"It's Michael. How will I ever tell him?" She shook her head. "I'll never be able to tell him about any of this," she remarked, "or about us. He'd never understand. He's so… Joaquin?" She frowned as his face went blank. "What is it? Is something wrong with Mike?" She shook his arm. "What is it? Tell me."
"He is dead."
"Dead?" She stared at him. "When? How?"
"He was dying when I found him."
Regan felt a rush of guilt. "It was Vasile, wasn't it? That night, at my house…"
Santiago nodded. "It was Flynn who told me where to find you."
Tears welled in her eyes. All this time, she had never wondered what had happened to Mike. She had just blithely assumed that he was all right and that he would be in the city when she returned. Resting her head on Santiago's chest, she let her tears fall. "It's all my fault. If it wasn't for me, Mike would be alive now."
"It is not your fault," Santiago said. "You must not think like that."
How could she help it? She hadn't been in love with Michael Flynn, but she had loved him as a friend—a good friend. She felt a sudden delight in the knowledge that she had killed Vasile. She only wished she could do it again, for Mike.
Regan stood beside Joaquin, her hand clasped in his as they waited for the priest to arrive. They had returned to Santiago's lair in the Byways just before dawn the day before. Regan had succumbed to the Dark Sleep almost as soon as they reached Santiago's lair. Now she stood beside him, her gaze slowly moving around the room. It was a beautiful old church, with burnished wooden pews and intricate stained glass windows. A sweet-faced Madonna stood in one corner, her hand raised in benediction. Flickering candles set in scrolled wall sconces cast a warm glow.
The soft sound of a door opening drew Regan's attention. Glancing to her left, she saw an aged priest walking toward the altar. Short, slender, and gray haired, he leaned heavily on a wooden cane.
A smile spread over the priest's face as he approached the altar.
"Ah, Santiago, my old friend, forgive my tardiness," he said, his brown eyes twinkling.
"Time is something I have in abundance, Father Paul," Santiago replied.
"Would that I could say the same." The priest took Santiago's hand in his. "Some nights the spirit is willing but this old body just wants to go to bed."
"We appreciate your taking time to do this, Father," Santiago said, his voice tinged with genuine reverence and respect.
"Well, now, I can't have the two of you living in sin, can I?" the priest said chuckling. "Who is this lovely young woman?"
"Father, this is my bride, Regan Delaney. Regan, this is Father Paul."
Smiling his good-natured smile, the priest took Regan's hand in both of his. "Delighted to meet you, my dear," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I didn't think my friend here would ever find love again." Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to the side, his gaze locked on hers. "You are as he is." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. "Were you brought across of your own free will?"
"Yes, Father."
"Very well, then, join hands, won't you, and we'll begin."
Regan looked at Joaquin, her heart swelling with love for the man who would soon be her husband. His voice was soft and low and intense as he spoke his vows. Regan couldn't help smiling when he promised to love her as long as he lived. The good Lord willing, they would have centuries together.
"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest said, his voice and expression solemn. And then he smiled broadly. "You may kiss the bride."
"Gladly," Santiago murmured. Drawing Regan into his arms, he kissed her tenderly, gently, and then he kissed her again. There was nothing tender or gentle in this kiss. It was a brand, sealing her as his for all time.
"Go in peace, my children," the priest said.
"Thank you, Father," Santiago said.
Regan kissed the old man on the cheek. "Yes, thank you."
Taking her by the hand, Joaquin led her out of the church.
"How do you happen to be friends with a priest?" Regan asked when they were outside. "I mean, it seems odd, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps. I have known the good Father for over forty years."
"However did you meet?" she asked. "He's not a vampire, is he?"
"No. I saved his life one night. It happened in Spain. He was a young priest at the time, on his way back to the church after visiting a parishioner who lived in the slums outside the city. It was raining heavily when two young hoodlums jumped him…"
"They attacked a priest?"
"They didn't know he was a priest. He was wearing a heavy raincoat at the time."
"Go on."
"One of the young men was about to stab him in the back when I came along." Santiago shrugged. "I chased the boys away, then escorted the good Father home."
"Did he know what you are?"
"Not at first."
"And he didn't care, when he found out?"
"He was a bit of a rebel in his youth. I rather think he enjoyed having a vampire acquaintance. When I saved his life, he promised me a favor in return. Tonight he fulfilled that promise."
"You waited quite a long time to collect that favor, didn't you?"
"I wanted to save it for a special occasion. He is the only one I know who would marry us without a license."
"He's a long way from Spain."
"His order sent him here five years ago. And now, my lovely bride," he said, his gaze warming as he looked at her, "we have the whole night ahead of us. Is there anything you would like to do before we go home?"
"There is one thing I need to do," she said. "It won't take long."
The cemetery was located on a green hill east of the city. Regan paused at the entrance, knowing that she couldn't go on with her life until she told Michael good-bye.
"Go," Santiago said, "I will wait for you here." With a nod, Regan opened the large iron gate and made her way along the narrow stone path until she found Mike's final resting place. She read the short epitaph on the headstone:
Michael Seamus Flynn
Beloved son of Timothy and Gladys
May the good Lord keep you safe in His care
Until we meet again
She stood there a moment, remembering the first time she had met Mike and how kind he had been to her, a brand new vampire hunter who had lost her lunch at her first crime scene. He had always been protective of her. She remembered a time when she had been sick with the flu. It had been Mike who had looked after her. He had driven her to the doctor, made sure she had food in the house, and even changed the sheets on her bed. He had been so sweet and so kind and yet, try as she might, she hadn't been able to love him as he deserved. And now he was gone.