There are safeguards on the entrance, protections woven into the air and rock and ice as ancient as the Bloodletter. I dismantle them without a thought—as I was taught all those years ago. Or, more accurately, as I figured out through very painful trial and error.

The ground slopes steeply down, a narrow path carved through ice and igneous rock. I traverse it quickly, winding my way through beautiful and deadly ice formations from memory alone. Eventually, I get to a fork in the path and take the way on the right, despite the feeling of dread that overwhelms me the moment I step down it.

More safeguards, which I also undo, making sure to weave them back in place before I continue deeper into the cave. Normally, this part of the walk is done in total darkness, but today lit candles line both sides of the path. I wonder if the Bloodletter is expecting someone…or if some sacrifice has recently been made by someone seeking some kernel of the knowledge the Bloodletter so stingily doles out.

One more bend in the path, one more fork to traverse—I go left this time—and one more set of safeguards. Then I’ve finally arrived in the antechamber before the Bloodletter’s quarters. The room is huge and also lit with candles that illuminate the brilliant ice and rock formations that line the walls and ceiling in all directions.

A small river of ice runs right down the center of the room. It’s currently frozen solid, but I’ve seen it as running water as well. In the middle of summer and, of course, at a flick of the Bloodletter’s fingers. When I was young, I used to think it was the River Styx, carting the souls of everyone who failed the Bloodletter’s trials straight to Hell without benefit of a ferryman.

More than once I threw myself into it on the off chance that a one-way trip to Hell would finally end my torment. It didn’t.

I look around, take a second to collect myself one more time. And do my best to ignore the human carcasses hanging upside down in the corner, draining into a couple of large buckets on the floor. More proof that nothing has changed. The Bloodletter lures humans to the cave instead of going out to hunt. Some are eaten fresh and some are…stored for when the weather is so bad that this area is nearly deserted. It’s a more efficient use of time for everyone involved, I was always told.

Right before I was punished for never fully draining my victims…not to mention leaving them alive.

I look away from the bloody carnage, take one more deep breath. And step right through an ice archway into the Bloodletter’s living room.

It’s exactly as I remember. The walls are painted a cozy periwinkle blue and flames snap in the rock fireplace that dominates one of the side walls. Bookshelves filled with first editions line two of the other walls and an abstract rug in shades of sunrise stretches across the ice floor.

In the center of the room, facing away from the fire, are two antique wingback chairs in brown leather. Across from them, separated by a square glass table, is a velvet sofa in dark violet.

And sitting on that sofa in a bright-yellow caftan, legs curled up beneath her, is the Bloodletter, knitting what I’m pretty sure is a winter hat in the design of a fully fanged vampire.

“Took you long enough to get through the safeguards.” She glances at me over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses. “Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come on in and sit down?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I’ve ever given.

She smiles, pauses in her knitting just long enough to pat her short gray curls a couple of times. And gesture for me to have a seat. “Come on. I’m making you a present.”

The hat is almost done, which means she started it long before I even decided that I was coming…which is not exactly a surprise, now that I think about it.

“What exactly am I going to do with a hat?” I ask, even as I follow her directions.

She grins, her bright-green eyes twinkling against the warm brown of her skin as she answers, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

I have no idea what to say to that, so I just nod and wait for her to say something else. The Bloodletter has never been fond of anyone speaking first.

Turns out, at the moment, she’s not interested in talking at all. So I sit in the leather chair for almost an hour, watching as she puts the finishing touches on a vampire hat I have absolutely no interest in wearing.

Finally, when she’s done, she ties off the yarn and puts everything beside her on the couch. “Thirsty?” she asks, nodding toward the bar in the corner.

I am, but a flashback to the humans draining right outside this room has me shaking my head. “No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She gives a delicate little shrug as she stands up. “Well, come on, then. Let’s take a walk.”

I stand and follow her toward a second archway near the back of the room. The moment we pass through, the icy floor and walls of what I vaguely remember as my training room transform into a summer meadow, complete with wildflowers and the sun beating down warmly upon us.

“So,” she says after we’ve walked several minutes in silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I’m pretty sure you already know.”

She makes an affirmative sound, along with a face that says, Maybe I do. But she doesn’t volunteer any information.

“How are you?” I ask after a few seconds. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while.”

She waves a hand. “Oh, child, nothing to worry about on that front. You’ve had bigger fish to fry.”

I think of Hudson and my mother and the nightmare of keeping the different factions from dissolving into civil war. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“I am saying it.” She reaches up, rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, my boy.”

It’s the last thing I expect her to say. An unexpected lump blooms in my throat in response, tightening up my vocal cords until I have to clear my throat several times before I can speak. “That makes one of us.”

“Don’t do that.” The hand on my shoulder goes from comforting to slapping the back of my head from one instant to the next. “You’ve done more for this race than anyone in the last thousand years. Be proud of that. And be proud of the fact that you’ve found your mate.”

“So you do know why I’m here.”

“I know why you think you’re here.”

I look away, only to end up staring at a patch of wildflowers in a shade of bright pink that I will associate with Grace until I take my last breath. “How do I do it?” I ask, and the earlier tightness in my throat is nothing compared to how I feel now.

I can barely breathe.