Claim Me

Epilogue

[ZACHARIAH'S POV]

"You're leaving?" Xander asked.

I turned to my old friend and vampiric leader. Though he looked the same as ever—proud and indestructible—I sensed the hidden restlessness in him.

"Yes. Your daughter is at ease with her mate and you are back to lead the Vincente. All is right. At least, in this corner of the worlds." I paused. "And I have stayed here far too long. You know I cannot remain in one place for extended periods of time."

One side of Xander's lips tilted up. "It's not that you cannot. It's that you choose to. You still cannot cure your affliction of boredom."

I looked at an insignificant point on the wall and didn't answer. I didn't need to. Xander knew he was right.

He changed the topic and asked, "But why America?"

"I am returning a favor for an old acquaintance there."

There was something strange going on between the worlds. Even I could sense it, though I usually cared for naught what others plotted. A significant number of Hunters of HELL have been killed. Though it was usual to blame no one else but the Hunters for failing their assignments and forsaking their lives as payment, Gunther and others like him believe otherwise. Someone wanted the Hunters gone. If HELL was going to survive to continue as a legacy, they would have to better develop their Hunters.

And that was where Gunther wanted me to fit in. Seeing as how I was one of the longest living Hunters, he believed I would have insight when it came to new recruits.

I had no interest in raising a new flock of killers, but it was about time for me to leave anyway. It would give me something to do as well.

"Zachariah," Xander said. From the sigh in his voice, I knew he had called for me several times.

I often lost myself in my own thoughts, so it was no surprise. "Yes?"

"Even if you find yourself bored of this place, you'll always be welcomed back, should you choose to visit."

I thought about his words and nodded. "Thank you."

But there was something else stirring within me other than the need to overcome this boredom.

Visions.

Visions of a hauntingly beautiful tree. A weeping willow. She dripped the most delicious of nectar. Every time I thought I would store the memory of that taste into my tongue, the vision disappeared.

What did it mean? Why did I find myself so attracted to it? Perhaps it was nothing more than a side-effect of immortality.

How long have I existed to have these visions, even when I am wide awake?

Only time, as eternity continued to pass, would tell.