This is also an edit of chapter 2. I hope you like as I've been working through the night on this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Drake Chronicles. Alyxandra Harvey owns all of it.

Lucy's POV

Being the only human amongst a large group of vampires mostly left me feeling able to do nothing. Their extraordinary vampire sight allows them to portrait what to humans would look like a wash of black as a full picture of shapes and angle. But this is the one time I'm actually glad that I can't make anything out. I'm judging the interior is no better than the exterior due to the sounds of disgust leaking out of the brothers mouths.

In the end, because I just can't handle not being in on the secret, I cave. "Does anybody have a torch? Anybody, maybe?"

Almost immediately an answer cuts through the darkness, confusing me when I hear the mostly masked sound of suppressed eagerness. "I have a torch, Lucy."

Nicholas's voice. It wraps around the spaces, filling them with the soft flow of his honeyed words. Despite the lovely sound of it, I ignore it, pretending he hasn't spoken. It feels like I'm being mean but I can't act like nothing happened out there, that nothing was going to happen, if given the chance. He may be able to be all suave and cool about it, but I couldn't. I have questions and they need to be answered and I'm not going to utter a word to the man before they are.

"Does anybody have a damn torch?" I repeat stubbornly.

"Me," says the same voice, though this time with a hint of annoyance.

A blunt object forces itself to land on the side of my rib cage. A second ticks by before I register the coldness of it and then another until I realize it was Nicholas's elbow.

It's getting kind of hard to resist the temptation to punch him in the nose.

"Torch please?"

Solange finally spoke up, saving her brother from any injury I might have caused him in the next minute. "Seeing as you are ignoring Nicholas completely at the moment I'll let you borrow my torch."

There's no way in hell I'll ever tell her about Nicholas and I, but sometimes I just don't need to. We get each other inside and out. Sometimes we're on the exact same wave length, sometimes completely opposite ones, but we'll always have the bond that links us together, even when we first met.

She hands me the desired item. I switch it on, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dazzling display of rays. Eyes reflect the light back like an animal. For the first time since entering the house, I can see the siblings. They're standing close, faces pale in the white light of the torch until they're almost glowing.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?" Asks Nicholas, hurt clouding his voice.

I give him a look over the top of my outstretched arm. Brothers on either side of him turn their heads a fraction of a centimetre towards him, gauging his reaction. Shadows cast long mysterious lines over their faces.

Realisation dawns to him then, and he nods sharply at me. "OK then."

"Something did happen while we were gone, didn't it." Says Solange curtly, gaze snapping between us with the accuracy of a hawk hunting for its next meal.

I give in to a tired sigh. I've never been good at keeping secrets, especially my own. And I need to vent, get it out of my system before it festers and makes me go insane.

"I'll tell you later," I promise her.

"No!" Nicholas jumps forward, voice urgent.

Cold fingers curl themselves around my upper arm. Despite the tone of voice, his eyes are gentle, pleading with me to keep it to myself. Surprisingly, I find myself nodding, to caught up in the moment to protest. Connor narrows his eyes at us, but stays blissfully silent. Duncan looks away. I'm so glad that they don't ask any further questions because I don't think I would be able to answer any, at least not to the point where they'd be satisfied.

Spears of frost seem to be coming form his clamped fingers. "Erm, Nicholas?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still…" I trail off and shake my freezing arm up at him.

"Oh, sorry," he mutters awkwardly, releasing his hold.

He steps back into the waiting ensemble of brothers, murmuring apology like it's gospel. Quinn catches Logan's stare, and they look at each other meaningfully over Nicholas's shoulders. Oh God, I really hope they're not figuring it out.

"Who's ready to explore then?" Thankfully, Logan's voice breaks the awaiting tension like a knife.

"We are." The monotone of so many male voices sounds like a tired groan. There's no enthusiasm or excitement, only boredom and the tiniest trace of fear.

It's finally time to look around. I can't help the dread that pools in my belly. I have a weird feeling about the house, like something bad really is going to stalk out of the darkness and take everybody away.

The design is actually worse than I anticipated if that's possible. It was probably a really nice family kitchen before it was left to rot under a mountain of dust and damp. Now it's beyond repair, dripping and creaking, oozing and groaning things that never should be seen in any home. The only thing that's not totally ruined is a set of drawers attached to the wall. Not being able to stop myself, I approach them, finding, for some reason, my arm to be fluttering closer without my consent. As soon as the ends of my fingers brush over the grainy surface I snatch them back, clutching them to my chest to try and rub the stinging out of my bones.

Wood's never been a problem for me before. Still, I'll avoid it in future.

