Corbin walked Autumn right up to the door of Eastwood Cottage. "I'm sorry that our hike had to be cut short," he said, still holding her hand. Even now, he didn't want to let go. Just touching her made him feel more alive than he'd ever felt in his 256 years.

She squeezed his hand, eyes bright as she held his gaze. "If you have the time, stop by tonight and we'll watch a movie. All three of us," she added with a little grin.

He was long past his red-blooded teenage years, so there was no question he would be on his best behavior. But still, he said, "Understood."

Autumn smiled and lifted up on her toes, giving Corbin a quick peck on the lips. His blood sang and his arms ached to draw her close. What was that about red-blooded teenage years again?

Somewhere inside the house, Jordyn screamed, "Go Mom!"

They broke apart, laughing. "I'll see you later," Autumn said, opening the door.

If Corbin had to lock his early arrival in a closet, he'd do it. Waving goodbye to Jordyn—who he noticed standing on a couch in the living room—Corbin gave Autumn a little wink and began the long, slow walk back to the main house.

"She's waiting for you, sir," said Benjamin, one of the footmen, holding the door open for Corbin.

"Great," Corbin muttered. "Where?"

"Right here," a female voice called out, the words layered with a Russian accent.

Corbin twisted around and looked up. At the second floor landing, a short but graceful woman in her mid-thirties stood with one manicured hand on the polished banister. Heavy dark blonde hair fell in shimmering waves down her back.

"Nastya."

The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia slowly descended the stairs, one corner of her mouth lifted in a mischievous smile. The short train of her pale pink and white gown swished behind her as she approached Corbin. Almost a hundred years had passed since Nastya left the Imperial family to ascend to the Knowing, but she still carried her heritage with her through her manner of speech and style of dress. No one could doubt this woman was anything less than Russian.

"Corbin, where are your manners? A host must always be available to greet his guests."

To keep his hands from clenching into fists, Corbin stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. "You came early, Nastya. Almost a week early."

The Grand Duchess nodded absently, her big blue eyes partially lidded. "Well, it seems that you are in dire need of help, Corbin," she replied, stopping in front of him. She was shorter than Corbin and had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye.

"I have everything under control." Was this some sort of revenge for not switching out the waltz for one of her folk dances? Corbin knew that Nastya believed that her Imperial heritage placed her on a pedestal, but this was ridiculous.

"Do you?" The Grand Duchess cocked her head slightly. "My master believes otherwise."

"Your master holds no jurisdiction over me," he retorted. The masters were the ultimate authority of their kind. Individually, masters approved of anyone who was chosen to complete the Test, a series of grueling physical changes that either led a person to ascend or fall. If a person passed the Test, then they fell under that particular master's aegis.

"Gatherings are important affairs, designed to promote discussion and pass on our knowledge to one another. That is something all masters hold true."

Corbin snorted. "You're just upset that I said 'no' to your little dance."

Sparks flashed in the Grand Duchess's blue eyes. "We are neighbors, Corbin. You should be friendlier."

Corbin drew a deep breath and rocked back on his heels. "Are we through, Nastya? I have business to attend to."

Without waiting for the Russian princess to reply, Corbin brushed past her and put one hand on the banister.

Nastya's voice drifted towards him. "Business, Corbin? You mean with that little pastry chef?"

The top of the banister came off in Corbin's hand. He glanced down at the chunks of polished wood in his fist, then over to Nastya. "Be very careful, Grand Duchess. I am far older than you."

"And I have far more experience in the political and diplomatic arena than you, Corbin," she replied smoothly, blue eyes staring at him unblinkingly. "The masters want this event to go on as planned. You'd best be careful they do not order her memories wiped."

A red film washed over Corbin's sight. He felt his jaws stretching with a horrible, bone-grinding sound; a deep growl rumbled in his chest as his incisors descended.

"Not only that but a Fallen roams your territory and you seem to have made no effort to eliminate it." Nastya clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

The chunks of banister in Corbin's fist exploded into sawdust. Distantly, he registered members of his staff scurrying to get out of the way.

"Older, but not wiser," the Grand Duchess sniffed, placing one foot on the staircase. She climbed the stairs, flicking the hem of her gown so that it trailed gracefully behind her. As she walked past Corbin, she shook her head, completely unafraid of his transformed state. "You!" she called to a maid cowering behind a chaise lounge on the second level. "You were taking me to my room."

"Y-yes, Grand Duchess," the poor girl stammered, shakily rising to her feet.

Corbin turned slightly, fingers curved into claws.

"Corbin!" Neville shouted, running up to him. "Snap out of it, man!"

A beast rolled under Corbin's skin, struggling to come out. A mug was thrust against his chest and he immediately clutched at it. The coppery scent of horse blood filled his nostrils and he slammed the drink back, two little rivers coursing past the corners of his disjointed mouth.

Swallowing, Corbin dropped the mug, letting it shatter on the wooden steps. With a pop and a groan, his jaws realigned and the fangs retracted.

Panting, he wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of one hand, the red film fading from his vision. What had he done? How had he allowed himself to lose control like that?

"Easy," Neville murmured, looping an arm under Corbin's.

"She'll tell the masters," he muttered, jaws aching.

"And risk your entire staff telling them that you were goaded into it? I don't think so."

Corbin sighed and shifted. Ceramic cracked and broke beneath his foot. He looked down. Shit, that was going to take a while to clean.

"I want an eye kept on Autumn and Jordyn," he told Neville as his friend led him up the stairs. "I don't want anything to happen to them while she's here."

"Of course."

Grimacing, Corbin rubbed a hand along his jawline. This stupid party wasn't worth his sanity—or his humanity.