I clear my throat, adjusting my posture. "I need my computer." As if summoned by thought alone, Sable appears from the living room with my laptop. "Much obliged."
My fingers fly across the keyboard, executing a series of complex algorithms I developed during the dot-com boom. Back in '95, I recognized the digital revolution as a new frontier of warfare. While Rhyland focused on traditional combat and Lucian built his nightclub empire, I immersed myself in the emerging cyber realm.
Lucian can hack, but not like I can.
I breach the first firewall of the local real estate database, a ghost of a smirk playing at my lips as I remember the months I spent as a "security consultant" for various Fortune 500 companies. Those arrogant tech bros never suspected the apathetic freelancer testing their systems was actually a vampire gathering intelligence. I made a fortune finding vulnerabilities in their networks—officially, of course, through their "bug bounty" programs. Unofficially... well, certain offshore accounts grew quite healthy during those years.
Their knowledge, combined with my pattern recognition and an impressive portfolio of zero-day exploits I've collected, made me a formidable force in the digital underground. There's a certain poetry in how corporations will pay millions to protect themselves from exactly the kind of attacks I perfect in my spare time.
"What exactly are you doing?" Emily peers over my shoulder, her tone heavy with curiosity.
"Creating a Boolean search algorithm to cross-reference recent high-end property acquisitions with specific parameters that match Lilith's... particular tastes," I explain, my fingers never pausing. "The pretentious bitch hasn't changed—she still favors expensive architecture, private grounds, and ostentatious displays of wealth."
Multiple windows populate the screen as I breach various databases—property records, utility activations, and shell company registrations. Each piece of data flows through my custom-built tracking program, which I developed during a particularly enlightening stint with a black hat collective in Moscow in 2010.
I smirk as my customized program flags a hit. "There you are, you sneaky cunt." A recently purchased estate appears on screen, registered to a corporation named 'Inanna Holdings'— the Babylonian goddess of love and war.
"Got her," I announce, my voice carrying the weight of certainty. "Twenty thousand square feet of overcompensation, complete with underground wine cellar and private grounds. Purchased six weeks ago through a shell company that practically screams 'Look at how clever I am.'"
Lucian peers at the screen, his eyebrows rising. "Damn, bro. Remind me never to piss you off enough to hack my browser history."
I cast him a withering glance. "Your browser history is disturbing enough without my interference, brother."
"Location?" Emily demands, her impatience evident.
I verify the coordinates. "Vancouver BC. Nestled right along water."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Emily groans, throwing her hands up. "That's a four-hour drive from here, assuming traffic doesn't completely fuck us."
I shut the laptop with a decisive click, meeting Lucian's gaze. His usual smirk has been replaced by something darker, more predatory. "Then I suggest we cease this idle chatter and depart immediately."
"Uh, hello? Did you forget we have a literal jet at our disposal?" Lucian interjects. "We could be strutting down the tarmac in thirty, landing in BC before Erik's expression changes—in Maple Leaf territory, ready to kick some bitchy ass."
I grunt my acknowledgment, despite my distinct aversion to air travel. The efficiency cannot be denied.
"Road trip from hell it is," Lucian quips, but there's steel beneath his sarcasm. "I call shotgun and DJ privileges."
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "Touch the radio, brother, and you'll find yourself running alongside the vehicle."
"I'll stay here and watch over Damon," Sable states with quiet confidence. Though she possesses minor witch abilities, her intelligence and technological expertise make her a valuable asset—qualities I've come to appreciate in our operations.
"Listen here, Witchy Wonder," Lucian waves his hands dramatically, like a deranged traffic conductor. "That reinforced door stays locked tighter than Erik's ass cheeks during a pole dancing competition. Blood bags are in the mini-fridge—one per hour, like some twisted vampire McDonald's drive-thru. No supersizing or I swear to whatever unholy deity is listening, I will come back and personally kick your magical behind into next Tuesday."
He points an accusing finger, "And for fuck's sake, donotgo all Mother Teresa on his bitey ass. Getting within fang distance of a baby vamp is like trying to diet at an all-you-can-eat buffet—somebody's getting hurt, and it'll be the menu—aka—you. Capisce?"
I observe their exchange with measured attention, noting that despite Lucian's theatrical delivery, his instructions are fundamentally sound.
"I think I can handle Vampire Daycare." Sable fires back. "Or did you forget the weeks we spent making sureyoudidn't go full Walking Dead on us during your convenient case of paranormal amnesia?"
"First of all,rude," Lucian clutches his chest in mock offense. "Second of all... okay, yeah, you've got me there. But in my defense, I was afabulousdisaster to babysit. Like, we're talking five-star Yelp reviews of chaos. 'Would definitely recommend this vampire's amnesic ass again, great entertainment value, minimal civilian casualties.'"
Internally I question, not for the first time, how I'm related to this theatrical imbecile. Sable's experience managing Lucian's... condition... does qualify her for this task.
Emily rushes about gathering a few supplies while Lucian snatches the keys. I mentally catalog our weapons and necessities—grabbing a few viles of Dani's blood she keeps stashed and stocked in the fridge—when Seraphina's melodic voice cuts through our hasty preparations.
"Wait." Though gentle, her command carries an unmistakable authority that stops us in our tracks.
"What's troubling you, Cupcake?" Lucian's voice softens as he wraps his arms around her waist, his usual snark momentarily subdued.
