“Ocella, your presence is always an honor,” Eric said. I giggled harder. Eric was lying.

“What is wrong with my wife?” he asked.

“Her senses are confused,” the older vampire said. “You have my blood. She’s had your blood. And another child of mine is here. The bond between us all is scrambling her thoughts and feelings.”

No shit.

“This is my new son, Alexei,” Appius Livius Ocella told Eric.

I peered past Eric’s legs. The new “son” was a boy of no more than thirteen or fourteen. In fact, I could hardly see his face. I froze, trying not to react.

“Brother,” said Eric by way of greeting his new sibling. The words came out level and cold.

I was going to stand up now. I was not going to crouch here any longer. Eric had crowded me into a very small space between the bed and the nightstand, with the bathroom door to my right. He hadn’t shifted from his defensive posture.

“Excuse me,” I said, with a great effort, and Eric took a step forward to give me room, keeping himself between me and his maker and the boy. I rose to my feet, pushing on the bed to get upright. I still felt fried. I looked Eric’s sire right in his dark and liquid eyes. For a fraction of a second, he looked surprised.

“Eric, you need to go to the front door and let them in,” I said. “I’ll bet they don’t really need an invitation.”

“Eric, she’s rare,” said Ocella in his oddly accented English. “Where did you find her?”

“I’m asking you in out of courtesy, because you’re Eric’s dad,” I said. “I could just leave you outside.” If I didn’t sound as strong as I wanted, at least I didn’t sound frightened.

“But my child is in this house, and if he is welcome, so am I. Am I not?” Ocella’s thick black brows rose. His nose . . . Well, you could tell why they coined the term “Roman nose.” “I waited to come in out of courtesy. We could have appeared in your bedroom.”

And the next moment they were inside.

I didn’t dignify that with an answer. I spared a glance for the boy, whose face was absolutely blank. He was no ancient Roman. He hadn’t been a vampire a full century, I estimated, and he seemed to come from Germanic stock. His hair was light and short and cut evenly, his eyes were blue, and when he met my own, he inclined his head.

“Your name is Alexei?” I asked.

“Yes,” said his maker, while the boy stood mute. “This is Alexei Romanov.”

Though the boy didn’t react, and neither did Eric, I had a moment of sheer horror. “You didn’t,” I said to Eric’s maker, who was about my height. “You didn’t.”