I pat her shoulder, trying to reassure her and hoping not to piss her off. That brain zapping thing she does is for real, peeps, and I’m not going through it again. “I’m sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No.”

I smile. At least I try to. It’s hard to smile with the amount of zebra stripes currently blinding me, and because something, a really bad something, makes me think she’s telling the truth.

“That’s not possible,” Gemini says, his voice trailing as Aric and Celia approach.

Both of Celia’s hands are wrapped around Aric’s arm and she’s leaning close to him. It’s something she always does when he’s close to losing it. Awesome.

Aric’s tight stare shifts to Uri, Misha’s maker and the granddaddy of all master vamps.

I’d noticed his presence when we walked in, you can’t not notice power that potent. But I’m not a fan of Uri, and didn’t bother to seek him out. I do now, mostly because Aric makes it a point to check on him.

Uri is seated a few rows down from where we wait. He’s infamous for three things: his strength, the array of young, studly, and shirtless men always at his side, and his capes. That’s right, capes. Money and influence evidently affords you the right to dress any way you damn well please. Tonight his cape, a deep green one with speckled fur along the collar is draped over the chair.

Genevieve bends in front of him, tending to his face similar to a makeup artist applying the finishing touches to a Broadway star set to take the stage. It’s not until he turns to the side that I realize Uri’s face is covered with holes!

They’re oozing, burrowing deep into the muscle and partially exposing his skull. “Jesus,” I rasp, my shock and disgust forcing me to take a step back.

“He’s had a bad night, too,” Destiny says, her voice sad.

She must have a better relationship with Uri than the rest of us. Celia can’t stand him, writing him off as a cold, cruel leader, and master manipulator. “Misha is getting too powerful,” she told me in a whisper. “It won’t be long before Uri tries to kill him so he can take that power for himself.”

I agreed, and it scared me senseless. Misha is Celia’s friend. If Uri goes after Misha, Celia will rise to protect him.

Since I first met Uri, an inner voice warned me to stay clear. Despite those stupid capes he flaunts like his young lovers, he emits danger like a coiled cobra. I’m not afraid of him. I’m just aware that snake can strike, and if he does, especially against my family, so will I.

The young men Uri feeds from stroke him lightly, speaking words of adoration. The one closest to me is crying those thick awful tears that form when your soul is falling away in pieces. All of Uri’s lovers are like that, completely enamored with him, desperate for his attention however piddly.

It doesn’t mean anything. Not to Uri. Whatever fondness he has is always fleeting. They’ll bore him soon enough and he’ll move on to the next few men who peak his interest, not caring about the broken hearts he leaves behind.

For now though, they’re with him, and whether he’ll ever admit it, he needs them. He’s trembling horribly, and close to seizing. Whatever spell was cast continues to burn its way through the tissue, causing him pain he otherwise would not openly show. Pain, hell, any display of vulnerability in the presence of other preternaturals will get you killed by the one waiting to take your spot.

My gaze skitters around the room and to the other vamps loitering nearby. Like Uri and Misha, they’ll always be young and beautiful, the turning process gifting them with immortality and eternal beauty for the simple price of your soul. None are masters. The few who were met their demise years ago, leaving Misha to command the entire west coast, a position he won’t abandon without a fight.

Gemini leans into me, his warm breath teasing my skin. “Don’t get involved,” he warns, his lips skimming along my ear as he whispers. “Not our pack, not our fight.”

I nod. Like me, he senses the vampires’ restlessness. Newly turned vamps or those new to a keep are like ravenous hyenas. They’ll attack those they perceive as weak, their primal and predatory instincts often overriding their common sense. Magic eating holes into his face or not, Uri is deadly.

And so is Misha who stands directly beside him.

Ire claims Misha’s stance like armor. It’s so severe, even his most trusted vampires are afraid to draw near. His long blond mane is pulled back in a silver clip. It’s his “battle hair”. He’s ready to destroy anyone who threatens his master.

Celia has often questioned Misha on whether the loyalty he demonstrates to Uri is extended back to him. Misha has never responded either way, not because he doesn’t know, but because I think he does.

“If Misha is ever going to take Uri out, this is his moment,” I murmur, knowing Gemini can hear me.

Misha’s head swivels in my direction, his narrowing eyes alerting me that he heard me loud and clear. Damn these vamps and their super senses. “I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking,” I reply in that same hushed tone.

“He won’t. Not now,” Gemini responds, well aware Misha can hear him and not giving a rat’s ass. “He’ll wait for the right time.”

My comment annoyed Misha, but all Gemini’s words do is trigger that wicked smile Misha is known for. I’m not sure why Misha smiles then. It could be good. It could be sucky. Either way I’m not returning it. I may be his merc for hire. That doesn’t mean I’ll jump aboard the Misha death train should it decide to run off the tracks.

