Tethys Van Dwyer has been sent to Transylvania to assassinate a religious cult obsessed with vampyrism.
As she becomes entangled in her mission, she begins to realise that maybe these adolescents know more than they let on.
Maybe enough to expose Tethys and those like her to the Humans.
The Notre Dame Cathedral stood tall and proud, basking in the glorious celestial glimmer from the darkened sky above it. The spiral decorating the building's roof looked as though it was piercing the over-cast clouds, toying with the stars patterns.
Away from this building walked a woman; but not just any woman. She stood at about 6'8'', and to enhance her towering height was straight yet dishevelled and wild raven-black hair that hung in unrurly yet silken tangles to her waist, pale alabaster skin as hard as marble. Her face was cold and lined with mysterious, shadowed angles that gave her a harsh yet absolutely unfathomable beauty. Set like jewels in her pale face were liquid silver eyes, burning with a strong intensity and tilted lynx-like. This woman moved like a predator; liquid contained in skin.
Behind her, the woman dragged a small child streaked with sweat and grime, with the foul stench of blood reeking from its scent. The child, who couldn't be hushed, screamed and sobbed and howled in protest, whimpering at the woman's iron grip around its small wrist.
Echoing screams of anguish and tortured agony rang out in the Cathedral and the horrid sounds leaked from the ajar door. The woman inclined her head slightly, but her ears refused to listen to the music of pain. She walked with quick, light steps, almost jogging. The child lagged behind, feet not quick enough for the strenuous pace. ''Keep up,'' the woman snapped with a harshly accented voice that frightened the child into a slow jog. Up ahead, shoes clacked onto the cobblestone pavement. More than one pair, and she sensed stronger auras accompanying the shoes.
''Damn it,'' she hissed beneath her breath and halted abruptly. She narrowed her pale eyes at the five broad males blocking her passage. ''What do you want, Thoryne?''
''Only to escort you to the airport, mi'lady,'' said Thoryne, the man in charge of this posse. His tone was as sweet as honey; as sticky as it, too. His cold, glacial green eyes skimmed over her. ''What are you bringing that child along for? A snack? Or as a pet maybe? Tethys,'' he said with a condescending tone. She shuddered at the use of her name from his lips. ''You know you're not allowed to make ones of your kind so young.''
She straightened up and shoved the brat in behind her, then rose her head and stared at him with glinting eyes. She pulled the black bandanna from away her mouth, and snapped at him, ''Would you expect me to be so stupid? I am aware of the rules of my own culture and species.'' Protruding obscenely from her rose-pale lips were lengthened, milk-white canines. Thoryne looked at her with those steely eyes a few moments more, then said with exasperated patience, ''No. Come on, we're escorting you back to Rome.''