Veronica asked softly on Sunday evening. She’d spent the better part of the day going over what Seth had told her the night before, and she still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the idea of her father having been killed by a vampire they’d been hunting for nearly a hundred years. It seemed outrageous. And the pathetic little question she’d had to ask that night just seemed ridiculous in comparison to his news. It certainly wasn’t important to know that werewolves were frequently unfamiliar with modern human culture when she was learning that her father had, essentially, been killed by a vampire serial-killer. Seth’s arm tightened around her waist and he shifted, rolling in to her and letting his nose rest in her hair. “As sure as I can be,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” Veronica swallowed and curled her arm over his bare torso. He would be leaving soon to resume his hunt—which was more important now than ever—and then she would be alone with all the time in the world to think over this latest revelation.
