Page 105 of Death Game: Supernatural Battle

Yet I had so many wonderful memories with her.

Watching her shut down spiteful comments from her rivals without batting an eyelash.

Indulging in too much brandy and actually taking off her blazer while out of her room.

Her straight back.

Her steady gaze.

Her blatant love for me.

I placed the right pile of jewellery on the bed next to the lipstick and set the other in a box that I jotted the wordsfor the safeon.

Replacing the cap, I knelt on the ground before her wardrobe, lavender filling my senses.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I dashed it away. “I need help,” I whispered.

Toher.

Closing my eyes, I drew forth the image of my grandmother’s face. Her flinty eyes and penetrating topaz gaze.

Yesterday, I spent five hours on the Ferris wheel at the theme park reading through theVissimo law book and theIngeniumrule book.

I’d come to the realisation that the only person I needed to justify my actions to was Agatha Le Spyre. But I couldn’t because she was gone. And that was why I’d tried to justify them to everyone else—my oldies, Kyros, his family, Tommy, Fred, Laurel.

If Grandmother was here, we would have spoken, agreed or disagreed, and moved on long ago.

My grief and my desire and need to respect and uphold my grandmother’s wishes was crippling me.

I needed to come to terms with what I could bear to do.

Drawing up the memory of her, I murmured, “I can’t do exactly what you wanted me to do. Everything has changed.”

I’d said something similar to her when I stopped associating with Harriet Gregorian and her horde, and I still remembered her reply.

Have your standards, Basilia. Stick to those standards, but always be ready to flow into a different path. That’s why we draw lines in the sand, so we can move them as we grow. Rigid idiots snap in half, and my granddaughter is no idiot.

She’d been right, of course. I outgrew my rich friends the moment they hurt Tommy. After that day, I drew a new line in the sand. I’d drawn new lines at least a dozen times in the last three months.

Nothing was set in stone.

Nothing except my love for her, and what I shared with Kyros. That would never go away.

Would my grandmother like Kyros? If he wasn’t Vissimo, that was. Tall, handsome, business-minded, intelligent, and a good dresser.

I grinned.

Yes, she’d approve.

It shouldn’t matter that he’d have fangs. Agatha Le Spyre hadn’t shied away from other races and cultures. Even with her hatred of the vampires in Bluff City, I believed that she would have become accustomed to Kyros in time. After trying to force him away. Knowing him, he’d probably enjoy the challenge.

She may have disliked him, but she would have respected him.

As I’d always respected her.

I needed retribution for my last family member; for the way she’d died and for her efforts to free the humans here from Vissimo control.

In spirit, I hoped to still achieve that for her and her friends.

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