It was time to wake up again.

And something was different.

My eyes snapped open and above me stood a vision of beauty. Tall, slender, with creamy skin and long, shimmering brown hair that reminded me of chocolate. Amazing, the things that would run through a vampire’s head on waking up after his century in The Fold.

I couldn’t afford to pay attention to those random waking thoughts when the taste of blood was on my lips, my tongue, running down my throat and spreading through my body like wildfire. It lit me up inside and brought me back to life.

The familiar chanting filled my cell, as the witch and the High Council presided over the ritual.

I would imprint on this witch, this High Sorceress, and be her Nightwarden throughout her reign over her coven.

I didn’t particularly look forward to my job, but I supposed none of us ever did. It wasn’t as if we did it because we wanted to.

She looked down at me, and her eyes were almost purple. Intoxicating.

I wondered if she was as lovely on the inside as she was outside. I had already done my time with beautiful but impossible witches, and didn’t look forward to another such assignment.

More of her sweet, life-giving blood dripped into my waiting mouth, giving me a glimpse of who she was. I sensed her hesitation, her apprehension. That seemed natural—she was undertaking a very serious vocation, leading a coven.

I’d be nervous, too. I sensed a gentle nature, which was a relief. The only thing worse than being forced into service was serving a shrew who thought the world revolved around her.

Still, something was wrong. Not just apprehension over her new role. Something deeper, more troubling. A great deal of uncertainty. I had the sense to stay silent until the chanting ceased and the ritual ended.

“You may rise,” the witch said, stepping back to give me room.

Sitting up was a relief.

I could hardly wait to stretch my limbs. I saw in all the information granted by those first drops of blood that she lived in a large house with plenty of ground. I hoped to have the room to run, to expend some of the century’s worth of pent-up energy.

Her smooth brow creased when she frowned. I looked over her shoulder to where the members of the High Council stood.

I recognized them from my last awakening, and from the visit they paid before I went into stasis. Esme, Serena, and Maeve. They looked just as concerned as my new charge.

“Your name is…?” I asked, trying to at least seem willing for the sake of appearance.

I wasn’t any more thrilled with the prospect of living with another witch than she was about living with me.

“My name is Isobel,” she said. Her voice was soft, flat.

“I am Vale.” Shortened from Valerian.

“I know.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Of course, she knew. But one has to say something when introductions are being made.

“Vale.” Serena stepped forward, and her robes swirled around her feet. “The situation you’ve awoken to is somewhat different from what you’re accustomed. We’ve had to loosen a few of our rules pertaining to this unique set of circumstances.”

I waited for her to continue, looking from her to the other witches.

They loved creating dramatic scenes and drawing every last ounce they could.

“What will I do?” I prompted.

“Why don’t you get dressed first, and we’ll meet you in the chambers?”

They didn’t give me the chance to answer before they left, all four of them. A set of clothing waited for me, folded on a chair in the corner. The only piece of furniture in my cell aside from the wooden slab which served as a bed.

I’d wondered in the past why we had to live such monastic lives. Not that I was ever one for luxury, but an actual bed with pillows and a soft blanket would’ve been welcome.

I ran a hand over the stubble which covered my cheeks and chin, then through the dark hair which hadn’t grown or even changed to gray in the hundred years I’d been asleep. The same as always.

The same as I was the night I ceased being human and became something else. Something hungry and vicious and brutal. The lust had calmed over time, and I could control it when I needed to, but the underlying hunger never went away.

Once dressed in what they’d left me—a simple pair of pants, a thin, cotton shirt, and thick-soled shoes, which I knew would be most of my meager wardrobe—I followed the long, narrow tunnel through The Fold, past the many cells containing my fellow Nightwardens. T

hey were sleeping off their last assignments, waiting for the time they awoke to the taste of a witch’s blood on their lips. There were so many, enough to be sure the High Sorceresses would be well-served throughout our millennium of slavery.

I used to imagine freeing all of us, of putting an end to the insanity that was our existence. Even if it meant dying—which it certainly would—wasn’t it preferable to our conscripted service as bodyguards to witches?

