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When he spotted me, he gave me a slight smile, but I still didn't know how to react to him, so I quickly looked away.

Tristan was a strange man.

Like Adrian, he almost always wore only black shirts and pants, and occasionally black coats. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he seemed to have a certain style, and he drove a black vintage car.

He came across as an intimidating loner, behaved coolly and distantly toward other clan members, remained silent in Nicolaj’s presence, disappeared from time to time, and rarely showed up for family dinners. But when he did, he was always on time.

And only with Miles and me did he behave completely inconsistently and step out of his mysterious DeLoughrey persona.

“I'm glad you made it in time.”

Bastien nodded to Adrian with satisfaction, as if it were his doing.

If only I had stayed downstairs...

I snorted quietly.

Bastien would probably have patted him anyway and given him his little treat.

The sound of something approaching on the gravel driveway reached my ears, and I looked past the massive oak trees down the roughly 600-foot-long driveway.

Heat Stroke

Black Math

The snout of a black car appeared in the distance. But that wasn’t all. Three more cars slowly approached along the gravel path.

“How many guests are we expecting?” I finally asked when the seventh Mercedes appeared in the driveway and the first one parked about thirty feet in front of the elegant stone double staircase with its neoclassical balustrade and the half-nude women statues holding stone ravens.

“A lot,” David replied curtly, his hands clasped behind his back.

It caught my attention because usually only Miles and Adrian did that. It was a strange habit that seemed to be deeply ingrained in them whenever DeLoughrey authority figures appeared.

My gaze wandered back to the cars. Then I recognized the license plates.

“Sacramento...” I whispered, barely audible, and felt someone's gaze on me. It was Tristan.

“Behave yourselves.”

Bastien looked at Miles and me with a serious expression.

“Always,” Miles replied with a wave of his hand, causing Bastien to stare at him for a second longer.

“That was mainly directed at you, Miles.”

With these words, he turned to Camille, Laurent, and the man who represented my greatest insecurity, and together they walked down the stairs, all four of them dressed elegantly as always.

My gaze lingered on Camille, who was wearing a black tailored three-piece suit and a black fedora hat. Her expression was stiffer than usual – more like that of an emotionless DeLoughrey – as she surveyed the cars until I could only see her back and admire her luxurious suit.

I was the only one walking around in a black leather jacket and black jeans, but that didn't bother me. There was no dress code. Only when the clan leader was around. Then, of course, you had to dress as if you had strayed here from the eighteenth century.

The first car doors opened and I immediately sensed that these were foreign Ruisangors. Their curious, suspicious, red-eyed glances and the faint smell of Ruisangor in the air gave them away, and my eyes immediately began to glow.

There were at least twenty. No… more.

“Holy shit. Who are all these people?” I whispered, watching with the others as Bastien approached them and greeted one of the drivers with a professional expression.

“Ruinouveaux, just like you. Except that they are Transformed.”