Chapter One

Abraham (Bram) Van Helsing stared down at the moonlit aftermath of the carnage before him. All the death, all the evil that remained, had a backdrop that was hauntingly beautiful. From the mists rising off the ground to the crooked trees that seemed to defy nature, logic, and gravity, the spot felt as if it was enchanted.

In truth, it was cursed.

Bathed in darkness and hungry for blood. There was a heady mix of decay, from rotting wood and leaves, the forest in general, and from the bodies. While the victims hadn't been dead long, Bram's supernatural senses could pick up everything, including the large quantity of blood coating the area. He didn't need to see it all to know it was there. He could smell it. It excited the part of himself that he tried to keep hidden from everyone. The very side that set him apart from the rest of the Van Helsings.

The demon.

Bram didn't dare let his guard down or give in to the lure of the blood that seemed to be everywhere. His control had been hard-fought and had taken well over a century to attain. He refused to let that victory be diminished in a moment of weakness, especially when he knew that had been one of the goals of the man responsible for the bloodshed.

A dangerous supernatural who had been a thorn in Bram's side for over a hundred years, going dormant for decades, only to resurface, making sure Bram was aware he'd returned. Nothing was ever easy when it came to the old foe.

Ager.

It was as if his name was a self-fulfilling prophecy. It meant gatherer, and that summed up Ager nicely. He was like moss on a rolling stone, collecting other criminal supernatural masterminds as he went. He was feared among most circles.

Ager was a natural-born necromancer— someone whose magik centered on death. He could reach through the veil between the living and the dead. He could control vampires who were under a certain age. He could raise the dead depending on the age of the corpse. It was said he could drain the life force from the living. All Bram knew for certain was that others feared Ager and followed him blindly. He'd surfaced with a vengeance recently, leaving behind a river of red from the death and destruction he'd caused. If left unchecked, there was no telling what the man was capable of, and Bram didn't want to find out.

He needed to be stopped.

In all the years Bram had been hunting the bastard, Ager had worked with nearly all the greats —an all-star league of paranormal heavy hitters. Supernaturals so evil and vicious, their very names were spoken in hushed whispers by most.

He'd not become what he was alone. He had the backing of a group so large they had proven impossible to take down—The Order of the Dragon.

The Order was a secret society devoted to the supernatural, whose end goal was ever fluid but appeared to center on no longer hiding from humans but instead, ruling them. It was composed of nearly every type of supernatural creature there was, all vying for more power and a higher standing within their group.

Often, internal power plays and fighting kept The Order semi-manageable.

Over the years, The Order had made multiple attempts to get Bram to stand with them, rather than against. The very idea of aligning himself with the likes of The Order set his teeth on edge. They existed to be in direct opposition to all that he held true and right. Regardless of how many tempting carrots they dangled in his face, he would not join them.

He didn't need or want power badly enough to give away what little was left of his soul. Already he straddled a fine line between good and evil. Pressing his luck was unwise.

Bram wasn't sure what, if any, position of power Ager held in The Order, but he had to assume the man was revered. The few face-to-face encounters Bram had with the man spoke volumes to the man's ego. It was virtually endless. Bram could only take a guess that The Order was the one stroking said ego.

The gang of supernaturals Ager had run with for a long time was infamous. A veritable who's who of evildoers. And from the looks of the dead bodies around Bram, the band was back together again.

The trail of destruction they'd left in their wake in recent weeks was proving to be difficult to hide from the humans. If it continued, the secret of supernaturals existing was at risk.

With the ever-increasing abilities of law enforcement and advancements in forensics, it was all Bram and the others like him could do to keep a lid on the truth. Ager and The Order didn't care if the truth was out there.

Then again, the newest kills had been tucked away from the general public's view. In a spot that wasn't the killer's normal stomping grounds. Typically, Ager and his crew liked to hunt and kill in populated cities, making a show of it, not in the middle of a forest. There wasn't quite the same shock and awe. But this kill site wasn't for the public's consumption. It wasn't to get his name—or some variation of it—in the newspapers, creating panic and intrigue.

This one was off the beaten path.

It was a message.

The spot held meaning to Bram. It wasn't Bram's first time in Romania—or even the Hoia- Baciu Forest. It marked the spot where he'd shed his mortal coil, only to take up the mantle of darkness. Bram had fought the battle of good and evil from the shadows, steadfast in his convictions even if a part of him fought against his decisions on nearly every issue.

