Val Hall Manor, New Orleans,

Home of the tenth of the twelve Valkyrie covens

Sometimes Nikolai Wroth really hated his in-laws.

He exhaled wearily as he accompanied his Bride, Myst the Coveted, to the expansive front porch of her former home. They'd just made it to the front steps when the first shriek sounded.

He wasn't surprised, having already learned that his mere vampiric presence would be enough to provoke this nest of Valkyrie.

Though he was a Forbearer, he was often hated as much as Horde vampires—natural-born vampires, a faction that had warred with the Valkyrie since the first days of the Lore. In addition to killing his Bride's kind, Horde vampires often imprisoned them and fed nightly on their exquisite blood.

He understood their hatred of the Horde, and as a Forbearer, he shared it, having battled against them since he'd become a vampire. But this mattered little.

Another scream, and then more followed. Nikolai still was unused to his in-laws' shrieks. They liked to scream. Yet even if they had been silent, he would know their rage over his sensed presence, because the Valkyrie produced lightning with emotion, and right now the yard was like a minefield of exploding bolts.

The many copper rods planted all around the grounds couldn't contain such an onslaught. The ancient oaks surrounding the manor were lashed with ribbons of lightning and gave up their smoke, thicker than the fog.

Did anything smell as odd as burning moss?