Ever so slowly, Max’s inner beast appeared. His eyes blazed blue, and his fangs dropped, yet he still sat quietly as Concepcion babbled on. Even when she directed her disdain toward the woman she’d yet to meet, calling Bennett a filthy pig of a whore servant, Max didn’t respond.

Prior to Concepcion’s visit, Max had spent many nights debating whether to introduce Bennett to Concepcion and perhaps even invite her to join them at dinner. However, well versed in all those who controlled the covens, Max knew Concepcion was by far the most arrogant and the most stupid. Unlike the originals, Concepcion had inherited her position. She hadn’t earned it, and she had all the pomposity that Max and the other firsts had once had; once being the operative word. A smug look overtook Max’s expression, and tired of Concepcion’s need to hear herself talk, he crooked his finger at Victor, and a few seconds later, he was whispering something in the man’s ear.

The room had become quiet except for Concepcion, because the men sitting at the table had ceased to eat. Some had their eyes glued on the woman spouting diatribes, while others remained fixed on their patriarch. Suddenly, the dual entrance doors groaned open, and a warm rush of air followed Victor inside. His eyes met Max’s, and Max got to his feet.

He announced that Concepcion’s carriages and wagons were ready, and when the woman blustered, Max explained that this was his home and she was no longer welcome. He directed his staff to gather the visiting coven's belongings, and within minutes, they brought satchels down the stairs and handed them off to men with eyes of blue and mouths agape.

In 1529, after the loss of one of their own, all the remaining originals realized that more precautions needed to be taken when they traveled. A boarded-up carriage could suffice, but only if it remained on the road. One broken wheel and a startled team of horses could send the carriage down a hill, and all those allergic to light would surely perish. Then there was the matter of prying eyes and questions raised by local noblemen who would come upon the caravans. Why were the windows covered? Why couldn’t they meet those inside? Why were the supply wagons draped in layers of heavy canvas? The solution came from Garrick Neville, one of the firsts, when he was traveling from his home in the south of England to the one in the north. One night, he and his kind came upon a group of people transporting their beloved father back to his birthplace for burial. They didn’t make it, but the old man’s coffin did.