Okay, not might just have been the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes upon.

Probably. Most likely. Way up there in the highest of percentiles.

Sébastien Dufort was tall, with an athletic build – the kind humans have when you know they run ten kilometres before breakfast with ease and shun every kind of sugar known to man. His soft chestnut hair was cut in a way that was so effortlessly cool, that it was obvious no matter how he styled it, he would always look like a Vogue photoshoot. His eyes were a startling blue, in that annoying fictional vampire way, and although his look was casual – a plain black shirt and tailored pants – I could tell his clothes oozed designer, undoubtedly all French cut. As Michael climbed the few steps to greet him at the doorway, my eyes were drawn to Sébastien's bare feet. Ordinarily, feet were really not my thing, but I could imagine the gods inventing new myths about Sébastien Dufort's feet. Choirs of angels exalting the Heavens every time he walked. Bards writing sonnets.

I think I was still staring at his feet, when I heard Michael call my name.

'Huh? What's that?' I said, looking up to see Michael glaring at me and Sébastien smiling, his lips slightly parted, as if he knew exactly what I'd been thinking.

'Sarah, this is Sebastien Dufort, leader of the Parisian den. Sébastien, this is... Sarah Solomon,' Michael said. God, it sounded as if even saying my name disgusted him.

'Leader of nothing,' I said, with a brash grin that belied the flickers of nerves I felt standing on the doorstep of an actual vampire den.

With a move that not only sent my already-frayed edges unravelling, but which also seemed to astonish Michael, Sébastien stepped forward and grasped my hand in greeting, bringing it to his mouth and planting a soft kiss to my knuckles.

It was just a kiss. One small press of his lips upon my skin. Yet my heart picked up a maddening beat that I was sure must have sent shockwaves across Paris.

'Mes excuses, mademoiselle,' he said softly, his mouth still hovering so close to my skin that I could feel the faint tickle of his breath. 'I took your hand without even asking if you were comfortable for me to do so. Forgive me?'

I stared at him, until I realised my own mouth was still open and he was now looking at it, a glint of something hot and weighty in his eyes. I closed it abruptly, swallowing hard and doing my best to regain my composure.

'Sure,' I managed to mumble. 'I mean, it's fine.'

'Is it?' he said, holding up my hand and running his thumb along the knuckles. My curse raged at me, although I couldn't deny the pleasant vibration that coursed up my arm and nestled between my shoulder blades.

'I cannot begin to understand how it feels for a Sensor to be in such close proximity to my kind,' he continued. 'It is not something we can experience. We can only be the cause of it. I have been told how it feels, naturellemente, the bad and the good...'

'There is no good,' I said, pulling away from his grasp, rubbing at the tingling knuckles with my other hand. As if there could be anything good about my curse.

'No?' Sébastien murmured, his mouth curling at the corners into a devilish smirk. 'A pity. For you. To feel only the bad, must be a burden.' Clapping his hands together, he nodded in greeting to Michael's companions. 'D'accord! Perhaps you would all like to take a little time to refresh before we convene? The guest floor is ready, and your rooms are prepared. I will have Héloïse show you the way.'

As if she materialised through the walls at the mere mention of her name, a vampire with her hair compacted into a tight bun and the most impossibly beautiful cheekbones, gestured towards the spiralling staircase at the rear of the entrance hall. I noticed that she was wearing the exact same shirt and pants combination as Sébastien, only in white. Her feet were also bare.

'We're staying here?' I hissed to Michael, as we stepped into the entrance hall.

'It won't be that long until sunrise. We don't have a lot of choice,' he muttered back.

'You don't, you mean?'

Sébastien stopped abruptly, turning as he neared the base of the staircase, his hand curled around the winding balustrade. His eyes invariably found mine and I knew he'd heard every word.

'Paris is such a beautiful city, even during wintertime. It cannot be appreciated in a matter of a one or two hours. The architecture. The art. The wine. The culture. Even the English cannot fail to fall in love in a city such as this.' He looked pointedly at me as he said it, a touch of amusement dancing in those ridiculously hypnotic eyes of his.

'Don't you mean fall in love with a city such as this?' Vincent said, as we began to follow the immaculate Héloïse up the staircase.

Sébastien gave a small shrug, but the glint in his eyes remained as he looked at me, ignoring Vincent entirely. 'Oui, of course. Maybe it was something lost in translation, no?'

'No, I don't think it was,' grumbled Vincent, frowning as he nodded a gesture of reluctant greeting towards our host, which Sébastien returned with a thin smile.

