"Suit yourself," he said, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette.
"It happens," she said, a note of defiance in her voice. "Whether you believe me or not."
He hadn't believed her then . . . it was only later-much later-that he'd understood just how right she was.
"Have you ever been in love?" she asked, changing the subject.
He shook his head.
"Nope," he said. "You?"
"Never."
He caught her eye again and he felt an almost electric jolt shoot through him. He'd never made love to a woman before, but more than anything he wanted to do that with Eleanora.
"I could fall in love with you," she said, still holding his gaze. "If things were different. I think I could."
His heart skipped a beat, but he spoke calmly: "Why's that, Eleanora?"
She smiled-and it was the sweetest smile the world had ever seen.
"Because I can talk to you."
• • •
It had all gone to hell after that. He'd tried to fix it-after the fact-but she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd learned, too late, that she'd borne his children, twins, a boy and a girl, and then given them up for adoption. She hadn't consulted him about any of it, and he had been devastated.
He spent many long years searching for his children.
David he found first, but he'd known immediately there was something not right about the man. His daughter he'd never gotten to meet. She and her husband had died in a car accident before he could meet her. She'd left behind one child, but Eleanora had snatched Lyse from him before he'd realized what was happening.
Once again, Eleanora had ruined his ability to connect with his family.
By then, he'd infiltrated the Witches' Greater Council and become a trusted member of the blood sisters' world. Out of revenge, he'd seduced Eleanora's closest friend, Marie-Faith Altonelli, forbidding her from telling anyone about their affair. She'd begotten Daniela and he'd made sure he was a part of that child's life from the get-go.
Now here he sat, on the back of a speedboat, racing toward the attainment of everything he'd worked so hard for: The Flood would have its day and the world would be changed for the better.
Or would it?
It was hard to even think this, but much of Desmond was starting to believe he'd been misled. All these years of wanting something, of pushing an agenda to fruition . . . and only at the end did he see the truth. That he might be on the wrong side.
But there was nothing he could do about it now. The plan had been set into motion and they'd passed the fail-safe point. The Flood was going to take control of the Earth, a war would come, and then everything would be over . . . purification and the beginning of a new order. The witches would bring about their own end as it had been written in The Book of The Flood.
Up ahead Desmond could see the decommissioned battleship floating on the buoyant blue sea. It was larger than he'd imagined, but they'd brought a battalion of foot soldiers with them, all under his control. With or without David, the next twenty-four hours would mark the end of the blood sisters and any control they had over humanity.
"We're close, sir," the young man who was piloting their speedboat called out over the roar of the engine.
Good, he thought. I want this done soon so I never have to think about it again.
The one positive thing that had happened was that Daniela had come out of her coma. True, she was back with her coven sisters, but that wouldn't be for long. He would send someone to fetch her and then she'd be at his side before the bloodshed had even begun.
"Send Helen and her team around behind them. Let's hem them in and make sure they can't escape."
Another young man-Desmond was having trouble remembering so many different names . . . or maybe his brain was failing him faster than he realized-barked his orders into a walkie-talkie and then listened as someone squawked a reply.
"They're already on it, sir," the young man said, letting the walkie-talkie fall to his side.
"Thank you," Desmond replied.
The two women he'd loved were both dead. His son had disappeared. One daughter was dead, another injured, and his granddaughter hated his guts.
My family is in the crapper, he thought, but my work is about to bear its long-gestating fruit.
A part of him wished they were reversed. There was something very appealing about sitting on a wide wooden porch in a rocking chair, the two loves of his life, Eleanora and Marie-Faith, on either side. Their children and grandchildren coming by for family gatherings . . . meals shared around a giant table. It was a daydream he'd had before . . . but it was just that. A dream. None of it would ever come to pass, and if he hadn't been so exhausted, he would've secretly wept for what could have been.