Inside, the walls were painted dark green and hung with paintings that seemed both old and masterful, the sort of art one saw in museums. But instead of a pretty smiling lady or a Romanesque couple walking through a park, the portraits depicted men and women armed with weapons, scenes of battles against demons. The huntsmen had their own history.

"You like?" Jack asked, seeing her pause in front of an oil painting.

A vampire, if she wasn't mistaken. A very handsome man with silver hair and bright blue eyes. His fangs weren't extended, but the painter had ensured that the light on his skin was luminous, unnatural.

"Who is this?" she asked. "It's strange to see a vamp here."

"Strange if you don't know our history, I guess. This is Eirikr. The guy the others were talking about in the car."

Chloe was startled and confused. "But they said he was insane and murderous."

"That's one point of view," Jack replied, chuckling. "Eirikr was hell-bent on eradicating vampires who drank human blood and killed their victims. In his days, that was almost every vamp. Now, they have synthetic blood—and besides, they've learned to control their thirst, evolutionarily-speaking. Back then…it wasn't pretty." Jack's jaw was set. "Eirikr founded the huntsmen."

Now, her jaw hit the floor. "Seriously?"

Jack smiled. "He trained a bunch of humans personally. Those who were strong enough, fast enough, he changed. He had a witch with him; one drop of his blood, a hell of a lot of magic, and here we are. He only used a very small dose of his own blood to ensure we wouldn't turn. But it's here, in our veins. It's been passed down through every generation of huntsmen, hence why we have a chance against sups."

The more she heard about their founder, she more intrigued she was. Eirikr sounded complicated. But also something else. Not mad, or cruel. Passionate. Purposeful.

"So you're part vamp," she teased him.

Jack grimaced. "I'm part Eirikrson. Different."

Suddenly curious, Chloe asked, "What about the coffers? Cat says only an Eirikrson could get to them. Have you guys tried?"

Jack shook his head. "No. We have no interest in his wealth. He provided us with plenty of heirlooms, anyway. If we had any control over what happens in Oldcrest…let's just say Eirikr wouldn't be rotting in a cave."

Though his tone was light, Chloe was starting to understand the divide between huntsmen and vampires. The reason behind the unfriendliness, the tension.

The land she loved was a divided faction that could easily turn into a battlefield.

"Let's get that tea, shall we?" Jack said lightly. "I think there might be some chocolate in the cupboard if you prefer."

The man was starting to know her well.

Blood and Cashmere

Chloe woke to find a folded package on her bed. She opened it, and inside was a checked scarf with white, blue, and baby pink lines. It was so warm and soft.

The package wasn't signed. Chloe sighed. When would she cease to seem so pathetic to her friends that they bought her expensive stuff? It wasn’t like she couldn’t afford to clothe herself, especially now that she’d worked as an accountant for three months. She didn’t spend much in Oldcrest, so most of her salary was sitting nicely in her bank account, waiting to be spent.

Maybe whoever had bought it would let her pay them back; then she could keep it. It was so pretty, she would be loath to part with it.

Her bladder demanding her attention, Chloe dropped the fabric back on the bed and got up.

The tall three-story house had several small bedrooms to house huntsmen as they traveled to London. No en-suite. She peeked out the door and, finding the corridors empty, dashed to claim the bathroom on her floor. She didn't stay long under the hot shower, knowing all twelve of them had to share one boiler. After her ablutions, she got dressed, then put on her leather boots and her coat, along with Cat's gloves.

Then Chloe glanced at the scarf. Recognizing the label, she shivered, wondering how much it had cost—and who had spent that sort of money on her. Her mind went to Levi, but he was all the way up in Scotland. That left everyone else here.

She took the scarf with her downstairs. A delicious smell was beckoning her to a large formal dining room.

Bacon. There was bacon in the air.

She stopped as she got to the door, finding a lot more people than she'd expected.

In addition to the nine huntsmen and her two witch friends—the vampires were patrolling somewhere outside; they hadn't come inside the previous evening—there were new faces.

They all seemed beautiful to her, like big-screen actors or models. There was one plump woman playing with a dagger. Her pink cherry mouth and strawberry hair said soft and sweet, but her dexterity with sharp objects proved that to be a lie. There was also a tall woman with short dark hair, and another shorter one perched on a chest of drawers. The three others were guards, judging by the way they held themselves stiffly and stood close to the exits.

"Well, well." The short woman's gaze was intense. "What have we here?"