There had been only a few times in his life, since he'd become one with the demon inside him, that they'd come to an understanding. One of those times had been when Bram had insisted his daughter, Dana, be whisked away from him shortly after she'd been born. That she be raised far from him and the world of supernaturals. Bram and the demon he carried had believed they were acting in Dana's best interests. That they were protecting her from evil.

While that had been forty years ago, the death surrounding him in the Poiana Rotunda—the round glade—of the forest said the decision had been a good one. His world was violent, and he didn't want that to touch her any more than it already had. After all, he was the embodiment of death.

The demon, already on edge with the smell of blood coming at him from all directions, growled inside Bram. It didn't like being reminded its offspring was far from it.

For all the demon's faults, it cared for Dana. Bram dared to say the demon even loved her. It wanted her safe but it also wanted her close.

So did Bram—to a point.

The problem was, she believed him to be long dead. Telling her differently now would also mean having to disclose the truth—that he was immortal. There would be no other way to explain why he looked no more than forty years of age. And at last check, Dana was still in the dark on supernaturals being real, let alone the fact her father was one.

Technically, so was she.

The demon snarled at him from within.

Blood was everywhere, seeping into the forest floor, splattered onto nearby blades of grass, even finding its way to the tree line. The metallic- smelling liquid called to his darkness, presenting a tempting buffet for it to lose itself in.

Bram held firm and stood tall, directing his focus to one of the numerous crooked trees that dotted the landscape of the forest. It was then he picked up on faint notes of hydrogen sulfide in the air.

The rational side of Bram knew what that scent more than likely meant. The side that struggled with the demon couldn't think clearly at the moment. Not with all the death and blood around them. It had basic needs.

Ones that caused it to act with a singular focus.

The monster that lived in him pounded at its metaphysical cage, wanting to be free, wanting blood.

Release me, it pushed, the words appearing in his mind much like they were his own thoughts, but he knew better. He'd shared himself with the demon far too long to think the internal voice was anything but it.

Feed. We need to feed, it continued.

"There is bagged blood at the hotel. We will drink it when we are done here," whispered Bram, knowing the demon could hear him with ease. The issue was, so could everyone else near him at the crime scene if he wasn't careful. Already they tiptoed around him, as if worried he may snap. Well, most did. Some who knew him well paid little mind to his antics.

The demon hissed. Bagged blood. That will not sustain us. Free me!

"Silence, or I will seek the sun to shut you up."

The demon knew Bram well enough to realize he spoke the truth. He felt it retreating—at least for now. After a few terse moments, he was able to once again survey the crime scene before him.

Bram had seen a good number of kills in his long life and was something of an expert on causes of death. His medical background played a part in that, but his expertise also came from his upbringing.

All signs pointed to a vampire being involved, though it hadn't acted alone. There were additional bites on the bodies, as well as spots where flesh had been torn away. Those weren't from a vampire, and Bram didn't want to believe what he was seeing and smelling.

The scent of hydrogen sulfide was strong, but not so much as to mask the smell of blood. That, or the vampire side of Bram was so fixated on the crimson life-giving substance that it muted the smell of rotten eggs to a certain degree.

The smell of hydrogen sulfide was one Bram had committed to memory years ago. One associated with a man he didn't want to think upon.

Dragos.

But that was absurd. The master vampire was locked away—unable to harm others—right? If by some miracle of chance he'd managed to gain his freedom with the aid of The Order of the Dragon and Ager, the situation had just gone from bad to worse. Not that it had very far to fall.

The spree Ager had been on had taken him through a number of countries already. Only two nights ago, Bram had found himself in London, standing in the center of multiple bodies, all lying on the street outside of the very building where he'd had a medical practice long ago. The building had been one he'd shared with a colleague and close friend—Dr. John Seward.

Seward's area of expertise had been mental disorders, and his practice and knowledge had paired well with Bram's. They'd been close friends in life and even closer in death. Seward, at last check, was in New York City. But it had been years since Bram had last spoken to him.

Time moved differently for them.

A falling-out had left the men on anything but speaking terms. Even so, Bram had his men keeping tabs on Seward to be sure he was well and good. The last report he'd gotten from the team that did periodic check-ins on Seward had been months ago. That wasn't alarming, as their first purpose was to stand against evil in New York City and keep the truth of supernaturals from escaping.

