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himself into my contacts list. So not only did he overstay his welcome, eat my candy, and interfere in my job, he’d been in my phone snooping around. Who does that kind of crap? I almost smiled at the last name he’d put in for himself but stopped with a scowl. Just because it said T.T.B.-Daniel did not mean he was forgiven or cute. Or funny. Or strangely generous. No, no, no to all of it. He was being all alpha male and stepping on my independence. I definitely did not need any of that.
    I snarled for a full minute at the screen for good measure before highlighting Thibodeaux House.
    The phone rang ten times before I hung up and tried again. Another ten rings. No machine or voicemail pickup. The lack of voicemail wasn’t a surprise, but someone usually answered the phone. Chills raced up my spine.
    The vamps in my father’s court are not restricted by daylight and tend to keep a schedule pretty similar to a human’s. At least, I think they do. I’d never spent much time there finding out.
    They also keep humans around to feed on. Playing food to the Incubi doesn’t appeal to me, but for some people, it’s an easy trade off—lots of sex, no chance of a disease, almost no danger of pregnancy, and a great place to live. The Incubi don’t even kill their food often, at least, not that I’d seen.
    A sick feeling settled into the pit of my stomach, and I swallowed hard against a wave of acid making its way up my throat. My mother’s number appeared on the screen, and I tried her. Chances were good she’d know where my father was. The phone rang. And rang. The sick feeling tightened into a knot that twisted and coiled over on itself.
    My parents and I didn’t communicate well. Or often. The night I left, I’d sorta screamed at them, broken a few things, and stomped out the door without looking back. Seven years should be enough time to forgive me and look past my destruction of a few antiques. We were all grownups now.
    I didn’t have any other ties to the vamp community to contact. Perhaps I shouldn’t have spent so much time chasing all my so-called “conquests” out the door before even learning their names.
    I hated second-guessing myself. A fingernail found its way between my teeth.
    If my parents simply weren’t answering my call, that would be one thing. But I knew with a certainty deep in my gut it was more than that. My father wanted me to stay a part of his court, but he’d let me go when I insisted on leaving. He’d known. And still he’d let me go. The never-ending stream of hungry vampires—and the consequences of feeding them while not feeding myself—might have sent someone else home crying and ready to toe the line. Phillipe Thibodeaux counted on it. Wikipedia probably featured his picture in the pages on arrogance and self-assured, overbearing nobility.
    My mother, Eleanore, on the other hand, well, our relationship didn’t even qualify for much besides a footnote mention. She’d given birth to me and promptly handed me off to a nanny. Pleasing my father was her sole focus in life. Giving birth to me pleased him, so she’d performed as asked. After she finished incubating, she viewed me as simply one more accomplishment to hold over the heads of the other concubines. I was an item on a checklist created to garner favor, and that was all.
    Be chosen for sex the most times this month—check.
    Be complimented on oral sex technique—check.
    Give birth to female child—check.
    Get back into bed with Phillipe—check.
    My phone chimed while I stood there staring at it wondering what to do. Anna again. The message popped up under the first one she’d sent.
    I’m home. Call me.
    Another text followed a few minutes later.
    What’s wrong? Call me or I’m coming over.
    You’d think a five-foot-two-inch blonde with porcelain skin and the build of a fine-boned doll would be agreeable and sweet. And Anna could be. She could also be rather pushy and brash.
    I wondered for the thousandth time if