“How do you know my name?” Sheridan felt like she’d had the wind knocked out of her.

Ty blinked, straightened his waistcoat, and pressed his palms to his face.

“ Damn ,” he mumbled. “If I could blush, I would be bright red right now. Listen, forget I said anything, ok?”

“No!” she said. “Not ok—hey, wait!” But he had already turned on his heel and vanished down the hall. Sheridan would have stalked after him, but she wasn’t exactly intimidating in pink silk pajamas and bedhead, so she did the only thing she could do: she closed the door and headed straight for the shower.

She let the water run until it had steamed the entire room, until her reflection was obscured in the fog, until she no longer had to look at her shocked face, with her unfamiliar red hair. Her thoughts were jumbled and confused.

She took her time choosing her outfit from the countless beautiful clothing with which she’d been supplied. After all, what does one wear when one demands answers from one’s vampire boss? All black, she decided, seemed most appropriate.

***

Down in the lobby, Hunter lingered near the concierge desk, and Sheridan marched straight up to him, her heels clicking along the hardwood floor. She’d swept her red hair up into a neat twist, and she could feel the weight of the chandelier earrings she’d chosen as they swung from her lobes. The look projected a confidence she didn’t feel, and it certainly demanded Hunter’s attention.

“Ah, Sheridan,” he said. “Good morning. Are you ready to begin your first day?”

“How did Ty know my name?” She demanded, and Hunter gave her an utterly blank stare. “Maria.” She said. “He called me Maria.”

Hunter sighed heavily and leaned back against the concierge desk. “You’d better sit down,” he said, gesturing towards a nearby lounge. When they were seated, he sighed again, his expression somber. “I didn’t want to tell you so soon. I’ll be having a word with Ty,” he added darkly.

“Tell me what?” She asked, leaning forward in anticipation, her heart beating wildly.

“The Barlow family,” he began, by way of explanation, and even hearing the name in this stranger’s mouth sent a jolt of pain through her heart. “We know what happened to them. We know that they were allies, and that they were… brutally murdered by… shall we say, bad elements.”

“Bad elements,” she echoed. “What does that mean?”

“Vampires aren’t allowed to kill humans,” he went on.

“Allowed?”

“Well, we aren’t… supposed to, at least. We’re governed by a strict set of rules from which we rarely deviate, and that is one of them. At any rate, we intend to deal with this situation, but before we can make any promises, we need more information. And no matter what happens, you must promise to remain here, and to never leave the property by yourself. They’re looking for you, Sheridan. They know you were in the house. We can’t protect you during the day if you leave on your own.”

She was shaking her head, trying to clear the haze from her mind. “Wait,” she said. “So you brought me here on purpose? That woman in the cafe—”

Hunter nodded gravely. “An associate sent to find you, to make sure that we could get you to safety.”

Sheridan’s head was spinning. “I need to think,” she said, standing up and turning away from Hunter.

“Whatever you do, Sheridan,” he called at her retreating form, “please don’t leave. You are not safe.”

***

Sheridan could barely think straight. The Barlows—her Barlows—vampire allies? And how did she know that she could trust Hunter? For all she knew, he could be the ringleader of the bad elements, playing some sort of sick game with her. Then again, so far no one had threatened her life at the Lodge, and what would be the point in keeping her alive? They could have killed her and been done with it.

Wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed, Sheridan headed toward her room. But on her way toward the elevator, she spotted Marco emerging from the bar. He flashed a brilliant smile and raked his fingers through his thick, black hair, and before she knew it, he was headed straight for her. “You ok?” He asked, brow knotted with concern.

“Yeah,” she lied. “I think.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her hand balled into a fist. “I don’t know.”

Marco tilted his head to the side and peered down the length of his nose at her. “How about a drink?” he asked.

“At nine in the morning?”

He grinned. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

She followed him into the bar, sliding easily onto a stool as Marco went about making a drink for her. “Something appropriate for morning,” he said, and before she knew it, she had a Bloody Mary sitting on the bar in front of her. She drank down half of it in three big gulps.

“So, you’ve had a bit of a day,” Marco remarked, and she scoffed.

“You don’t even know the half of it.” The Bloody Mary was spicy and strong, and it settled pleasantly in the pit of Sheridan’s stomach. She leaned forward with her elbows on the cool marble of the bar, legs crossed beneath it, and tried not to get lost in Marco’s sweetly curious gaze. “I sort of just… lost the only family I’ve ever really had.” The sharp truth of the statement made a lump rise in her throat, and she had to look away and sip her drink to choke down the impending tears.

“I’m sorry,” Marco said, and he never looked away from her. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, arching one shoulder in a shrug and downing the rest of her drink. “That’s just my life, I guess.”

“Not just yours,” he said, sliding another Blood Mary her way. “I’m an orphan myself, actually. Grew up basically on the streets of Tokyo before I came here.”

“And why did you come here?” She asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I wanted to be with others like me, somewhere with opportunity, somewhere safe.” He eyed her levelly, and she could see for the first time how perfect his skin was, a flawless porcelain white. Otherworldly. Unnatural. And so beautiful. “The vampires here,” he went on. “We’re one big family, really. And they’re really good people, Sheridan. I swear it. They’re going to look after you.”

“Are you going to look after me?” She asked, surprised by how suddenly bold she felt. She leaned across the bar, and found that he was leaning in as well, their eyes deadlocked. She saw that his eyes had small golden flecks in them, like stars in a night sky.

“For as long as you’ll let me,” he murmured, his tone low, sultry.

“You could do more,” she whispered, voice husky, “than look.”

He kissed her before she fully realized how desperately she wanted him to, and he tasted sweet and tangy, like citrus and pennies. He lifted a hand to her face, his fingertips brushing across the slope of her cheek, which sent a shiver down her spine.

When the kiss broke away suddenly, she opened her eyes, startled, and saw that Hunter had hauled Marco bodily off of her and thrown him to the far side of the bar. He crashed into a set of glass shelves, sending a few bottles of top-shelf liquor crashing to the floor in a shattered symphony. Sheridan cringed, rising to her feet to see if Marco was okay, but something in the glare that Hunter shot her stilled her where she stood. He looked dangerous—deadly, even—and for the first time Sheridan felt afraid of him.

Without a word, Hunter stalked over to Marco and hoisted him to his feet, dragging him from his own bar, and Sheridan could do nothing but let them go.

***

After pouring herself several shots, Sheridan had worked herself up into a rage. Who the hell did Hunter think he was? Telling her she couldn’t leave, stalking her and making sure she couldn’t have any fun in the bizarre nightmare that had become her life. He’d told her so little, really. Who exactly was searching for her? How had the Barlows been connected?

She descended into the basement and followed her memory to Hunter’s office, pushing through the closed door without knocking. But he wasn’t there. Back at the desk, a few quick questions of the concierge told her where his room was, on the third floor. She marched directly up and pushed in without knocking. Big mistake, because there he was, shirtless , and glistening in the indirect light.