The large, comfortable chambers which the High Council used while spending time among those of us in The Fold sat at the end of the tunnel, and a fire burned there.

I could see the warm, glowing light shining through the open doorway. The only open door in the place—every other door was sealed shut with magic. Just like the fire was magic and the eternal youth and beauty of the High Council was magic.

Nothing about them was real—them or any witches. I reminded myself of that as I stepped into the room. I couldn’t let Isobel lull me into a false sense of camaraderie, no matter how kind she seemed. We weren’t going to be friends.

The four of them sat around a wooden table, drinking what looked like wine.

My tongue darted over my lips before I could stop myself. I hated looking desperate, but I needed to feed. Watching them drink only made me want to drink, even though it wasn’t wine I wanted.

“Ah, you’re ready.” Esme waved to a chair, offering me a seat. I refused, choosing to stand with my hands clasped behind my back. It was better not to get comfortable, because I would certainly not be comfortable in my assignment.

Serena looked mildly amused by my reaction. Well, she could afford to be amused, sitting in comfort the way she was.

The high-backed chairs with their velvet cushions in the same color blue as the Council’s robes. The thick rug beneath my feet, a rug I sank into with every step.

I would’ve bet my next feeding that the wine was an excellent vintage. Another point about witches: their inability to exist without the best of everything at their fingertips.

I supposed I would’ve magicked up an excellent wine or a warm fire if I had the ability, too.

“Isobel is the new High Sorceress of the Willow Flame Coven,” Serena explained with a warm smile in my charge’s direction.

I frowned. “The name isn’t familiar to me.”

“It wouldn’t be,” she replied. “They’re a new coven, only recently decreed an official branch of our sisterhood. They came to our attention several years back, when we received word of a group of witches descended from those of us who left either the Crescent Moon or Cascade Circle Covens for one reason or another. Dissent, banishment, things of that sort. The current members wished to be acknowledged as a real, legitimate branch, entitled to all the honors and benefits of the other two. After much deliberation,” she said, eyeing up her fellow Council members, “we decided to include them in our larger family.”

It hadn’t been an easy decision, I noted.

Maeve’s mouth was set in a hard line while Serena recounted. Clearly, she wasn’t in favor of the ruling.

So, that was why Isobel seemed so frightened and unsure. It made all the sense in the world. As an outlier for so many years, she wasn’t accustomed to the traditions of the other covens. Their use of Nightwardens to guard the High Sorceresses against sorcerers and other threats.

It must have come as some surprise, the introduction to The Fold and the rituals necessary. Especially imprinting, which was the most intimate bond two creatures could experience. Nothing to be taken lightly.

“However,” Serena continued, “it’s not Isobel you will be guarding.”

It was like the bottom dropping out of my world. Just when I thought I had figured things out.

“What do you mean? How is that possible? She woke me.”

“Yes, because the person you’ll guard doesn’t have the ability to wake a Nightwarden. Her blood lacks the magical qualities which set us apart—though she does share Isobel’s genes.”

I looked at the gentle, dark-haired witch. “She’s a relation of yours.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. My daughter.” There was a quiver in her voice when she announced it.

“And her blood isn’t magic?” I looked at the High Council, their lovely faces serene and blank. I wanted to drag my claws down those soft, unlined cheeks if only to get a reaction from them. “She’s human? You want me to guard a human?”

It was tantamount to guarding a child. A stupid, silly, brainless human with no knowledge of our ways.

“She’s my daughter, but her father was human,” Isobel admitted.

My nose wrinkled in disgust. Humans were good for one thing: food. And even then, I wasn’t permitted to feed from them. No Nightwarden could feed from anyone but his appointed charge, to keep the imprint pure.

This witch had mated with one? My opinion of her took a nosedive.

“Does she know who she is? I mean, who her mother is?”

Isobel shook her head. “I placed her for adoption immediately after her birth.”

“Then, how do you know she has no powers?”

