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“Drop her right now, Alastair,” Fey snarled, and the Vampire’s head whipped towards her.

“Fey?” he asked. His hand immediately loosened around Lilith’s throat, and she drew a deep, strained breath. The blade Willow held at his throat was now pressed tight enough to his skin to draw a line of blood, vivid red against the pale white of his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were entirely focused on where Fey stood, and his gaze held an intensity that burned into her.

He stared at Fey like she was the only person in the room, eyes heating as he took in what little clothing she wore. Stared at her right up until the very moment Lilith wrapped her hands around his wrist and called Fire.

Alastair howled in pain as Lilith’s hands burned into his wrist and he flung her aside. Lilith hit the ground hard, but still managed to roll skillfully into a crouch, agile as a cat.

“You’ll have to do a hell of a lot better than that, handsome,” Lilith told him in a mocking voice, drawing her blades from their sheaths at her side. “Willow, be a dear and go ahead and slit this asshole’s throat.”

“Gladly,” Willow replied, adjusting her arm, but Alastair’s hand closed over her wrist faster than Fey’s eyes could register, holding the blade an inch from his skin. Fey’s chest tightened, knowing her little sister wasn’t a match for a Vamp as strong and quick as him. It would take no effort at all for him to snap her delicate wrist like a twig.

“That’s ENOUGH!”

The blast of air that hit them was strong enough to knock all three of them backward, flinging Willow from Alastair’s back. She hit the glass door, and the spiderweb cracks spread even further from the impact. Lilith hit the window hard enough to finally break the glass free from the metal frame, and the huge sheet of glass hit the ground outside and shattered. Alastair alone remained upright, though the blast of wind took him down to one knee.

Joy stalked into the room, unclasping her mask and flinging it aside, her uncovered hair trailing behind her like a cape. A storm raged in her blue eyes, and the fury that came from her was palpable enough to feel almost physical.

“What the fuck do you two think you’re doing?” she snapped, pointing her finger at Lilith like it was a weapon.

“Our jobs,” Lilith snarled back, struggling to her feet, glass shards cracking beneath her. “This Vamp broke into our safe house.”

“And what, you just attacked him? You didn’t bother to ask what he was doing here? Why he broke in?”

“He’s a Vampire,” Willow whined, as though that was enough of an explanation to absolve them of any blame. She rubbed the back of her head where it had hit the window.

“He’s Fey’s Vampire,” Joy answered.

“Wait, no—he’s not Fey’s anything,” Fey insisted. All three of her sisters turned to look at her, as though just now noticing her there.

But Alastair hadn’t stopped staring at her from the moment he’d seen her.

“Where have you been?” he hissed, ignoring everyone else in the room. He stood, and Fey was pleased to see Joy’s power had left him slightly shaky.

“Oh no, we’re asking the questions here,” Lilith said in a dark and deadly voice, circling him. “Starting with how you found this place. And I’d talk fast, my sister isn’t the patient type, and I already promised her she could slit your throat, so…”

Willow smirked, and Alastair finally took his eyes off Fey to look at Lilith.

“You showed me where this place was,” he purred to her. And Lilith’s teeth visibly clenched. “You were so easy to follow, it didn’t even take a week to track you down. I’ve had my staff on alert for you—for any of you—since last night, and one of them spotted you this afternoon. In a pizza place.”

“Why?” Fey asked, suspicion and anger in her voice. “Why in all hell did you have people out looking for us?”

“I’ve been calling you,” Alastair snarled. A dark red bead of blood welled in the cut at his neck, and as he spoke it dripped down to rest in the grove of his collarbone. “Three weeks, Fey. For three fucking weeks you’ve been gone. Poof, like you fucking vanished, without a word.”

“Sweetie, maybe you’re just not as memorable in bed as you think,” Lilith teased, but Fey shot her a warning glare, and she went quiet with a smirk.

“I lost my phone,” Fey said, a hard finality to her voice.

It wasn’t a lie. At some point, either in the fight with the Shifter or when she’d plummeted off a cliff and into the river, her phone had been lost. Though, she hadn’t given any thought to Alastair in the last three weeks, hadn’t even considered that he would trying to contact her.

“But even if I hadn’t, I don’t belong to you,” Fey continued. “And I don’t owe you an explanation for vanishing.”

“What about a real name? Do you owe me that?” Alastair snarled. “Because you sure as fuck didn’t bother even bother with that, did you, Fey?”

The room went quiet. A dangerous quiet, the frightening stillness before a storm.

“What do you mean I didn’t give you a real name?” The question came out as nonchalantly as she could make it, but even Fey could hear the threat in her voice. Alastair was very close to something he should let go of, for his safety.

“When I couldn’t get a hold of you, I got worried. So, guess what I did? I looked into you, Fey, and what do you know? You don’t even fucking exist.”