Die for Her A Die for Me Novella

sacrificed my very existence to the whims and desires of fate. I am fate’s slave, and yet it is mocking me.
    I look in despair at the mess I’ve made on the canvas, and sit on the ground, my head in my hands. I must get control of myself. If things continue as they have started, this girl is going to be a part of my life. A part of our clan’s life. And I have to learn to deal with it without showing my feelings. I have to get over her. I take my phone out of my pocket and call the first number that comes up: Evelynn.
    “Hello, bella . I know it’s been a long time, but would you happen to have a pot of tea for a poor, lonely artist?”
    I go to the only thing that I know will make me feel better. Another woman’s embrace.

ELEVEN
    “ CHARLES WAS WITH LUCIEN !” VINCENT SAYS AS he bursts into the kitchen, where JB and Gaspard are having a rare dinner with the rest of us instead of eating alone. Jeanne laid out the good china for the occasion, and left us with a feast of cochon de lait , an entire roasted suckling pig that would normally feed a dozen people, but with Ambrose eating for six, will only last the night.
    Everyone stops eating and stares at Vincent. “What did you say?” JB asks in a strained voice. “I just came from dinner with Kate’s family. And she saw Charles with Lucien the other night. They were talking outside of the nightclub.”
    Charlotte raises her hands to her mouth, and moans, “Oh no.” I scoot over and put my arm around her. But I know what she’s thinking: Charles has finally done it. He’s asked the numa to destroy him. I’m overwhelmed both by sadness that Charles’s depression has led him this far, and anger at the thought of a numa blade severing his neck.
    “But there’s not only that,” Vincent says. “Kate’s sister is apparently seeing Lucien. As in, romantically.”
    “What?” Ambrose roars, banging his knife handle on the table.
    “Of course, she doesn’t know who he is. Or what he is,” Vincent says. “And he has obviously discovered our link with Kate’s family.”
    Charlotte starts crying, and I pull her in toward me so that she’s sobbing into my chest. My eyes meet JB’s.
    “I’m ordering an immediate general alert,” he says, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin and rising from his chair. “We’ll have the entirety of our Paris kindred out on the street looking for him. I promise, Charlotte. We’ll find your brother.”
    But we find no trace of Charles or the numa, and two days later Lucien calls with an ultimatum. He has killed Charles and left his body in the Catacombs. If we don’t come get it that night, he will wait until Charles is volant and destroy his body, damning Charles to eternal disembodiment.
    We know it’s a trap. But we go anyway. And although we manage to kill a few numa and rescue Charles’s body, Lucien uses the setup to act upon an even more diabolical scheme. He uses Kate’s sister to get into La Maison, and drags the girls to where Vincent’s body lies dormant and empty—his spirit is volant at the Catacombs with us.
    What Lucien doesn’t plan on is Kate. Kate, who overcomes her fear and horror to fight him. Kate, who lets Vincent possess her in order to combine his strength with hers, and kill the numa chief. By the time Ambrose and I get there, Lucien is headless and about to be charbroiled in Vincent’s own fireplace.
    Kate is adopted into the house. She has finally won not only JB’s full approval, but his welcome, and what I both hope and dread most comes true. My fear that Kate will be harmed by the numa is replaced by the fear of how I will react seeing Kate practically every day.

TWELVE
    “ SHE’S A NATURAL ,” GASPARD SAYS AS WE WATCH Kate float through the double doors into the ballroom wearing a floor-length, pewter-colored gown that makes her look like a princess from JB’s time. And man, does the eighteenth century suit her well.
    “A natural what?” I ask him, unable to tear my eyes from her.
    “Fighting,” he replies. “She started training with me just weeks ago, and she’s already got all of the basics down. I show her a move twice, and she has it mastered. The rhythm of the fight is in her blood.”
    “Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” I say, and set out across the ballroom toward her, drawn to her like a bee to a flower in full bloom. Ambrose is playing Louis Armstrong, and couples flood to the middle of the room to take advantage of the danceable beat.
    Kate is so lost in