Seward was as old as Bram and could hold his own. Still, if what Bram suspected was true—that The Order of the Dragon and Ager had somehow freed Dragos—no one was safe, least of all Seward. There was no telling who else among their notorious partners in crime might be working with them.

At one point, the infamous Whitechapel murderer was rumored to be part of their crew. It wouldn't have surprised Bram. He knew The Ripper wasn't human, but past that, he knew very little. The fact Bram could find next to no details about The Ripper beyond what the newspapers had reported, suggested The Order was involved. They were gifted at hiding facts and bending truths. Controlling the narrative was another of their specialties. Often this came in the form of the media. What humans were spoon-fed was very often anything but the truth.

With Bram's luck, The Ripper was part of the new wave of crimes as well.

"In for a penny…" he said in a partially hushed tone.

"Bram, did you say something?" asked Jonathan Harker, a close friend and confidant, as he bent near one of the victims. Harker's English accent was less than what it had been when they'd first met long ago, but still pronounced. Now, Harker spent the majority of his time in America, heading various offices of the Van Helsing slayers. He'd been based out of the Chicago branch for nearly five years now. Before that, it had been Seattle for over a decade. He'd even headed the Vancouver branch for some time.

As much as Bram disliked pulling Harker from his duties in Chicago, the crime spree Ager had been on was proving to be too much for Bram to handle alone. All hands were needed on deck.

Harker leaned, reaching out, and moved a blood-soaked leaf with the end of a pen. Under the leaf was a small crystal Bram had seen used in death magik ceremonies more than once.

It was then Bram noticed Harker's wristwatch. It had a cartoon mouse on it. Harker had more than assimilated to the changes over time, growing and updating with each era, as noted by his watch and attire.

Bram, not so much. He preferred to wear dress- casual clothing. Whenever possible, he went with timeless choices, often incorporating vintage pieces because they reminded him of when he'd been alive. He also felt more like himself in them. Though he had to admit the fabrics were nicer now than they had been.

Less scratchy.

Jonathan looked as if he'd just rushed over from a university campus after a hard night of partying to lend a hand in the investigation. Though there had been a time when the former solicitor was never caught dead in public without a suit. That was another lifetime.

They'd both changed—considerably.

Bram knew Harker stayed up on all things legal and with each new re-invention of himself, he made sure his credentials listed him as a lawyer, but he didn't actually practice anymore. It was hard to blame him. That profession had been the reason he'd ended up under the thumb of a monster. And ultimately, it had been the catalyst for Bram, Harker, Seward—and their friends Holmwood and Morris—ending up supernaturals.

"Are you in there?" asked Harker. "I asked if you said something."

Bram shook his head.

Harker watched him with knowing eyes. "All the blood too much for you?"

"It's proving to be a challenge," admitted Bram. "I thought I had more control of it, of him."

Standing without hurry, Harker nodded. "We all think that until we don't."

Bram inhaled deeply, still relishing the metallic scent of blood that coated the area, masking nearly all other smells.

Feed. Do it. So much blood for the taking. So, take it. Hear the wolf-shifter's heart beating? Sink your teeth into him.

"I already warned you," he said, this time out loud.

Harker offered a slow blink. "Is this one of those moments when you look like you're talking to me, but you're really talking to your other side?"

"Yes," returned Bram.

"And it's telling you to kill me…again…isn't it?" questioned Harker.

Bram sighed. "Kill? No. Sink my teeth into and feed, yes."

"Oh, that's a step in the right direction," added Harker, a teasing note in his voice. "At this rate it will have you making eyes at me from across the pub."

Bram stared at his longtime friend. "Highly unlikely."

Harker shrugged. "You're not my type."

"Because I'm not a woman?"

Harker grinned. "Right."

"How are we friends again?" asked Bram with a snort.

"Met by way of a prince who liked to impale things. You might remember him. Big ego. Big castle. Big fangs," said Harker, waggling his brows.

With a snort, Bram nodded. "I think I recall who you're talking about."

"He's pretty full of himself. Hard bloke to forget," added Harker.

He wasn't wrong. Vlad, more commonly known as Dracula, did have an ego that was limitless. It didn't help that the character he'd inspired in a novel had spawned countless books, movies, and merchandise. Bram was no stranger to the notoriety either, but he didn't bask in it like Dracula did. Thankfully, the author of the original work, Stoker, had layered in misdirects, taking only grains of truth.

