"She hasn’t sent it yet. She’s not dead already, is she?" I glanced across to Azriel for confirmation. He shook his head and held up five fingers. Meaning either five hours or five minutes, I guessed.
"No, and I am severely disappointed." She laughed again, the sound low and cruel. "The woman really does deserve it."
I bit back my instinctive retort—the one that went along the lines of Catherine not being the only one—and said, "I’ve talked to Adeline Greenfield, the witch who set up the magic protecting Alston’s apartment. She mentioned that Alston requested it after something that happened at the council almost three years ago."
"Three years ago?" Hunter’s perfect features creased into a frown. "I don’t think—" She paused, and another cold smile touched her lips. "Ah, yes. The Whitfield affair. Ironically, his name does not appear on my list, and I doubt it will on Catherine’s, either."
"What did Whitfield do, and why isn’t he on your list?"
She paused, considering me. Weighing her options on just how much to tell me. "Robert Whitfield was a vampire with only a few hundred years to his name who went against council rules and created a nest for himself."
I frowned. "A nest?"
"A term we use for a large number of fledgling vampires created and controlled by one master. It is not considered a practical option in this day and age, as it is generally hard for a creator to either feed or control such a large number."
And we all knew what happened to vamps who couldn’t control their fledglings—the Directorate stepped in and wiped them out.
"So what happened?"
"His nest was culled, of course, and he was severely punished."
"The culling of his blood kin wasn’t enough?"
"Of course not. That was merely a practicality. Punishment needed to be rendered so that others would not be tempted to follow in his stead."
"So what happened to him?"
"He was drawn and quartered in front of the council, then a dozen of the younger members were allowed to feed from him."