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A curt nod.

“I am a fan.”

“You know a little of the sword, I suppose,” Isao allowed.

Dominique couldn’t help himself. “Will you teach me more?”

Isao studied him, his face still inscrutable. “There is more to you than your youngling scent betrays.”

“A little.”

“And yet—” a small frown formed on his broad brow “—Esteban could trap you.”

“I was not at my best that night.”

“I see.” Isao sidled deeper into the dark corners of the field. Dominique didn’t move. “Does that happen often? You not being at your best?”

“It happens when I…do not get enough rest.”

Isao cast him an uncertain look over his shoulder.

“Which is rare,” Dominique assured and changed the subject. “Have you heard of the fire in Surrey today?”

Isao turned all the way back to Dominique, facing him from a good twenty feet away. “You know that place?”

“I have seen it. It belongs to Adilla?”

“Yes.”

“What did he use it for?”

Another pause. “It’s called the ‘factory’ and it was one of several. They process blood there.” He moved back toward Dominique, his long coat swaying around him. “They find the lonely and destitute and compel them to tell whatever few people who may care that they are leaving the city for good. Then they report to one of these places where they are prepared, drained, and bottled.”

“Fiendish,” Dominique murmured, surprised by this clever, well-organized system of making large numbers disappear.

“What was your business there, young one?”

“I followed a blood-drinker, but I let her go when she disappeared inside.”

“Wise decision. She likely was one of Esteban’s soldiers. Her purpose was likely to lure you into another trap and finish you.”

“Not just me. You, too. It was wired to explode if anyone tried to open the trap from the outside.”

“That, regrettably, sounds like Esteban. He must have caught my scent in the office.” A new suspicion sharpened his features. “How would you know this and survive?”

“I sent my human emissaries to investigate. They barely escaped.” And one was being a literal pain in the ass. His phone vibrated against his buttocks, probably with another text from Garrett.

“Slaves,” Isao said with a derisive snort.

Dominique made a small, ironic smile but didn’t argue. There was no point explaining the Strikers right now, but he liked this man and his moral compass. So did Cassidy, whose presence lingered in his mind like a banked ember. He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and did his best to look as non-threatening as possible, for he knew Isao was about to reach another conclusion.

“So much power in one so young. Who sired you?”

And there it was.

“The strongest of our kind.” He took a step toward Isao. “A very ancient one who was weary of the dark. But instead of condemning his kingdom to end with him, he chose me as his heir. He no longer exists, but his essence and power do—in me.”

Dominique could almost see the wheels turning behind Isao’s narrowed eyes. It was a preposterous story, but it was also the only plausible explanation for the things Isao had seen Dominique do. “Then tell me his name,” he whispered. “Tell me the name of the one who made you.”