Camila dreamed.

It wasn't a dream so much as a memory. She was fourteen, sitting on the edge of her bed, her left leg trapped in a cast.

"At least you broke it doing something cool." Her father raised a bushy eyebrow. Fourteen-year-old Camila rolled her eyes and slumped her shoulders. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was walking down the stairs, fell three steps, and ended up in the emergency room with two broken wrists?"

"That doesn't make it better," she mumbled.

Her dad shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"You know, things are going to get better. It might not feel like it now and it might not feel like it tomorrow, but-"

"Dad. I get it." At fourteen, the pressure of her parents' legacy weighed heavy on her shoulders. She didn't want to be weak, especially not in front of them.

"Do you want me to tell you how I know?"

"No."

"I'm going to tell you anyway because it's poetic and deep." Her father cleared his throat, looked her in the eye, and said, "You're a fighter, Camila. And this silly leg injury is not nearly tough enough to shatter your spirit."

Camila huffed and rolled her eyes, but found herself smiling anyways. "That was pretty deep."

"I thought so, yeah. Did it help?"

The conversation faded in and out, like interference on the radio.

She heard the faint beeping of a heart rate monitor, voices speaking in quiet tones.

"I'll up her dosage a little, see if that takes."

"Is she going to be okay?"

The heart rate monitor beeped at a steady rate, the sound weaseling its way into her eardrums.

Her father hugged her. Camila rolled her eyes and accepted the hug. She was glad she did.

Her father left, closing the door softly behind him. Camila glared at her cast. It was bubblegum pink and covered in signatures, guests and servants she barely knew. She sighed, traced the names with her finger, and curled up in bed.

Someone panted happily in her ear. When that didn't get a response, a fluffy snout nudged at her hair.

She frowned.

Her eyes snapped open.

"Hey," Her mother's eyes were puffy, but she managed a weak smile. She'd braided her hair again and washed her face, looking about as neat and presentable as could be expected. "Welcome back."

Spoon yipped. The corgi promptly returned to eating Camila's hair.

"Stop that!" Her mother gently pulled Camila's hair from Spoon's mouth. In a much softer tone, she asked. "How do you feel?"

Her side burned and her skull was squeezing her brain like a stress ball. She winced. "Is everyone okay?"

Her mother swallowed. "Your father... He didn't make it. The rest of us are bruised, but we'll be okay."

Camila closed her eyes. If she tried, she could still feel his arms around her. He'd stabbed the heart, she remembered. He was dead because he'd killed Dragomir. Because he had chosen to save her.

"...Camila," Her mother tilted her chin up with two fingers. "It's not your fault. If anything, it's mine. I should have seen what was happening and-" She exhaled.

Camila wanted to argue, but she was still staring up at the ceiling. The lightbulb, bare and dusty, flickered.

Her father was dead.

"You should sleep." Her mother brushed a strand of hair out of Camila's eye and kissed her on the forehead. "Do you want me to stay?"

Camila dug a hand into Spoon's soft fur. She managed a quick nod and, her body exhausted, her mind aching, she fell asleep.

The next few weeks passed slowly. She had a concussion, severe lacerations, and, courtesy of Dragomir, a missing rib. Every person in the palace seemed intent on keeping her in bed, from her mother to the servants. Alex stopped by every evening to watch a movie with her and share his latest cooking creation; apparently, he'd gotten really into baking after cooking brownies with her.

They held a small funeral for her father. She missed him. She waited for the memories to fade and fade they did, but every now and then she would turn a corner and see something--a book he would've liked, the chair he used to sit in, the cook's chocolate cake served at suppertime--and the memories would sneak back in.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked her mother, two months after her father had died. "You don't still...blame yourself, do you?"

"Do you?" 

"I..." Camila paused. Did she? She felt like someone had cut her own heart out, like her life had been rewritten irreversibly, but she knew what had happened. So Dragomir had held a grudge against her family for a few centuries. That wasn't her fault. "No. I don't."

"Good." Her mother tucked an arm around Camila. "Neither do I."

