to him.
“Oy,” he responded fervently. “I’ve got four fighters still too wounded to fight, and there’s so much to do.”
“Wounded? How?” she demanded.
Her parents exchanged a silent look. “You might as well tell her,” Ramlah said, switching on the gas flame under a freshly filled kettle.
“Tell me what?” She looked at her father. “You got me here with whispered half-secrets, and now it looks as if you’re gearing up for the zombie apocalypse. What’s going on?”
“Zombies,” Ferran muttered, shaking his head.
“Papa. Tell me.”
Her father heaved a deep sigh. “I’m getting old, mija.” He raised his hand when she would have protested. “Don’t argue. For once, just listen.”
She was shocked into stillness by his words. She’d been his shadow most of her life, the son he’d never had. She’d followed him around, learning everything he did, everything he thought. And he’d been just as devoted to her. He’d never ever criticized her, never told her to listen for once. Her reaction must have shown on her face, because he immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close enough to kiss the side of her head.
“I love you, you know that. But you do love to argue, Laylita. I know,” he continued, cutting off her protest. “You get it from me, and I raised you that way. Life can be hard on a woman, and I wanted you strong enough to fight.” He chuckled. “I succeeded in that, didn’t I? But now, I’m an old man, and I need you to listen.”
“I’m listening,” she assured him and zipped her lips shut with a finger to make him smile, terrified now by whatever he was about to say. What would she do if her father were seriously ill?
“I’ve commanded this Fortalesa for over forty years, since before you were born. Only the day guard, to be sure. But we all know that’s the greatest danger for Lord Xavier and the others, and I’m proud that he’s trusted me for so long. But now . . .” His mouth tightened in irritation. “I made a mistake. We’ve had peace for so long and we get along well with the humans in the town, with all our neighbors. Lord Xavier is powerful, but fair to his people. They respect that and return it twofold by respecting his rules, and being honest with him.” He paused when her mother slipped a cup of tea in front of him, looking up with a smile of thanks, then sipping slowly while she walked around and sat across from him at the table.
“As I said, it’s been peaceful, and I took for granted that it would stay that way.”
Layla was dying to ask questions, but held back and waited.
“My team here is a good one. They’re well-trained and loyal. I haven’t slipped that badly. But they’re not enough. Their quality is good, but I need twice as many of them to deal with what’s happening.”
She was all but biting her tongue to keep from demanding to know what the fuck was going on. But she was still feeling the sting of his earlier comment, and knew he’d get to it. Eventually.
“We’re under attack. Humans,” he added, sounding genuinely confused. “Three separate attacks in the last two and half weeks, and only during the daylight. They come out of the trees, armed with good weapons—rifles mostly, a few automatic pistols, and plenty of ammo. They’re decent shooters, but not professional. I’m certain they’re not trained soldiers—more like civilians who’ve been given a few lessons.”
“Has anyone been hurt?” she asked quietly. She’d grown up with some of the fighters who worked for her father.
He shook his head. “Nothing at first. They seemed to aim at the wall instead of the people, and there weren’t that many of them. There were more when they attacked the second time, a week later. More of them and some minor injuries for us. Lord Xavier became concerned then. One attack was a nuisance, a hate crime against vampires. But two? That was something else.”
Layla had to fight against the urge to make a face every time he said, “Lord Xavier.” Not just Xavier. Oh, no. It had to be Lord. As if the bastard vampire wasn’t just a man like any other.
“But the second attack represented a major shift in the battle. Not for us, but for them, because their fighters began to die,” her father continued, seeming puzzled by their willingness to accept casualties. “My fighters are not like the