1. Under the Surface
Under the Surface Diana Helsing considered herself a patient person, but if the regular human spouting line after line didn’t catch the memo anytime soon, she was going to snap his neck. It would be a service to mankind, truly. “So, did your license get suspended for driving all the guys crazy?” She groaned. “Stop, please, I’m begging you. You’re hot,” she admitted. The guy was just her type: tall, dark, and handsome. He must have had Italian or Spanish roots—she couldn’t quite place the look, and though she was naturally curious, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for his name to see if she could pinpoint his origins from it. It’d only encourage him. “But then you had to open your mouth, and given what came out of it, there is no way in hell I’ll ever end up in bed with you.” The idiot winked. “It doesn’t have to be a bed, sweetheart. I’m flexible like that.” Diana forced a calming breath out. It had been over a hundred years since she’d spilled human blood—a record she was proud of and wanted to keep intact. She was not breaking it tonight of all nights. She was on the continent for the first time since the Great Fire of London. Tonight was supposed to be a night of fun, indulgence, and above all, distraction. In the morning, she was flying up to Scotland and heading to Oldcrest. The place of her birth. Her home. A home she hadn’t set a foot in for close to nine hundred years. Diana had been changed nine hundred and one years ago, at age twenty-one. Early, for a fledgling of the House of Helsing. They normally waited until their twenty-fifth year. They hadn’t had much choice in her case. She gestured to the bartender, who promptly abandoned the cocktail he was mixing to come serve her. “What can I get you?” “Just the check, sweetheart,” she replied, flashing him a grin. She needed to get out of here before the Casanova wannabe trampled over her last nerve. “Oh, I see,” the guy snapped, his smooth tone gone. “Miss Prissy’s too good for me, but you’ll slum it with a servant.” Her eyes slid away from the bar, back to Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Dumb. A quick once-over, and she noticed the expensive watch, bespoke suit, and polished shoes she’d missed at first glance. So, he was one of them. The legacies who believed themselves entitled to anything they wanted because of the money Daddy had inherited. She grinned at him. “That’s exactly it.” The bartender handed her the check, but remained in front of them, looking between Diana and the boy who practically begged to become her prey. “Is everything all right?” “No one asked you,” the rich boy spat. “It’s between me and her.” “There’s nothing between me and you, boo,” she quipped with an air kiss. Diana pulled a fifty out of her bra and handed it to the bartender. “Keep the change, will you?” The bartender remained where he was, a glare fixed on the boy. “If he’s bothering you, I can ask him to leave.” Wasn’t he sweet? He thought she needed help. “I can manage him, but thank you.” “Oh, yeah, you can manage me all right,” Rich and Dumb said suggestively, his eyes undressing her. Ugh. That was quite enough of that. Diana stopped purposely slowing down her motion, moving with all the nature speed and strength of her kind, so fast she was just a blur to the humans in the bar. She would have been a blur to most sups, too. Her fingers wrapped around the boy’s throat and squeezed it. She could practically taste his fear in the air, teasing her senses. Against her lower lip, Diana felt the points of her extended fangs. She didn’t need a mirror to know her dark eyes had turned blood-red in her anger. “Here’s three lessons for you, baby boy,” she drawled, bringing her face to his ear. “When a lady says no, she means it. You don’t need to ask twenty-nine times. That’s just pathetic.” She tightened her grip. “Secondly, the whole class war thing is so last century. Your daddy has money. Get over it. He could lose it like this.” She snapped her fingers with her free hand. “Especially if, say, you happen to piss off a girl who can make sure all of his investments blow up by the end of the night. How would you like that?” The boy was struggling against her hold, his fear more intoxicating with every moment. “Thirdly? Wear diapers if you’re going to piss your pants.” “All right, you can let him go,” the bartender said evenly, holding both of his hands up in a placating gesture. His protective instincts had switched from her to the boy, now that he knew what she was. Diana released his neck. She’d made her point. