When Victoria suggested hopefully that the Saints in question may have survived the attack, Vail averted his gaze as if the bookcase in the room was suddenly interesting. He didn’t share in her optimism. When they’d fled from the Crest manor, the Wynters had been furious that their blood source had been taken away from them. He had no doubt that the vampire clan would take out their wrath on anyone who was misfortunate enough to have been left behind. If Gerald or Ray had survived, it would have been a miracle, but since no one had heard from them in a week, he suspected they hadn’t been so lucky.

So, as Diana changed the subject, he was grateful. He also agreed with her sentiment that Victoria looked stunning as a vampire. She had already been striking as a human, but now her beautiful features had been enhanced by the immortal blood that flowed through her veins. Her porcelain skin was flawless, her hair more thick and silky, and the amethyst color that had taken over her irises made her stand out in a room. Unlike her mother, he even liked the way her fledgling fangs looked against the curve of her ruby lips. With her newfound features, she was mesmerizing by both human and vampire standards alike.

Once Diana had left the room, Vail stepped back over to Victoria’s bedside and sat down in his chair, taking her outstretched hand in his. In response to her query, he sighed and gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. He had wanted to wait until she recovered a bit more before he told her about all the events she’d missed while she had been turning, but if she wanted to know now, there was no point in hiding it. She was bound to find out about the fate of his family anyway.

“Your family’s estate wasn’t the only one that was attacked last week,” he revealed, studying her bright eyes as a way to detach emotionally while he relayed the news. “While we were luring the Wynters to the Crest manor, one of them—the man with the long, white hair—separated from the pack and murdered more than half of my clan. The attack caught them by surprise, so they were unprepared to defend themselves and many were killed. According to my mother, my father eventually managed to run the Wynter off, and those who survived fled London together. By the time I found them the next day, they were taking refuge on a farm outside the city.”

Adjusting his weight on his seat, he leaned forward to rest his arms on the edge of the mattress without letting go of her hand. “I brought them here, and they’re currently residing in the summer house. Physically, most of them are faring alright. My father was the one who came off the worst. The Wynter severed his left leg, so he’s been permanently crippled, and he seems to have lost the will to fight back… or even take care of himself for that matter.” He frowned as he thought on it. Since they had arrived in Scotland, Peter had yet to hunt to replenish his strength. He was living off solid food and water along with rabbit blood that was brought to him by his nephews about every other day. Without any nourishment from human beings in over a week, he had become lethargic and spent most of his time sleeping. None of the servants that worked at the estate could go near the summer house either because the mere scent of them would send the starving vampire into a rabid frenzy. He was equally as dangerous as he was sickly.

“My mother and I are still sorting out what to do from here, since it isn’t safe for any of us to return to England,” he finished, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair behind Victoria’s ear.