Vivian As I lie here, curled around my husband's firm body, I begin to wonder: Am I crazy? What in the hell made me think organizing a hunt, here at our hotel, would be a good idea? Over a dozen supernatural predators are flying in from all over the world; ones who've paid an exorbitant price for the privilege of removing their everyday masks and killing one of their own kind. I must be crazy. I have a feeling this week is going to turn out to be more than any of us bargained for. Self-doubt plagues me as I rise from the warmth of the bed and stroll, naked, to my closet. The glow of the artificial landscape lighting beams in through the windows. The changing gradient indicates it's probably midday here above the Arctic Circle. Part of my nervous edge could be associated with learning to trust the new members of our seethe. While the vampires appear upfront and honest-as much as a pack of bloodsuckers can be-my old habits of distrust have served me well over the years. The two months since November's tracking and killing of Ivan have been a trial for me. This upcoming hunt week has been a long time in the planning, but I don't have to like it. Having anyone from the Tribunal of Ancients on our property sucks, especially when I have no idea who they're sending. Grabbing the clothes I set out in the