He is my home. Not New York City. Not the penthouse.
It’s him.
But as I look at Ares, I realize that he’s unusually quiet. His mouth is set in a neutral line, but there’s something behind his eyes—contemplation, not just reflection. What Juliet just said about home has him thinking. I file that away for later.
By the time we reach the building, the wind is picking up off the park. Fall barely teases the scent in the air, even though it’s only the very end of August. It feels like this summer has gone by in a blink. So damn much has happened, I never even got two seconds to acknowledge it.
The penthouse elevator ride is quiet. For a moment, I’m expecting comments about the penthouse, the wild location Ares and I live in. But it doesn’t come. Neither Juliet nor Roman says a word as we walk inside.
Which tells me they probably live like this as well. Is everyone in the vampire world absolutely loaded? Everyone I knew growing up was as poor as I was. But when it comes toevery vampire I know, they are all used to private jets and multi-million-dollar penthouses.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask Roman and Juliet as we close the door behind us. “Might be a long night.”
“I am actually starving,” Juliet says. Without invitation, she steps to the fridge and pulls it open. She pulls out three blood bags and bites into the first one.
Roman just smirks at his wife and shakes his head. I meet his eyes and smile.
I love that she just helped herself.
“I’m good, but thanks for asking,” Roman says simply as he watches Juliet discard the first blood bag in the trash.
Ares heads straight for the dining table and rolls out the blueprints. I place the journal beside them.
Juliet steps forward, her snack finished. Her eyes scan the pages at Ares’ fingertips. “Time to crack open the past.”
The spine of the journal creaks as Ares opens it slowly, and the scent of dust and parchment drifts out like a ghost of the past. The handwriting is elegant, practiced, written in dark ink that has faded to sepia in places. I lean closer beside Ares while Juliet and Roman hover on the other side of the table, watching intently.
"First entry," Ares says, shifting his grip on the old book. "It’s dated March 2, 1926."
He begins to read aloud:
“They simply buried him.
There is but one stone marking the grave. There is no name carved into the stone, simply a crescent moon and an X. I’ve watched it for years, studied, observed. And not a soul comes to visit his grave.
Not his bastard father. Not his missing mother.
Everything he accomplished. All he did. None of us would exist were it not for him. And this is the thanks he is given.
Forgotten.
Sevan and Cyrus erased his name from history. There is not a single record of what he was called. Dorian will never speak it. Malachi will not say it.
Their small-mindedness disgusts me.
But I have heard rumors. And Roter Himmel doesn’t know what may come for it. I must do more research. Before I can make a move, I must confirm. It isn’t easy. My presence in Roter Himmel is noted.
But for this, for him, any risk is worth it.
Times will change.”
Silence.
Ares slowly lowers the journal. No one speaks for a long moment.
"Fuck. He’s talking about living in Roter Himmel," Juliet finally says, her voice quiet but sharp, like her throat is tight. "Only… only Royals live in that town. The court. The castle. He couldn’t live there unless he was one of them."
I see it as Roman’s fingers curl into fists. His shoulders tense, the muscles in his jaw flex. “That would make Thaddeus a Royal."
