Helena was surprised when the scent of blood met her nose as she walked into her office.

Not that it was a particularly unusual scent to perfume the dark-paneled room, but usually when it was present, she knew the source.

Generally, she was the source, in a roundabout fashion.

Ah, the challenges of being the Elder of her particular vampire coven. Blood was something of an inevitability.

Of course, that said, there was no reason for it to be scenting her office now.

She close the door behind her and locked it. Whatever, or whoever, was in her office was already bleeding and not likely to be a threat.

Besides, the blood smelled human, and there were very few humans who posed a threat to her, even when they weren’t bleeding.

The entry was empty, but a few drops of partially-dried blood dotted red against the white marble floor. More, a smear this time, marked the handle into her inner office.

When she opened the door, the blood-smell hit her senses hard. She had been busy all day, and hunger gnawed at her bones. Faced with so much blood, only her steely control kept her less human traits from escaping.

There was a man on her couch.

He was so tall he didn’t fit, and Helena was glad that he decided to pass out on the black leather, and not in one of her white-upholstered chairs. A heavy shotgun leaned almost against his hand where he could grab it easily. Knives, charms, and other weapons hung from his belt.

Blood stained his shirt, which gaped open where something with claws took a piece out of him. Here and there other cuts and scrapes darkened his clothes, and explained the strong scent of blood that permeated the room.

He would probably be handsome, if he was clean, bandaged, and wearing something even halfway decent. He had the shoulders for a proper suit jacket, and most Hunters were graceful enough to dance well.

Not that Helena was planning to keep him. Hunters were always a bad idea, no matter what they wanted.

She had to give it to her surprising guest. He might be injured, and no doubt exhausted, but dozing or not, he was still on his guard. By the time Helena had the door all the way open, he was awake, and his gun was in his hands, ready to go.

Helena blinked, and curled her red-painted lips in a faint smile.

“What in the world,” she commented lightly as she stepped through the door and closed it behind her. “Could possibly have convinced a bleeding Hunter to take shelter in the lair of an Elder Vampire?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the hunter said. His voice was tenor, and rasped with pain and exhaustion. His eyes were pale green and watched her every move. “I figured you would hear me out before killing me, and this is the last place they would look for me.”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

“They?” Helena eyed him and went to lean against her desk. His hand was steady on his gun, and she was reluctantly impressed. “I am not overfond of Hunters myself. Who is ‘They’ and why would you think me a better option?”

“I think you managed to draw up actual territories for every coven in the city,” he said, and managed to drag himself upright without taking the gun off her. “And took over yours younger than any other Elder in recent history.”

“I did,” Helena replied thoughtfully, and went to the small cabinet off to the side. Bottles gleamed in the low light, and she poured herself a careful finger of crystal-clear very expensive vodka. “What does that have to do with your presence in my office?”

“Hunters, under the control of a goddamn maniac, are swarming the city,” he said bitterly, and finally let the gun drop. They both knew that, hurt as he was, he would never be able to stop her before she killed him. As a reward for good behavior, Helena offered him a glass of glowing golden whiskey. “He’s crazy. It’s not just your kind he’s after, it’s every Other in the city. Fae. Elves. Vamps. Weres. Everyone.”

“Does he have the firepower to do such a thing?” That was horrifying, even by her standards, and she mulled it over. That this particular hunter decided to throw his lot in with the monsters said a great deal about him. Helena handed him the glass and smiled when he didn’t shy away from the brush of her cold fingers. “And why tell me this. Are the Hunters not your own kind?”

“They were until he dumped me into a pit of half-starved fledglings,” the Hunter grumbled, and winced as his injuries pulled. Helena carefully didn’t look at his bleeding skin. Even her control had limits, and fresh human blood would always be a gamble. “Made the mistake of questioning his judgement. Apparently, that’s a killing offence now.”

Fledglings. Poor things. Helena had strict rules about Turning a new vampire, and what happened immediately after, but not every Elder did. They were the most vulnerable to Hunters, and the least able to control their instincts. This hunter was either very luck, or very good, to survive a frenzy.

“Why come to me?”

“Because I’ve got some sense of decency?” he seemed surprised that she asked, and took a sip of the whiskey. “Look, I only go after Others who are preying on humans. What Josef has in mind is genocide. I can’t stop him alone. My name is Owen.”

The name was not a surprise. She knew all of the notable hunters in the city by name, scent, and sight. He had made himself notable in his circles as quickly as she had in her own. The surprise was that, until now, he had given no sign that he was open to working with vampires, no matter how dire the situation.

“Tell me, Owen. Do you want to stop him?”

It would be important to know. He could easily be a plant, torn apart and sent to play on her sympathy.

Of course, she had a trick or two of her own to prevent that very problem. The whiskey she gave him was good, very good, and also loaded with truth spells that were subtle enough and short-lived enough that he probably wouldn’t notice them unless he tried to lie to her.

If he did, she would kill him.

“Yes,” he said shortly, and hissed when he managed to bump the clawmarks across his ribs. Fresh blood dripped down from under the dirt and scab, and Helena watched the red droplets with controlled interest. “It’s gonna be a massacre. I- look, I like to think I’m a good guy. I can’t let this happen, and I need help to stop him.”

Interesting. Never a waver in his voice or his heartbeat, and he stared her down like he would try to fight by himself if he had to.

Helena sipped her vodka slowly and thought it over. While it was true that she preferred not to involve her coven in territory disputes, a threat like this one required more response than simple apathy.

There was no way she could take him back to her coven-holding, or even a safe-house, smelling like a prime meal and too weak to defend himself.

“Very well,” she decided, and stood, her heels silent on the thick carpet and clicking when she walked across white marble towards a hidden door. “Come with me. I can hardly take you to a meeting of Elders looking like you do.”

“I’m fine,” he told her reluctantly, and she stared at him expectantly until he sighed. “I’m not sure I can stand on my own.”

“That,” Helena said, willing to help now that he admitted he needed it. He was heavy, for a human, but she was strong for a vampire and supported him easily. She was pleasently surprised that he let her help. It spoke well of their potential alliance. “Is what allies are for. Now, come with me, and perhaps we can turn you into someone my minions will not try to eat.”