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be bothering another girl any time soon. She grabbed her jacket and got out of the club, bursting into the misty, darkening gray London air. She’d picked the well-presented Leicester Square establishment at random, simply because it was close to the meeting place Juniper had selected. Diana had met Juniper Marshalls some two hundred years ago, in South America. They weren’t close friends, but when they were in the same city, they tried to meet for a drink and catch up. Diana liked the other vampire; she was fun to be around, and didn’t take life too seriously. She liked the rest of Juniper’s coven far less, however. Juniper had been turned by a sire who liked to keep all his children around him, in a way Diana had found too controlling for her liking. Juniper didn’t seem to chafe under his leash, and they weren’t close enough for Diana to have broached the subject, although she made no secret of her dislike for the man. Arlo Shaws was a smooth-talking, sophisticated vampire who had never been anything but charming. To her. Because he was too smart to antagonize a Helsing twice his age. During their few interactions, he’d made her skin crawl, treating his subordinates like they were solider ants whose sole purpose in life was to serve him. Diana knew Juniper slept with him. If she wasn’t mistaken, he also had sex with Willow and Kenya, the two other females he’d sired. It wasn’t unheard of for a sire and their fledgling to have a relationship. Hell, it wasn’t even unusual. Typically, vampires turned people they cared about—their friends or lovers. But with Arlo, it seemed like he’d chosen a harem, rather than companions. The five males he’d turned were all strong enough to be adequate guards, but not so dominant as to pose a threat to his rule. The entire thing stank. Diana had hesitated to reach out to Juniper at all, but her flight was at ten in the morning the next day, and she’d known it would be impossible for her to sleep the night before her return to Oldcrest. There were other people she could have contacted, but she enjoyed Juniper’s company. She’d decided not to let Arlo win this round. Diana looked down at her watch. Ten. She had half an hour to kill. Instead of finding refuge in another bar—she didn’t think she could deal with another sleazebag tonight—she made her way to the meeting point, a few streets down, near Piccadilly Circus. Tourists flocked to the central Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, taking selfies with its well-known statue of Anteros at any hour of the day. Instead, she’d picked the less-appreciated Horses of Helios—a bronze sculpture of four wild galloping horses. She’d never seen them in person before. They’d been commissioned about two hundred years ago, in the twentieth century of the last era. The pictures had intrigued her, and in person, the sculpture didn’t disappoint. It was even more evocative. The horses looked like they might suddenly burst out of the water and gallop through the evening sky, if their master would only call them. Diana hopped on the fountain, just as it started to rain. She pulled out her phone and angled it for a selfie, but she couldn’t catch all four horses in the shot. She liked pictures, mementos, and memories, good and bad—but that didn’t mean she was a good photographer. Dejected over her lack of skills, she pouted and stuffed the phone back inside her green leather jacket, then lifted her head to look at the sky. The rain didn’t bother her, but she’d dressed appropriately to fit in with the rest of the Londoners and tourists. Well, as appropriately as she could. She wore boots, skinny jeans, leather. She drew the line at carrying an umbrella. Diana generally wore boots if she could get away with it. The ones she had on today were made of a patchwork of leather—green, red, orange, purple, each embossed with different motifs. One of her favorite pairs. These babies, and her jacket's long tassels with wood beads dangling at the uneven edges, made it impossible for her to truly blend in anywhere. So what if she found this century’s idea of fashion boring? She liked colors, shiny things, and pretty patterns. But while people stared, they only saw a brunette boho chick who looked like she owned a crystal sphere or two. Which was accurate. They didn’t guess that she also happened to be the second-oldest Helsing alive. One of the few born vampires who had—and could again—rule the world if they felt like it. Not that Diana had done much ruling during the Age of Blood. She’d stuck to a territory she’d temporarily claimed up in Canada, and protected its inhabitants against any threat that dared show up on her doorstep. Other than that, she’d left the humans and sups under her thumb to their own devices. Which was one of the reasons why British Columbia was still a haven for sups. The humans around those parts were less wary than those who’d truly known the horrors of a war against her kind. “Look who we have here.” Diana groaned, recognizing the voice. Surely, the human couldn’t have been dumb enough to follow her? A whiff of his dull, common scent confirmed her bewildering suspicion. He truly was mentally deficient. He’d come flanked by two other regular humans—his protection detail, she guessed, from their crisp dark suits, posture, and bulk. The idiot’s smug grin implied he believed he had the upper hand here. