“Introductions,” the bass voice said, and it belonged to a terrifying-looking man, tall and dark, a man who did not suffer fools lightly, a man who would just as soon eat you as listen to you whine. Oh, she could like this man. “They are long overdue.”

Chapter 2

The tall dark man was the king of the vampires: Sinclair. The tall blond woman was the queen: Betsy (har!). The black woman was their monkey-servant/friend/ watcher-type: Jessica. Garrett was a “Fiend” named “George.” The shorter brunette woman was an ordinary vampire, their servant, like a beta werewolf back home: Tina. They all lived together along with a monkey named Marc, who was currently “on shift.” It made much sense to Antonia; Michael and Jeannie, her alphas, surrounded themselves with betas. They lived together like a family.

One in which she had no part.

She shoved that thought away and it went, as she was practiced at ridding herself of that particular thought. Instead, she pondered the most fascinating thing about these oddballs: The king, the queen, and Garrett had no scent at all.

She had heard of vampires, of course, but she had never seen one. Nor did she know anyone who had ever met one—or, at least, who admitted to it. According to lore, vampires were territorial to a degree that they had convinced themselves werewolves didn’t exist. Which was perfectly fine with the werewolves.

“Well, here I am, then,” Antonia said, feeling peevish that she’d assumed the servant was the mistress. “Put me to work.”

“If you’ll give us a moment, Antonia,” the king said pleasantly, in the way leaders pretended like they were asking. “We need to ‘catch up,’ as it were. You say you’re a werewolf?”

“Yes.”

“Mm-hmm. And you left your pack to serve our queen? The queen of the vampires?”

“I didn’t know she was the queen of the vampires,” Antonia explained. “That part wasn’t in the picture.”

“But you believe us? That we’re vampires?” the queen asked.

Antonia shrugged. “Sure.”

Sinclair continued. “And you get these, ah, pictures of the future? Do you have a camera of sorts?”

“Yes, my brain,” she snapped. “Which is overtaxed right now having to go through this again.”

“Do not speak that way to the king,” the tiny brunette, Tina, warned her.

“Why not? He’s not my king.”

“This is how you serve the queen?” Sinclair asked silkily. Antonia, who hardly ever noticed such things, noticed his suit: black, immaculate, and obviously made for him.

“I’m here to help the queen, not kiss your ass. I think ‘serve’ might be an exaggeration. I’m not a walking TGI Friday’s.”

The queen burst into helpless laughter, which almost made Antonia smile. Certainly, everyone else in the room was looking sour.