If he could only lie beside them long enough to sink into the grass…
Rahil began to follow the path toward them, toward that place that felt like the inverse of home: gaping, waiting. From the other direction came an awkward clatter.
Rahil nearly dropped his candle with a start. He clutched its base, his ears perked for another noise. This was not a spot many frequented after dark—there were far older graveyards in the city’s center for those who simply wanted a place to explore. His mind jumped to William Douglas, trying to supply a logical reason why the man might have tracked him here. But that was ridiculous.
Another noise followed the clatter, this one more a snuffle, then a sob.
Ah, definitely not a malevolent hunter then.
A fellow mourner would usually have made Rahil turn tail, but the closer the sounds came, the more familiar they grew. His heart twisted in on itself, calling for the rest of his body to respond. It couldn’t be, he tried to argue. But it could—this was the nearest graveyard to them both. Of course Leah’s body would be here too.
That settled it. He’d check, keeping his distance, and then text Mercer if need be.
His candle still tucked against his chest, Rahil crept through the tombstones. As he neared the location of the sobbing, he tried to work his way around behind the small person crouched over one of the gravestones. A bike hurled onto the ground beside the grave. The toe of his boot caught on something in the grass. He scuffled forward, stepping on it instead—was that a goddamned sprinkler?! He cursed.
Lydia tore to her feet, shrieking.
Rahil should have known better than to have good intentions. He swore again. “Shh, it’s all right.”
Her eyes widened. Beanie tucked to her chest, she took a step forward. “Ray?”
Rahil tried to smile. “Hey, Lydia. You visiting someone, too?”
She sniffled, glancing back toward her mother’s grave, but she managed to draw herself to her full height, her chin in the air as she replied, “My vampire name isViolet.”
How could he ever have not realized she was Mercer’s daughter? Merc might have built up his stony façade like a wall, while she sharpened hers into a barb, but they shared the same fierce brow and harsh jaw, detached gaze and unfazed posture. Only Lydia’s was clearly about to crack. Rahil frowned, stepping back enough to look her in the eyes, though he wasn’t sure how much of his face she could make out. “Violet Demondza-Bloncourt, does your father know you’re here?”
Her braids trembled as she shook her head. She kneaded her fingers into the beanie she held. “Don’t you dare tell him.”
“Because he’ll come get you?” Rahil guessed.
Lydia made what had to be the most miserable sound any intelligent species on the planet was capable of. “He wants to send meaway.”
“Away where?”
“To Los Angeles. For the wholeweek.”
“Ah, so two and a half hours away for less time than a single vacation. I see, I see.”
“You don’t get it!”
“Maybe I don’t. A week in Los Angeles with old friends who care about you sounds really nice to me.” As he said it, though, he recalled every time this decade his extended family in Palm Springs had offered to let him stay, to coordinate their activities around when he would be able to join in, to adjust their busy lives for his vampirism just so he could participate.
And every time, he’d said no.
Something stung in the center of Rahil’s chest. Carefully, he placed a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “But I do get that staying here, with him, means a lot to you. You want to be there for him, because he’s your dad, and you love him.”
“He’s so—sostupid,” Lydia said, like she was agreeing with him. She seemed about to add more, but a sob wracked through her instead, and she pressed both hands to her eyes. Rahil could see the tears all the same.
Yesterday, it would have felt like an overstep, but this was Mercer’s daughter—hisfriend’sdaughter—and she was crying in front of him, had come to her mother’s grave for comfort. So gently, carefully, he wrapped his arm around her back, offering an awkward side hug. “Do you want…?”
Lydia managed to look up at him through her reddening eyes and sniffle once. She ignored his attempt in favor of crashing into him, both arms wrapping around his waist as she sobbed quietly into his vintage shirt, her knees giving way as she clung there. Rahil wasn’t entirely sure what todowiththat, but he knew he couldn’t let go.
She deserved never to be let go of, dammit.
Rahil wrapped Lydia up, sinking to the grass with her. He held her like he had his sons at her age, just before Matt decided he was too cool for that, and Jonah... He wasn’t sure that Jonah had decided much of anything up until the end, just wandered off. Rahil hadn’t known how to stop it then, and he was sure he wouldn’t know if it happened again either, and that—that made him hold on to Lydia all the tighter, as though the sheer force of the hug could keep Mercer from experiencing the same pain and loss that Rahil had.
But it would not be enough.
