According to human laws, Bones wasn’t my husband. We were blood-bound and married vampire-style, though, and the undead didn’t do divorce. They weren’t kidding about the whole “until death do you part” thing. Maybe my dreams represented a subconscious desire to have a traditional wedding. The last time we’d attempted that, our plans were demolished by a war with a vampire who thought unleashing deadly black magic was fair game.

Mencheres met us on the dock. Even though Bones called him grandsire, since Mencheres was the sire of the vampire who’d turned Bones, he looked as young as Bones. They’d probably been similar in human age when they were turned into vampires. Mencheres was also handsome in an exotic way, with a regal bearing, Egyptian features, and long black hair blowing in the breeze.

But what really caught my attention was how Mencheres was flanked by eight Master vampires. Even before I stepped off the boat, I could feel their combined power crackling the air like static electricity. Sure, Mencheres usually traveled with an entourage, but these looked like guards, not undead groupies.

Bones went up to Mencheres and gave him a brief clasp.

“Hallo, grandsire. They can’t be all for show”—he nodded to the waiting vampires—“so I expect there’s trouble.”

Mencheres nodded. “We should leave. This ship is announcement enough of your presence.”

Reaper was painted in scarlet letters across the side of the boat. It was in homage to my nickname, the Red Reaper, which I’d earned because of my hair color and my high undead body count.

Mencheres didn’t speak to me beyond a short, polite hello as we trotted from the pier into a waiting black van. There was another identical van that six of the guards got into. When we sped off, that van followed us at a close distance.

“Tell me about your dreams, Cat,” Mencheres said as soon as we were under way.