Destiny who has been unnervingly quiet, and a little too smiley, adjusts her cowboy hat just right. The whacky feathers poised on top release a snowfall of black, white, and hot pink plumage. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” she asks.

I don’t have to guess she’s looking at Genevieve, the head witch. When I first met Genevieve, I mistook her for a vamp because she’s seriously that good looking. Her long dark hair is gathered in a bun that’s supposed to look like she pulled it up in a haste, yet somehow adds another air of elegance to her already spellbinding appearance.

The loose strands that escape Genevieve’s bejeweled hair pin fall along her sapphire eyes and porcelain skin, skimming her cheeks as she treats Uri’s wounds.

“Oh, but you’re pretty, too,” Destiny adds, giving me a playful nudge. “A real looker.”

“Ah, thanks, there, Des. You . . .” I give her the onceover, trying to think of something nice to say. “You have a nice smile.”

“Super thanks.” She cups her hand, pretending to whisper. “But betcha it’s not as nice as Genevieve’s.”

I’m sure nothing is, given her awe.

Genevieve scrutinizes Uri’s face, her yellow amulet streaming rays of bright sunlight as she fills Uri’s wounds with what resembles spackle. She mumbles a chant, her lips soft as she moves them, but her magic forceful, driving the curse that struck him out of his system.

As her light withdraws so does his trembling. All at once he slumps forward, his boyfriends barely catching him in time.

Misha doesn’t move, keeping his arms crossed and watching Uri closely as Genevieve withdraws.

I straighten. “Is now the right time?” I whisper to Gemini, noting that in spite of his stance, Misha is geared to attack.

Gemini doesn’t respond with words. He clasps my elbow and Emme’s leading us away.

I don’t think I manage to fully shift my weight when the first of several vampires attack. Misha snatches two up by the throat, his movements too quick to register.

With a simple squeeze, and a hiss that chills me down to my soul, he caves their larynxes inward. Ash drifts out in a haze, coating the air with murder just as something flies over my head.

Like a bowling ball being thrown against granite, a head strikes the opposite wall, cracking the skull and caving it inward.

Emme rams into me as she leaps away from a decapitated torso, flipping like a fish out of water toward us.

“What was that?” I say, watching the torso flop past us.

“A torso,” my beloved replies.

I let out what I hope is an easy breath. It’s not. Seriously, what the hell?

“I mean what happened?” I ask instead.

The torso explodes in a billow of ash. “Misha willed his leeches to die,” Gemini explains.

Emme and I exchange glances. “He can do that?” I ask.

“Being their master and given his power, yes,” he says, his dark expression split between disappointment and relief.

“And what about that?” I ask, pointing to whatever is crawling away from the corner. A werewolf munching on what looks like a chicken wing steps over it. He doesn’t care. It’s vamp bits.

“Arm,” Gemini answers. “She was torn into five pieces.”

“By Misha?” I ask, wondering how exactly he managed to pull that decapitated rabbit out of the hat.

“No,” Gemini says, his unease evident as he turns toward Destiny.

She keeps her smile. “It’s not nice to attack those who are weak. Don’t you think?”

I try to nod and fail. The best I can do is not put more distance between us.

The pull of Genevieve’s mojo has me turning toward her. She’s looking at the vamp standing in front of her. The vamp isn’t moving, only because Genevieve isn’t letting him. He falls apart. Literally, his petrified body parts splintering down the middle and crumbling as they strike the wood floor.

I don’t think this vamp went after Uri. He went after Genevieve believing she was distracted. His mistake. Genevieve doesn’t miss a thing.

“Thank you,” Uri mumbles, his speech slurred.

I think he’s talking to Misha, who he often refers to as “his son”, or maybe Destiny who could be some freak second cousin twice removed for all I know. But they only killed a few vampires. Genevieve healed him.

She quietly observed the violent exchange between the vampires, failing to respond until she was imperiled. As much as she willingly cured Uri and lifted the curse bestowed upon him, I don’t think Genevieve would have shed a tear had the opposing vampires succeeded in killing him.

She passes the wooden bowl filled with the goo she used to treat his wounds to one of her “sisters” and irritably wipes her hands with a towel another offers. Her coven responded to the threat upon their leader, they just weren’t as fast or ruthless as Genevieve. “Don’t thank me, Uri,” she answers him flatly. “Just do the right thing.”

She walks away in a huff, briefly acknowledging us with a tilt of her head. “Gemini, Sister Taran.”

“Hey, Vieve,” I answer, my tone grave given the carnage.

