finger to his lips. “Sixteen hundred years?”

Theo’s eyes were glassy.

“And this is the third time?” she whispered.

He nodded, clenching his jaw. As she gazed at the profile of his face, the layers of her knowing seemed to suddenly snap into one solid picture. She knew Theo Vallon. He’d never changed, after all this time, and she had. Sixteen hundred years.

Amalie reached out a hand. His dark lashes brushed his cheek as her fingers reached his jaw. “Look at me.” A soft “hmm” left his lips as he turned, his eyes meeting hers. “How did you find me? You said you weren’t sure until you scented my blood, but you were here. How?”

“You bonded me. Under a blood moon. I can always feel when you’re reborn, but I never know exactly where. I watch. I wait. It’s how I found you the second time. This time,” Theo shook his head. “It proved more difficult.”

“But you found me.”

“I did.”

She thought of him appearing in her bedroom and roughly pulling her into his arms.Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.Of him stoking the fire in the shed that first night. How hebarely looked at her and made her feel like a fool. How he’d left her alone in the castle, answered her in clipped sentences. Never once had she thought he’d cared for her in the least.

Then lastly, she thought of the bitter look on his face in Uncle Oren’s study.Even when I try to make you hate me, I can’t commit.

Tears pricked her eyes. “Why did you want me to hate you?”

Something flashed behind Theo’s eyes, and his grip on her tightened. He swore under his breath and reached for her arm. “We have to go. Now.”

“Theo, what?—”

He lifted her arm, turning it so she could look at the mark on her skin. His mark, and?—

“What the hell is that?” She stared at the blood red symbol darkening in her skin above Theo’s oval signet and clutched her middle as a needling pain threaded through her. “Theo, what is happening?”

“Helena. The friend I told you about. There’s no time to explain.” He pulled her up off the bed. “Pack now. Enough for at least two nights. I’ll get the others.”

Before she could stop him, he disappeared from the room. She glanced back at her arm and stared at the mark. Two chains, twisted together. One barbed and jagged, the other smooth and unbroken. What did it mean?

Her hand still clutched her middle, aware of that slicing shard settling next to the warmth that stretched toward Theo.

A friend. Helena.

She'd heard that name. On the rooftop, when Theo had been talking to Ren. What had he said? She couldn't remember, but the thought of it made her shiver. It had been a dig, and Ren hadn't taken it lightly.

She needed to move. If Theo said she was in danger, she believed him. Amalie had left her satchel downstairs in Oren'soffice, but she could still gather her things. She pulled open the doors of her armoire, and paused. Her mother's dress. The pale blue fabric and white swans. Bethany said she'd put it back.

She fingered the soft fabric, worn with time and use.

“It was yours. Your favorite."

Amalie's breath caught at the sound of Theo's voice.

"I—” His breath caught. “I bought you the fabric. The last time."

The last time.This fabric couldn't have been more than forty or fifty years old. "It was my mother's."

"It was her mother's before that," he whispered, his hand brushing her neck. "It was her favorite."

Tears welled in her eyes, her hand frozen to the door of her armoire. “That strip of fabric. In the castle.”

“Yours. I kept it.”

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