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destination.
    Not until last night .
    He let his blood tears fall as they chose. She wouldn’t come back. Once the power of his presence no longer affected her, she’d realize humanity held too much importance to be tossed aside like an old toy. He’d reserve the suite as he said he would, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he spent that night alone.
    Washing his face, he grabbed his meager belongings, leaving the roses and wine for the staff. After placing a considerable tip on the counter along with the keycards, he headed back to the ramshackle place he called home. Alone, and just as powerless as he’d been on that long ago night when he’d first encountered Moira Curran.

 
     
     

Epilogue
     
     
    One Year Later
     
    Lavender roses decorated the foyer, a bottle of pinot grigio sat on the counter between two long-stemmed glasses. The front desk attendant remembered him and his ‘unique’ specifications and smiled a bright, warm smile.
    Like a man on death row, Kiernan walked to the suite, looking but not seeing. Then he watched the clock tick off the passing seconds, mocking his growing anxiety.
    He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Briefly, he’d considered turning on the television, but that seemed like too much effort. They’d agreed on nine pm; the clock chimed eleven.
    She’s not coming .
    The thought replayed in his mind over and over again. If he had to live without her, what would be the point? He hated the stark finality of that particular statement, but at the same time, his life had been for her. What could he give her that could compare to the sun?
    Regardless of what she’d said, she’d miss it. He missed it. Missed long days on the ship, when the sun’s heat almost melted skin. To reclaim that would almost, almost , be worth giving up this life.
    But not her. Never the one true gift vampirism had given him.
    Normally, hours passed like minutes. The night never lasted long enough, the breezes never blew warm enough, the world never intoxicated him enough. The last century of life had introduced him to television, cars, commercial air travel, a second world war, and countless other social and societal advancements, but as the years passed, he lost his fascination with everything.
    He sighed. When Marguerite first turned him, Kiernan had experienced life with vigor he’d never known before. Those stories were true; each sensation was magnified, each scent more intense, each sound clearer and infinitely more complex. Waking as a vampire had changed the way he thought of his existence and his place in an ever-changing world. Perhaps through Moira, he could reclaim that excitement and stop wandering through life as a ghost.
    If she showed up.
    Hours passed without any word from her. As sunrise approached, he grew weaker. Three a.m. and no Moira. You fool , he thought, she isn’t coming. Better she stay away than hate you for changing her . Devastated, he retreated into the safety and isolation of the bedroom to wait for sunrise.
     
    Kiernan’s ears perked. The lock. It couldn’t be housekeeping; he’d been quite specific in his requests not to be disturbed. He glanced at the bedside clock—four-thirty a.m.
    “What the devil?” His senses kicked into overdrive. Fangs descended, eyes focused on all movements, ears listening for any additional noise.
    He paused at the doorway to the bedroom. Ready to attack, he stepped into the living area, scanning each inch for anything out of place. But nothing, not the wine, not the roses, not the pillows, had been moved. He turned toward the bedroom again when he smelled it—lavender and cinnamon.
    “Moira.”
    He sprinted to the door and threw it open. The ghost of her scent remained, but she couldn’t have gone far. Racing down the hallway, he almost ran headlong into an elevator door that had just shut. Finding the stairwell, he rushed down to the first floor and searched the lobby, disregarding the stares of the other guests and staff, but found no