“Frozen is good.” I smiled as he ripped the box open, letting my head hit the table as the toaster went down. I liked the girls, but Lucy, especially, was inquisitive to the point of exhaustion.

“I never thought I’d ever eat anything out of a box from the freezer,” Trent said, his voice distant in thought, “but the girls want everything now, and frankly, these aren’t half bad.”

My breath was coming back stale from the table. It sounded as if he was in the fridge again, and curious, I pulled my head up as he set butter and cold maple syrup on the counter. Nina had fallen asleep in the chair, her head lolling back and her breath even.

I had said I wasn’t going to tell Ivy, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that Felix had been dipping into her Nina as if she were his personal thirty-one-flavor shop. My anger was a slow, steady burn for the lie she was living. Ivy was trying to help her, damn it. Ivy loved her. And Nina wasn’t even trying.

A muffled thump echoed through the walls, and Nina snorted awake. For an instant, we froze. Alarm slid through me at Nina’s expression. She was scared. It wasn’t fear for Ivy, it was fear for herself. What have you done, tricky little vampire?

My eyes went to Ivy’s monitor: elevated pulse. Panic dribbled through my thoughts, and I stood.

“Rachel?” Nina quavered.

Fear slammed into me, and I ran.

“Jonathan!” Trent shouted, but I was already sliding to a halt at Ivy’s door. Heart pounding, I yanked it open. Fear bubbled up, acidic and paralyzing. Ivy was on the bed struggling with a man all in white.

Jaw clenched, I silently grabbed his arm and flung him off her. His mask pulled free and he crashed into a bank of low cupboards, arms and legs askew. Ivy’s face was creased in pain. Her eyes met mine as she held her middle and slid off the bed and out of the way.

The man’s black shoulder-length hair stood out strongly against the white of his suit, and the annoyed expression on his young face ticked me off. “Who let you in?” I said, and he smirked as he got to his feet.

Living-vampire fast, he made a dart for the door. I jumped for him, careful not to hold him long enough for him to turn and get a grip. It had been years since I’d sparred with Ivy, but hard-won lessons die even harder. My foot jabbed out to hit the back of his knee. He went down, pissed when he caught himself with his palms on the floor. Tossing the hair from his eyes, he shook his head, the promise of hurt in his eyes.

He came at me fast and hard. I blocked, the sudden pain in my arm vanishing when his second strike made it go numb. I retreated, pulling the side bar from the bed and slamming it into his next swing. He hissed in pain, and I spun with it in the bare moment he hesitated. It hit him square across the temple, and he reeled backward. My heart pounded as he staggered, hand to his head. I still had my magic, and as he shook the stars from his sight, I pulled the line to me.