It kind of looked like a medieval throne. No surprise there. He’d only been born in 1901 but he carried himself like a king.

“I feel fine,” I said, exasperated. He was drinking brandy. I could smell it across the room, just like I could smell Uncle Geoffrey’s cologne, Aunt Hyacinth’s pug, and the thick perfume of roses. Just another one of our little gifts. I rubbed my nose so I wouldn’t sneeze.

“What’s with all the flowers?” I asked, noticing the roses. There were dozens and dozens of them everywhere, in every shade of red, stuffed in crystal vases, teacups, and jam jars.

“From your . . . admirers,” my father told me grimly.

“What?” Admirers, ha! They were only coming around because of my pheromones. It’s not my fault I smell funny. I shower every day, but apparently I still stink of lilies and warm chocolate and something else no one can accurately describe. Even Lucy commented on it once, and she’s nearly immune to us, having practically grown up here. No one else was smelly in such an obvious way; pheromones are usually subtle and mysterious. I really hope it fades once I fully turn.

The prophecy and my family’s legacy in the vampire world won’t, though.

Sometimes it sucks having a family that’s so old and powerful.

“Darling, it’s a great compliment, I’m sure,” my aunt Hyacinth said. She was technically my great-great- great-aunt. She didn’t look much over forty, even though she clung to the fashions of her youth in the privacy of the tribe, like most vampires.

Her dress was Victorian in style, with a lace corset and jet beads. “When I was your age I had the best time. There’s nothing like the rush of being a debutante. All those men hungering after you.” She gave a delicate shiver.

“Hyacinth.” Dad grimaced. “You hadn’t even been turned then, and this is hardly a debutante’s ball. They don’t want to waltz, damn it.” My great-great-great-uncle Edward had married Aunt Hyacinth in 1853 and turned her in 1877, at her insistence.

She was inspired by Queen Victoria’s undying love for her own husband and wanted to live for centuries by Edward’s side. I’d never met him, though, because he’d died in World War I, shot one night on a spy mission for the Allies because he was determined to do his part. She’d been alone ever since.

I glanced at a thick cream-colored paper card pinned to an enormous bouquet of white roses in a red box and froze.

“Montmartre?” I squeaked. “He sent me flowers?”

Dad flicked the box a baleful glare. “Yes.”

“I’m putting them down the incinerator,” I said darkly. The last thing I wanted was Montmartre or his Host to know who I was. I was also hoping to slip out while everyone else was distracted. I should have known better.

“You can do that later.” Mom pointed to a chair. “Sit.” I dropped onto a velvet settee. Nicholas sat as well, joining my other brothers, who were all watching me grimly.

“Don’t you lot have anything better to do?” I asked.

“Th an protecting our annoying baby sister?” Quinn drawled. “No.” Being the only girl in a family of boys would have been tough enough to navigate, never mind a family with the rare ability to give birth to mostly male vampires. Even among the Drakes, that ability is rare. Most vampires are “made,” not born. My mom, for example, had been human until my dad turned her shortly after I was born and they’d decided they didn’t want any more children. He’d been born human too, like my brothers, until his sixteenth birthday—when he’d sickened, the way we all did—

and would have died if my aunt hadn’t given him her blood to drink.

Family legend has it that the first of our clan was William Drake. No one knows how he was turned. We did know he married Veronique DuBois, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. A year after their wedding, she went into labor with their firstborn. After twenty- seven hours of childbirth, the midwife told William that Veronique was not going to survive the birth. In desperation, William turned her, and their twins were born healthy. By their sixteenth birthday, though, the twins weakened and grew unnaturally sensitive to the sunlight. They were hungry but couldn’t eat, thirsty but couldn’t drink. Nothing tempted them.

Except blood.

And so the Drake vampire family began.

Veronique, as the oldest surviving Drake, is our family matriarch. William was staked by a hunter during the reign of Henry VIII. Veronique rarely visited, preferring to have us come to her once we’d survived the change and she could afford to get attached. At least she hadn’t joined us tonight, which meant it wasn’t a formal meeting, just a family ambush. She was scary enough that she probably could have given Lady Natasha a run for her crown if she’d wanted it. Luckily for everyone, she preferred embroidery to court intrigue.

“Solange, are you listening to me?”

I jerked my head up.

“Yes.” I’d heard this particular lecture enough times over the last few months to know it intimately. “Nothing happened. You’re all overreacting.” I did feel guilty; I just knew better than to show it.

“There were at least three of them in that field tonight, maybe more.” Nicholas scowled. “You know they don’t all send flowers. Most of them just want to grab you and run.”

I scowled back. “I could have handled it. It wasn’t even full dark yet. Besides, if they were so dangerous, why’d you nearly leave Lucy behind?”