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“He lives in a forest in South America.”

“So I’ll need a passport? Because I don’t have one.”

Galen shook his head. “I have access to a private plane and we can make it over the borders without notice.”

Even with that worked out, however, I noticed Galen didn’t exactly look happier. In fact, I’d venture the opposite. He appeared tenser than he had when I’d arrived, as though every little bit of time here, with me, had only caused him more uneasiness.

Why?

He’d never been a super-chill dude, but he’d never been like this.

The memory of how he’d pulled his hand back stuck with me. I chalked it all up to stress, to the frustration of what was happening, the fear that his entire clan might be in danger and that he might not have a way to save them.

Galen always took those things on himself, felt responsible for it all, for everything.

So I finished the coffee—more slowly this time—and didn’t address it, didn’t risk making it worse by pointing out the way he was acting.

I could only hope that when we fixed this, when we found a way to save them, he’d relax.

Because the thought of him snapping scared even me.

Chapter Eleven

“Rituals?” Kelvin gave me the exact response I expected from him. Good to know he wouldn’t disappoint me, even if I didn’t like it. The word came out on a laugh, as though I were asking him about Santa.

“Yes, rituals. Do you know of any?”

“Graves aren’t the superstitious type.”

“You are literally brought back from the dead—let’s not act like you’re somehow immune to crazy beliefs.”

“Be that as it may, no, I’m not aware of any vampire rituals.”

“What about other Graves?”

“Necromancers might, mediums might, but anything else? I don’t know.”

I blew out a disappointed breath before adding, “Maybe not now, but can you think of hearing about anyone ever doing such a thing?”

He tapped his finger against the top of his knee as he stared out of the large window.

He’d moved into the penthouse—and boy fuck did I not feel comfortable there. I couldn’t quite get the memory of the last leader of the Grave Clan, William, whose body I’d seen in here.

And whose murder I was framed for.

Sort offramed by Kelvin, no less, even if not on purpose.

Sure, Kelvin had gutted the place, redone every wall, all the flooring, moved in furniture that was more fitting to his style, but the layout remained the same. It was why I preferred to meet at hotels for our time, but sometimes coming here was my only choice.

I had access to the penthouse now, not just for deliveries. The records showed me as his thrall, even if there were some questions about how the bond worked. It gave me the ability to come and go as I pleased, and vampires tended to give me a pretty large margin of space now.

Even after all that mess, however, after knowing that Kelvin was involved in some shady shit, in the vampire extremist group Blackstone, we’d never really addressed it. I had a feeling that anything I asked wouldn’t get a straight answer anyway.

“There are stories of things vampires used to do, yes. I don’t know if I’d call them rituals.”

“What things?”

“Human sacrifice, for one. Blood sacrifices. Who doesn’t love to sacrifice a virgin?”