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault. He was too young to have lived through the Age of Blood, back when her kind had shown the regulars just how much stronger they were. Since then, they’d done whatever they could to remain in the shadows, away from humans. Besides, Diana prided herself on appearing sweet and cute. She liked to be underestimated. “Tell me, boy. How many girls have you stalked after they rejected you? How many have you hurt?” Her voice was deceptively calm. The human’s eyes twinkled with something akin to pride. Excitement. He loved this. He anticipated hurting her, and he relished it. “And you.” She tilted her head to his two muscleheads. “You helped him every time, didn’t you? You can’t tell me assault is in your job description. You like this.” The first musclehead, a pale, bald, tattooed man in his forties, leered at her. The second snorted. “Like you’re better than any of us, bloodsucker.” She had been better, for years and years. She’d traveled the world, played music, danced in the rain, learned to dye silk and cook pelmeni. She’d socialized with both regular and sups on a superficial level, staying away from trouble. Away from anything that might trigger the predator inside her. Diana liked to live a hedonistic, pacifistic existence…most of the time. She didn’t attack without provocation, and she never did anything against innocents. But when presented with the opportunity to blow off some steam against someone who deserved it, she was something else entirely. She let the child her family had raised out of her inner cage and became a true Helsing for a moment or two. “I’m going to enjoy this.” She smiled wickedly at them. “You aren’t.” Diana launched herself at the trio, sliding low to administer a nasty punch to the bald one’s flank, then a high kick to the second guard’s neck. She lifted her other leg to the other side of his head and twisted her ankles—just hard enough to strangle him. She could have broken his neck, but it would have been over too fast, and now that the monster was unleashed, it wanted to play. Stepping on his face, she stood tall on top of him, then jumped on the skinhead’s back. Her legs closed around his neck and she ducked, to roll on the ground, taking him with her—one of her favorite signature moves. She landed in an elegant feline crouch. The bodyguard fell face-first, breaking his nose on the hard pavement. Chuckling, she returned her attention to the second guard. He drew his fist back to punch her. She moved, swift as a shadow, and tapped his shoulder. “Over here.” He blinked, confused as to why she wasn’t standing in front of him anymore. Diana’s mouth closed on his neck and, unsheathing her fangs, she bit deep, hard, cutting into his artery, and then ripping his flesh. Feeding could be a painless affair, if the vampire wanted it to be. It could even be sensual, under the right circumstances. Or it could be the thing of nightmares. An excruciating wound, followed by horror as the prey froze, helpless, feeling their blood being sucked, drained. She picked option two. The skinhead and the rich boy moved to attack, but Diana ignored their blows, kicks, punches, and their attempt to tear her away from her prey. She relished in their screams, their fear. His blood wasn’t exceptional. It wasn’t even palatable. But his terror? That was a delight. Feeling his heart slow dangerously, she let go, and turned back to the two regulars left. She noticed that she’d attracted a small crowd. There were even phones aimed at her. Precious. Diana released the tiniest sliver of energy, aimed at the small gathering. The half-dozen humans filming her all yelped and let go of the burning-hot devices in their hands. Seven phones fell to the wet asphalt. One even caught fire. Oops? Diana wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staining it red. She must have looked positively wild. Which was exactly what she was, at the moment. Plain or not, tasting human blood for the first time in what felt like eons was bound to have an effect on her. She didn’t feel out of control—just tipsy. And a tipsy ancient Helsing wasn’t a good thing. Her two adversaries looked between the wailing guard, on his knees, pressing his hands to his throat, and her. She tilted her head. “Take him. And hopefully, you’ve learned a lesson or two.” The boy glared at her. She didn’t think he had at all. He’d come at her again, some day. His funeral.
2. A Guilded Cage
