“You? This was from you?” My eyes widened; I picked up the small, wooden piece.

“It was a message.” David’s eyes focused on my fingers as I twirled the knight around.

“A message? That you were missing?” I asked.

He nodded.

“But it’s wrong, David—that’s not what’s been missing.” I put the knight down. “You’re not a piece in a game—you’re everything, you’re the whole world. That’s what’s been missing—not some cheaply-carved, wooden representation.”

“It was a metaphor.”

“It was poor one. Especially since, if you were a chess piece, you wouldn’t be the black knight.”

“Then, which piece am I?” he asked leadingly.

“Maybe you’re not a piece at all?”

“If you had to choose?” He grinned, his eyes glistening.

I shook my head, looking at the board. “The king,” I said, and picked it up.

“Why the white king?” He took it from my hand and studied it. “I’m a vampire—a killer. I’m not good, Ara.”

“You have a good heart, David, full of integrity. And it’s moral strength that makes a king good or bad, not the deaths that occur at his hands.”

“So, now I’m moral, am I?” he asked in a light tone, resting the king back on the board.

“You always were. You just didn’t know it.”

“Hm,” he mused, “you don’t know me very well, then.”

“I know you better than you might think.”

“To make that statement shows how little you know.” He stood half way, remaining a little crouched as he dragged the chair to sit closer to me. “I like that you think kindly of me, though—it makes me feel like less of a monster.”

“Do you really believe that? That you’re a monster?”

“There’s no belief or opinion. I am what I am.” He took my hand. “I never wanted you to learn of the things I’ve done, Ara, but when we go to Paris, you will hear things, and I—”

“David.” I sat on the edge of my chair, tilting my neck up a little to lift his gaze with my eyes. “I don’t care what you’ve done. Really. You could’ve been a lawyer in the past and I wouldn’t hold it against you.” I chuckled once; David didn’t, though, he only scratched his head, narrowing one eye.

“What?” I sat back. “Was my joke that bad?”

“Ara, I am a lawyer.”

I burst out laughing, failing to cover my mouth before the gust of air escaped. “I forgot about that.”

“How did you know?”

“Eric told me.”

David’s smile twitched under his tight lips as I rolled back in my chair and clutched my contracting stomach.

“So you love me still?”

As my cackling settled to breathy hiccups, I shook my head. “I love you to pieces, David—even if you’re a blood-hungry lawyer.”

“Good.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight, as if he owned it. I liked that. “Because you will hear things you won’t like. So just remember that, okay? Just remember that you love me—no matter what.”

“Okay.” I nodded, breathing out the humour. “No matter what. And you love me—no matter what, right?”

“Always,” he said with surety.

“What if I changed a child?” Why did you just say that, you moron!

David dropped my hand; his expression blackened. “What do you know about that?”

“Only that it’s against the law.” I shrugged; his reaction said do not elaborate or Eric may lose a limb.

“How do you know about that?”

“You should know—didn’t you read everything in my mind that happened while you were away?”

“Eric told you?”

“Yes. Didn’t you see the conversation?”

“No.”

Thank God. Eric’s safe for another day.

He leaned back in his chair, his face awash with thought. “I wish I’d paid closer attention now.”

“Oh, well,” I said casually, “Eric just told me that there were vampires who were children.”

“And that’s all he told you?”

I nodded; it wasn’t convincing, but I think even David wanted to avoid the truth.

“Ara?” He leaned forward, his eyes flooding black; only tiny circles of green remained around the pupils. “Never, ever change a child. I don’t care what your reasons are—don’t ever do it. Do you understand?”

“Okay.” I nodded. “You know I wouldn’t do that, though, right?”

“I hope not. There is nothing that haunts me more than the memory of those children.” He stared blankly. “I would give any part of myself to find them a path to freedom.”

“You care?”

“About my own species?” He looked at me. “Always.”

“Can they be freed?”

“It’s an eternal argument, Ara. Some say there are ways to teach them civility, others disagree. But I’m an advocate for their well-being. I fund research and fight—” He cleared his throat. “Fought for their rights, using my position on the council.”

“So, do you think they’ll ever find a way—to let them out of the dungeons?”

David looked at me; I knew I’d said too much about what I knew. “Yes. And any being who would think to keep that from them is not worthy of life.”

“Well, what about the vampires who changed them, what happened to them?”

David shot up out of his chair and took a few deep, quiet breaths; his fists clenched tightly by his sides. “For your own sake, girl, don’t ever ask me that question again.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, balled his fists tighter and walked away—stiff, from the neck down.

Whoa, overreaction of the century. I really have to learn not to push him. There’s so much I don’t know about his past. I wonder if he’s right to worry if I’d still love him when I find out the horrors of his inner truths.

But then, I’m sure mine are far worse.

The bedroom door slammed behind David and guilt kicked in like a piece of bread stuck down my throat. I just wanted him to tell me about Pepper, himself—about how he sentenced her after she changed a child.