“She told Rahil she had cancer.” Mercer could see it play out: Rahil agonizing over Shefali’s death after she’d refused to use his venom to try to save herself, and along came a purposeful young woman with a similar diagnosis, asking for that very thing he’d failed his ex-wife in.
And then she’d died, too.
“The coin only flips to heads so many times,”Rahil had said.“I got lucky, so someone else…”
Mercer had assumed he was speaking in generalizations, but the someone else had been Leah.
He felt the burn of his eyes before the tears sprang, and quickly wiped them back, sucking in his sob as best he could—there could be time for that later, when he wouldn’t risk drowning Lydia in his tears. But he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry, Puck.”
She hugged him. She wrapped her arms around him, tighter than she had in years—maybe tighter than she ever had, and whispered back, “I’m sorry, too.”
He squeezed her, holding on for dear life. “She should have told us.” The words bubbled out of him, not in anger but fear. All that anxiety she’d tried to keep him from, churning up in one fell swoop. “If she’d told us, we would have been there for her.” He didn’t know who thatweentailed when Lydia had been a toddler, but together, as a family, they could have at least held her hands. Could have given her hope. Could have said goodbye.
He noticed too late that Lydia had gone stiff in his arms. She sniffled. “Then would you have helped Ray turn her?”
The question felt like a punch to the chest, and he didn’t know why, except that it had come fromher—hadoccurredto her. Had Leah come to him first, Mercer wouldn’t have even considered vampirism as a solution, much less supported her in attempting something with such a high risk and low reward. But then, he supported Rahil’s choice to turn, didn’t he? Because it had worked. Rahil was here, because he’d made that hard choice.
And for the same reason, Leah was not.
Mercer closed his eyes, trying to imagine he was the best possible version of himself, and knowing how sorely he’d fallen short of that over and over. “If she truly was dying—if we had tried everything else—then yes. I’d have done whatever she asked.”
Lydia shifted, pulling back her arms to wrap around her stomach. She didn’t look at him as she muttered, “What if Mom wasn’t dying yet, but she just didn’t want to be sick anymore?”
Mercer started, “No one wants to risk that just to stop being sick…” But the more he looked at her, the farther his heart sank, his stomach knotting. He forced himself to draw in breath. “Lydia?”
She continued to avoid his gaze, her expression growing stonier by the moment.
She had gone to a vampire—had gone over and over—to a vampire she didn’t know, whose moral compass might have been anything from impeccable to outright decimated. And Mercer had thought she was just being a child. Just ignoring the risks or failing to see them.
But Lydia was smart. Confounding, rebellious, stubborn, and, it seemed, as willing a liar as her mother in the right situation, but she wassmart.
“Lydia,” Mercer snapped when she still refused to look at him. “Whywere you friends with Rahil?”
“Because he’s cool. Duh.”
She was lying. He knew her well enough—had seen her tics since she was a toddler. And normally, he could let it go. But not this. The thought of what could have happened to her with anyone other than Rahil—even with Rahil himself, ten years ago, before he’d watched his venom kill the last person he’d given it to and held it against himself. Mercer could hear the knock already. He could see the blood seeping out of Lydia’s eyes. Could feel her growing cold.
Darkness clogged the edges of his vision, his world narrowing to the space where his daughter sat, somehow alive. Still alive. For how much longer? How long until she tried again—
“Lydia.” Mercer tried to grab her, but she was out of his reach. “What were you doing at hishouse?” He leaned toward her, was moving toward her, like pulling her into his arms could pull her into safety as he had with the dangers of the busy street and the hot stove and the monsters under the bed. “Lydia!”
“Why does it matter?” Lydia shot back, scowling at him. “I’m not a child. I know what I want!”
“And you want to be avampire?” Mercer could barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. Lydia was going to die. Lydia was going to die. Lydia was going to— “Do you want to die, Lydia? Because that’s what happens!”
“It’s notjustwhat happens!” She stood, her arms swinging at her sides and her face red with the cherry flush of anger she’d inherited from her mother. “There’s statistics—”
“I don’t care what smaller percentage you think doesn’t matter. It mattered to your mom.” Mercer was on his feet now too, the world spinning around him. “You are not going to endanger yourself, God help me—”
“This is why Mom didn’t tell you shit!” Lydia cut him off, finishing with one final glower before wheeling around and storming toward the back door.
Mercer wanted to run after her, but his legs wobbled, his arm going to the wall for support, so instead he just shouted, “Lydia!”
“I’m going to findRay,” she screamed back. “At least he fucking listens.”
Mercer couldn’t see her by the time the door slammed.
Somehow he was on the floor again, his breath coming in gasps and sobs. He leaned his head back and stared into the darkness that kept trying to spin down, feeling as sick as with any migraine. God damn. “God help me,” he muttered.