Climbing the staircase to the next floor, I couldn't help but be impressed. If the outside of Sébastien's home was Dame's idea of architectural Hell, then the inside was a vast improvement. Vanilla and white tones complimented the artwork hanging on the walls which consisted mostly of black and white arty prints and retro Vogue covers mounted in large frames. Moonlight filtered through the centre of the stairwell and glancing upwards I found myself looking through a stained-glass window, which I thought out of place in a vampire's home until I saw the open electric shutter that no doubt banished the sunlight from the interior during the daylight hours. Walnut floorboards and high, cream cornices gave the house a calming vibe, something which my curse highly protested.

I didn't feel calm. Even Sébastien's overly warm welcome couldn't ease the tension that was attacking each muscle and making my skin prickle as if every picture contained spying eyes that followed my every move. This wasn't normal. Being here wasn't normal. Not for me, and weirdly, I could tell, not for my vampire companions either. If I was overwhelmed with tension, I didn't see anything different in their faces and I couldn't help but wonder why Michael had agreed for us to stay here instead of finding somewhere else to sleep through the day.

When Héloïse gestured to the first guest room and smiled at me in a way that dripped cobra venom, I was surprised to find Michael hovering awkwardly by the doorway as the others moved on.

'Is everything okay?' he said, keeping his voice low. If he even cared, I couldn't see any sign of it in his face.

'Perfect. I'm in a house full of vampires. Again. What could be more perfect than that?'

He exhaled through his nose. 'Trust me, we don't want to be here anymore than you do.'

'Yeah, I kind of got that vibe, I said, reaching for the doorknob and noticing when he inched away from me. 'And yet here we all are, in a house belonging to a vampire that you don't trust, and you expect me – a Sensor being hunted by your Vampire Council – to be, what? Happy? Totally cool with the whole thing? I'm not sure what you want me to say.'

'I want you to...' He stopped as his voice rose, and the others turned sharply in our direction. Leaning closer, albeit with a look of utter discomfort on his face, he lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Look, let's just get this whole thing over with, okay? By tomorrow night, we'll have our answers and we'll be gone.'

I raised a brow. 'A lot can happen in twenty-four hours. I can be dead in far less than that.'

Michael stiffened. 'That's not going to happen.'

A weird, unsettling vibe filled the silence that followed, until finally he pulled away, avoiding my eyes as if he'd had more than enough of my company and couldn't wait to leave.

'We reconvene in ten minutes, okay?'

'Fine, whatever you say,' I mumbled as he walked away, not even waiting for my reply.

Left alone in a vampire den, I was pretty sure I could be dead in even less than that.

***

After ten minutes of sitting on the edge of a bed so throne-like that my feet barely touched the floor, I left the room to find Dame walking the hallway towards me.

'Did you change your outfit?' I said, looking at his gold halter neck top, leather- look pants and a long black silk waterfall jacket that reached to his knees. He wore his braids long and an oversized gold crucifix dangled from one ear, catching the light as he moved.

Dame pursed his lips and leaned in a little, a touch of mischief in his eyes. 'Girl, this man has money dripping outta his pores. Of course, I got changed.' His gaze swept over what I was wearing. 'You should have come to see me, you know, I could have given you some tips.'

'I'm fine the way I am,' I grumbled, looking down and suddenly feeling underdressed for the occasion, and then remembering that vampires didn't really give a shit what a human wore. They only cared for what ran through your veins.

'Whatever you say, Plain Jane,' Dame replied with a little cackle to himself.

Appearing like the ghost-vampire she was, Héloïse led us up to what she said was the entertainment floor, and to a large room with huge, cream couches and a wall-mounted television worthy of a movie theatre screen. In the corner was a well-stocked bar, lined with four gold barstools. The glass wall at the rear of the room looked out onto an interior swimming pool and hot tub, where soft blue light rippled across the ceiling.

On one of the corner couches, Sébastien sat with his arm draped across the plush back cushions, a crystal tumbler of whiskey in his hand. On the neighbouring couch, sat Michael with his shadow, Bailey by his side. The young vampire sat all the way back, her feet just about dangling off the deep seat. Michael sat on the edge, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, nursing his whisky tumbler in his hands and rubbing his thumb on the rim in that troubled way I'd realised was his thing. In fact, if looking immeasurably troubled was his thing, then being immeasurably relaxed seemed to be Sébastien's, whose eyes lit up when I walked in. Instantly, he gestured to a vampire manning the bar.

'A drink for our friends here, Antoine, tout de suite. Damien, you will have some champagne, no? I have friends in Epernay who supply an exquisite champagne. Ruinart and Veuve Clicquot in Reims are undoubtedly top class, but I find the small boutique champagne houses offer something far more superior. You must try it.'

