Whatever it was slowed him, making him blink his red eyes again and again.

"What did you give him?" Sebastian asked.

"It's a concoction from the witches—part medical, part mystickal. It should knock him out."

For how long would it knock Conrad out? How long were they expecting him to stay here? To spit across her floor and roar within her halls? She'd be damned if she allowed another of Louis's ilk to taint her home once more! This Conrad was an animal. He should be put down. Or at the very least, put out.

She'd show these trespassers power like they'd never seen, sweeping them into the yard like trash! She'd toss them by their feet all the way to the bayou! Néomi would demonstrate what happened when a ghost went poltergeist—

"Where... is she?" Conrad grated between heaving breaths.

Néomi froze. He couldn't be talking about her, couldn't have seen her.

"Who, Conrad?" Nikolai demanded.

Just before the shot knocked him unconscious, he rasped, "Female... beautiful."

3

Dawn had come and gone, and still Néomi was reeling. Because apparently Elancourt was filled to the rafters with real vampires.

Any lingering doubt had evaporated when she'd seen the brothers vanish and reappear as they'd gone about repairing parts of the house.

And this wasn't even the most astonishing development of the night. When Conrad had said, "Female... beautiful," had he possibly been talking about her?

Now she could only wait impatiently for him to regain consciousness so she could find out.

He remained as the brothers had left him last night—lying on the new mattress they'd brought in for him, with his wrists chained together behind him, his muddy boots and the ankle restraints removed. His ripped clothing had dried, the material stiff with dirt. The angry red gashes on his chest had healed within mere hours.