The messenger arrived at dawn.
Matt heard the footsteps approaching his quarters before the knock came—measured, deliberate, the gait of someone who knew exactly where they were going and exactly how much noise to make. He was already at the door when the knock landed.
"Mr. Garrett." The messenger was a young vampire, pale and sharp-featured, dressed in the formal grey of the Ventrue's household staff. "The Ventrue requests the presence of you and Lady Yvonne at the castle. Effective immediately."
Matt's hand tightened on the doorframe. "What about the threat?"
"The situation has been resolved." The messenger's face betrayed nothing. "The castle is secure. The Ventrue guarantees your safety."
Guarantees. Matt almost laughed. Arne Anton's guarantees were worth about as much as the paper they weren't written on. But he couldn't say that. Couldn't argue. The messenger was just a mouthpiece, and arguing with a mouthpiece was like arguing with a brick wall.
