I waited for that moment to come, and in the meantime, I allowed my own gaze to wander . . . and absorb.

Parched, yellow-charcoal skin, eroded enough in one place to expose sinew and cheekbone, did what it could to cover a human skull. His other cheek, the one I’d glimpsed before when he, as Valor, had fought Wrath, jutted sharp as a blade, threatening to break through the barrier of leather flesh.

Feather light, I brushed my fingertips over the curve of the bone—just so that he would know I wasn’t afraid. The scowl knitting his brow deepened with confusion, the motion causing a pang of sorrow to resonate through me.

Because it told me that, whatever he’d been expecting from me, this hadn’t been it.

Though I waited for him to open his eyes again, face the moment—and me—he didn’t. And I smiled slightly, sadly, with the thought that the trust he had for me could only come this far.

Granting him another moment’s refuge, I continued my close study of his features.

His face, once so beautiful, now looked like anyone else’s might after decades in a tomb. Though the longer I searched, the more I began to find evidence of a likeness to the boy from my dreams. High cheekbones. Strong chin. Gentle jaw.

Training my focus on the thin straight line of his once full and perfect lips, I kept my hand to his cheek. I brushed my thumb along his jutting cheekbone.

His eyes opened, their gray gaze meeting mine. And there he was. My Erik.

I leaned in close. Close enough to press my own lips softly to those papery ones.

He smelled of salt and lavender. And too many years to count.

He didn’t move an inch.

I lingered, reluctant to pull away. Because this wasn’t a fairy tale. Because I wasn’t going to draw back to find him alive and beautiful again. Not that I had kissed him because I thought for one moment I might.

He wanted the fairy tale, though. With everything in him.

Why else would he have brought me here?

No. I’d kissed him—was kissing him still—because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him here with the false assumption that I did not care what inevitably became of him.

Or that things couldn’t have been different if . . . if they’d only been different.

In parting from him, I turned away, leaving his mask on the keyboard.

As I rose, I scooped his silver ring from the piano, and hurrying from the room, I slid the ruby-eyed skull onto my ring finger.

I went to the stairs, tears slipping down my cheeks as I began to climb.

Because I knew he would keep his word.

And because I knew that meant that I would have to keep mine as well.

SEVENTY-FOUR

Lucas

To ensure Rastin would come to Moldavia, I’d texted him early in the morning that we were there already and that we’d give him exactly one hour before we went in without him. After that, Wes and I had waited in my Dart, which I’d parked just outside the house.