Without waiting for Dame to answer, Antoine – who appeared from behind the bar wearing the same white shirt and pants as Héloise, and who was also bare footed – was already carrying two flutes of sparkling champagne. When he gave one to Dame and offered the other to me, I stared at it, feeling the uncomfortable grip of panic.

'Sarah, please do...' Sébastien smiled, leaning forward to clap a hand on Michael's shoulder. 'This is a celebration, after all. My friend has returned after all these years.'

'Sarah doesn't drink.' Michael raised the glass to his lips, shooting a glance my way. 'At least, not with vampires.'

When our eyes briefly met, I got the impression there was no shade in what he'd said. No scorn intended. Instead, it felt like a glimmer of understanding, almost as if he'd known why I'd not chosen alcohol on the plane journey and had correctly guessed that I wouldn't chose it now either. I shouldn't have felt grateful for his interjection, but strangely, I did, as it made me feel less uncomfortable having to refuse our host.

Sébastien, who'd studied our brief and practically non-existent exchange with keen eyes, tilted his head and gave a small, perceptive smile. 'D'accord. No problem. Then Marina must have this glass,' he said, as Vincent and Maz entered the room behind where Dame and I now stood. 'Please, mes amis, sit. Relax.'

Once everyone had been given a drink – including a bottle to share between Sébastien and Michael, and a mineral water for me – Héloïse and Antoine were dismissed, although I knew from the way my curse bothered my skin, they hadn't gone far.

'A toast, no?' said Sébastien, raising his glass. 'To friendships. Old... and new.' He tipped his glass in my direction and appeared nonplussed when I didn't raise my own. I had a feeling this vampire understood far more than his warm welcome and inviting smile would have had me believe.

'I'll definitely drink to friendship,' Dame replied, taking a sip of the champagne, his eyes widening with pleasure before taking another. 'And I'll drink to connections with boutique champagne houses too.'

Sébastien chuckled, settling back into the couch. 'I have learned over my many years that making unique connections is the key to a successful existence. Wouldn't you agree?' he said, directing the last comment to Michael.

Michael nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 'So, it appears.'

'It is a poor man who has to make it through this world without friends,' Sébastien said. 'I am glad to see you, mon ami, truly I am. It has been too long. Indeed, Céleste also expressed her delight to know that you have returned to Paris. You should make some time to see her during your visit. I am sure she would be overjoyed to see you again.'

Whoever this Céleste was, Michael shifted uncomfortably, a tautness pulling on his brow. 'Regrettably, I don't think that'll be possible. We'll need to leave after sunset tomorrow. Your discretion is always appreciated, but you and I both know how quickly word gets around, even in Paris, especially where Council matters are concerned.'

'Ah, a pity.' Sébastien sighed. 'Céleste was looking forward to seeing you.' He shot a glance my way. 'But, these Council matters, as you say, must take precedence over matters of the heart.'

Across from me on the opposite couch, Maz rolled her eyes and pulled a face, but I couldn't help but be drawn to Michael, who had drained his almost full glass, and reached for the bottle to pour himself another as Sébastien watched, the subtlest of smirks on his lips. I was beginning to understand partly why Michael didn't trust this vampire. He was charming – and beautiful – of that there was no doubt, but underneath the pleasant exterior, a viper lay beneath, coiled in the shadows as he watched everything. Everything you said, every move, every gesture, the Parisian saw it all and that made him dangerous.

'I must say, mon ami, I was surprised – and pleased – to hear that I could be of assistance to you,' he continued. 'Your predicament is an interesting one, that is for certain, and this new association of yours...' He looked my way, taking a sip of his whiskey and seeming to relish the taste, his tongue visible through his parted lips. '...is unusual, although not entirely unpleasant.'

I swallowed, knowing that the flush was creeping up my cheeks and hating myself for it.

'For a man of your undoubted experience to find himself in the company of a Sensor was also a surprise to me,' our host went on, taking another drink and examining the now empty glass as if he expected it to refill automatically. When Michael reached and offered the bottle, Sébastien smiled with gratitude. 'Merci. However, I was not as surprised about that than I was to know that you have brought the daughter of Marcus DiCenzo to my door.'

My heart dropped as Sébastien stared directly at me, my secret dropping from his lips like an accusation that could stop time itself. After a frozen awful pause, Michael's eyes widened as he looked from Sébastien to me, instantly realising that it was the truth.

