Chapter 2To Sire My True Love

It was only then that I learned there had been another victim in the accident a year ago. Seraphina’s rival, as it turned out: Elara d’Amboise.

Since the crash, Elara had been lost in an endless sleep, her life signs as faint as a candle flame in a gale.

But after the hell of my past life, I would not bleed for anyone so easily again. My blood is the very essence of my being, not a commodity to be squandered. I politely declined Madame d’Amboise’s request.

She didn’t press me. She simply wiped her tears and departed, a portrait of quiet grief.

A week later, an invitation from the de Valois family arrived. A grand nocturnal salon was to be held. Julien had returned. Madame de Valois implored me to attend, to verify his “miracle cure.”

Inside the salon, the light from the crystal chandeliers was a painful glare to my eyes. The entire space thrummed with the cacophony of life—hundreds of hearts beating in their cages of bone, warm blood rushing through veins. The smell of champagne, cigars, and raw desire mingled into a torrent that grated on my nerves. I stood like a stone island in a chattering sea of mortals.

Julien stood beside Seraphina’s wheelchair like a loyal knight.

Madame de Valois approached me, her brow furrowed with worry. “It’s not that I fear his medicine won’t work,” she confessed in a low voice. “I’m terrified of seeing the hope in Seraphina’s eyes die again.”

Before I could respond, Julien was wheeling Seraphina toward us.

“You needn’t worry, Madame,” he said, his smile radiating confidence. “I will have Seraphina walking again.”

Seraphina squeezed his hand, her eyes shining with adoration. “Julien, the moment I can stand, I will marry you in the latest gown from the House of Worth.”

Then, Julien turned to me, his smile sharpening into a sneer. “Unlike certain old-world aristocrats who cling to their reputations, I actually deliver on my promises.”

Several of the renowned physicians who had previously treated Seraphina frowned.

“Such arrogance, Monsieur Reed,” one of them scoffed.

Seraphina, however, just smiled proudly. “I have faith in Julien. He is going to heal me!”

A short, cold laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. It was a sound devoid of warmth, like the wind on a winter night.

Julien’s jaw tightened. “Monsieur von Valerius, I’ve heard you’re the most gifted healer of your generation. Yet you do nothing but stand by and watch. It makes one wonder if you truly possess the power of your legends.”

I raised my glass, the crimson liquid within catching the light like fresh blood. “In that case, I eagerly await the day Monsieur Reed has Mademoiselle de Valois on her feet again.”

My placid demeanor enraged him. “I know you want to marry Seraphina, but she loves me. And I’m the only one who can cure her.”

From her chair, Seraphina’s voice dripped with acid. “Damian, even if you could heal me, I would never, ever marry you.”

The entire performance was beginning to bore me. Mortals wasted so much of their fleeting existence on such tedious dramas. I turned to leave, but Julien blocked my path.

“Damian, I challenge you. A wager. The loser will kneel and admit defeat, and be banished from Paris forever!”

I stopped. A slow smile spread across my face. This might, after all, provide a flicker of amusement in my endless night. I turned back to him, and as I smiled, my lips parted just enough to reveal the tips of my canines.

“I accept your wager. But I will not be healing Seraphina de Valois. I am going to awaken Elara d’Amboise.”