Chapter One

“Listen to me,” Astrid said frantically, pacing my suite like a Vampyre on fire. “I’m seriously worried I might behead them accidentally on purpose. That would be so, soooo wrong even though they technically deserve it. I need your help.”

“You want me to behead them?” I choked out, running my hands through my wild curly black hair while trying to figure out where my best friend was going with her line of thought. With Astrid, one could never be certain.

“No! I mean, yes… but no. Absofuckinglutely not. We can’t behead them. Samuel loves the sequined old nut jobs and they saved his life,” she went on, still making very little sense.

“Your son loves everyone. He’s a child,” I reminded her. “Would Sammy really miss Martha and Jane?”

“Fine point. Well made,” Astrid agreed thoughtfully. “But I’m the jackwad that gave the okay to have them turned. It would be like committing patricide if I had them offed. Right?” she asked, clearly looking for someone to give her permission to eliminate the banes of her existence.

“Actually, you’ve already done that,” I told her, trying not to laugh.

Astrid halted her pacing and looked wildly confused. “I’ve done what?”

“Committed patricide,” I replied.

“Wait. What the hell does patricide mean?” Astrid asked, flopping down on the over stuffed Shabby Chic chair in the cozy den of my suite.

“It means kill your father.”

Her groan echoed in my suite. “Oh, well… shit. I guess I have done that. He was a total dick.”

And that was the understatement of the century. Her father had been one of the most vicious and deadly Demons known to our world. Even his brother, Satan, appreciated Astrid for ridding the Underworld of such a blight on humanity.

“Then what does matricide mean?” she asked with a wrinkled brow.

“Kill your mother.”

“Well, hell, I’ve done that too,” she shot back, letting her head fall to her hands. “You know when you say it out loud like that, I sound like a bad fucking person.”

“Yes… but your mother was literally ingesting your father-in-law, our King. Not to mention she’d tried to kill you numerous times,” I told her as I slipped into my running shoes and tied them.

“This is true,” she said with a shudder. “I’m not that bad then.”

“No, my friend, you’re not. You’re Compassion. And you’re my hero—not to mention my Princess. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. However, even though Martha and Jane make me want to grind my fangs down to nubs—committing wrinkly old lady batricide would be, um…”

“Satisfying?” Astrid asked with a wide grin.

I laughed at her toothy smile. “Yep and wrong.”

“Okay then, is it wrong for it to be my secret fantasy? I won’t actually do it, but can I dream about it?” she inquired, looking frazzled.

“If it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right,” I told her, unsuccessfully trying to bite back a grin. “I daydream about it frequently.”

“Crap. You might be the wrong person to train them,” she mumbled through splayed fingers.

“Wait. Whoa. Train them?” Wincing, I shot Astrid an alarmed glance. “They already know how to fight. They’ve killed plenty of Demons, and Dark Fairies, and God only knows what else—and shockingly, lived to tell about it—in great and gory detail.”

“I know,” Astrid lamented in her outdoor voice. “But they’re sloppy and short in the brain cell department. I don’t want the old fuckers to get killed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I totally want to kill them, but I don’t want anyone else to do it. And since there’s no way in hell I would do the deed, it can’t happen. Does that make sense?”