Humans thought they knew the tale. They were wrong. They knew only a version of the story. The actual players were far more deadly, and the evil they'd all faced long ago had come from more than one source. Not to mention, Dracula was hardly the only immortal involved in it all. He was simply the only one who had been somewhat outed.

From Bram's understanding, Dracula got a big kick out of being a famed fictional character from a gothic horror novel. He was even known to show up at places dressed in what people believed he'd wear —a cape, a top hat, and so on.

Stoker's book was meant to be something of a cautionary tale. In truth, the book had the opposite effect than intended. Over the years, humans managed to take it, twist it, put a sexual spin on it, and ultimately romanticize the idea of creatures of the night.

Bram snorted.

He was hardly leading-man worthy.

If anything, he was the type of man a woman should avoid at all costs. He was walking death.

Speak for yourself, snapped the demon. I'm what women crave. You are merely the vessel by which I give them what they want. I am the one with the lure and prowess. You are nothing.

"You are merely a pain in my—" He stopped just short of saying it all when he realized how loudly he was speaking.

"You know, I don't have full-blown conversations with my wolf side," added Harker with a touch of judgment in his voice. "And I haven't run into any other vampires who talk to their demon like you do. You know, heart-to-hearts for all to hear. Not even Prince Dick-u-la. And let's be honest, if anyone of you lot were going to spend forever arguing with himself and thinking he was his own best company—it's him. You're a bit of an odd duck."

"Perhaps you should think about having a heart- to-heart with your wolf, considering you ate one of my Italian loafers while in shifted form last month," said Bram. "That, or think about letting me collar you and take you for walks while you're in wolf form to work out your excess energy and teach you to behave."

Harker snorted. "Nah. I'm fine with my wolf eating your shoes. You've got plenty. You do know you have a weird shoe fetish, right? You have how many pairs?"

Bram shrugged. "A few."

Harker looked at the state of the body nearest him. "What do you think left these bite marks? They don't look to be animal or vampire related. They look almost human. Except there is some curiously putrid-smelling slime all over them."

The tone went from light to serious quickly, considering what they were standing in the center of. With all they'd seen in their long lives, Bram and the others like him were somewhat immune to the horrors of the world. That didn't mean that certain things did not still get to them.

Bram stared harder at the bites and caught another whiff of the rotten-egg smell. It was nearly impossible to deny the evidence before him. "My gut says it was ghouls."

"I was afraid you'd say that," replied Jonathan. "Is that smell what I think it is?"

"The rotten-egg one?" questioned Bram.

Harker gave a slight nod.

Bram returned it and, for a brief moment, neither man said a word.

"Damn," whispered Jonathan, breaking the silence. "All the signs are pointing to Dragos being out and running with this prick again. I mean, we all knew they'd been pals back in the day, but the last time they ran around together was before we came on the scene. Dragos was a bastard to start with. Over the years, we've more than come to know Ager is as big of one, if not worse. If they're in league again, there's no telling what they're capable of."

Chapter Two

Bram said nothing. There wasn't anything to add to it all. He merely stared around at the aftermath. Harker was right. If the necromancer and the others were traveling as one again, no one was safe.

"Might be time to send out another summons," said Harker. "I know you're normally against pulling that card, and that you only just sent a summons around six months ago, but this is bigger than we first thought. The Order is involved, and if we're right, so is Dragos. We'll need all our players on the field."

"I know," said Bram. "I'll do that when we get back to the hotel. It would be unwise for me to tap into my demon side right now—in the middle of all this death and bloodshed."

Harker regarded him closely. "This is about more than just the blood. You still having issues sleeping? No offense, but you look knackered."

"I am," confessed Bram. He had been having issues with sleeping but had only confided as much in Harker. He didn't need everyone more on edge around him.

"The dreams still the same?" inquired Harker.

Bram glanced around, taking into account how close any other members of the team were. "Yes and no."

"Oh, goodie," said Harker with a sideways grunt. "I do love it when you're cryptic."

Bram expelled a long breath before speaking. "The woman is still in them."

"The hot blonde you're getting down and dirty with in the most biblical of ways but when you wake you can't remember her face?" asked Harker.

Bram nodded.

"Tell me again why that would make it hard for you to sleep?" Harker snorted. "I'd be all about getting as much shut-eye as I could if it meant when I closed my eyes, I got to shag a gorgeous woman nightly."

