Bash could tell she was pissed.

"I can take care of myself."

"You will. None of us will be idle tonight. But they want you. Not me, not anyone else. They want to see you burn. This entire trap could be just for you. Let's see what we're dealing with first. Then you can save my ass when I need you."

The guy was smart; Bash could tell that spin would work even before Chloe nodded, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

He sent Mikar, then Alexius, meaningful looks. Bash pitied them both, if Chloe got so much as a scratch.

He glanced up at the hill, at the ominous single cloud hovering over it, before following Levi out of the borders.

Ruby was on the ancient’s left, Luke covered his right flank, and Bash closed up the rear.

A natural place he'd fallen into without thinking things through. But it fit. Somehow, it fit.

Thunder

Cat walked inside the ancient manor and found her sword still lying in the hallway. She’d left it there when she’d brought Maddy in, and hadn’t used it yet.

She took it now. Lightning, Levi had said it was called. She knew it wouldn’t be of any use to her now, but she still found it comforting. The sword was a present from Chloe, from Levi. A reminder of who she was here.

Just like Levi's house was decorated in dark red and silver, the Stormhale keep was purple and gold, gaudy tones Cat had never liked.

A handsome blond man lounged on a magenta damask four-seater, his head on the armrest, eyes on the ceiling. He wore a black suit without a shirt, and a red tie. This man was more handsome than Levi, Bash, and Jack. Only Fin Varra could hold a candle to his perfection, which didn't stop at his physical aspect. He was smarter than anyone Cat knew, stronger than most witches, and as good with a sword as any warrior, though he was only thirty-five. He’d turned five years ago, later than most born vampires. As a result, there was a masculinity, a certain ruggedness to his aesthetic. Messy hair and three-day-old stubble were his signature style, and he knew exactly how it affected the women—and men—he encountered.

No doubt he was the reason Cat was so hard to impress.

Cat didn't ask how he'd gotten in. She didn't ask what he was doing here. She did the only thing she could do.

Pulling her sword from its sheath on her belt and planting it on the floor, she got to her knees, head bowed low.

"Brother."

Seth rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please. None of that nonsense here. Aunt Dru isn't hiding behind the potted cactus, you know."

Cat hazarded a half-smile and rose to her feet. "That we know of."

"It's good to see you, Catharina."

"Likewise, Seth. What's with the dramatic entrance? I would have thought you'd quite like riding a bike through the Highlands."

Her brother laughed. "That certainly would have been more to my taste, but I'm here with a message that could not be delayed, given the situation.”

"I'd say so. How long did it take you to get here from Rome?”

“Seven seconds, give or take. I didn’t actually count.”

She winced on his behalf. “Do you need some water, something to eat, blood?"

Riding a lightning bolt took so much energy that most storm mages would have died from the effort.

Most vampires, even those who couldn't use magic, could transport their consciousness to the mind of an animal they'd established a connection with. They called it syncing. When it was done well, they could literally disappear, their corporal form traveling along with the beast like a wave of pure energy. A form of blood magic born of affection and understanding between man and beast.

Some—the best—mages could sync with their elements. Cat had never managed it. But Seth Stormhale wasn't most mages. He’d mastered traveling through lightning as a teen.

"I'm fine," he replied, shrugging, like the almost impossible feat had been effortless.

Cat loved her brother, and knew that he loved her right back. But they'd never understood each other. He was a larger-than-life genius with too many gifts. Everyone in their family kissed his boots, even their aunt. They might be siblings, but they had little in common past their physical appearance.

"So, the message?" she asked. “A warning from Drusilla, I’d wager.”

She wasn't one for small talk, especially with him, and with a few hundred slayers at their doors, now wasn’t the time for it anyway.

Seth said, "Mine, Mother's, or Aunt Drusilla’s? You have a few different notes today."

"Yours first," Cat replied offhandedly, though it might have been wiser to pick their aunt’s message.

Drusilla was very strict about them calling her “aunt,” though she wasn’t.

Drusilla Stormhale was their great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, the head of the family. Everything she said had to take precedence.

"Mine is rather simple: don't."

Cat blinked in confusion. "Don't what?"

Seth sat up on the sofa. "Is that a new sword? Nice blade. Where did you get that?"