A Guilded Cage Mikar Ash couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this agitated. Or trapped. It had been three months since the borders of Oldcrest had been attacked, and in those three months, he hadn't left their territory. Not even once. He had duties he took seriously in Oldcrest. Namely, the protection of Chloe Eirikrson, Levi De Villier's mate. Being assigned to guard her was an honor. She was the one thing Levi valued most. That he'd asked Mikar to be her main bodyguard spoke volumes as to the extent of Levi's trust in Mikar. If he was honest, Mikar would have expected Levi to have picked someone else—anyone else—for the job. Sylvan, for example. Syl was indubitably Levi's best slayer. Mikar wasn't an ideal protector. Sending him to spy or kill an enemy would have made a lot more sense. Mikar didn't like to sit still, wasn't fond of most people, and had, numerous times, gone directly against specific instructions Levi had given him. He'd had good reason each time, but he knew that every other slayer—even Ruby, the half-wild, entirely mad warrior haunting the hills of Oldcrest—wouldn't have done so. When he saw a better way to do something, he did it, no matter Levi’s directives. Yet here he was. Stuck in Oldcrest. Playing chess with Chloe, his protégée. Well, more accurately, losing at chess against Chloe. The girl was a fast learner. "When do you think Levi will chill?" she asked, moving her tower to ruthlessly attack his king. "It's been ages since I’ve been out in the real world. I need to stock up on body lotion." At least he wasn't the only one in danger of being bored to tears here. He moved a bishop into the path of the rook, sacrificing the piece to protect his king. Without so much as a second of hesitation, Chloe placed her other tower on his side of the board. "Check." Having no other choice, he moved his king. "I don't know. I thought the paranoia would ease up at the start of the semester," Mikar admitted. He understood why Levi had been protective through the summer, when most of the students were gone. The students of the Institute of Supernatural Studies represented both a threat and a layer of protection. Should they stand with their enemies, they could weaken Oldcrest from within, but the bulk of the student body had proven that their loyalties were to Oldcrest. To Levi. And most of all, to Chloe. They'd fought alongside them last year. Levi should have relaxed when the students came back to Oldcrest. He hadn't. "You realize I'm here?" Levi pointed out, not lifting his gaze from the computer he was staring at. They were on the top floor of the tower that Levi and other vampires used to further their own course of studies. He had a laboratory that doubled as a dungeon underground, but he used the elegantly furnished, lavishly decorated study, because it was the one room in the entire edifice reinforced with specific spells that allowed them to speak freely. No one could spy on them in this room—magically or otherwise. Well, that, and they could actually get some cell reception here. The privacy was the principal reason. Levi's research was paramount to the vampire race, and many would have liked to hinder it. Until recently, he'd been embroiled in research to attempt to create a cure against the bite of a feral vampire. They’d infected healthy vampires and turned them into mindless killing machines that fed on vampire blood. Months ago, they'd found out such a cure already existed—it was in Chloe’s—and in all of the Eirikrsons’—blood. At the moment that included her, her brother, her ancestor Eirikr himself…and perhaps Eirikr’s psychotic daughter. Chloe had been kind enough to provide a vial every time someone had asked for her blood in order to save ferals, but they hadn't yet managed to synthesize it. That was Levi's next mission. Some would have loved nothing more than to stop him. There were sups who hated vampires, for one. Vampires were the ultimate apex predators, second only to actual gods. As most of the major gods had long left their world, they were at the top of the food chain. Many didn't like that. They wouldn't have minded if their entire kind was affected by the feral curse. Ferals, while possessing all the natural raw strength and speed of a vampire, were considerably easier to kill than healthy immortals in possession of all their mental capacities. And of course, some vampires simply hated Levi enough to stand against him, no matter what that entailed. "I haven't lifted the protection measures because every day the number of enemies we have increases as they recruit Eirikrson haters, and we don’t know from what front they’ll come at us next time. If you need body lotion, order it online and have it sent to the postal box. Ruby and Sylvan will pick it up on their regular run into town." Those two were the only slayers could head out. Although there was a