I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the slow thud… thud… thud of my heartbeat. As strange as it was to be a vampire with a pulse, I was grateful this particular part of vampiric myth had been wrong. I’d rather have a heartbeat than not, even if the rhythm was much slower than it’d been when I was human.

After peppering me with a few more questions about the nature of my vision, Sol had told me to get some rest and assured me we’d talk more in the evening. I’d almost laughed at his words.

Get some rest? Yeah, sure thing. No problem.

My mind raced in circles at a thousand miles a minute. I was exhausted and wired at the same time, but sleep refused to come. It was probably around one or two in the afternoon, though the dark room gave no indication of that. I felt jet lagged, like my brain and body couldn’t agree on what time it was.

More of those visions will come. And I have to learn to control them. How the hell do I do that?

Sol had seemed awed by the revelation of my strange new ability, and Malcolm had seemed almost angry—though I wasn’t sure if he was mad about the Sight or something else. Jerrett’s perma-smirk made it a little hard to tell what he thought of all this, but he definitely believed in the vision I’d had.

Would the brothers let me join them on their hunt if I could pinpoint the shades’ location?

Did I want that?

Yes.

The simple truth of my answer caught me off guard. But I did want it. The shades were more than just a threat to me. If the brothers were right, they were a threat to humans and possibly even other supernaturals. If I could save some other poor woman from the fate that had befallen me, shouldn’t I do it?

The dream I’d held onto for so many years—the bakery with a blue door and the pristine white counters, filled with the smell of lemon and vanilla—had died the night I almost did. But a new dream had slowly been coalescing to take its place.

A dream of a purpose. Of a place in the world.

Sol, Jerrett, and Malcolm were hunters. Their self-appointed duty was to keep others safe.

What better purpose was there than that?

As unnerving as the events and discoveries of the past week had been, I was starting to realize maybe I didn’t want to get off this crazy ride.

And that scared the shit out of me.

I sighed and slipped out of bed, running my fingers through my dark hair. There was no point trying to sleep; I was just stewing in my own confused thoughts. I needed a distraction.

As if responding to my silent request, my stomach let out a low growl.

I bit back a chuckle as I patted my belly. Good point, buddy. Food is always an excellent distraction.

I stepped out into the long hallway. My eyes were definitely sharper now than they had been, because I could make out the hardwood floors and smooth, cream-colored walls despite the almost pitch blackness of my surroundings. A grandfather clock along the wall told me it was just after 2 p.m.

It was almost impossible to believe the world outside was bright with sunlight right now.

That was one thing I missed. Light. Real light, and the warmth of the sun shining down on my skin. This house was beautiful, but it was dark and cold. Maybe the brothers didn’t notice because they’d been here so long, but I certainly did.

Keeping my footsteps light, I tiptoed down the stairs, caressing the rich mahogany banister as I made my way down. Jesus, these guys were not in need of money. Were all vampires this rich? It wouldn’t surprise me. If immortal beings invested wisely for several hundred years, they could accrue a fortune.

I hadn’t visited the kitchen during my shadow running excursion, but I found it after a few minutes of searching and flipped on the warm under-cabinet lights.

My jaw dropped.

It looked like something out of my wet dreams—high ceilings, dark wood cabinets, pristine marble counters, and a large breakfast bar with high stools. The fridge itself was bigger than the front door of my apartment.

When I opened it, my gaze landed first on a large stack of blood bags.

I grabbed one, ripped it open, and downed the contents in less than a minute. Then I opened another and drank it more slowly, savoring it a little. There was still something flat about bagged blood, something bland and cold, but it satisfied the burning hunger inside me.

For a moment, I imagined what fresh blood would taste like. Rich and warm, I bet. Smooth and full of layered flavors.

Unbidden, my stomach grumbled again, despite the fact that I’d just eaten.

I shivered. As delicious as that sounded, the idea of what I’d have to do to get fresh blood made me slightly queasy.

I closed the fridge and tossed the empty bags into the trash.

Now that the pang of blood-hunger had eased, a new kind of hunger took its place—one I was much more familiar with. I hadn’t baked in what felt like forever, and this kitchen was too amazing not to put to good use. The beautiful oven was so pristine I was sure it’d never been touched. It was a sin to have a piece of equipment like that and not use it.

If I lived here, really lived here, this kitchen would smell like vanilla and chocolate every day.