Dame who had been sipping champagne at the time and the revelation had caused him to spill a mouthful, was now frantically dabbing at his gold halter neck and cursing under his breath. Maz was staring at me in something that bordered on horror, and Vincent look shell-shocked. Only Bailey looked at everyone with confusion.

'Who's Marcus DiCenzo?' she said.

Marcus DiCenzo.

If I could have buried that man's name in the middle of a fireball and launched it into the deepest ocean, forever dousing it from existence, I would have.

Marcus DiCenzo, the charismatic media-mogul and infamous billionaire, who charmed everyone from celebrities to royalty and never spent a day out of the very news outlets that his company had swept up and swallowed whole. Marcus DiCenzo, the man who could have had anyone he wanted, and was rarely seen without someone beautiful and famous on his arm, and so of course, hadn't wanted the world to know about his secret liaison with the nobody that was my mother. Marcus DiCenzo, who had little interest in the child he hadn't wanted with the nobody he had apparently relentlessly pursued and bedded in secret for months.

Marcus DiCenzo, the man who caused the whole world to go into a media-frenzied meltdown when he had disappeared shortly after my fifteenth birthday and coincidentally, my mother's death.

Extensive investigations into his disappearance had gleamed nothing. There were apparently no suspicious circumstances. No suspects. His yacht moored off the coast of Monaco, on which he'd been staying before his disappearance, gave up no clues or evidence that foul play had taken place.

It was as if he'd just stopped existing.

And I couldn't have cared less.

'Sarah...?' Michael said, looking seriously pale. 'Is this true? Is Marcus DiCenzo your father?'

I hated that they were all staring at me like I was a freak. Or worse, that it was some kind of elaborate lie I'd invented, even though the words had never fallen from my own mouth. I'd lived with this fear my whole life.

Don't tell, Sarah, my mother had said. No one must ever know. They will never believe you.

It hurt to think of her now, almost as much as it did to know that my whole life had consisted of secrets. Dark, awful secrets that had to stay where they were, locked away.

No one will ever believe you.

Inside my closed fist, I pressed my nails into my palm four times and emitted a shaky breath. 'Look, I know it's hard to believe. I mean, who is going to believe that? The idea that someone as famous and as rich as DiCenzo could be my father. I know. I get it. He met my mum years ago; at a party she was working at in London. It was like one of those stories you see in films – you know, billionaire CEO whisks poor waitress from her life of drudgery and lavishes her with gifts and sex.'

I scraped my teeth over my lip and looked down at my closed fist, feeling the sting as I pressed my nails in again.

'Only he didn't whisk her from her life of drudgery. Not really. He just kept her his dirty little secret while in every picture in the papers he was apparently dating everyone from famous Oscar-winning actresses to Vogue cover models. He told her that he loved her and then he dumped her when he got her pregnant, paying for her silence with generous monthly deposits into her bank account. She adored him. I mean, seriously adored him. So much so that she honestly believed that they'd be together one day. He was like some Svengali figure who'd brainwashed her. Fifteen years and she never stopped believing he'd come back for us.' I shook my head, still feeling the bitterness after all this time. 'She kept saying that there was a reason he couldn't be with us, never stopped going on about it, but before her death, it got worse. It was like she was delusional. Her love for him drove her mad in the end.'

I sniffed back the memories of her that had a nasty habit of coming back to haunt me and glared at them all. 'When he disappeared, I sent a prayer of gratitude up to the Heavens or the gods, or whatever force is out there that might have had a hand in it. I'm glad he's gone, and I don't care what anyone thinks about that, because that man never gave a shit about my mother, and he certainly never gave a shit about me. I'm pleased he's dead and I hope that whatever Hell he's in now really fucking burns.'

The silence that greeted me wasn't unexpected.

My vitriol for that man had never faded over the years and I'd never had the chance to vent how much I hated him, or how glad I was that he was no longer on this Earth, breathing air he didn't deserve to breathe. I wasn't sure how anyone could have listened to my outburst and not been stunned into a disgusted silence at my hatred for my own father.

All eyes were upon me, but it was what I saw in Michael's that riled me the most.

'What?' I said. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'He is looking at you in this way, ma chérie,' Sébastien said, 'because he did not know, isn't that right, my friend? And now... now he must tell you the truth.'

'The truth? The truth about what?' I frowned, starting to feel a little sick. 'Michael, what does he mean?'

Michael looked at me then, a strange expression on his face that I couldn't read.

'The truth is that your father isn't dead, Sarah,' he said, putting the crystal tumbler down on the coffee table that bridged the gap between his couch and mine. 'Marcus DiCenzo is a vampire.'