valid reason for that, Mikar still resented them both. The self-appointed queen who'd been moving against Chloe and the rest of them from the shadows for months would try to attack again. It was just a matter of when. To ensure that Oldcrest remained impregnable, Levi had had the magic shields at the borders reinforced with a spell that only allowed in those who'd been invited by one of the residents of Night Hill. He’d personally extended that invitation to every student, teacher, and member of staff, but they couldn't invite anyone in turn. Greer, the witch who'd performed the spell, theorized that if a resident was holding hands with an intruder, they could technically enter together, but the security risk was minimal. However, if their adversaries could get their hands on a resident of Night Hill, that would be another story. Levi probably didn't believe that any amount of torture would get Mikar to break, but there were other ways their enemy could manage to get what she wanted. Spells, hexes, manipulation. They couldn't afford to risk it. Ruby technically didn't live on Night Hill: she'd taken residence in one of the caves at the base of Cosnoc, the forbidden eastern hill where Chloe's ancestor, Eirikr, was trapped. As for Sylvan, he was just visiting. Levi hadn't ordered Mikar to stay put—he didn't ever attempt to order him around. He asked, and Mikar complied. He knew his utter boredom wasn't reason enough to risk his friends' lives. "It's not just about the lotion." Chloe pouted. "I like Oldcrest. This is my home. But I don't like feeling like a prisoner here. We're strong. We shouldn't have to hide." "We aren't hiding, darling. But it stands to reason that our comings and goings are monitored. Plenty of people want to hurt you, and it's far easier for them to snatch you up out there than while we're safe at home. If you'd like to go anywhere, I'll take you. With adequate security, it's not a problem." Other than Mikar, Levi had only two slayers—warriors trained specifically to serve him, back when wars between vampire lines were common. Ruby and Sylvan were the remnants of a bygone era. Mikar had been added to their rank, and he certainly had adequate training to fill the roll, but the three of them still weren’t an army. Technically, Chloe had more slayers than Levi. There were at least half a dozen Eirikrson slayers still alive, but all were traveling with her elusive older brother, Tom. That said, the last few centuries, Levi had engaged the services of various vampires, ranging from assistants to bodyguards, investigators, and spies. They weren't sworn to his service the way the slayers were, but if Levi called upon them, he could surround Oldcrest with an actual legion. Why he hadn't done so yet, Mikar wasn't sure. Perhaps he didn't trust his warriors enough to have them here in this critical time. More than likely, he had a plan in mind. But they were hardly defenseless. They had Alexius Helsing, his delightfully savage mate Avani, Catherine Stormhale, and the newly turned, yet equally ferocious Bash. They had witches they could trust. And in a pinch, they could even call upon the huntsmen. Sworn to fight rogue paranormals, they didn't typically get involved in vampire infightings, but the leader of the local huntsmen was friends with Chloe, and did consider Oldcrest his home. The huntsmen’s aid wasn’t guaranteed, but Mikar would have bet just about anything that when the time came, they’d be right there with them, defending their home. Even Eirikr himself would stand with them, so long as he managed to get out of his cave again. By “adequate security,” Levi meant that he'd have Chloe guarded by at least a dozen of those warriors, Mikar guessed. Which was exactly why Chloe dropped the matter. As annoying as staying home could be, he knew she didn't want to put any of her friends in danger. "Fine. But we can't live like this indefinitely. We're going to have to do something against her." Her voice dripped with abhorrence. Mikar didn't need to ask who she meant by her. The queen. Eirikr's firstborn daughter. Given the fact that she'd killed several of their friends and had attacked them on a number of occasions, she didn't make the cut on anyone's Christmas list, but Chloe truly detested her guts. Mikar wasn’t sure that Chloe even understood the reasons behind her feelings. It was more than the mere circumstances of their conflict. Vampires all had beasts inside them, a darker, wilder, and also simpler part of themselves, who saw life in black and white. The queen was threatening Chloe's birthright, her natural place in the world. Chloe was one of the most dominant women Mikar had ever come across. Naturally, her beast was showing its fangs at anything and anyone who wanted what was hers. There may also have been a degree of human jealousy, given that