by Callie Rose
I was wrong. I know that now, and dammit, if I could go back in time and do things differently, I would.
I would’ve made him move in with me. I would have worked harder, earned more, and moved us both out of this shithole of a city. Somewhere nice. Quiet. Someplace where he wouldn’t have the chance to get into any of this shit.
That’s what I should have done, and I swear if we ever get out of here, that’s what I’m going to do.
I tear my gaze away from him and burn off the encroaching tears with sheer willpower. Nobody saw them, I don’t think, and I can’t afford to have an emotional reaction like that again. I can’t let anybody know that I know him, or the vampires will get suspicious.
A sudden thought strikes me, sending chills through my heart.
Has anyone ever tried this before? Gone into the nest after one of their own? Are the vamps expecting me to do this? Do they know that their new male tribute is related to the one who keeps hunting them down?
No. Not possible. If they knew that, they’d know who I am, and they never would’ve let me inside these walls.
I slow my breathing, and once I’m sure I’ve got myself under control, I risk another glance at the male tributes. I was wrong before. They’re not heading toward the empty tables that I assume are for them. Instead, they’re being led toward the high table.
“Oh, wow. They’re hot,” Chelsea breathes.
Winona glances at her with something between disgust and disappointment. “Don’t make eyes at the help, you idiot. They are nothing to you, you get me? You’re after a vampire. With your”—she waves her fingers in a figure eight through the air—“physique, you might shoot for the lower end of the spectrum. Maybe a guard or the auctioneer. But never go after the male tributes. They’re human. They aren’t why you’re here.”
“Why do you care what she does?” Jessica asks with a frown. “Isn’t it just less competition for you?”
Winona sniffs. “Slumming like that brings down everybody’s market value, sweetheart. I refuse to have my reputation tarnished by association.”
Chelsea blushes a bright, unhealthy red and looks down, muttering under her breath. I watch the tributes subtly, trying to keep my face half-hidden behind Jessica’s head. I need to get a sense of how Nathan is doing, but I don’t want him to see me yet.
Of course, as soon as I have that thought, I fucking jinx myself. Nathan’s halfway up the platform steps when he glances around the room, and I can tell the exact moment when he spots me. His eyes go wide, and for a second, he looks like he’s going to step out of line and run across the room toward me.
No. Don’t move, I pray silently, my stomach knotting itself so tightly I’m sure I’ll never be able to get food inside it again. Stay. Shut up. Don’t say a goddamn word, Nathan. If you value your life or mine, you’ll keep your mouth shut.
I turn away from him and giggle in Chelsea’s direction, loud enough to carry but not so loud as to be unnatural. I don’t know what the fuck she just said or if it was even remotely funny, but I don’t care.
Read the signs, Nathan. For God’s sake, play it cool.
“Nothing wrong with looking,” I tell the still-blushing Chelsea. “Some of them are really cute.”
My heart is thudding a million beats a minute as Anastasyia moves toward us, waving us out of our seats.
“Come, come,” she says. “Smooth procession, come now. I thought Arthur would communicate beforehand to make this a nice coordinated effort, but I guess he’s still upset that more female tributes were chosen in this round than male ones. I always tell him it’s not up to me, so it’s really not my fault, but he just will not let it go. Come on, shortest to tallest. We’re behind, but don’t look hurried. Decorum, decorum, smile girls!”
We all stand, and I get shuffled around, passed backward as the shorter girls jockey for position. Only Winona and the returning victim are behind me. We’re led to the opposite end of the high table from the men, and the matron starts up the stairs just as the male tributes are settling into position before the prince.
Every one of the men is looking at the vampire court seated behind the table—every one except Nathan. He’s looking right at me. I can feel his gaze burning into my face and I’m trying very, very hard not to look back at him.
We’re lined up in front of the high table before I’m done wrestling myself under control. My heart is flip-flopping like a fish on the bottom of a boat as the shortest male and shortest female tributes stand next to each other, creating a clear view between Nathan and me. Anastasyia and the male tribute’s—patron, I guess?—step forward as one.
“The new tributes, your highness,” Anastasyia says, sinking into a deep curtsy. “And a wonderful batch they are too.”