"Another friend," Jack replied lightly.

Chloe hadn't noticed at first, but now it was clear that the woman was related to Jack. She had his nose, his eyes, and his aura. Everything about her said leader.

His mother. The high guard.

Damn, good genes ran in the family. She didn't seem to be a day over thirty, if that.

The vampire blood, Chloe guessed.

"Friend, hm?" She winked at her son. "Whatever you say. Just hurry and make pretty babies, will you?"

Jack groaned. Tris seemed to be on cloud nine.

The woman waved to Chloe, then pointed to her own chest. "Becca Hunter."

"Chloe Miller," she replied.

Becca pointed to the table. "Come. Sit. Eat."

Orders. Chloe knew she would have hissed and made a point of standing until she grew roots if they'd come from Levi, but the friendly woman's tone didn't bother her. Plus, there was bacon.

She sat down, and Blair passed her a plate of eggs.

Various trays filled the table—mushrooms, bread rolls, roasted tomatoes, sausages, mash, and bacon. So much bacon.

She piled the food onto her plate. Before digging in, she remembered the scarf. Chloe lifted it in the air.

"I found this on my bed. Who bought it for me?"

Silence. "On your bed?" Jack repeated.

Chloe nodded. "It wasn't there last night. It was in a box. No note or anything. I thought it might be from Cat or Mikar…"

"Call them. Check," he said, reaching for the scarf.

But the moment Jack's hand touched the fabric, the scarf moved of its own volition, crawling quickly up the side of Chloe's arms, tightening at each revolution. It was slithering to her neck, she realized, frozen in fear. Her arm was growing more and more painful with each passing instant as it squeezed hard enough to break bone, stopping her blood circulation.

And then, a sharp pain cut through the numbness. One of the three older female huntsmen—the redhead—had cut through the fabric. Chloe's blood ran onto her shoulder, red and dizzying.

The lovely scarf was in pieces on the floor.

"Don't touch that," Becca ordered her son, who was bending down toward what was left of it. "The spell might not be broken yet."

Jack nodded, pulling a knife out of his jacket. Did everyone have a knife? And why didn't she?

Chloe chuckled. She could count on her strange brain to think of the most stupidly inappropriate response to almost being strangled by a scarf.

"You're okay?" Gwen whispered.

Chloe nodded, with difficulty. Becca said, "Your friend is probably in shock. Do you have a spell for that?"

Gwen shook her head, but Blair was already pulling a flask out of her bag. "Two drops," she told Chloe, who opened the bottle and drank it without question.

Almost immediately, warmth spread through her—she hadn't even realized she was so cold. Her trembling fingers went still. She breathed out.

"That was awesome. Greer Vespian again?" Chloe asked.

Blair beamed. "I take it for anxiety—one drop per day. Two is for shock, and three is in case of paralysis."

Someone ought to sell GP's potions worldwide. She'd put pharma firms out of business in no time.

Chloe's full attention returned to the huntsmen, who were examining the piece of scarf on the tip of Jack's knife.

"It's clearly elemental magic. An air mage, I'd say."

"Could be. Or blood magic. Hard to tell, now that it's not active. We'll have to take it to the lab."

"Maybe we should stop thinking about what it is and start wondering how it got inside one of our safe houses, and why it targeted the girl," one of the male guards said.

Becca lifted her head toward him and grinned.

"See, boy?" she told Jack. "Always marry someone smarter than you."

The guard rolled his eyes.

Chloe hadn't paid him or the two others much mind, but now she could tell—the dark blonde hair, tall stature, handsome mouth. This was Jack's father. Or his clone, one of the two. They really looked alike. Chloe wanted to ask Jack to stand next to him so she could compare the two specimens. She doubted she'd find more than a handful of differences.

Becca's attention returned to Chloe.

"You're a guest in our home. This should never have happened, and will not happen again. Now, who have you pissed off?"

A question she would have preferred not to answer. Ever.

"Me? No one. Not pissing off people is my hobby, really. I'm nice."

She'd made a point of that.

The leader of the huntsmen looked like she was about to call bullshit.

"But I'm the daughter of a serial killer. The families of his victims…let's just say they aren't very fond of me."

Chloe didn't look at her friends, eyes on her fingertips. She didn't want to see their expressions change. Read judgment.

But it had to be said, because if George's antics had something to do with the strangling scarf, they needed to know, but damn if she didn't hate talking about it.