the queen was Eirikr's natural-born daughter. A child he'd loved, cared for, and mourned for thousands of years. Chloe adored her psychotic vampire elder. So unsurprisingly, she didn't want to compete for his affection with his long-lost child. "Checkmate, by the way," she announced cheerfully. Mikar growled low, analyzing the board. She was right, dammit. "I should never have taught you to play chess," he grumbled. Chloe grinned, replacing the glass pieces on the fancy clear and blue board. As soon as he'd seen that his mate enjoyed playing, Levi had dusted off a ridiculously expensive glassware board from his attic and had it brought to the study where they spent most of their evenings. "I knew how to play. You taught me how to win." True. She’d been too attached to her figures—now she never hesitated to sacrifice a queen to conquer. "That. Remind me to not do that again." Chloe laughed. "Like you could help yourself. You're too much of a natural teacher and protector, Mikar. You want the best for everyone you care about." She said it casually, with a matter-of-fact shrug. That was the thing about Chloe. She made all those around her feel proud of themselves. Mikar knew himself to be agitated and short-tempered, prone to killing first and asking questions later, but to hear her speak, he was a good person. A true friend. Of course, he wanted to be. Anyone who met Chloe wanted to get to know her, take care of her, because she made them feel like they mattered. She lifted her people up, like only a true leader could. Her dominance was covered in honey, making her the ultimate alpha. She wasn't even manipulative. Just…nice. Mikar wasn't used to nice. Not from powerful she-vamps. Maybe she'd change as she aged, but he didn't think she would. The beep of his phone interrupted any response he might have tried to make. Chloe's and Levi's alarms rang at the same time. He opened his messages, and his eyes widened. He blinked once, and then again, for luck. "What the fresh hell is this!” Chloe screeched. He guessed she'd received the same thing as him: a picture of a smiling Alexius, arm around his mate, Avani, standing next to Knox, the ever-infuriating Immortal Wolf. They were holding a marriage license. They'd gotten hitched. Without them. Without even telling anyone! "They're out of Oldcrest!" Chloe shrieked, affronted. She turned to Levi, who was typing on his cell. Chloe pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You knew! You knew they were going to slip away and do this!" Levi shrugged. "They let me know they were popping out to sign the papers today, yes. What was I supposed to say? Although you're a nine-hundred-year-old ancient and your mate can rip off heads without breaking a sweat, you cannot get married when you damn well want to? You know no one stops Alexius or Avani from doing what they want to." "That's not the point!" Her voice was reaching an all-time high. "I can't believe they're getting married without us!" "They didn't want to make a fuss. Avani grew up in the mortal world, and to her, marriage means something. Alexius wanted to give her that. But neither of them is the whole white dress, big party type." "Oh, they will get a party, mark my words!" Chloe snarled, stalking to her mate, and grabbing him by the tie. "And if you think for one second that you and I are going to pop by the courthouse for a quick signature someday, you're mistaken. I want a tiara. I want an altar. I want a train, a flower girl, bridesmaids, bouquets, something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. And I will get it." Mikar had seen Chloe take on Eirikr's daughter before the summer holiday, yet he didn't think he'd ever seen her look quite so menacing. Surprisingly, Levi didn't seem fazed. In fact, the man was amused. He tilted his head. "Oh? Are we getting married, now?” Chloe let go of the tie and glared up at him. "No. I haven't said yes." He grinned. "Yet." Mikar shook his head. He understood what Chloe was doing: taking their relationship at a normal, human pace. They'd started dating just months ago. Regardless of the fact that Levi and she were one hundred percent sure that they were it for each other, and that only death could separate them, she clung to her human ways still. To her, moving in together and getting hitched were things adults did all in due time. Mikar wasn't sure how Levi managed to be patient and go at her pace, but he did. "We'll see," the she-vamp replied, lifting her chin. "I can't believe you didn't let me know my friends were getting married today." Now she’d switched from angry to disappointed, maybe even sad. Seeing his friend’s expression darken, edging toward panic, Mikar opted to jump to Levi's aid. "You would have wanted to tag along, and then we would have had to go with an escort. Which would have been exactly against Alexius's and Avani's wishes. Levi didn't want to ruin their day, that's all." Chloe sighed, wordlessly admitting he was right. "Fine. But don't think I won't make you pay for it, nonetheless," she added, with another scowl at her mate, who just smiled. "Counting on it." "Mikar, can I get your help?" Chloe asked, furiously typing on her phone, and rushing out of the tower. "We don't have much time." "What for?" he asked, following her. He was on duty as her guard until nightfall, so he would have trailed her no matter what. "Throwing the Helsings a party worthy of their name." So much for listening to the couple's wishes. But Mikar was bored, and a party sounded great. "Count me in."
