“Yes.” Julian looked from Graydon to Soren. “Do either of you have any idea what this is about?”

The Djinn shook his head. “I was going to ask you the same thing. The only thing we know is that Tatiana asked me to bring Graydon here as soon as I could.”

Graydon walked over to the large windows, his gaze roaming over the placid scene outside. “We would have arrived sooner, except I can rarely get away at a moment’s notice these days.”

Julian nodded. Recently, at the Sentinel Games in January, Graydon had assumed the duties of First sentinel, and as a result, his workload had to have increased exponentially.

He said, “I guess Tatiana will tell us why we’re here as soon as she can.”

On impulse, he pulled out his cell phone, scrolled to Melly’s contact information and punched the call button. He wasn’t expecting much. When he had recently tried to call her about the blasted trade agreements, she hadn’t answered his phone calls or messages. Still, he felt the need to try.

The phone call didn’t ring but rolled over immediately to voicemail, which meant nothing other than Melly’s phone was turned off. For all he knew, she was busy consulting with her mother over whatever crisis the Light Fae demesne faced. As Tatiana’s heir, Melly would undoubtedly be involved to some extent.

Not bothering to leave a message, he disconnected the call, all too aware of Soren’s piercing, curious gaze lingering on him.

While the other two men talked quietly, Julian moved to the far side of the large room. His nerves were jumping with tension, and making even the pretense of polite conversation was beyond him. Closing his eyes, he let himself go completely still as only a Vampyre could do, while in reality, his muscles were so tight, he felt ready to lash out at a moment’s notice.

It’s been over twenty years since she betrayed me, he thought. I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t care at all.

The fact that he did made him feel trapped and angry, and for one reason or another, he had been feeling that way for far too damn long.

For almost two hundred years, he had held steady against his sire Carling’s increasingly erratic behavior and contradictory commands. What had once been an affectionate, respectful business arrangement had turned sour, then descended to bitterness and finally outright hostility, while he fought to hold the Nightkind demesne together despite the several selfish, predatory bastards who sat on the council.

Born a Roman slave, he had won his freedom in the arena as a gladiator. Then he had fought his way to the position of general in Emperor Hadrian’s army. And then he had fought some more, for years upon years. War, in one form or another, was all he had ever known.

When Carling had offered him the unimaginatively long life and the Power of a Vampyre, he had leapt at the opportunity. After all, he’d had one master or another his whole life. Becoming eternally subject to Carling as his sire had seemed easy.

But it was a hell of a lot easier to talk about living through eternity than it was to actually live through an endless parade of years. Decades. Centuries.

Millennia.

No human soul can fully understand that long of a life. Looking back, he wasn’t sure when everything had become so intolerable. He had seen over two thousand years pass, and he had borne so many yokes around his neck and engaged in so many struggles for so long, he felt like a pit bull at the end of his leash.

You breed a dog to fight then set him to fight for long enough, after a while that’s all he knows. He’ll fight and he’ll fight, until eventually somebody comes along and puts him down.

After what felt like an interminable wait, everything seemed to happen at once.

Some distance away in the house, rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Two pairs of footsteps, and both of them were light and quick enough to be feminine.

The tight band around Julian’s chest began to ease. Opening his eyes, he drew in a breath and turned to face the door. Graydon and Soren evidently heard the people approaching, for they turned as well.

The door opened. Tatiana strode in, followed by her younger daughter Bailey, Melisande’s twin.

Bailey was so like Melly, and yet not. They both had the same tall frame, with long, muscled limbs and voluptuous curves, the same rich, golden brown skin, green eyes, elegantly pointed ears and curly, blond hair. They even had somewhat the same angular features, and by some trick of nature, many of the same gestures.

For the barest moment, Julian’s eyes refused to accept what he was seeing. The first thing he thought was, oh, she cut her hair.

But, no.

It was Bailey who had a short, tousled hairstyle and dressed like a fighter, wearing jeans, a tan T-shirt and a gun in a belt holster, Bailey who looked at him with undisguised antipathy on her drawn, tired face.

This time when the dread returned, it slammed an invisible fist into his solar plexus.

He forced his attention away from Bailey and focused on Tatiana.

The Light Fae Queen looked as elegant as ever. Her golden hair was pinned at the back of her head in an intricate style that set off her graceful head and neck. She wore a nude-colored suit and matching high-heeled shoes. The outfit was at once both conservative and subtly shocking. Her makeup was immaculate, and her composure appeared to be superb, all of which made the raw expression in her bloodshot eyes hit like another blow.

Without preamble, Tatiana said, “I can’t express how much it means to me that you were each willing to come and help without even knowing the nature of our crisis.”

“What’s wrong, Tatiana?” Soren asked.

Taking a deep breath, she visibly braced herself. “My daughter Melisande is missing. We discovered it early this morning.”

Julian stood immobile as her words sank in.

Without seeming to move quickly, somehow Soren was across the room and standing in front of Tatiana, who looked up at him with naked pain and fear in her eyes.

The Djinn took both her hands and said in a voice more gentle than Julian had ever heard from him before, “Tell us everything you know.”

Bailey said tightly, “I was sound asleep in my home, in Jamaica. Everything was normal. I’d had a normal day, a normal evening, had a couple beers and shots with some friends, and went to bed around midnight there. I was tired and fell asleep just fine, and then suddenly, sometime later I woke up. I could have sworn Melly had shouted at me, and I knew something was wrong. I don’t know how — I just knew it. I called Mom right away.”

Tatiana took up the story. “As soon as I talked to Bailey, I called the security company that monitors Melly’s neighborhood. It’s a gated community, and they always have somebody on duty, twenty-four/seven. When they sent someone to check on Melly, they found her front door standing open.”

Standing open, like the back door of Justine’s house, the light from within throwing an illuminated rectangle on a well-tended lawn.

Julian’s body went as taut as a drawn bowstring, while his mind began to race.

One door had been left carelessly standing open in Northern California. Another had been left open in Malibu, in Southern California.

The two incidents were hours away from each other, in completely different demesnes. There was no reason to make a connection between them, other than to note how similar the images were. No reason at all, and yet…

He considered it anyway.

Justine had been cultivating a relationship with Tatiana, and had made many friendly overtures to Melly. Julian had seen all of it as part of her political maneuvering — staying on friendly terms with the monarch of the neighboring demesne kept Justine in a strong position to create mischief. Also, it might garner Justine some outside support if she ever made a move against him in a way that would win Tatiana’s sympathy and approval.