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That one was for Torr.

He didn’t answer, but he also didn’t need to answer. The look on his face did it for him. Horror roiled inside her. She’d been luxuriating in the caresses of a murderer.

Alessandra frowned at Torr’s lack of response. “They don’t kill indiscriminately, but they’ll do it to defend themselves—”

“Against what, exactly? What could a vampire have to defend themselves against?” She felt her eyes fly open even wider. “Oh my word. There are other creatures—”

Both of them shook their heads. “There aren’t werewolves or boogeymen or anything. It’s not what you’re thinking,” Alessandra said.

“Unless you consider Alessandra a creature,” Torr added dryly.

Which earned him another sharp look. “Stop helping.”

Charlotte waited, not so patiently, for them to explain themselves.

Torr leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “My brother’s wife—Isobel, the one I mentioned—was a powerful healer. When Alec was killed, she accidentally cursed both my family and Kenton’s, creating, essentially, the first two vampire families. Later—”

“How does one accidentally curse their own family?” she blurted out, pacing once again.

“Our families were enemies for many years. She blamed my father for not accepting the earl . . . Kenton’s father’s offer of peace. When Alec was killed, we demanded bloodwite—”

“Sorry?”

“Bloodwite. A blood debt. Payment as recompense for Alec’s death at the hands of their kin.”

“They didn’t pay it,” Alessandra cut in, “because there was no proof it was truly Kenton’s kin who were responsible.”

“No proof except for witnesses—”

“Who were also members of Clan Karyn—”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “Kind of going through a mental breakdown here. Can you focus?”

“Sorry,” Alessandra mumbled, chastened for once.

“Clan? And you said . . . earl?” She whirled on Torr. “Um, I know your family is from Scotland.” She swallowed hard before asking her next question, her heart pounding. “When exactly did this all happen?”

Torr did that thing with his lips. And this time, it had nothing to do with desire.

Well, crap.

“Alec was killed in 1274.”

The hairs on her arms stood straight up. “Pardon?”

“We are . . . I am . . . over seven hundred years old.”

Charlotte blinked for a moment and then started to laugh. At first it was a forced laugh, her smile as fake as her mother’s boobs. But as she continued, tears began to stream down her face, her stomach actually straining with the effort.

As if from some distant place, she heard Torr say something about her being in shock.

Shock? Why ever would that be?

And then she began to cry in earnest.