3. Tales and Whispers
Tales and Whispers Diana returned to her seat of choice, on the horses' fountain, and watched the crowd part ways, sending her wary glances over their shoulders. Some of them might have thought about calling the cops on her, but if they did, the memory of what had happened to the phones she'd busted stopped them. That, or the way she’d kicked the three humans’ asses without breaking a sweat. Not that calling the cops would have done any good. It might have gotten a run-of-the-mill vampire in trouble, sure. Sups didn't need to abide by human laws, but they also weren't supposed to hurt any regulars. While self-defense was a valid reason to bend the rules, more often than not, human authorities stood with human beings, no matter what they'd done, or attempted to do. They protected their own. When a sup crossed the line, the human authorities could either attempt to arrest and detain the sup—at their own risk—or call the huntsmen to do their dirty work. The fact that there was no human alive who could hope to apprehend her notwithstanding, Diana wasn't concerned by the police because, even in the event she was arrested, she had diplomatic immunity in England, and around most of the globe. She was a Helsing. One didn't finance kingdoms, outfit armies, and aid in conquering colonies without some perks. Diana hadn't partaken in any of that, but her family certainly had retained a vested interest in mortal politics. The first Helsing had been Desideria, a gentle lady of the house of Lombard, bred to marry a human king sometime around the fall of the Western Roman Empire. At puberty, she’d developed an ability that didn't fit into the Middle Ages’ idea of what a proper lady should be. They'd dragged her out of bed in the middle of the night, intending to burn her at the stake. And they would have done so, had Ariadne not intervened, snatching the girl up. Ariadne had trained her to use her powers, and when she grew older, had turned her into a vampire. Desideria had chosen the name of her house. Helsing. Quite apt, all things considered. Some of the vampires of the time had retreated from humanity, only interacting with them when they needed a snack. Not Desideria or her descendants—Diana's ancestors. They whispered in the ears of kings and emperors, using their influence to make them dance to their tunes like puppets. Helping when it suited them, betraying alliances when it didn't. While certainly respected, the Helsings were mistrusted. Their standing among the vampire race wasn't nearly as high as that of the Drakes or the De Villiers. Perhaps because, like the Stormhales, they were defined by their magic more than by the blood in their veins. Perhaps because they never showed their hand until they were sure to stand on the winning side. But for human beings? Helsing was the most prestigious house among the seven royal vampire lines. What remained of her family was endeavoring to further that legacy, still shadowing the lords of the world. Except for her and her brother. None of the tourists knew it, but Diana could have beheaded all of them and walked off without so much as a slap on the wrist. Fortunately for humanity, she wasn't fond of taking lives if she could help it, and she never hurt innocents. "Is that blood on your boots?" Diana's eyes widened in horror, and she gasped, leaping to her feet. She bent down to inspect her boots from all angles. Standing up, she crossed her arms around her middle and glared at the girl in front of her. "That wasn't very nice." Juniper looked good. Like Diana, she wouldn't age another day in her life, but that didn't prevent her kind from changing in other ways. For one, the last time they'd seen each other, Juniper's blonde locks had been in perfectly schooled waves, while now, she had a sophisticated platinum bob. Secondly, Juniper had clearly gained power. Diana naturally felt potential threats around her, assessing anyone who came close. She could count on both hands the number of people alive who made her tense. Juniper still wasn't one of them, but she didn't feel as inconsequential as she used to. She wasn't