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“I’m working on it,” Cassian says. “I’ll text Piper when I’m finished.”

They end the call, and then Noah hits another speed dial in his phone. “Daniel,” he says, “Hey, I know it’s late…”

He explains the situation to his friend at NIHA, requesting hunters to be put on standby. The whole thing feels big and official. Maybe I should have stayed home, locked my doors, and hoped for the best.

“Cassian just texted,” I tell Noah when he ends his call. “He’s in our circle, and everything appears to be working correctly. I can see his location, and he says he can see ours.”

“Tell him to text you every fifteen minutes after we stop. If you don’t answer, he needs to tell Daniel to send people in right away.”

“So, you know those action movies?” I say. “With the spies and the guns and the intercom things? I don’t really watch those, and I’m not sure I’m qualified for this.”

Noah flashes me a wry smile. “You said you wanted to come.”

“I mean, I didn’t want you to go alone. But what’s the chance I’m going to wake up tomorrow as a second-stage pre-vamp?”

“Larissa’s boss, whoever they might be, isn’t in the business of giving handouts. I highly doubt they’re going to bite you.”

“Right.” I’m reminded of something Ethan said that was very similar, and I frown at the red taillights ahead of us. “We’re headed toward Aspen.”

And closer to Cassian, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It’s past midnight when Larissa pulls into a large, old hotel at the edge of town. Landscape lights shine on the building, showing off its Victorian architecture and red roof.

“I’ve been here before,” I tell Noah. “It was on Mother’s Day a few years ago, for afternoon tea. It was ridiculously expensive.”

“It looks ridiculously expensive.” Noah follows Larissa to the parking area. “Grab my phone. Ask Daniel to do a quick search on the address.”

He gives me his passcode, and I find Daniel in his contacts. Noah is parking when a text comes through on his phone.

“Go ahead and read it,” he says.

“Daniel says this place belongs to Alfred Staulington. Does that mean anything to you?”

Noah frowns, looking thoughtful. “Alfred is a son of the Staulington line—a wealthy branch of British vampires that came to America in the early 1800s. He’s a playboy and a cad, and he buys up hotels like he’s playing a board game. Though he has unsavory acquaintances, and we know he’s providing safe havens for unregistered vampires on his properties, we’ve never been able to pin him with anything illegal.”

“A son? Like…anactualson?”

“Yes. His father is Jameson Staulington, the head of the line. He was changed not long after his son was born. He and his wife waited until Alfred reached adulthood, and then they infected him.”

“Are there many true families at the head of the houses?” I ask.

“No.”

“Did they pay to be infected?”

“I believe so, but there wouldn’t have been laws against it at that time.”

“How did vampires function before the prescription blood was created?”

“Before laws were made against it, many well-off families had donors in their employ.”

My stomach crawls. “You meanpeople?”

Noah opens his door. “It was a dark era.”

I shudder as I follow him out of the SUV. He pauses next to the vehicle, looking at his phone.

“What is it?” I ask, not liking the dark scowl on his face.