Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(107)

“Maybe tonight if the party’s still going. There’s plenty of leftover pasta in the fridge if anyone gets hungry for more.”

“Splendid. Go. Have a good time. Shepherd’s keys are in the ignition.” Viktor strolled toward a room where he stored a modest collection of good wine.

“And, um… Mr. Kazan?”

The silver fox glanced over his shoulder, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Da?”

“Thanks. For giving me a second shot in life. I don’t know if I ever really thanked you.” In some ways, Viktor was the closest thing I’d have to a father in my new life. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

He gave a brisk nod. “Don’t let me down.”





Chapter 29





I never imagined that a graveyard could be so beautiful. My father would sometimes bring me out here to lay flowers on my mother’s grave. He would always remain behind for a few minutes longer after I went back to his bike or truck, whichever he had driven. I never understood why he wanted to talk to a tombstone. It wasn’t as if she were hanging around a graveyard. Then again, I never really knew her. Just a collection of random memories and a few photographs my father had kept.

“Sorry I haven’t been around much,” I said, still seated on the wet grass, the cold stone pressed against my back. I had kicked the snow away from my mother’s grave, but my trench coat offered a little protection from the wet ground.

I drank in the spectacular view of the setting sun. A buttery glow lingered in the air, caught within a thin veil of fog. It reflected off the crystalline snow and landed on the headstones in front of me, casting long shadows behind. The twisted branches of the trees were barren of leaves but glistened with melted snow. Icicles clung to the wings on a statue like ornamental jewelry.

“I talked with Daddy,” I continued. “I think we’re all good now. He doesn’t remember the conversation, but I’m sure you understand… wherever you are.” A long stretch of silence passed, the only sound being a crow in the distance. “I miss you. I didn’t really know you, but I can still remember the little things. Oh, who am I kidding? This is stupid. You can’t hear me.”

I packed a snowball and threw it.

When I thought of my mother, I didn’t think about heavenly angels or even ghosts. I thought about her remains locked in a coffin in the stone-cold earth, still wearing the same blue dress we’d buried her in, even though I never got to see it because it was a closed-casket funeral. I reflected upon my own death that would inevitably come, because even immortals could die. Even if I could live forever, who would want to? What would be the point?

Maybe the most depressing part about it all was that I wouldn’t have anyone to set flowers on my grave. No one would be around who loved me, who cared. No children. No family. Maybe not even a tombstone. I’d be one of the forgotten ones.

“Well, isn’t this a morose sight?” I heard Christian say.

Startled, I looked up to my left and saw him standing over my grave, which was next to my mother’s. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I’d somehow tuned out the sound of his footsteps in the snow.

He did a little jig in a circle. “Got any goose bumps? I always wondered if that worked.”

I heaved a sigh. “How did you know I was here?”

“You drove me.”

I regarded him for a moment, noticing his messy hair and long-sleeved black shirt with the buttons undone at the top. “What are you talking about?”

He sat on my tombstone. “I was lying on top of the Jeep before you came in. Sometimes a Vampire needs a little privacy.”

“In the garage?”

“It’s quiet like the dead in there. You’re hardly one to judge a man’s hiding place.”

I stood up and wiped my hands. “So you rode all the way here on top of the car?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Always enjoyed a little wind in my hair.” Christian looked between the two graves and patted mine. “Your da forked over good money for these.”

“It doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?”

He looked long and hard at my grave. “A headstone does offer a peculiar sense of belonging. Perhaps you should say your farewells. You’ve been here for over an hour.”

I glanced down at my mother’s headstone and then squatted in front of it. My fingertips traced the letters that spelled out Bonnie. The worst part about leaving was always remembering how she died. That kind of knowledge changes a person forever.

My lip quivered, and tears spilled down my cheeks. I collected my emotions and pressed a kiss to the cold stone. “I love you, Mama,” I whispered.

As I hugged my mother’s headstone, I felt Christian’s hands on my shoulders. When I finally stood up, I turned around and didn’t look back, each step easier than the last.

“I never understood why they put fences around cemeteries,” Christian remarked, his breath clouding the air in front of his face. “Don’t you think it’s more likely that people want out… not in?”

“The spikes on top of the wrought iron fence are a nice touch. I almost impaled myself jumping over it.”

“’Twould be a shame if I had to put you in the ground for real.”