“Not nearly as wonderful as these new tributes.” The man who I assume must be Arthur gestures to the men, bowing even more deeply. “Young and strong and impulsive, all of them.”
Dammit, Nathan, stop staring at me. You’re going to give us away.
The prince is looking at me. Not at the female tributes as a whole—no, his eyes are locked right on me. God fucking dammit. Bastian can probably hear my heart galloping like it’s trying to bust out of my chest.
Nathan is still staring, and even as the weight of my brother’s focus makes my skin itch, the prince narrows his eyes at me.
Shit.
He knows.
Chapter Eight
I expect the prince to call me out, to drag me or Nathan or maybe both of us forward and make an example of us in front of everyone. But he doesn’t. He stays silent, still looking at me intently, and for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe the vampire prince is staring at me for a different reason entirely. Maybe whatever has drawn his focus to me is a good thing—maybe it’ll keep him from noticing the way Nathan is staring at me too.
Prince Bastian doesn’t say a word as Anastasyia introduces us all, one by one. On the other side of the platform, Arthur is working his way through the male tributes, having them each say their names.
I grit my teeth as Nathan gives his real name. Did he learn nothing from me at all? Apparently not. At least he isn’t staring anymore, but if he doesn’t wipe that shocked look off his face, we’re going to be caught anyway.
“And there you have it,” Anastasyia says proudly as Arthur finishes. “All twenty of them.”
The prince nods slowly, finally releasing me from his gaze to run his eyes over all of us. After a moment, he waves a hand, apparently dismissing us. Anastasyia bustles past me to the end of the line and leads us back to our table. The new male tributes are being led to the empty tables I expected them to go to earlier. The large dance floor is between us, but there’s a direct line of sight from the male tables to our table.
Fantastic, more opportunities for Nathan to blow my cover.
“I don’t think the prince liked us very much,” Chelsea says glumly as we all find our seats again.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Anastasyia says briskly, smiling perfunctorily. “The prince has his moods, and not all of them are pleasant. If he disapproved of any of you, he would have had you taken away for—well, that doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that you behave yourselves. The feast will begin in just a few minutes, so… well, just do as you’re told, and everything will be fine. Now, I need to have a word with Arthur. That was a disastrous presentation.”
She’s off again a moment later, making a beeline toward the vampire man assigned to watch the new male tributes. I shoot a quick glance in Nathan’s direction, glancing at him from beneath my eyelashes.
He looks stunned, staring at the table in front of him as if it might hold the answers to all of his many, many questions. I have to find a way to talk to him. He needs to know how to act and what to expect. He needs to know that his contract is over, null and void, the second I find a way out of this place, and he needs to be ready to run.
“Here you are, my pretties,” a high, autumn-wind voice says. A vam
pire waitress pulls up to our table with a cartful of fruit. With super-human speed, she whips plates around the table, one to each of us. I poke at a grape suspiciously, and she laughs.
“Oh dear, do you really think we’d poison our own tributes? No, love, this is good, hearty food. A bit sweet—we do like our desserts too, you know. Eat up.”
She disappears as quickly as she arrived, feeding the other female tributes before darting over to the male tributes’ tables. It’s hard to hear it all from this distance, but it sounds like she gives them a similar speech to the one she gave us, and Nathan turns a little green around the gills.
I can relate. Knowing that you’re being fed only to be eaten is enough to kill your appetite forever.
Winona doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. She’s eating seductively, making eyes at some of the vampires—mostly the ones sitting nearest the high table—as she wraps her lips around her fingers to suck off the juice from the fruits.
I guess I have to admire the girl’s ambition, but I can’t say I understand it.
“Oh, these are the best berries I’ve ever had!” Chelsea’s eyes light up, and she stuffs a berry in her mouth with no seductive artistry whatsoever. Winona spares a moment to wrinkle her nose in Chelsea’s direction, then goes back to her hunt. Chelsea pays no attention to her. She’s living in the moment, dissociating from the horrors around her in favor of relishing tidbits of misleading goodness. Like a sheep mowing the lawn on its way to the slaughter.
