He was quiet for a long moment. Then he drew her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin atop her head. She felt the steady, phantom beat of his heart—a heart she had remade with her own blood.

She heard him before she saw him: the whisper of silk, the faint, cool fragrance of night roses.

Outside, the rain softened to a mist. Inside, the fire popped once, then settled. Yuki tilted her face up, and Kaname kissed her forehead, her nose, the corner of her lips—each touch a vow.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked. “Power. Worship. Fear.”