19
Present
Boston, Massachusetts
Gideon watchedas Marguerite came to, her eyes blinking as she returned to reality. She had gripped the wedding rings in her hand and had sunk deep into a fugue state. She had been lost in her memories for no more than an hour.
And during that time, he did what he needed to do. Something he should have done a long, long time ago. He knew she would be furious, and rightfully so. He loathed to do the deed, more than anything else in the world…but he had no choice. She would leave him no other option.
He had packed her a bag.
Once that was done, he sat in a chair across the room, and began to work his way through an entire bottle of scotch. He hated it, usually—tasted too much like a peat bog for his liking—but it was strong, and he had a particular need.
When she came around, he was two-thirds of the way through his goal. The world was getting fluffy around the edges, and his vision was beginning to swim.
Marguerite looked down at the rings in her palm. His and hers. Clenching her fist, he expected her to hurl them across the room at him. He deserved it. Instead, she slipped them into her pocket and leaned back in the chair to stare at him.
Lifting his hand, scotch sloshing in the glass he held, he gestured at the duffel bag on the sofa beside her. “Phone. Cards. Identification. A week’s worth of clothes, and keys to the Mercedes in back.”
Her jaw ticked. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
“No. It isn’t. But it’s all that I expect you want to hear.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Gideon, are you drunk?”
“No.” He sniffed dismissively and stared down into his glass, closing one eye as he did. “Still working on it.”
They sat in silence for a long time, simply watching each other. He had expected tears—for her to sit there and weep. Or faint. Or do anything at all. But she just stared at him in silence.
Finally, he could not take it any longer. “I am sorry.”
Marguerite burst out in laughter as though that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. There was an edge to it, and then he realized what was going on. She wasn’t sad. She was furious. She had every right to be. And honestly, he preferred her anger to her grief.
“How dare you, Gideon? Where the fuck do you get off—” She stopped herself mid-rant and shook her head. “No. Never mind. I know exactly where you get off.”
“I am not condoning a single act I have ever done, Marguerite. Not one. I do not ask for your forgiveness, nor do I believe that any of the actions I took were anything more than the acts of a selfish man who was—is—obsessed with you.” He grimaced in disgust at himself. At how pathetic he really was when it all broke down. He was just a man desperate for the love of a woman he could not have.
When he spoke again, his voice betrayed his agony. His voice cracked, and he felt his own eyes begin to water. “I love you, Marguerite.” He downed the rest of his glass and quickly refilled it. “What I did, I did for love.”
“Bullshit.”She pointed at him accusatorially. “You didn’t even fucking know me, Gideon! I was a child. Just a kid, living under my father’s wing. I was an older kid, sure, but I wasn’t ever allowed to grow up in that place. You took me from there, murdered everyone I loved, and—and holy shit, Gideon—an entire fucking village!”
He winced. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything. All of it. Every goddamn day, every goddamn death, everybody you murdered because you couldn’t stand letting me out of your reach.”
“How could I let you loose into the world, Marguerite?” Now his anger rose to match hers. “What was I to do? Your soul and mine were one, and you were a broken, shattered thing. I had to fix you before I could even—” He wiped a hand across his face, cleaning the tears from his cheeks. He didn’t know why he bothered; more were on their way. “I could not let you wander off into the world, alone and defenseless. You would be taken advantage of.”
“Right. ‘Taken advantage’ of.” She snorted. “For what it’s worth, I think those mercenaries were actually going to help me. And fucking three guys at once sounds like a fun night.” She sneered at him cruelly. “What if that’s what I want to do now, hm? What if I go find that goddamn pretty boy vampire and say ‘you, me, and ten of your most brutal friends. Let’s run a train tonight. I don’t stay dead. Let’s party.’ What would you do?”
Jealousy and fury boiled in his blood. He knew Marguerite might make good on her threat, if only to harm him. He wanted to pin her to the ground. To make her regret her words and cry for mercy as he took her with the violence she threatened to invite upon herself.
Jaw twitching, he knew there was no point. He sank back into the chair and shut his eyes. “Such is your choice.”
“You stole me, all those years ago. You stole me from my family…and you stole my ability to die.”
“Yes. I did.” And then, he said the truth of it all. “And before you ask it, yes. I would do it all again.”
Marguerite let out a long, heavy sigh. When he looked to her, she was rubbing the heels of her hands against her temples as though she had a headache. “I need to sort this out.”