“We found her,” Serena explained. “We’ve studied her for months. There is no evidence of her possessing magical power, and no sense of it from any of us who’ve come into contact with her. Even I ventured into the human world and brushed against her while waiting in line, and I felt nothing. Not only that, but she had no reaction to my presence. She sensed nothing from me.”

The way she talked about it, I would’ve thought she expected an award for posing as a human. Then again, I wouldn’t have wanted to do it unless someone was paying me a lot of money. Hell, who needed money? Maybe a handful of fresh, ripe bodies to feast on.

“Why do you need help with her? Wouldn’t a witch who presented powers be a much more dangerous prospect? If she has no powers, who could want to hurt her?” Another question occurred to me. “And why is this any concern of ours? What about the human police? Do they no longer exist? Can’t they keep their own safe?”

Isobel looked pained, delicate brows knitting together as she winced. She looked at the Council like she needed their help in explaining the problem.

There was something they weren’t telling me, and Isobel didn’t know how to say it.

“Without knowing much about her,” Serena said, speaking slowly, “the most reasonable theory is that she somehow… feels how special her blood is. Spending time with humans doesn’t interest her. She would rather wander through the underworld.”

“Witches, vampires, sorcerers, the occult… they all hold great interest for her,” Esme murmured with a glance in Isobel’s way. They all tried to be as delicate as they could for her sake. “We’ve tracked her to several rather seedy clubs in New York which she evidently visits quite a lot. They’re populated by characters she has no business spending time with. There’s no way she knows how dangerous this truly is.”

“The great concern, other than her well-being, is a powerful sorcerer sensing how special she is and using her against her mother and the coven,” Maeve explained.

To me, it seemed that her well-being was the true concern, since she seemed bent on her own destruction. But there had always been stupid humans who refused to listen to reason, who refused to believe there truly were creatures they’d only heard of in fairy tales.

I looked around the table with a resigned sigh. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Keep her safe. Protect her.” Isobel’s intensity was almost palpable.

“Where? How so? What should I do? Wander the streets with her? Find her someplace to stay? Where does she live now?”

“She has an apartment in Brooklyn and works as an artist. I don’t see why she wouldn’t be safe there, if only she would stop putting herself in harm’s way.” She wrung her hands, rocking back and forth. “Why does she insist on being destructive?”

“It’s likely she has no idea,” Serena explained, going to her, patting her back. “The human world oversimplifies our world. Treats it like a game, like entertainment. Fun. She can’t help being drawn in. And, again, the pull is organic. In her blood. She doesn’t understand it. She only feels it.”

I wasn’t in the mood to discuss the underlying causes of a brainless human’s actions. I wanted to get to work. “I’ll need a supply of blood to keep me going,” I announced.

“Of course. We’ll provide anything you need.” Serena stood up straight. “You’ll need money, too, and transport. One of our drivers will take you out there—a long drive, but it will give you time to familiarize yourself with current times. You’ll be surprised what New York looks like now, compared to what it was when you were last there.”

“Fair enough. And when I find her? How do I imprint without explaining the need to feed from her?”

“You won’t imprint.”

I couldn’t disguise my surprise. “You expect me to hold true to my assignment when I have no blood bond with my charge? You must trust me.”

Just like that, Serena went from calm to stern. “I’ll remind you once, and only once, that the stakes have not changed. You are still bound to protect whoever it is you’ve been assigned, and any refusal puts your Sire and his progeny at risk of destruction.” Her hand landed on Isobel’s shoulder. “The blood you’re provided came from Isobel, not a laboratory, and has been enchanted so as to keep it fresh. Once you’ve depleted the supply, we will provide more. The imprint will be as strong as ever.”

It looked as though they’d considered everything.

As always, I had no choice but to comply.

“One question,” I said.

Serena gave me a warning look.

I ignored it. This was a matter of life or death. Mine. “Ra Protection?”

Ra Protection was a spell cast by the one we were assigned to. It protected us from the sun’s rays and allowed Nightwardens to be outside at any time of the day and not burst into flames.

Ra Protection mattered to me. Greatly.

“Ra Protection is in place,” Maeve affirmed.

I took one last look at the High Council, then at the anxious Isobel. “When do I get started, then?”