Sleep had come easily for Jaenor, despite the complications of the day.
He'd been lying beside Kate, her breathing deep and steady, her body relaxed in the particular way that indicated genuine rest. His own sleep was lighter—never fully unconscious, always maintaining some level of awareness. Three hundred years of survival had taught him that complete vulnerability was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Around 2:47 AM, something woke him.
Not a sound. His hearing was acute enough that he would have caught noise before consciousness fully surfaced. But there was a presence—multiple presences, moving through the house with deliberate stealth.
Jaenor's eyes opened.
He lay perfectly still for a moment, assessing. The presences were downstairs, moving through the ground floor.
Vampires, he could sense them now, the wrongness of their nature pressing against his awareness.
Drusilla.
