Page 73 of Vampire's Breath

My stomach twisted as the memories clawed at the back of my mind. I couldn’t count the number of times I had told the House of Lords that Lady Isobel should not be convicted, that there were circumstances beyond their knowledge that made me believe she had acted righteously. If only compelling every one of them had been a real possibility, I could have saved her. The echo of the verdict crawled into my ears, the cold finality slicing through the chamber, and Isobel’s face, pale and drawn, as they read her sentence. At least I had saved her from the gallows.

Reality slammed into me as I stopped at the end of the path. I wasn’t sure what I had intended to find, but this was not it. As I stepped into what had once been the grand hall, memories of the past washed over me. Had the portraits of Barons and Baronesses of Blackcairn that once dotted these walls rotted into nothingness? The rain pelted me as I recalled this once proud family whom I had reduced to nothing. Not even their home remained.

I moved into the rightmost chamber—the dining hall, now barely recognizable. Above me, wooden slats remained, the only remnants of Lady Isobel’s chambers, aside from the rubble that had collapsed on top. That was probably the only thing that had spared this room over the years. I turned to the fireplace, remembering the roaring flames, the echoes of laughter as we drank and warmed ourselves one cold night.

I inhaled deeply and stepped closer to it, my breath catching in my throat. Briar had been here—recently, too. Her scent still lingered on the stone. I tried to convince myself that thetightening in my chest was simply because I had been searching for her for so long. I pressed my hand to the stone, wondering how I could have missed her. But that meant I needed to return to the ferry before it left—back to Tingwall.

Without saying goodbye to my past, I retraced my steps to the pier. As I got there, my heart fell. The boat was pulling away. I slammed open the door to the office. “That ferry wasn’t supposed to leave for five more minutes. What the hell?”

The man looked at me. “I told you it was getting too rough to sail. The choices were to leave now or not at all.” He cleared his throat, and his eyes went blank. “I tried calling you, but there’s no service. The woman’s on that ferry.”

“Fuck,” I screamed before clenching my teeth and shoving a hand through my hair. My hands shook as I bit my lips together. She was there. She was right fucking there. I looked out the window. Even with my gifts, there would be no way I could swim for her. And how would I explain it to her even if I did?

A growl rumbled low in my throat. I was trapped on this damn island.

The man’s face remained blank where it should have been filled with fear. “Do you want me to find you a place to stay?”

Something in me recoiled at the thought of sheltering with the humans. I didn’t want to be near them.

I glanced around again.

There was only one place I wanted to be.

Without another thought, I stormed from the room and ran back toward Lyons Hold.

Briar

After one of the roughest crossings I’d ever imagined and agreeing to share the last available taxi back to Kirkwall with three strangers, I sat in the cozy dining room in the Kirkwall hotel, only minutes from the ferry terminal.

I wondered how many people here were playing a waiting game with the ferry. The departure time was now closer to 1 a.m. rather than the normal 11:30 p.m. According to the bartender, the ferry was sticking to the storm’s outer edge so it could still run. I wanted off this island, so here I sat, staring at the wooden floor instead of eating.

I balanced at the high-top table and pushed the food around my plate. The lumps of meat looked like they would get stuck in my throat if I tried to chew and swallow. Behind me, thepool balls hitting each other offered some distraction from my thoughts, but not enough. The scent of damp wool and wood smoke permeated the air as people stood near the crackling fire to warm themselves, a reminder that the weather outside was still fierce.

Why was I in such a hurry to return to Byron Bay? My heart twisted. My mother was gone. Aside from Amy, what was keeping me there? My fingers tightened around the fork. My business? Certainly not the people I kept just at the edge of my heart. A hollow ache settled beneath my ribs. The thought of home should have been comforting instead of pressing on me like a weight.

I had learned everything my mother had wanted me to understand. I had walked the path we always talked about walking together, although we didn’t know where it would lead. And now, I had one last stop—one last ghost to chase before I said goodbye for good.

Deep inside, I knew I was returning home as a different person than when I left. I had wanted to understand Lady Isobel and believe there was more to her story than betrayal and ruin. And maybe there was. But what struck me most wasn’t what I found. It was what she lost. She trusted people who didn’t deserve it and let loyalty blind her. It cost her everything. Lyons Hold. The barony. Her life. I wouldn’t make the same mistake.

I sipped my water, feeling the cool liquid stream down my throat. The next morning, I would reach Aberdeen with just enough time to get to the airport and book a flight to Ireland.

I only had two days before I had to be in Dublin to catch my flight home.

In those two days, I would say goodbye to everything I had known here. After that, there would be no more ghosts. No more lingering in history’s ruins. When I boarded the flight to Sydney, I would let it go, whether or not I was ready.

A part of me was curious if Lorcan would reconnect with his family. Would he choose to return to Byron Bay or take his place in the business beside his brother?

My fingers tightened around my glass. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Even so, I wondered.

How was I going to keep him away? How would I make sure I never had to deal with him again? Maybe I could have Amy handle any business he tried to bring my way. I chuckled to myself. She’d do it. No question.

Would he even try? I hoped not. That would be the smart thing. But would he?

I looked at the leather portfolio beside me, running my fingers over the crest embossed on the front. My eyes burned as I traced the familiar lines. The pages waited for me, but I wasn’t sure I could handle more stories—not tonight.

When I returned home, this portfolio—along with Lord Lorcan’s journal and Lady Isobel’s journal—would take a special place on my shelf, my promise to my mother fulfilled. After that, no more ghosts. No more ruins. Just real life.

Lorcan

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