Solomon sat in the broken remnants of a bed chamber, exhaustion hanging over him like a cloak.

The room had been opulent once, with tapestries, silks, and priceless paintings adorning its walls.

Now, those works of art were scattered, and the walls gouged and broken, letting in cracks of moonlight. Those rays fell upon piles of rubble as if to draw a spotlight on his crime.

Solomon had tried to keep their battle contained. He’d tried to keep the servants out of it.

His Master had shown no such restraint.

He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the remnants of the bed.

He was so very tired. He wanted to sleep, and a deeper, darker part wanted to stay asleep until morning, let the sun take care of the lot of them.

But he had work to attend to.

With a groan, Solomon pulled himself to his feet. The magic he had plundered from his Master pulsed in his chest, a cold presence. It wouldn’t do him any good here.

Wind gusted through the holes in the wall, and he glanced up in time to see the clouds shift.

The moon came into view, full and beautiful.

What am I? Some werewolf? Focus, man.

Solomon drug his gaze down to the two vampires staked at his feet. To his family.

His Master was already dead, his head lying a few inches from his neck, his red eyes staring at the axe embedded in the stone as if commanding it to halt.

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Solomon wouldn’t have been surprised if he could.

Even at the end, with a stake through his heart, a part of Solomon believed his Master to be invincible.

His vision started to blur, and he forced his gaze away. This night isn’t over. Weep when you are done.

He turned his focus to Roland. The burly vampire was still alive. Helpless but alive.

He looked like a bear more than a vampire, with a great barrel chest and two pillar-like arms. His beady brown eyes stared straight up, full of hate and rage that begged for release.

As he stared down at the man, at his mentor, his rival, his…constant, the exhaustion tripled. “I know you won’t believe me, but I never wanted this. Any of this. But you wouldn’t listen to me. None of you would.”

He pinched his brow.

“The other houses, the humans, the factions, all of it would just continue as it always has in your mind, but it won’t! And you refused to listen!”

Centuries of effort, of arguments, and it had never gotten Solomon anywhere. “But I would have just left, struck out on my own. You know that, don’t you? He was Falling, Roland. I know you saw it.”

The man was paralyzed, but that didn’t stop his mind from working, just his body. Solomon tried to find understanding in his eyes. Anything.

He failed.

Solomon crouched down, his dark shoes crunching on rubble. “I never wanted any of this. But I have waited too long already. So I’m left to choose between our bad options.”

His hand closed around the axe.

He closed Roland’s eyes. He could give him that much, at least.

He stood, the moon bearing down on him like a witness, painting the room in silver and shadow. Then he brought the axe down.

With a grief-filled heart, Solomon strode from the broken room.

Tears rose in his eyes again, but he blinked them away. When the work is done.

Magic roiled inside him. His Master magic. It was cold and hungry, and it did nothing for the empty feeling in his chest.

He closed his eyes. When the work is done.