It would be hard to fight that logic, if that was really all that was happening. It wasn't. The dreams brought a sense of panic with them. A deep-set fear that something was going to happen to the woman. That this mysterious woman, whom Bram couldn't ever fully remember during his waking hours, was important to him, and that she was in mortal danger. That something evil was hunting her.

The biggest concern of all was that Bram was the evil he feared.

There were times he woke in a cold sweat, having just dreamt that he'd taken her hard and rough in the most carnal of ways—right before his demon surged up.

Just thinking on it now caused his pulse to speed and sweat to form on his brow.

"You all right?" asked Harker.

Bram closed his eyes a moment. "I honestly do not know."

"How often are you having these dreams of this woman?" asked Harker. "Still just a couple of times a week?"

Swallowing hard, Bram tried to ignore the smell of blood as he answered. "No."

"More than that?" asked Harker.

Bram acknowledged the question with a slight tilt of his head.

"How much more?" Harker continued, worry in his voice.

"Every time I fall asleep as of late," confessed Bram.

"You've been burning the candle at both ends, mate," said Harker, as if that alone explained everything. "Did you feed today?"

Bram tried to recall the last time he'd stopped to drink from the bagged blood reserves he traveled with. He drew a blank.

You. Did. Not, said his demon, punctuating every word, annoyance rising as it did.

Harker refrained from lecturing him, which Bram appreciated. "I've got this if you need to step away."

"Old friend, this is our cross to bear," said Bram, the pun not lost on him. "We'll face it together."

Harker visually scanned the surrounding remains. "I can't even begin to guess where they'll strike next or what will be left in their wake. Each crime scene is worse than the last."

Bram stared off into the tree line, his mind racing. "Everything in me says they're headed to America. That this was just to make sure we knew it was them."

"The Order has always had a flair for the dramatic," said Harker as he nodded his head to one of the bodies.

The team member who was documenting the scene approached. "I'm done in this area. They're going to start bagging the bodies."

"Michael," said Harker. "Can you be sure to get the outlying area too? I don't want to miss anything. Spiral method, please."

Michael Hutton walked off and began singing something about being turned right round—whatever that meant.

Confusion must have showed on Bram's face because Harker snickered.

"From a popular song back in the '80s," said Harker.

"How young is he?" asked Bram, unsure of Michael's actual age.

Harker snorted. "A right bit younger than us, old friend."

Michael worked his way out in a pattern that left him widening the circle he was examining. He took his time, carefully logging the evidence. That would assure they had ample photographs, measurements, and notes for later reference.

Once Michael was far enough away to afford them privacy, Harker turned his attention back to Bram. "We should bring Seward and Morris in on this," he said, listing the others who had taken part in defeating Dragos long ago. All the men also had direct ties to Dracula. "Of course, that will mean you and Seward will need to act like grown-ups and stop fighting like schoolboys."

"He started it," said Bram quickly, instantly falling back into old habits when it came to the feud.

Harker grunted. "Did he? The way I remember it, you got your knickers in a twist because he wanted to tell your daughter the truth of who and what she is after her mother passed."

"See," stated Bram evenly. "He did start it. Had he left well enough alone and allowed me to handle my own family affairs, all would be fine now."

Harker couldn't have rolled his eyes harder if he tried. "Come off it, mate. We both know you aren't handling it, and you never were. Tucking your head in the sand and hoping for the best when it comes to Dana isn't a working game plan, despite what you think."

"Now isn't the time or the place for this discussion," warned Bram.

"Really? Seems to me that standing over fresh kills caused by an enemy you've been hunting for over a hundred years, who is clearly trying to send you a message, is a prime time for the talk. She needs to know the truth, Bram. You aren't able to tell her. You know it. I know it. Seward knows it. Let him do it," said Harker, no malice in his voice. "She's special to us all, and while I know you and I are close, Seward is something like a brother to you. Trust that he can handle this. That he has only ever had your best interest at heart."

"Dana's been safe so far," stated Bram.

"Because she had Daniella there for the first half of her life, as well as Wilma. How much longer does Wilma have left? She's pushing a hundred."

At the mention of Daniella's mother, Bram cringed. Wilma detested the very air he breathed.

Harker continued, "Dana's had Wilma's magik protecting her as much as it can ever since she was born. Not to mention the New York teams of slayers checking in on her. Then there was the whole, you ordering Dwayne and his family to insert themselves into her life, only to rip them away the second you found out his son was dating her."

