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.

Extra Luggage

Procuring a decent motorcycle in the middle of the night wasn’t as hard as Diana might have believed it to be. A phone call to an old acquaintance, and the owner of an exclusive dealership overlooking Hyde Park was opening his store for her. Before eleven o’clock, she was on the motorway.

Back when she’d left Oldcrest, the journey had taken an entire week in a coach. It would have been a hell of a lot faster if she’d run, but back then, vampires were still blending in, pretending to be human. Now, cars could get to Scotland in a matter of a few hours. Given her disregard for human speed limits, she should reach the borders of Oldcrest by dawn.

Spotting a sign on the side of the road, she let her bike slow down to a crawl and swerved into the next exit, entering a rest area with a large parking lot and what looked like an old farm, renovated into a pub. It must have been charming, once upon a time, but the exterior reeked of neglect. A red feline-shaped sign read “The Lion’s Claw.”

Diana was fairly certain she’d heard about this place before. There weren’t too many bars, pubs, and restaurants catering to her kind outside of cities. When someone mentioned one, she stored it in her memory. Technically, Diana could remember every single thing she’d heard or seen in her life, but she would have to concentrate for that, and she rarely did. After a certain age, vampires had to learn to compartmentalize useless information to avoid going mad. Drinking joints, however, were one of the things she didn’t shove into the back of her mind.

She’d already passed Newcastle, which meant that she was some four or five hours away from Oldcrest. She could use a drink before getting home. Particularly after her snack back in London.

Vampires her age didn’t need to drink much, but she’d been starving herself of real human blood for decades Tonight’s indulgence had awakened a wicked thirst inside her. Her fangs weren’t retreating, her eyes were bright, and her senses were scanning for heartbeats, breaths, the scent of flesh.

She didn’t think entering Oldcrest in her current state was wise. Not with hundreds of mortals going to school at the Institute, right under Night Hill.

Diana hadn’t felt one way or another when she’d learned that the old witch’s home had been turned into a school. Right now? It was fairly inconvenient.

Noting the handful of cars in the almost empty lot, she entered the bar. At the door, she stilled, taking in her surroundings.

There were seven vampires, none of whom even registered as a minor threat to her, surrounding another one. Diana sensed that the colossal redheaded man bearing various marks on his skin was considerably more powerful than those who were attacking him. But he was also drugged. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, smelling the clear, sickly-sweet odor of bloodbane.