Page 119 of A Bloom in Winter

Tohrment bowed at the waist, an honor that was not lost on her.

Funny, for however pretentious her father had been, he had never received such respect. And now, as a result of his quest for power, he was begging for the kind of attention that was going to guarantee him a cold grave.

But the consequences of treason were not the kind of fate you could get out of. Not when the Black Dagger Brotherhood was in charge.

Not when you went after Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath, the great Blind King.

“Let’s go home, my love,” she whispered.

“Anything you say,” Hemmy responded. “And anywhere you want to go.”

Way upstate, a good two-hundred-plus miles north of Caldwell, Apex re-formed before a storefront that, against all odds, was just as he’d remembered it to be. Thirty years later? What were the chances.

But, yup, the Bloomin’ Buds Flower Shop was still in business.

The rest of the Connelly town square was pretty much the same, too. Couple of new businesses, but still the Christmas-card-perfect little town. There were even strands of lights and wreaths linking up the sidewalk lamps, and a big pine tree by the gazebo in the center of the public park was as yet still lit red and green and gold—

Next to him, Callum re-formed, and the second the wolven became corporeal, the two linked hands and tilted in for a kiss.

“So this is the place?” Callum asked as they eased back.

“Yes. Every night, I came here.”

“Can we go inside?”

Apex checked his watch. “Right before closing. Why not?”

They walked forward and Apex opened the door, a little bell ringing. The shop was twice the size it had once been and arranged differently, only the refrigerator unit in the same place. Now there were all kinds of cards, teacups, photo frames, and stuffed animals for sale . . . as well as snow globes, ornaments, baskets, and baby blankets . . . and of course, flowers.

“How can I help—”

As the female voice cut off, Apex looked toward the checkout. No cash register anymore, but a laptop. No more paper receipts. No more clutter.

But the woman standing next to a halfway-made arrangement of red roses was the same.

Well, almost the same. She had aged thirty years, her hair a white cap, her face lined, her hands craggy with veins and bones.

“It’s . . . you,” she whispered.

Apex glanced down at his black clothes, and thought of all the weapons on him. After everything that had happened at Camp Ghreylke, he wasn’t about to be this far north without being armed—fuck it, he wasn’t going unarmed anywhere. Not that he had ever really done that, at any rate.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is.”

Lifting his eyes back to the woman, he thought about how the noninterference rule between vampires and all the rats without tails was still very much in place. But he’d had to bring his love back here. It was part of them reclaiming their collective past.

They’d enjoyed a very nice Last Meal with thatsymphaththe night before, for example. And were going back next week for another round of dinner and desensitization, as they called it.

So, yes, they’d had to come here—

Bing!

As the bell went off, the three of them looked over to the door. And as a woman stepped in, with a man behind her, it was another case of well-there-you-are: It was the other half ofthe “buds” part of the business, and Apex remembered how the woman had been so afraid of him last time. How she’d moved her purse closer to her, and had looked like she was about to hop on the phone to call the police.

“Hi,” he said. Like he knew her.

“Hello . . .” she breathed as she looked him over.

She, too, had aged, her face wrinkled, her hair white as well. The man who was with her was the same, older and wizened, and Apex approved of the way he stepped in close and put his arm around her: The protective impulse might have been made by an old man, but it was testament to the fact that though the exterior may have aged, the spirit remained alive.

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