Page 12 of Hunters and Prey

Children were so rare and precious for their kind. And they'd killed them all the same.

But one had lived, and been sent to the mortal world. That could mean only one thing: one of the traitors on the hill had turned his—her—back on the rest, and rescued the child. To what end, Viola had no clue. No doubt out of greed, or even boredom. Perhaps out of kindness, although very few among the royalty knew the meaning of that word.

Viola's mind flew to Alexius. She was ashamed of even thinking about that possibility. Of course it hadn't been him. If Alexius had saved an Eirikrson child, he would have already used it to his advantage. To get her back into bed, for one. He would have raised the child in his pretentious manor and used it. Waiting five hundred years without a word just wasn't his motto.

Suddenly, Viola knew; she just knew.

There was one ancient who was kind, or at least, not cruel. Viola was prone to forget about him, because he liked to be forgotten about. The man spent most of his days studying the world around them. He was the muse behind most of the greatest inventions mankind had ever been credited for. He'd whispered in Leonardo DaVinci's ear, and clapped for Beethoven.

Viola knew he hadn't taken part in the massacre. He probably hadn't known about it at all; he rarely bothered to attend any clan gatherings, if the rumors were true.

Leviathan. A two-thousand-year-old force of nature who refused to play by the rules.

Viola wished she had his phone number, but she hadn't seen him since the eighteenth century. Maybe he was on Facebook? She'd have to check, although she was practically certain this miracle was his doing.

A girl—or a young woman, she supposed—with dark hair that reeked of dye and eyes that shone too brightly in the night passed her by in the street, heading toward Tom's apartment.

There she was.

Tom had been subtle about his origins; hundreds of years of mortal parentage had somewhat dimmed the Eirikrson features. All of the Eirikrson looked alike, with their dark hair at the root that became silver-white after it grew an inch or two. Their eyes could be blue, or black, or green, or any shade at all, but their shape was identical. The same nose, the same mouth.

Tom had a different mouth, and someone had broken his nose at some point. It had been set straight, but it still was a little crooked.

His sister…his sister was Liz. She was Amelia, Christine, Mary, and every other Eirikrson Viola recalled. But she had the eyes of Laud, the head of the coven.

She was whistling to herself, earphones in, listening to jazz.

Viola waited until she'd made it to the apartment before pulling her phone out of her pocket. She couldn't delay the inevitable, not anymore.

Her first call answered on the third ring.

"What?" Phillipe growled, almost threateningly.

She was one to get the worst call over with first.

They'd never gotten along. The fact that she was the oldest and therefore the leader of what remained of their clan had certainly not improved their relationship.

"I found them," Viola said."Two, potentially three."

Hopefully not. Viola very much hoped that the Eirikrson parent was the mother who'd disappeared. If not, they had two lieges and one big problem on their hands.

She didn't need to elaborate. A second passed. All gruffness gone, the other slayer replied, "Tracing your call. I'm on my way."

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