Page 99 of Firethorne
Or maybe not.
But that was Damien’s decision on whether he wanted to find out.
As if reading my mind, he straightened in his seat, and without looking up from the coffee cup he was staring at on the table, he asked, “Is she still alive?”
“No,” Cora replied, sorrow on her face as she reached across the table to try and touch Damien’s hand.
But he remained still, his hands in his lap as he replied, “I don’t need to know any more then. She’s at peace. That’s enough for me.”
“She is,” Cora said, moving her hand away and sitting back in her chair. “She’d have been so proud of you, though. So, so proud of what you’ve done.” Cora didn’t elaborate further, which made me question how much she really knew about that family, but then, what did it matter now? The Firethorne branch of the business had been destroyed.
That chapter was over.
But the war raged on.
Damien had made it clear that once the heat died down, he’d be going back to work. Evil was still out there, and he’d worked too hard to walk away now. He still had targets he needed to take down.
We left Cora’s cottage soon after and agreed to stay in touch. Cora whispered to Damien that she wouldn’t tell a soul that we’d been there, and we believed her. We trusted her.
We gave her one last hug and then headed down her path, towards a new life that awaited us.
Epilogue
Maya
Two Years Later
Damien had been standing in the window all morning, cursing the timekeeping of the delivery company and huffing as he peered up and down the lane outside.
“They’re not going to appear any quicker because you’re standing there,” I told him.
But he refused to move, stating, “They’re three minutes away, or at least, that’s what the last text said fifty minutes ago.”
“They probably got lost down the country lanes. This isn’t the easiest cottage to get to,” I reminded him, but he just scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the lane outside.
I knew he was excited. He kept telling me this was my day, but it was his as much as mine.
We heard the faint rumble of an engine, and then a white van ambled down the lane, stopping outside our gate.
“I’ll get it.” Damien sprang into action, heading for the front door before the driver had even gotten out of his van.
I took his place at the window, watching him stride down the drive and open the gate, greeting the driver as he jumped down from his cab and went to the back of his van to retrieve the boxes. Damien went to the back of the van, too, and took the first box off the delivery driver, turning to walk back down our path and into our cottage with a huge, shit-eating grin on his face.
As he came into the dining room and put the box on the table, I told him, “I’ll come and help.”
But he shook his head.
“We’ve got this.” He pointed at the box and said, “Don’t open this without me.” Then he marched back out, heading to the van to help with more of the boxes.
Once the last box had been placed on the table, the delivery driver’s paperwork signed, and the front door had been locked, we both stood over the table, staring at the boxes like two kids at Christmas, ready to open their presents.
“Go on then,” Damien urged, gesturing to the box closest to me. “Open it. I want to see how it turned out.”
I picked up the scissors I’d brought in from the kitchen, and used them to slice through the parcel tape across the top of the box. Then I pulled the box open and stared in wonder at the contents.
“That cover looks even better in real life. It’s stunning,” Damien said, lifting one of the books out and turning it over in his hand to see the blurb at the back.
“I love it,” I said, lifting another copy out, unable to keep the grin off my face as I traced my fingers over the foil embossed title,Firethorne, A Dark, Gothic Novel. “I can’t believe I wrote this. I’m a published author.”