"Don't what," she repeated impatiently.

“Mother tells you to listen to our aunt, as she doesn’t want you to get into trouble. Dear Aunt Drusilla says that all is forgiven, your treachery will be brushed under the rug, as long as you let our troops into Oldcrest right now. And I say, don't."

“I won’t. I have a life here. Friends I value. Friends who value me. You can throw everything at me. You can torture me. I will not let our family destroy this place.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you just hear me clearly tell you not to do as you’re told?”

Oh, yes. He’d mentioned that.

Cat cleared her throat. But Aunt Drusilla…

"If I don't, I'll be made an example of. You know that. They’ll—”

"What, torture you again?"

She closed her mouth and looked down.

Mages of great power affected the very energy around them without meaning to do so, even when they didn’t use magic. Their emotions, their movement were enough for the elements to vibrate all around them.

Cat had seen that with her aunt. Whenever she was angry, the room darkened, the air crackled.

She'd never seen Seth angry.

His expression didn't change at all, but his eyes were a dark galaxy with flickers of light. And the room grew colder, the air thinner. He took three steps toward her.

Cat had never been afraid of her brother until today.

"I realize I'm busy," he said quietly. "I realize I'm older, and that we have greatly different schedules." His voice held an edge. "And I also realize that I'm rather self-centered, but Catharina, learning what she did to you?"

Cat blinked.

Her brother had reached for her hands and was looking at the faint scars on her fingers.

"That was a long time ago."

"Yes. And the family doctor was so good as to inform me now."

His voice held as much thunder as his mind.

"You will stay here, where you're safe. And I will take care of our dear aunt."

That wasn't a question, it was an order, delivered with as much authority as any directive Drusilla had ever given.

"You can't. She's the head of the family." But it was more than that. "She is the first Stormhale, turned by Ariadne herself."

No other family was still led by their founding members. Most had died, the surviving ones had long turned into hermits, and, of course, there was Eirikr in his cage. But the Stormhales were under the thumb of a woman almost as powerful as the gods themselves.

“I came back from New York early yesterday to be told that Claudia was in the hospital. A broken ankle, they said. She was bruised too. Do you happen to know how she got those wounds?”

Cat looked away. “Our training was rough.”

“They didn’t train you. They brainwashed you into behaving, into believing that having a mind of your own would only lead to pain. Claudia told me what Uncle Antony did to her, under Drusilla’s orders. She told me what they did to you.” He glanced at her hands. “Have you ever played again?”

Cat wet her lips, finding nothing to say.

“This needs to end. They need to end. I killed Uncle Antony. He screamed and begged, but I killed him slowly nonetheless. I'm sure you'll hear of it soon. They'll tell you it was the work of some huntsmen, of course. And I will kill Drusilla, too. While she lives, I apparently can’t count on your safety—or Claudia’s."

He said all this very casually, without emotion or shame.

"You're insane."

Seth chuckled. "Everyone I know wants to use me. Everyone. The exceptions are my two sisters. Neither of you have ever asked anything of me. So whoever hurts you signs their own death warrant. Call it insanity if you will.”

She most definitely was calling that insanity.

But she was glad Antony was dead. Glad he'd suffered, too.

“All right, what now?”

“Now, I bring you out by force. And we destroy your wards.”

She stiffened, her eyes widening.

“What?”

Seth grinned, a cocky smirk she was only too familiar with.

“Do you trust me, sister?”

That was the question of the day, wasn’t it? If she listened and he was spouting bullshit, all her friends would suffer. But if there was a chance Seth could really be on her side, she had to take it.

Deceptions

"Antoine. Gretchen," Levi greeted the two closest vampires to him almost pleasantly. "It's been quite some time. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

The woman he'd called Gretchen, a slender blonde who looked like she might chew metal bars for kicks, bared her teeth. Bash wasn't surprised to discover that they were all filed into pointed fangs.

"Since when have the Beaufort slayers needed a reason to visit their master's keep?"

"Since Oldcrest was attacked last winter. Haven't you heard?"

The woman growled. Antoine, a handsome bald man who had been turned in his forties or fifties, put his hand on her arm, appeasing her on contact.