I meant to tell Soren everything the moment he picked me up. I really did.

The trouble was he didn't give me a chance. It seemed he was in the middle of some rather important negotiations, mediating a dispute between two other vampire territories, and he talked on his phone the whole way home.

By the time we arrived at our lovely mountain house with its many wide windows and low, sloping roofs, he seemed quite tired and put-upon; and when he finally hung up on the other vampires and rubbed the spot between his brows and sighed, I felt reluctant to add to his burdens.

"I'm sorry, Fenn," he said, looking over at me. "I haven't even asked if you had a good time. That was your first date, you know."

"Date?" I repeated.

"Mm," he intoned. "This 'Dennis' fellow is rather fond of you, I gather?"

I nodded, feeling my face warm a little.

"Well..." He sighed again, and then proceeded to explain the complicated vagaries of modern courtship rituals.

By the time he finished, I was thoroughly confused and had forgotten, for the moment, all about Constant Gray.

Later that evening, Soren relaxed with a glass of fine wine and Ari leaned against him on the couch as they watched a movie. I read more of the manga Dennis had lent me, and tried to invent a way to bring up the subject of vampire hunters without ruining the mood.

I had just concluded that, as the solution eluded me, I had best 'just go for it,' as Dennis would say, when the phone in Soren's office rang. He sighed, and let his head rest back against the couch, but made no move to get up.

The phone continued to ring, however, and as it was disrupting the film anyway, Ari paused it and gave his mate a pointed look.

"Fine," Soren groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "No wonder my father was so eager to dump his responsibilities on me. The bastard."

Grumbling in this manner, he crossed the open living space and entered his office, which looked rather like his father's had in the old Stronghold, before it burnt down, but with more windows.

There was a large antique desk, bookshelves full of rare volumes and valuable artifacts, and a lot of very modern 'technology.'

He always left the door open and so, curious, I followed him.

The call was coming through with 'video,' so Soren sat at the high-backed leather chair, and answered by opening a 'window' on his computer.

It still seemed like magic to me—the way people could speak to and see each other through these 'screens' even across vast distances—though I now understood the underlying concepts a little.

Soren's screen revealed the head and upper torso of a large, heavy-set man with dark skin and long, braided hair. He wore a gray suit over a white silk shirt, and many gold earrings pierced his ears. From the gleam in his eyes, I could tell he was a vampire, and when he spoke, I saw that one of his fangs was also gold, and wondered how he had lost the original, and what his dentist must have thought.

"Benoit," Soren said, sounding surprised. "Don't tell me Rivera has roped you into her ridiculous dispute as well."

"Volkirsson," the man said in a deep, accented voice, and inclined his head very slightly. "I was expecting to speak with your father. Is he there?"

Soren frowned. He was rather relaxed when it came to formalities, as far as vampires went, but his position demanded a certain respect.

On the other hand, I recognized the man on the screen as Benoit Beaumort, a powerful vampire master from the far-off land of Quebec. He was not as old as Volkir, but Soren was still a fledgling by comparison, and had to be careful not to cause offense. Benoit, Volkir had told me, had been a pirate before he became a vampire, and he gave respect if and when he felt it had been earned.

"My father isn't here," Soren replied evenly. "He's visiting Denmark with his... with friends."

"When will he be back?" Benoit asked. "There is an urgent matter I must discuss with him tout de suite."

Soren settled back in his seat, his lapis-blue eyes darkening with displeasure. "I do not know, but it hardly matters, Beaumort. I am master here now, if you hadn't heard."

I bit my lower lip anxiously. Of course all the Masters on the continent would know that Soren had inherited his father's domain by now, and as one of the higher ranking ones, Benoit most certainly would.

The dark-skinned vampire narrowed his eyes and a smile touched his lips.

"Ah yes—perhaps I had forgotten. It is...très difficile...when you are as old as I. Especially as I remember you so well as your father's arrogant little half-breed brat, running around the world on missions for Les Gardiens. I thought he would get you killed for sure."

He laughed, and Soren scowled.

"Well he didn't," he said, "and I'm a full-blooded vampire now."

"But still an arrogant brat, I see," Benoit teased.

Soren paled with indignation, but Benoit raised a placating hand.

"Very well, very well. It hardly matters to me who is in charge. I wanted to speak to my old friend, that is all. But as you are in his seat, you will do." His expression grew serious, and he leaned back, folding his arms on his wide abdomen. "I have some worrying news for you, Soren," he said. "For some time now, I have been tracking the activities of a certain group of...less than savory people."

"I take it you're not talking about how they taste?" Soren asked, lifting a brow.

