1

With a look at the calendar, Rose Haverford sighed heavily. Even without reading the date, she would have known what day it was. Every year, she felt it as though it had been carved into her bones, her skull, and her flesh. Already days before, heaviness had started spreading in her heart, and melancholy had soured her disposition. But tonight, she felt the old bitterness well up in her again and move in like an unwelcome relative who would stay too long and stir up too many unpleasant memories.

Over the last two centuries, she’d learned to deal with it. Indeed, she’d found an outlet that helped her evict the painful recollections of the events that had shaped her life and made her into what she was today, what she would always be: a creature of the night, hungering for the blood of humans. A vampire.

Every year on the anniversary of her turning, Rose put pen to paper to write a letter she would never mail. The recipient was long dead, yet the loss was still as fresh and painful as ever.

Dearest Charlotte, she began the letter to her daughter.

Another year has passed and I miss you still. I’ve kept my promise to you even though I could never be the mother that you deserved. You would be very proud of your great-great-great-grandson Blake. He’s a smart young man, ambitious and well-educated, and he’ll one day make something of himself.

Rose groaned. Maybe she should cross out that last sentence. After all, she would only be lying to herself.

He’s a smart young man, well-educated, and . . . he’s arrogant and self-absorbed. When I established the trust fund for Blake to make his life easier, I never imagined he would use it to live a life of excess rather than draw on it to further his career and establish himself. But then, what do I know about men?

Nevertheless, he is my flesh and blood, and I’ve sworn to protect each and every one of my descendents. However, considering his lifestyle, our line might end with him. I don’t see him settling down and starting a family.

From my words you might think I don’t love him, my dearest daughter, but I do. It’s only . . .

She lifted her pen from the paper and heaved a sigh.

. . . he reminds me too much of your father, even though he looks nothing like him. Blake’s hair and complexion are dark, whereas Quinn had the fairest looks in all of England, so handsome, so charming.

And in the end, so deadly.

I wish you could have met your father, but I could never risk him knowing. You do understand, don’t you? He would have made you into one of us, and I couldn’t allow him to deprive you of a normal life, of the chance to have children and a family.

Rose pushed back an involuntary tear. She’d promised herself not to cry, not to wallow in self-pity, but whenever she thought of Quinn Ralston, the second son of the Marquess of Thornton, the man she’d loved with such passion, she couldn’t maintain the icy composure everybody knew her for. She’d been called the coldest vampire this side of the Mississippi. Yet hot blood ran in her veins, and her heart beat for the ones she loved, the family she’d lost, and her only living descendent, her great-great-great-great-grandson Blake.

Despite her misgivings about Blake’s lifestyle, she cared about him. Blood was thicker than water, and to her he was like a son, one who needed guidance.

I plan on following him to the West Coast shortly. My bags are packed. There’s nothing left here for me in Chicago since Blake decided to move to San—

With a loud bang, the French doors leading to her little garden behind her two-story house were thrown open with such force that the panes shattered, scattering shards of colored glass over the priceless rugs and furniture. But there was no time to concern herself with such trivial details. Without losing a second, Rose shoved the unfinished letter into a fashion magazine on the desk and glared at the intruder.

In burst the man she’d hoped never to see again. For once, she would have liked the rumor to be true that vampires couldn’t enter a home uninvited, but alas, this was only a fairy tale.

With eyes flashing red and fangs extended to show his intent, Keegan charged into her living room, his three thugs right behind him. Great, the asshole obviously counted on a fight and was stacking the deck. No surprise there. Why she had ever fooled herself that this man was anything but evil, she couldn’t recall now. But then, she’d slept with plenty of jerks in her long life, and Keegan was no exception. At least she’d finally seen his true character and made a quick exit, but apparently he wasn’t going to let her slip away so easily. She should have followed her instincts and left the night before.

Too late now.

His nostrils quivered as he stalked toward her. Pure fury shot from his eyes, eyes that were trained at her. She’d seen him look at others like this before, unfortunates who were now dead. Instinct urged her to retreat, but her pride dictated that she stand her ground. She had long ago stopped cowering to men; she wasn’t going to start again.