Chapter 1

My sister and I are twin vampires hiding in the human world.

I got bored with immortality, so I set myself up with the ultimate cover—sole heir to the British throne, spending my days eating, drinking, and lounging around in a castle.

My sister, though, insisted on slumming it like some lesser creature, chasing after human love. She latched onto a broke loser who hung around bars all day, working herself to the bone just to keep him fed.

I warned her to stay away from that man. Those so-called female friends of his were nothing but leeches.

She waved me off. "Not every guy's a deadbeat. His friends have been perfectly nice to me. They even invite me out for afternoon tea."

Watching her blush like a lovesick idiot, I couldn't be bothered to argue. I severed our twin telepathic link right then and there.

Vampires have insane regenerative abilities, after all. I figured I'd sit back and see just how badly she could get herself burned.

And so I enjoyed the good life for the better part of a year.

Until the first heavy snowfall to hit Longvale in a decade.

A bolt of agony exploded in my temple, and my sister's near-death scream—the sound of flesh burning to ash—tore through my mind with perfect clarity.

*****

"Your Highness, the spring tea from Ireland has arrived. Would you like—" Herbert, the old butler, was cut off by a sharp crack.

The antique bone china cup shattered to dust between my fingers. Tea splashed across my hand, but I couldn't feel the heat.

"Your Highness?" Herbert's voice sounded very far away.

A searing pain detonated behind my temples. Catherine's screams flooded every nerve, ripping through the twin bond between us.

This wasn't ordinary pain.

It was flesh being eaten away layer by layer by holy water. Silver nails driven through bone. The smell of charred skin rising from below. All of it pouring through our twin bond straight into my nervous system.

My knee slammed into the rosewood table.

A second later, I kicked it over.

The antique table crashed against the marble floor with a heavy thud, silver candlesticks rolling everywhere.

"Herbert!" I yelled.

"Your High—" he said.

"Code red. Now."

Herbert froze for two seconds, his face going pale. "Your Highness, a code red requires mobilizing the Royal Guard and the mercenary corps. That level of authorization—"

"Did I stutter?"

I grabbed him by the collar of his tailcoat and dragged the old man who'd served our family for forty years right up to my face. His Adam's apple bobbed against my fingers.

"Catherine is in the East End. She's dying."

Herbert's eyes went wide. "The East End? Your Highness, the East End is lawless territory. The blizzard has already shut down three main roads. The armored vehicles would need at least—"

"Then plow through with the Range Rovers."

I released his collar and pulled the walking cane from the umbrella stand by the fireplace.

Three minutes.

Herbert had the convoy at the front gates in three minutes. Ten armored Range Rovers in formation, engines roaring through the blizzard.

I climbed into the passenger seat. Herbert ran after us with a radio in hand. "Your Highness, the road conditions in the East End—"

"Kill every traffic light," I said.

The convoy plunged into the storm.

Longvale hadn't seen snow like this in a decade. Streetlamps blurred into halos of light, and the vehicles carved deep ruts through the drifts.

The driver's hand trembled on the steering wheel.

"Your Highness, there's a barricade two hundred yards ahead," his voice was panic.

"Ram it," I said it calmly.

"Your...Your Highness, those are municipal barriers."

"I said ram through."

The armored hood slammed into the concrete blocks with a deafening crash. The barriers went flying, chunks of debris smashing into the windshield of the car behind us, spiderwebbing the glass.

My temple throbbed again.

Catherine's screams in my head were growing intermittent, fading to almost nothing.

The convoy screeched to a halt outside an abandoned abbey.

Four or five thugs in leather jackets stood blocking the entrance with guns, cursing at the royal crest on the hood.

"This is private fucking property! Your people can get the hell," they yelled.

I seized the steering wheel from the driver.

Floored it.