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as they sensed him pass. Nervous coachmen steadied them, and when these men saw nothing in the road, they crossed themselves.
    Raven reached the house that had once been his: a huge home of golden stone on Grosvenor Square that spanned half the block. His cousin lived here now. His cousin was mortal. When Raven had left the world to believe him dead, his cousin Anthony had inherited the title of Marquis of Ravenhunt.
    Some vampires who were peers attempted to live normal lives. They kept their titles, lived in their mansions, and tried to act like humans. He knew of many. The Earl of Brookshire was a vampire earl who also worked for the Royal Society. So was the Earl of Blackmoor. The Duke of Greystone was a vampire and a dragon hunter.
    There was only one thing Raven missed of the mortal world. Tonight he was going to go and see her. His heart ached already at the anticipation of laying eyes on her for the first time in a week.
    With lightning speed, he crossed the lawns, strode over the flagstones of the terrace, and reached the side of the house. He needed to remain clothed so he could not shift shape and fly.
    His heart rate, normally so slow as to be almost undetectable, sped to a thunder.
    It was these moments that made an eternity of hell bearable. This was the only reason he did not walk out into the light and destroy himself.
    He did not destroy himself because he had a girl to protect. His sister, Frederica. Even though he could never let her see him, he could watch over her and keep her safe.
    At first, given his black-hearted disposition and his natural enjoyment of violence, he had enjoyed being a vampire. He’d reveled in the power. But having so much power quickly became boring. His prey was too easily hunted.
    At least, when he’d been a mortal solider, he had stood a good chance of getting blown off the face of the earth with a well-placed pistol shot or a cannon ball. The risk of death made it more fun.
    He’d gone looking for death.
    Unfortunately the moment it had almost been handed to him, it had been snatched from his grasp by a vampire queen who had wanted him to be her lover for eternity.
    As he approached the house, Raven took a breath. The sooty smell of hundreds of burning candles touched his nostrils. He detected hundreds of blends of perfume, along with the heady smells of bouquets of flowers and a lavish supper.
    Over all those smells, he was flooded by an overwhelming coppery-smelling wave—the aroma of blood given off by hundreds of mortals.
    His fangs shot out.
    Hades, they were more unruly than his cock—always lengthening at the wrong time.
    “Calm yourself,” he muttered to them. “You will not be feeding here tonight. We are here for another purpose entirely.”
    Likely he should feel something—some anger, some regret, some bitterness—to be reduced to climbing the wall of his former home instead of walking in the front door.
    The stone blocks of the house wall cut into his bare hands, but each wound healed instantly. Hoisting himself over a railing, he landed lightly on the terrace on the upper floor. Below was the ballroom, but he entered the window of his sister Frederica’s bedchamber.
    Her scent lingered. Light, lavender, sweet as a meadow of flowers.
    Her bed was turned down, ready for her to slide into it at dawn, exhausted after a night of dancing. His portrait hung across from her bed. That gave him a good dose of guilt. His sister missed him. She wanted his picture where she could see him every day.
    Frederica thought him dead.
    This was her second London Season. His cousin Anthony, the marquis, was her guardian and overseeing her introduction to Society now that she was eighteen. She would soon find a husband.
    Raven wanted to ensure the gentleman she accepted was worthy of her. He could do that by standing in the shadows, learning whom she became engaged to, then hunting down the truth about the man.
    Frederica’s silken pillow, her folded nightdress, her brush and