Gemini acts as if he doesn’t see her, his spine stiffening as Aric stalks forward with his arm around Celia. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. My sister is in a navy maxi dress. I think she chose it for the dark color and how the dress falls loosely at her sides, camouflaging her pregnancy. She dresses like that a lot. I think it’s her way of shielding her child. But the way the soft material gathers around her belly, there’s no hiding the little one growing inside her.

Misha looks up as they pass, ignoring the vampires brushing the ash from his Armani suit. Celia shakes her head, letting him know she can’t talk right now and warning him to keep his distance from Aric.

Everyone is on edge.

Except for Destiny who beams at Celia’s approach.

“Hey,” she says when only mere feet remain between us. “I told Taran the great news.”

“And I told her she must be mistaken,” I sing.

Aric and Celia only tense further.

“No . . .” I say when they reach me.

“Taran,” Celia begins.

“No, way,” I insist, my attention lobbying between she and Gemini. Emme steps aside, giving us room, but also trying to keep the focus off her and her disheveled state. I get it. Everyone’s upset enough. But if Celia is trying to apologize, apology not accepted because what the hell? “I’m supposed to be protecting you,” I remind her.

“She’s not doing this,” Gemini says, his comment spilling over mine.

Aric tightens his jaw. “It can’t be helped. Not with everything that’s happening.”

“Destiny is not pack,” Gemini says. “Nor is she were.”

Destiny takes this moment to fluff her feathers. Well, why not?

“That doesn’t make her less valuable,” Aric says, his attention flickering to Celia.

I pace in circles, muttering a few curses before whipping back and ramming my hands on my hips. “You think she’ll protect Celia if we need her to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Destiny asks, appearing confused. She motions to Celia’s. “Those babies are coming, it’s just a matter of time.” She smiles softly. “They have to, the world won’t survive without them.”

When it comes to a baby being born, everyone should be all a flutter, expecting only the good things babies bring: cuddles and kisses, intermixed with promises for the future. But this child is different, burdened with a destiny he doesn’t yet know.

The heavy task my sister’s child will bear quiets us all, surging our fear, but also feeding our hope.

The silence lasts only briefly. There’s too much to say and more to do. “We can’t count on the vampires,” Aric tells us.

“No shit,” Gemini snaps, his anger altering his generally calm disposition into something fierce.

“Watch it,” Aric warns. “I’m not happy about this either.”

“Then why allow it?” Gemini fires back. “If this was Celia, you wouldn’t have it.”

“Not wanting it and being able to stop it are two different things. Neither matter because bottom line, we don’t have a choice,” Aric counters, his light brown irises flashing with resentment. “From now on, all the wolves from the Squaw Valley Den Pack are assigned to Celia. Genevieve’s Coven and the Coven of Versailles will be protected and watched by the Chinese Imperials.”

“Who are the Imperials?” Emme asks.

She blushes, embarrassed about interrupting, but recognizing the severity of the situation.

“The Chinese Imperial Coven,” I answer, glimpsing at how Gemini’s focus doesn’t waver from Aric. “They’re masters of magic and practitioners of sacred and mystical martial arts.”

“Mystical martial arts?” she questions.

“Yes. Kind of like the Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon version of the broom humpers,” I explain.

A passing witch glares my way. “I’m sorry,” I offer. “But that’s the best way to describe them.”

“They’re recluse and secretive,” Aric elaborates. “For the most part, they keep their distance from other witch clans, presenting themselves only during times of unrest or when they feel they’re most needed.”

“They were the ones entrusted with securing Asia during the last war,” Gemini adds.

Emme tilts her head gingerly. “If they can secure an entire continent, why aren’t they watching Celia?” she asks carefully.

“Because physical prowess and magic aside, they’re not weres,” Aric replies.

In other words, he doesn’t fully trust them to watch our girl.

Gemini’s frown burrows deep. “Are the Imperials coming here? Or are we seeing both covens to China?”

Aric rubs the scruff of his five o’clock shadow. “The Imperials are en route and should arrive by morning to escort the covens to a secret location in Europe. We won’t know where they are, but both Ines, the Head Witch to the Coven of Versailles, and Genevieve have sworn a blood oath to return should we call them.” He makes a face. “The vampires are the only ones unwilling to lend us their full support. Uri and Ileana Vodianova have acquired protection of their own and are fleeing somewhere across globe. The remaining American masters, in addition to those in Canada, and Central and South America have already disappeared. Misha is the only one who agreed to stay and offered his help should we need him.”

No wonder Genevieve was so angry. Instead of forming a united front, the vamps have once more chosen to save their own billion dollar backsides.

Except for Misha, who will never abandon Celia . . .