a bug Diana could have crushed without effort. If they fought, the girl might even land a punch before Diana wiped the floor with her face. "Nor is terrifying a bunch of regs, but that didn't exactly stop you, now, did it?" Juniper retorted, snorting. Diana rolled her eyes. "They deserved it." Juniper grinned, tilting her head to a dark, elegant car waiting behind her. "Come on. Let's get you out of the rain before you cause any more trouble." They hopped in the back, and flopped on soft beige leather seats. "Where to, Juni?" the driver asked. "How about you drive around for a while? We'll let you know when we make up our minds." In other words, Juniper wasn't sure Diana wanted to go to her usual haunts with her. She wasn't wrong. Diana would prefer to avoid running into the rest of her coven—particularly her slimy sire—if she could help it. As the car crawled through the lit-up streets of London, Juniper produced a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, with two glasses, from under her seat. "Oh, now we're talking!" She took the glasses and watched her friend open the bottle with a pop. "Fancy some fresh blood powder with that?" Juniper offered. Diana's eyebrows lifted an inch or so. Since they'd synthesized blood, the rules and restrictions about drinking directly from humans had tightened. They differed from country to country, depending on who was in charge of making sure vamps didn't go rogue locally, and Diana wasn't versed in British regulations yet, but she was fairly certain that blood powder would have been frowned upon in most circles. Taking blood from volunteers wasn't a problem, so long as the vampire ensured they didn't put the human in danger. Drinking from an adversary, while not entirely advised, was fine in self-defense, too. Blood powder, however? That implied having taken blood from a human and then drying it. Some vampires did it with their partners, or took it from volunteers they paid for the privilege, but others just bought it. Most of the dealers found homeless, friendless, vulnerable people in the streets and drained them to the brink of death, and often, beyond. That wasn't allowed anywhere. The huntsmen had their hands full trying to crack down on blood kitchens. "Oh, don't look at me like that, judgy. It's procured from someone legit. Fair trade, I promise." Diana shrugged. "I already drank tonight. Besides, if you're going to mix your drinks, grab a cheap cava, not a Dom Pérignon." "Come on, it's not like the cost matters to you." Juniper had a point. Still. "It's a matter of principle, not cost." Diana sipped her bubbly neat, while Juniper sprinkled hers with red speckles of dried blood, making it look like a Christmas cocktail. "I'm glad to see you. I thought you were avoiding the continent." "Hm." Diana wasn't exactly closed off, but there were matters she kept to herself. Anything related to Oldcrest or her brother fell into that category. Juniper pressed. "You said you were flying to Edinburgh in the morning, right?" That had been her excuse to refuse Juniper's offer of hospitality. "That's it." "You wouldn't be going to Night Hill, by any chance?" Diana swallowed her champagne and slowly turned to her friend. "Why do you ask?" Juniper bit her lip, and deliberately took her time. "I mean…you’ve heard about what's going on at the moment?" Diana held her gaze, hers intense, unyielding, hard. In the reflection of the car window, she saw her eyes were the same deep red as that of the specks of blood in Juniper's drink. She didn't like being played, and right now, Juniper was moving pawns on a board. She knew. She knew Diana had no clue about what was going on at Oldcrest at all. She was fishing, and planting, treating her like a stupid girl, easy to manipulate. Diana had never been either of those things. From the very beginning, she hadn't been raised to become anyone's pawn. The girl wisely looked away, wordlessly submitting. "The Eirikrsons are back." Done trying to prompt her, Juniper kept talking. She told her about the last of the Eirikrsons—Levi De Villier's mate. The girl was a whisper, of all things. Whispers could manipulate the weak of mind with their voices, like sirens. As if being a vampire-draining freak wasn't enough. "Leviathan closed the hill to the Beauforts, the Stormhales, and other houses, because they dared speak against the girl. Oldcrest is on the brink of war. It might be dangerous to go there right now," Juniper concluded. "Even for you." "Hm." Diana was done with this specific subject. "Now, tell me, how have you been?" She let her friend chat away, her mind firmly fixed on the hill. She'd been away for far too long, and now her home could very well be under siege. Never mind that flight in the morning. She was going home. Right now.
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