"Do not remind me," said Bram. When he'd sent one of Harker's many relatives to New York to put himself and his family in Dana's day-to-day life so that someone could be close to her at school, he never dreamed it would end in a budding relationship between Dwayne's son, Kellan, and Dana, but it had. The second he'd learned as much, Bram had recalled Dwayne and his family, forbidding Kellan from contacting Dana again.

"You're in charge," said Harker. "We all know that, but that doesn't mean you're always right. On this, you're dead wrong. Emphasis on the dead. It's been twenty years since you and Seward had the falling-out. It's past time one of you takes the high road. With The Order and what they're pulling, that time is now, Bram."

"It hasn't been twenty years," said Bram before thinking better of it. Truth was, it had been slightly over that since Daniella's passing and the argument with Seward. He gasped.

"Did the math, I see," said Harker with a snort. "I get time is on our side, being immortals and all, but be a big boy now, Bram. Call Seward. Say you're sorry. Free him from the ridiculous blood oath you made him take back then that keeps him from telling her or anyone else the truth. Let him do what you should have done by now—let him tell Dana the truth. He's pretty damn qualified when it comes to dealing with people and their emotions, wouldn't you agree?"

He was right.

Not that Bram cared to admit that out loud.

Harker wasn't done. "Bram, we don't need history to repeat itself. Want what happened between you and Holmwood to happen again?"

"No," said Bram, his body tightening as he remembered his friend, Arthur Holmwood. They'd gotten into an argument that had started over the amount of time Arthur was spending in the company of the Fae. While Bram wouldn't have normally thought much of it, Arthur had been rumored to be romantically involved with a member of the Nightshade Clan of Fae.

While all Fae had ties to nature, some had other strengths. The Nightshade were well-known for their ties to death magiks and to The Order of the Dragon. Something best left untouched, especially by a vampire—which Arthur had been.

But Arthur had dug in his heels, butting heads with Bram to the point they'd come to blows. The next Bram knew, five years had passed, and he'd found himself on the receiving end of devastating news.

Arthur had been killed and the necromancer was thought to be behind it all.

He didn't want that fate for Seward. He didn't want to get a phone call alerting him that his friend was no more. That any chances to make amends were gone.

Once had been enough.

He didn't need it to happen again.

Clearing his throat, Bram squared his shoulders and looked at his friend. "I'll reach out to Seward. But for now, Harker, I think it's best you make a call to the others back in Grimm Cove. Speak with Elis. Make sure he knows to have the men be on the lookout for anything strange or out of the ordinary," said Bram, wanting to avoid more talk of his daughter.

"You do realize that everything about Grimm Cove is strange and unusual," said Harker with a forced smile.

Bram couldn't help but chuckle. "True. But above the norm."

"Can do," said Harker before stepping away to make the call.

Instantly, the smell of blood filled Bram's head once more, making his demon rock violently within him. The demon wanted to be fed and was done with being pushed aside. It wanted to revel in the surrounding carnage. Too much time had passed since it had been allowed to do as it pleased—to wreak as much havoc as it could. Too many years since Bram had learned to control it enough to keep it from killing others.

It wanted a piece of the freedom Dragos had clearly been gifted.

But there was no way Bram would permit that to be. He'd not spent the greater part of his life learning to lock the darkness down, only to grant it unlimited access to the general public.

No.

That couldn't ever happen again.

The one time it had—when he'd been newly sired and at the demon's mercy—it had committed unspeakable acts of violence. And it had left a trail of dead bodies in its wake. It was an act that haunted him to this very day.

One for which he'd never be able to seek absolution because the act was unforgivable.

Harker returned with more of their men and pulled Bram aside.

From the look on his face, he hadn't come bearing good news.

"What is it?" asked Bram.

"Two things," said Harker. "The New York team called in. Looks like The Ripper struck there overnight. Not far from Dana's place."

Bram and his demon went on high alert.

Harker lifted a hand. "She's totally fine. That was the first thing I asked. They said she's at her place and one of her friends is with her for the weekend."

Instantly, Bram's thoughts filled with fragments from his dreams. Of the blonde woman he continued to see in his sleep. The one who filled his nights with sex and passion but left him waking in a panic that something had happened to her.

"Bram?" asked Harker, pulling Bram from his thoughts. "You there mentally or are you having an internal argument with your demon—again?"