She and Alex finally went on a date. They watched a cheesy action flick that Camila barely remembered because they spent the whole time laughing and throwing popcorn at each other.

He walked her to her room and they stood there, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity.

He was supposed to kiss her, right? Camila fiddled with her hands. Maybe he didn't want to kiss her. Maybe he was really invested in the movie and she'd ruined it for him by laughing at all the wrong parts.

But at this point, Camila was pretty sure he wanted to kiss her. Plus, he kept staring at her lips, and that seemed like a good sign.

She took a step forward.

"Hey! What are you two up to?" Zora hurtled around the corridor, six bags of M&Ms wrapped tightly in her hands. "Would you mind telling Jared I went right?"

She ran left, ducking into a guest room.

Zora had been living at the palace as the official witch of the kingdom. She'd struck up a friendship with Jared, Camila's ex-fiancé, who'd moved in with his mate, Nathan. He and Camila were working to set up a more inclusive pack culture.

"Any idea where Zora went?" Jared rounded the corner, stopping when he caught sight of Alex and Camila. "We're trying to see who can eat the most M&Ms and she stole mine before I could start."

Camila pointed right.

Alex pointed left.

Jared nodded, furrowed his brow thoughtfully, and went left.

"Um." Camila took a deep breath. "Thank you for dinner. This was nice."

He nodded, scratching the back of his head. His bicep flexed with the movement and Camila found herself unable to look away.

She blinked and steeled her nerves. "So... should we..."

He closed the gap between them and kissed her.

Camila stopped thinking about how nervous she was and how much she wanted this to go well. She stopped worrying about what would happen if everything went wrong and their friendship was ruined, how Declan would feel, and what the kingdom would think. She wound her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and kissed him back.

It was electric. All-consuming. Even more perfect then she imagined it to be.

She suspected it would've felt just as good without the mating bond.

Camila did tell Declan eventually. He was working in New York, trying to figure out a purpose after the Vindicators dissolved. Sometimes Camila missed his easy smile and joking manner. Sometimes she had nightmares where he killed people and she couldn't stop him.

They were working on acting normal around each other.

When she told him about Alex, he stayed silent for a moment. She'd called him about a series of murders in Argentina, a series of murders that resembled some of the Vindicator's earlier work, and the words slipped out. She figured it was best he heard it from her.

"It's fine," Declan said, his voice a bit rough around the edges. "As long as you're happy."

And it was true: Camila was happy.

They got rid of the shifting ban. She'd made a promise to Selene, after all, and she'd worked with Finn, the Vindicator who Declan had left in charge of dealing with the crown, to practice shifting. She never hurt anyone in her animal form or experienced any kind of bloodlust and eventually, she and Finn found a grudging respect for each other.

Without Dragomir to lead them, the vampires become much more friendly. Alex got in touch with some of his relatives and they were delighted to meet him. Apparently, his parents had been murderous assholes, but his grandparents liked to drive down—from Canada—to see him every other month. The vampires signed a peace treaty with Camila's parents where they both agreed to stop killing each other.

Camila married Alex two years later.

The wedding itself was a disaster. It rained the whole time. The poorly chosen seafood gave half the guests food poisoning, including Zora, who vomited during her toast as maid of honor. The cake arrived in the wrong flavor, the bouquet fell to pieces before Camila touched it, and the ring didn't fit.

But Camila didn't care.

She was happy to be there. Her mom was there, smiling and laughing with the guests. Zora had thrown her a Downton-Abbey-themed bachelorette party with mixed results—there'd been plenty of fancy food, but they had to switch venues last minute because of an ill-timed maggot infestation—but the thought touched Camila's heart. Declan hadn't shown up, which was probably for the best, but he sent a card congratulating her, along with a new set of knives. And no matter how many interesting new smells were around, Spoon always wandered back to Camila's side.

And Camila loved Alex. Sure, she'd have enjoyed a perfect wedding. But it wasn't the speech or the food or the bachelorette party that she was walking down the aisle for. She loved him and she got to marry him.

In the end, that was what mattered.