"No," Benoit smiled, "though I am sure, in this case, that is also true. I mean Chasseurs, Soren—hunters. They'd set themselves up in my territory some time ago, and I kept a close eye on them. Fortunately for all concerned, they never got close to me or mine, and stuck to 'small game,' as it were—the odd wendigo or loup-garou. The trouble is, a few months ago I lost track of them."

"And?" Soren prompted, when Benoit fell silent.

"And I have found them again. Or rather, evidence of where they went."

"Let me guess," Soren sighed. "They headed west."

Benoit nodded. "The far north of California, near the coast. Your father's territory—or rather, yours."

Soren rubbed his brow. "Well, thank you for the heads-up. If they cause trouble I suppose I'll have to 'straighten things out.' Most of these types see reason once it's explained to them."

"Not these." Benoit shook his head. "These are not ordinary, over-zealous 'monster hunters.' They are Les Sang d'Argent."

"Silverbloods?" Soren's brows climbed towards his hair. "I thought they were a fairy-tale."

"No more than are we." Benoit smiled, revealing his gold fang. He let his other extend, but the gold one stayed short.

"You're saying the Silverbloods are the hunters who cost you your fang?" Soren asked.

"Well, not the current generation," Benoit shrugged. "But yes, the same. They do not see 'reason,' Soren. They see only monsters whom they must kill, and they don't care who gets in their way. They are like a nest of hornets: once roused, there is little you can do to stop their fury save to kill them, or if that fails, to run."

Soren frowned and leaned forward. "Alright. What can you tell me?"

"Less than I could hope," the elder vampire replied. "They are quite adept at hiding themselves. All I was able to gather is that they are all male—a father and his sons. They each use a different surname, to avoid easy association, and they headed out your way on the trail of something big. Given the attention you've drawn to yourself over the past several years, I hope that 'something' is not you, or the little godling you call ton véritable amour—your true love, that is."

"If it is Ari that's drawn them here, they're in for an unpleasant surprise," Soren stated.

Benoit shook his head. "Do not underestimate them, mon ami. They are human, oui, but if anything, that makes them more dangerous. I wish I had discovered their destination sooner, but I was only too happy to have them gone. It was only by chance I learned of it."

"Well, I thank you for informing me, nonetheless," Soren said, bowing his head.

For a moment, the other vampire merely watched through the 'screen,' leaning on his elbow with his chin resting between his fingers and thumb.

"Your father and I have been friends for a long time, you know," he said at last, his voice thoughtful and low. "He helped me to raise myself up and change my ways, turned me from the 'blood-thirsty terror of the Caribbean,' to a... semi-respectable man of good repute. Without him to teach me how to change with the times, I would have perished long ago. I owe him a great deal, even if the 'good' life has turned me fat; although it certainly helps me to blend in. Nobody expects the fat guy to be a vampire."

He laughed uproariously before turning abruptly serious once more.

I suspected he might be a very dangerous man.

"As for you..." He drew in a long breath through his nose and his lips turned down at the corners. "...you have yet to prove yourself, Volkir's son. But I hope that we can also be allies. I will send a cohort of my reconnaissants to aid you—with your permission, of course."

Soren remained absolutely still, and I got the sense he was judging many things in his mind. At last, he nodded.

"I would be grateful for your aid," he said slowly. "Monsieur Beaumort."

"Please," the other man laughed. "It is Uncle Benoit to you, enfant." He grinned. "I will send...half a dozen of my best. They shall be yours to command, as soon as they step foot in your domain."

"Merci," Soren said, bowing his head again. "I look forward to meeting them."

With another broad, gold-fanged grin, Benoit Beaumort leaned forward to press an unseen button, and the screen went dark.

"I suppose you heard all that?" Soren asked, spinning in his chair to look at me.

I had been listening the whole time from the doorway, which was out of the camera's range of sight.

"Yes." I nodded.

"Then you understand why we must be careful, do you not? In your day, 'witch-hunters' went from town to town, searching out victims; and some of them knew what they were doing, but the vast majority were just self-righteous idiots, making sure the weak and disenfranchised stayed that way. These days, other people do that job—politicians, mostly. Anyway, while modern 'hunters' are rare, they have access to all the same tools—all the accumulated knowledge and technologies—that we do. And if Benoit is right, and the Silverbloods have come here..." he drew a breath and met my eyes. "Please tell me you will be careful, Fenn."

I swallowed, and nodded, but I kept my mouth shut.

If Benoit Beaumort was sending his reconnaissants here, then Gray was in as much danger from my family as I was from his.