"I am here," responded Bram, locking gazes with his friend. He wasn't sure why he'd thought of the dreams at a time like this. "You said there were two things you needed to tell me. What is the other?"

Harker sighed. "Michael found something when he was getting more photos of the area."

"What?"

"Bram, I need you to stay calm when I show you this," said Harker.

He nodded.

Reluctantly, Harker led Bram back in the direction he'd only just come from. They entered the wooded area and walked about thirty feet until they came to a stop at a rather large pine.

First, Harker motioned to the ground, before planting himself in front of a tree, obscuring Bram's view of it. There, in the blood, were shoe prints. Their owner had large feet. Not as large as Bram's, but considering just how tall Bram was, that wasn't a surprise. What did shock Bram was that he recognized the sole imprint.

"I have a pair of cap-toe oxford shoes with soles similar to that," stated Bram.

Harker cleared his throat. "I'm not surprised. We did establish you're something of a shoe whore. But they're not from any of our people. We think they're from one of the people responsible for this mess."

Unsure how he felt about sharing the same tastes in fashion as someone from The Order, Bram shook his head. "Are those what you wanted me to see? The shoe prints? Why would I be upset by them?"

"No. Those aren't why I brought you over. That is." Harker stepped out of the way of the tree and then pointed to it.

Bram wasn't sure what was so important about a tree, but he looked all the same. There, pinned to the pine tree with a ceremonial dagger was an old photo of three young women.

One of the young women was his daughter— Dana Van Helsing.

The photo was from when she was in college, some twenty years prior. It had been taken at Yale, outside of the building she'd resided in, by one of the various people he'd employed over the years to watch her from afar. All too often Bram would have to be away for slayer-related duties, and he'd not wanted to miss out on seeing her grow up.

But she'd never known that.

This picture was one he had in a picture book in his top desk drawer back at his main home in Grimm Cove, South Carolina. In it, Dana was sitting on the grass, on a blanket with a dark-haired girl next to her. The two young women were laughing as a blonde woman stood before them, her back to the camera, her arms out wide.

Had Bram not been acutely aware of the year in which the picture had been taken, he might have assumed it was from the sixties, with the manner of the blonde woman's style of dress.

She looked like a free spirit—a hippie flower child in her long flowing skirt and loose shirt. A purple scarf was wrapped around her midriff and a multitude of bracelets covered both her arms from her wrists to her elbows. She had a pink heart painted on her upper arm, as well as a peace sign, of all things.

She'd been one of Dana's college roommates and was still close to her to this day.

Marcy Dotter.

She was a vivacious woman who seemed to live life to its fullest, at least from the information his men brought back whenever they were shadowing Dana.

Bram had found it difficult to visit Dana during that timeframe because of a number of work- related matters that had been going on, so he'd insisted on photographs and daily updates from those he assigned to the area. It was the only reason he recognized the other two women with his daughter.

In the photo, there was a red circle drawn around Marcy with an "X" on it.

Seeing it there, over her, shook Bram to his core, but he didn't understand why. Maybe it was because she was so important to his daughter.

Harker touched his shoulder. "You okay? I don't need to call others to help restrain you, do I? Your demon is still behaving, right?"

Bram continued to stare at the photo.

"The fact you're not answering is worrisome," said Harker.

"I am fine." It wasn't the truth, but it was all Harker was going to get from him right now.

His friend yanked the dagger from the photo and then handed the picture to Bram. "Why did they only circle the blonde one? The other is Dana when she was younger, right? Is that when she was at university?"

"Yes," added Bram, his mind racing with what the message might mean. Was Marcy a target now? Had Ager set his sights on her? Would hers be the next body he stood over at a crime scene?

No, roared his demon from within.

"Bram, it's okay. Dana is safe," said Harker.

"I need a team dispatched to…" Bram drew a blank as to where Marcy might be. She was somewhat nomadic, going from city to city, never seeming to lay roots anywhere. "I don't know where she is!"

"Where who is?" asked Harker.

Bram held out the photo to him and pointed to Marcy. "Her! The blonde! This picture is from my study in Grimm Cove. They know!"

"Whoa, take a breath there, big guy," said Harker. "Let's practice some calming breathing or something, okay? It's close to a full moon and my wolf is almost looking forward to having a go at your demon. And what do they know?"

The demon oddly didn't rise to the challenge. It was as worried about Marcy as he was. He grabbed for Harker. "She's out there, alone. The Order has their sights on her. This is a message to me."