The brothers didn’t exactly seem like the baking types, but Yuliya must be, because the kitchen was amazingly well stocked. Eggs, butter, and milk sat in the fridge next to the blood bags. And in the corner of the kitchen, a large door led to a walk-in pantry.

Gleaming cupcake trays, cake tins, spatulas, and whisks lined one shelf. I found flour and sugar right away, along with a wide variety of chocolates, vanilla pods, and exotic spreads.

I scooped up everything I needed and brought it back into the kitchen with me. Then I rolled up my sleeves and threw my hair into a messy bun, already feeling calmer. Sifting, measuring, and stirring were almost meditative for me, and as the batter came together, my brain finally stopped whirling.

I was just putting the second batch of cupcakes in the oven when a noise behind me made me jump. I slammed the oven door and whipped around guiltily, as though I’d been caught stealing instead of baking.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t sleep!” I blurted.

Jerrett sauntered into the kitchen, and my jaw nearly dropped. He wore only a pair of deep blue pajama pants, slung low across his hips. His waist was strong and lean, and the grooves of his abs looked incredible in the warm golden light. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscled and corded. He was taller than Sol, but a bit shorter than Malcolm, and unlike Malcolm’s huge, dominating frame, Jerrett’s body was leaner, sharper. He had tattoos on each side of his neck, one on his bicep, and one on his chest.

Forget rock star. He looks like a fucking rock god.

My thoughts must’ve been visible on my face, because his ice-blue eyes heated and a cocky smirk broke out on his face.

“That’s okay. I couldn’t either.”

“Couldn’t what?” I asked lamely, blinking several times—as if that would somehow make this man less blindingly attractive.

His smirk widened. “Sleep.”

“Oh, right! Me neither.”

He chuckled, sweeping a hand through his shock of dark hair. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that.”

“Oh. Right.” I closed my eyes. Come on, Willow. Be cool.

“So what are you doing?” Jerrett walked farther into the kitchen, peering around at the ingredients and utensils spread around the counters.

“Sorry.” I suddenly felt incredibly presumptuous for sneaking down to their kitchen in the middle of the day and rooting through the pantry without even asking. “I… I bake when I get anxious. I’ll do the dishes in a sec, don’t worry. And I’ll pay for all the ingredients.”

Jerrett shot me a look like I was crazy. “No, you won’t. You’re our guest. Besides, it’s not like we were using this stuff.”

I grinned, the nerves in my stomach unclenching. “I figured none of you guys were big into baking.”

“Nah. But damn, maybe we should’ve been.” He gazed down at the chocolate cupcakes cooling on a wire rack. “These smell fucking incredible.”

Pride inflated my chest like a balloon. “You can try one, if you want. Let me frost it first though.”

Jerrett looked on with interest while I mixed up a buttercream frosting with orange peel in it. It was incredibly hard to focus with him hovering behind me. I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and his smoky scent mingled with the smell of the cupcakes, making my mouth water.

I dipped a finger in the frosting to taste it, wanting to make sure I got the ratio of sweet to citrus right. When I brought it to my mouth, a low, deep hum came from behind me. The sound sent little shocks of lightning ricocheting through my body, and heat pooled in my belly.

“I want a taste.”

Jerrett’s voice was teasing and commanding at the same time. A flush crept up my cheeks as I looked up and found him watching me expectantly. I dipped my finger into the frosting again, and Jerrett reached out, taking my hand and bringing it to his mouth.

His lips closed around my finger.

Except, it wasn’t my finger.

It couldn’t be.

There was no way I had this many nerve endings in the tip of my finger. His warm, wet mouth might as well be clamped around my nipple. Or my clit.

My jaw fell open, a sharp, shocked breath escaping as he worked his tongue around my fingertip, licking off every bit of frosting.

I couldn’t tear my focus away from his sharp blue eyes, and he didn’t seem to want to let me. He gazed at me with an almost unnerving intensity as he slowly slid my finger out of his mouth.

Reclaiming my hand and trying to put the discombobulated pieces of myself back together, I stammered, “Um, Jerrett, I… Malcolm and I, we—”

Crap. I really didn’t want to tell him about what Malcolm and I had done on the floor of the training room. But I had to, before he got the wrong idea.

Jerrett’s smile returned, the ring in his lower lip glinting in the light.

“Don’t worry about it, Will. I know Mal has a thing for you. It’s pretty fucking obvious. Sol does too.” He tugged his lip ring into his mouth, his grin positively wicked. “Good thing I don’t mind sharing.”