Something shifts in her expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
“Good answer.” She turns to Julian. “I like her. She has spine.”
“I noticed.”
The door opens again. This time it’s a man—tall, dark-skinned, with a smile that suggests he finds everything amusing. He’s dressed more casually than Elena, in torn jeans and a t-shirt—both of which has that whole “I didn’t spend a ton on my clothes, but he totally did” vibe.
“Julian Blackthorne.” His voice is deep and warm. “Never thought I’d see the day you called in favors for a woman.”
“Nathaniel.” Julian’s tone is dry. “Never thought I’d see the day you arrived on time.”
“I’m highly motivated.” Nathaniel’s gaze slides to me. “And now I see why.”
He crosses to me, takes my hand, and actually kisses my knuckles. Like we’re in a period drama. Like this is a completely normal greeting.
“You must be Poppy. Julian’s been remarkably tight-lipped about you, which tells me everything I need to know.”
“What does it tell you?” I smile awkwardly, you know, since it’s totally a new thing having my knuckles kissed, let alone by a vampire.
“That you matter.” He releases my hand. “That’s dangerous, in our world. But also rather wonderful.”
I glance at Julian, and I can see the tension build in his face as he clenches his teeth.
“You’re making her uncomfortable,” he says.
“I’m making you uncomfortable,” Nathaniel corrects. “She seems fine.”
“I’m fine,” I confirm. “Just... processing. That’s all.”
“Take your time.” Nathaniel settles into one of the chairs. “Last time I was in the Bahamas, it was still British territory. The hurricanes were worse. Or perhaps we just didn’t have weather apps.”
I blink. “When was that?”
“Eighteen-something. The decades blur together after a while.”
The door opens a third time.
The woman who enters is different from the others. Colder. More contained. She moves like smoke—silent and deliberate—and her eyes scan the room, which I presume she’s checking for exits and threats.
“Sofia.” Julian’s voice carries respect. Maybe even wariness. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ve been waiting for this.” Her accent is harder to place—Spanish, maybe, with something else underneath. “You’re giving me what I’ve wanted for decades. A chance at Damien.”
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Just crosses to the window and stares out at the garden like we’re not even here.
“She’s friendly,” I mutter.
“She has history with Damien,” Julian says quietly. “He killed someone she loved. She’s been tracking him for decades.”
“Oh.” I look at Sofia with new understanding. “So this is personal for her, too.”
“It’s personal for all of us. That’s why they’re here.”
Julian’s head of security is the last to enter, carrying a briefcase.
“You all know Marcus,” Julian turns around in his direction, gesturing toward him. “He’ll be running comms from security. He’ll be our eyes and ears.”
Marcus places the briefcase on the table and opens it.
