Valerian knelt in the bloodstained grass, his breath uneven, his entire body trembling as he cradled Anastasia’s lifeless form in his arms. Her once-warm skin had turned cold, her beautiful eyes—so full of kindness and tenderness—were now shut, as if in eternal sleep.
He could hear nothing. No heartbeat. No breath.
She was gone.
A sob tore from his throat, raw and unbidden. He was a vampire—an immortal creature who had long since abandoned the luxury of tears. And yet, here he was, weeping, the pain in his chest sharper than the silver blade still embedded in her heart.
With shaking hands, he pulled the sword from her chest, letting it clatter onto the ground beside him. But there was no change—no miraculous gasp of breath, no flicker of life behind her closed eyelids.
Nothing.
No… n
