Faye
Still in the library, I listen intently as Emelda discloses far more than I expected her to.
There was a point in Emelda’s life as a vampire that she’d accepted she’d always be alone. Her bed would always be cold, her skin unblemished by a loving touch. She’d never know love again, and for decades, she was all right with it. She’d lost Ewan, after all. The man she was sure the old gods and goddesses wrote for her in the stars she used to worship as a witch.
But five years ago, when she had finally settled into life in Ravenfell and was busy running Michael’s house and staff at the manor, everything changed.
Alma had been drooling over a shifter who’d recently moved into town. He was a bartender for the ancient vampire who owned the only tavern in the village. So, most nights she