Harker looked from the photo to Bram's face and then back at the photo again. "I already told you that Dana is fine."

"I understand that," said Bram, just shy of shouting. "But Marcy isn't!"

"Okay, calm down. You're worked up over your daughter's friends? You said you don't know where they are?" asked Harker. "I thought you once mentioned one of them lives in California, but I might be remembering that wrong."

"Poppy," said Bram quickly. "She's the other woman in the photo. The brunette."

"Right then. I'll reach out to our teams there. Do you have an address?" asked Harker. "I'll also phone Elis and let him know The Order clearly managed to find their way onto the estate."

Bram swayed slightly. "This threat is aimed at Marcy."

"The blonde?" questioned Harker.

Bram nodded.

"You're taking this threat against her very personally," said Harker, his tone changing slightly. "This is about more than her just being your daughter's friend, isn't it?"

"What?" asked Bram, his mind racing.

Harker's brows met. "What interest would The Order have in Marcy other than her being friends with your daughter?"

Bram just continued to stare down at the picture.

"Okay, you're acting odder than usual," said Harker. "Need me to leave you alone to talk to your other half for a minute? Maybe the demon can help figure out what is happening."

"No," said Bram, his throat still tight with worry.

Harker watched him closely. "While we're trying to figure out what The Order wants with this Marcy woman, we should probably try to wrap our heads around why you're acting odd about her too."

"I've never met her," whispered Bram, still running his finger over her image. "At least not face- to-face. I know of her only through pictures. This one is twenty years old."

"I wish we had a current one of her," said Harker. "I could send it out to everyone so they can help track her down and protect her until we figure this out."

Bram stilled. "Call Elis and have him go to my study. There is a box in the bottom corner of the back shelving unit—in one of the locked safes I have. In the box are photos of Marcy throughout the years. There is a three-year gap from years ago when I don't have any photos because she was off the grid, so to speak, but there are nearly seventeen years' worth of pictures there. My computer—or as I firmly believe it should be called, the digital devil —has more. The newest is from a few months ago, if that. There are a number of known locations that she's been at over the years as well. Have those locations checked first. Alert all our teams. Leave no stone unturned."

Harker stared at him with a curious expression.

"What?"

"Bram, are you telling me you have a collection of photos of your daughter's friends?" questioned Harker. "And that you've been keeping tabs on places they go?"

"Not the brunette—Poppy. I have only a few photos of her. Most are of Marcy," confessed Bram. "I keep track of her."

His friend just kept looking at him as if he was waiting for Bram to come to some realization. "Suddenly your 'they know' is making more and more sense."

"What?" Bram shrugged.

"Nothing," Harker replied before leaning closer. "And your demon, it's into this whole collection-of- pictures-of-a-woman thing?"

"You are making it sound wrong—dirty even," returned Bram, not liking where this was going.

"I'm not sure how you make surveillance photos of a woman throughout her adult life sound right," argued Harker.

"Stop. It's not like that," stated Bram, his ire rising.

Harker squared his shoulders. "I need you to hear me and not shut me down."

Bram took a moment to collect himself. "Yes?"

"This Marcy—the woman you're so worked up about," said Harker. "She's blonde."

"Yes. What is your point?"

"Bram, the woman you keep dreaming of is blonde," added Harker. "Is that woman Marcy?"

Bram started to shake his head but stopped, his chest tightening more. He found himself gripping the photo so tightly that it ripped.

Harker lifted his head more. "Is she your mate?"

"Do not be ridiculous," snapped Bram, the words coming from his mouth at war with his heart. "She's one of my daughter's best friends."

Harker's phone rang and he answered it, remaining close to Bram in the process. From the sounds of it, the person on the other end was from one of the New York teams. "Right then," said Harker. "Can you describe the friend who is with Dana this weekend?"

Bram held his breath.

Harker smiled. "Blonde with a blessed chest and walks around barefoot humming songs, looking like a throwback to the sixties?"

Relief moved through Bram. The next he knew, he was tearing up. "She's there? She's safe with Dana?"

Harker nodded. "She is."

Bram lowered his head, offering a silent prayer to a god he'd not been on speaking terms with in over a century.

"Don't let either of them out of your sight," said Harker. "If the blonde leaves, have a team shadow her too."

Bram met his friend's gaze and mouthed the words "thank you."