Connor and Marcus stay with me, the rest of the brood moving on to the next room. Under their own set of rules, at least one brother must have to stay with me at all times. They're hovering close but trying to look like they aren't following my every movement out of the corner of their eye. Connor picks up a battered looking manual, inspects it bitterly and throws it away into the shadows.

"This is great," he mutters to himself.

Marcus looks at him, half of his face hidden in shadow. "It could have been worse, Bro."

"I guess."

A door opens. Words become quieter, muted by a wall. "I think we should catch up to them, guys," I say.

They tilt their heads, listening to sounds I can only dream of hearing. Nodding, they grab onto each of my hands and pull me through a door rimmed by crumbling pea green paint. I can't and don't wish to see much of the living room, so I keep my torch trained on the floor. A dark cloud of dust presses down on us, clawing at skin and clogging up throats in a desperate attempt to save us from the horrible décor disaster of the house. The rest of the Drake's are waiting through another door and down a long hallway. Portraits framed by shining gold watch us as we greet them, torch light glinting of frames and bored smiles.

"First floor to your liking?" Asks Logan.

"Very little, kind sir." I say back, smiling slightly. "Lets us see if the second does any better."

The stairs are dark, leading up into an even darker space. It's cold, a draught blowing down from some hidden source. I can't help but let my imagination run wild, and can't stop myself from comparing the cavern of space to a monsters mouth, ready to swallow us unsuspecting innocents whole for its next hearty meal.

"Right." Sebastian rubs his hands together. "After who?"

"After you?" suggests Nicholas.

Sebastian glances up into the mouth of the beast, smiling in a way that shows his fear but doesn't make him look cowardly. "No way, man. I'm not venturing up blindly."

"Right." Duncan claps his hands on his brothers backs, hanging behind them like an encouraging shadow. "Not me either."

"Come on, guys," groans Solange. "Where's your 'white night complexes' when we need them?"

"They're just chicken," I say with a gulp of laughter.

"Hey, no. Wait!" Quinn steps forward, squares his shoulders. "We are not chicken!"

"Oh yeah?" I challenge. I lean forward, making sure my face is inches away from his, eyes glowing with mischief. He raises an eyebrow, almost grinning. Nicholas frowns from over his shoulder, brows furrowing. Interesting.

"Prove it."

He steps back, spins on his heel to face it, foot colliding with the tongue of the beast. "Fine."

His brothers turn to look.

I smile. "Looks like we have a winner."

We climb in silence. I clutch the back of Solange's shirt, not wanting to voice that I'm scared but being to coward to ignore it completely. Stairs creak under old boots. Breathing echoes. Quinn leads the party all the way up, braving the dark and the secrets it may hold. And then something hits my cheek. It stops me, my foot freezing mid-stride. Nobody else seems to have felt it, carrying on onto the a landing when the stair finish. That's weird in itself because it hangs right in the middle of the air, and as everybody's a lot taller than me then it must mean that they're really good at ignoring things, that they thought it was just a harmless spider or they were ducking low.

My hand feels its way up to it, finding a long chain with small links. Even when I'm going by touch alone I know for certain that's its jewellery. A hard, slightly curved object hangs on the end of it. Curious, my hand closes around it and pulls, snagging it from it's holds and into my closed fist.

Thankfully, the Drake's haven't realised I'm not with them, scattered to explore the fun the second floor has to offer. That's why I feel safe to flash my torch up, knowing they won't venture over to find out what I'm doing. I gasp when the light grazes it, glinting off it.

A tooth.

More importantly, a fang. A long thing attached to the chain by a thin stretch of leather cord. Small words are engraved on the side of it, curving to fit the shape.

I silently thank Liam for teaching me Latin.

Ego sum expectans te – 'I am waiting for you.'

Not daring to think what that means, I stuff it into my pocket. It feels like a problem for later, like a problem to sit down and have a good think over. But not now. Hurrying up the rest of the steps, I stop on the landing.

"Guys!" I call.

Eight head poke out of doors. "Yeah?"

I spear a glance at the door behind me. I almost didn't notice it. I didn't know what it was about it but it was like it could almost blend in to the background, melt into the wall and cover itself in high end camouflage paint. "What's in this door?"

Logan's brow creases in confusion. "I hadn't seen it."

A chorus of agreement follows as they abandon their separate searching to come and join me. Nicholas wastes no time in kicking the door down when the lock proves unsuccessful. We file in, noting the rusty brass taps and the broken shard of mirror over the sink. Lights flicker, flicker, flicker and then buzz. White sparks flash and I'm blinded, blown back a couple of steps by the force.

A door slams, closely followed by the sickening sound of Solange's piercing scream.