Page 6

Someone on the Council snickers, but the sound doesn't make me feel better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. The only reason they're laughing at me, the only reason they would laugh in front of House Sanguine, is if they thought my fate was already sealed.

The old Council never would have stood for this. The old Council, when filled with all ten seats, would never have let this happen. But the houses that would have brokered the Treaty of Night are over, their lines extinguished.

I tilt my face up, closing my eyes, basking in the heat drifting off the massive ball of fire overhead. It turns slowly, a strange representation of the sun for those like House Sanguine in front of me who haven't seen it in many, many centuries.

"Deep-sea fishing?" the Councilman asks. There's a sneer in his voice that I don't need preternatural hearing to detect, nor do I need centuries of dealing with his ilk to know that he's furious.

"Aye, deep-sea fishing. Would you like to know what we caught?" I'm stalling, and the Council knows it. And from the annoyed noise that the leader of House Sanguine makes, he's all too well aware of it as well. But there has to be a way out of this situation.

"What did you catch?" the vampire says dryly.

And I rack my brain for anything but the truth, because it's not time yet for that to be revealed.

I'm saved from answering, though, by a crash of sorts. A cry goes up from the seated Council members, and I strain, shifting just slightly onto the tips of my toes to see what it is that's caught their attention. Has one of the vampires finally outlived their usefulness? I'm not lucky enough for that, I fear.

"Hold!" the Head of House Sanguine cries out.

I shift left, to where my ears detect the noises coming from one of the empty chairs—stone, just like all the rest, but with a crest of Ceylon blue sapphires and salt-and-pepper diamonds across the top. A pattern I know as well as I know the lines on the back of my hands. For House Midnight is the house Clan MacTavish has long been sworn to protect—a house that went extinct nearly two centuries ago.

I hardly dare to look at it, a sense of shame so deep it seems it's within my very marrow itself. But the noise coming from behind the runed wall is none other than the noise of a body sitting in the uncomfortable stone throne of House Midnight.

A moment later, a dark head bobs up. I cover my eyes with the back of my hand as a light flashes from where the person sits.

"Impossible," I say out loud.

A dark-haired woman perches on the gem-encrusted throne of House Midnight, the smallest flashlight I've ever seen strapped to a green ballcap on her head, a smear of dirt across one cheekbone, her eyes wide as they lock with mine.

Every muscle in my body goes taut the minute her chocolate-brown gaze finds mine. Vaguely, my brain picks out a scuffle ensuing directly in front of me as the rest of the Council lose their collective minds.

"There cannot be an heir to House Midnight!" Sanguine says in an outraged tone.

More Council members argue with him, but nothing matters but the dark-haired, filthy woman sitting on the throne of House Midnight. Nothing else matters besides her, and the fact that I can feel my magic—once bound directly to her line—flooding back through my veins.

I move without thinking, second nature, taking four long strides before leaping over the runed stone wall and directly into the path of the new leader of House Midnight.

And when I scent her, I nearly lose my mind completely. I shift instantly, letting the primordial bear out with an ease I haven't managed since her predecessor sat on the throne.

That scent. It shouldn't be possible. None of this should be possible.

My jaws—my bear's jaws—snap open, and a moment later, my mouth is around the smooth column of her neck. It tastes of sweat and cheap wine and her underneath it all.

I growl, feeling the approach of one of the Council guards behind me, hearing the snick of his enchanted broadsword as it leaves his sheath. And I know that I would happily die before I let anyone else touch this woman.

"Well," she says, her voice vibrating against my teeth, "I think that's the last time I buy wine from the corner store."

I have to laugh—a sound I haven't made in quite some time—and the laugh manages to give me some semblance of control. I shift back before I bite down on her delicate throat.

The red-cloaked vampire has slipped to her side, but before I can move to get her out of his fangs' way, she suddenly stands and throws up spectacularly all over him.

Everything goes quiet. There's no doubt in my mind that this young woman did not intend to, in fact, use projectile vomit as a weapon. But knowing the Councilman's hatred for all things remotely human—besides, of course, their blood—it's bought her precious time. Time we need to use to get back to Midnight House.

It's been an age since I had cause to use the magic of Midnight House to protect its chosen heir, and even longer since I had the ability to. But the old words, even more ancient than me, come back the minute I need them.

I gather her soft body in my arms, not caring in the least that she's making a mess of my clothes—I'd much rather have her sick on it than the blood I'm sure House Sanguine is dying to spill.

"Come on, lass," I tell her. "We best get you back where you belong."

From the scent of alcohol and sweat on her, I don't think she's in a place to understand what I've said to her, but she nods once.