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Vlad looked at the floor, his lips pursed.

“Tell me,” I said softly. “Please.”

He ran his hand down his face and cast a quick glance over at Damyr. He was deep in an animated conversation with Acheron. Probably something to do with the extra witch. Maybe he saw it as invading his territory having a witch here. But what did I know about hierarchy in the supernatural world, I’d only just learnt about vampires.

“Back when Damyr was newly turned, he met someone. Edwin Thomas Morley. They were inseparable, the best of friends.”

“They became lovers?”

Vlad nodded. “They kept it secret, meeting in the dead of night, but Damyr fell in love.”

I could tell by the way Vlad’s expression soured, this tale didn’t have a happy ending. “What happened to them?”

“Damyr told him what he was.”

“And he freaked?”

“No. Even worse. He agreed to be turned.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The fool bragged about it to his family, and he caught the attention of a clan of Hunters.”

My heart clenched. “Poor Damyr.”

“They strung Edwin’s body up as a warning for everyone else. Damyr was forced to go on the run, and he ran for over half a century. Losing himself, becoming more violent and chasing down Hunters as revenge. He was angry and volatile when Lucia met him and, at the time, she spoke to the darkness in him. They agreed to marry, and the rest is history.”

I looked at Damyr and almost cried for him. All that pain and anger he must have felt. All that suffering he went through.

“Sorry,” Vlad mumbled. “It’s because of your connection that you feel things about him a bit more viscerally than you would normally.”

“Is it the same for him?” It would be pretty rubbish if this thing was all one sided.

Vlad chuckled. “Not as intensely as you, the guy is as old as dirt, but he can definitely feel it.”

Interesting. Now I had even more questions, but they were probably best kept for a private moment with Damyr.

“Enough,” Damyr shouted and everyone in the room froze. “He’s staying and that’s that.”

Acheron threw a dirty look at Wilder, who just returned one of absolute mirth. He was definitely enjoying how uncomfortable Acheron was, but I found it odd that he kept glancing at Byron. Almost like he was checking the maniac was still there.

“What’s the deal between Byron and Wilder?” I asked Vlad.

He snorted and followed it up with a groan. “Those two are like gasoline and fire. A dangerous and explosive combination that always ends up in destruction.”

“So why is he here?”

Vlad gave me a flat look. “Because it’s Dara’s idea of fun. And annoyingly, he’s a really good witch so he will actually be helpful.”

Damyr sat at his computer and pulled a USB out of a sleek little black box. A mini version of the one that delivered the dead body. Whoever this guy was, he certainly had a flair for the theatrical.

Vlad moved to stand by Damyr’s shoulder. I went to sit down in one of the armchairs opposite the desk, but Byron grabbed my arm as I walked past him, and dragged me onto the sofa with him.

“Sit with me, little bird,” he crooned in what I could only describe as the filthiest, huskiest tone I’d ever heard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I gasped.

“A long list of things, pretty boy.” Byron propped his arm along the back of the sofa and wriggled closer, casting a sidelong look at Wilder.