I’m torn between pity at her misfortune and fury at her stupidity. I stare at my fruit, wondering if it’s the strain of the long as fuck day or some kind of spell that makes it look so appealing. And here I thought my appetite was dead. But there are predatory eyes watching me, watching all of us, checking the ingredients we fill our bodies with. I refuse to touch the plate.
In time, it’s cleared away, replaced with a fragrant salad topped with some kind of fried meat and crumbles of fried and battered onions. My stomach growls audibly.
Fuck it. Maybe just a nibble. If I don’t eat, it’ll make me weak, and I’ll regret it eventually.
But before I can reach my fork, a vampire sweeps silently up to the table. All the girls go still, as if collectively holding their breath.
“So nice to see you again, Elise,” the man says in a voice like honeyed butter. “Come. I’ve missed your taste.”
The girl who informed us all of the complexities of the vampire bond looks up blank-faced at the vampire, then allows him to take her hand and lead her from the table. She strolls casually beside him, her body betraying nothing of what’s going on in her mind, and he takes her back to his table. The vampires sitting around it make welcoming noises to her, but she doesn’t respond to any of them. She looks almost robotic, disinterested and detached. Worth emulating, perhaps.
My stomach curdles as the vampire laps at the pulse in her throat, then sinks his teeth into her. Her hard gaze softens a little, her hand reaching up to caress the back of his neck as he drinks from her. My skin prickles from nape to toes.
I expected her to remain stiff and disinterested throughout the feed, but she touches him like a lover.
Snatching up my fork, I turn away from the sight. I already got inexplicably turned on once tonight watching a vampire feed, and if it happens again, I think I might actually lose my fucking mind.
I’m still keeping half an eye on Nathan as I eat a few bites of the food in front of me. Nobody approaches him, though a lot of vampires—male and female alike—have taken other tributes from his table to drink from. He looks about as disinterested in his meal as I am. Or just as stubborn.
Actually, come to think of it, he hasn’t been here that long. It’s entirely possible that he still has meth coursing through his veins, killing his appetite. Hell, the vampires might even be supplying it for him. I can’t imagine they would want to deal with a tribute going through withdrawals.
But would they want to drink from him if he’s still got drugs in his system? Maybe some would, but I bet there are purist vampires who like to “keep their temple clean” or whatever shit they say. So if he is still getting the remnants of it all out of his system, maybe that will keep him safe for a little while.
“We haven’t met.”
A voice at my right shoulder draws my attention, reminding me to focus on my own survival as much as Nathan’s. I tense, fighting the instinct to tear the vampire to pieces, but when I glance at him, I realize he isn’t talking to me. Chelsea looks up from her salad, her eyes wide and frightened.
“I’m Armand,” the vampire says smoothly, reaching his hand out to her. “And you are?”
“Ch-Chelsea,” she stutters, glancing at her half-finished salad with a look of regret.
He chuckles softly. “Don’t worry, love. I’m not too proud to be seen sitting at the tribute table. Enjoy your meal—while I enjoy mine.”
My eyes flare wide before I can stop them. Oh God. He isn’t going to—?
Yes. Yes, he is. He sits in the empty chair beside her, leaning close and running his hands and tongue all over her neck. She’s still holding her fork, but if he thinks she’s actually going to be able to eat while he feeds on her, he’s more batshit crazy or psychotic than most of these bloodsuckers. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Ignoring her salad completely now, she stares at the ceiling, as if trying to escape to another place entirely in her mind. But when he finally leans in closer, setting his fangs into her neck as he bites her, she sucks in a breath and then moans.
I tell myself she’s moaning in pain, but good fucking god, she sounds almost as aroused as the girl who came on Bastian’s lap. This is her first time being bitten, and she looked nervous as hell a moment ago, but now her eyelids are fluttering, her jaw hanging open a little as her body undulates softly as if seeking something to rub against.
Forcing myself not to react to any of it, I sit stiffly, arms down at my sides, trying to look as bland and unappetizing as possible. It seems like it’s working. The predator beside me doesn’t even seem to be aware that I exist.
The courses keep coming, each more enticing than the last, but after a few bites of each, I lose my appetite—mainly because with every new course, another girl is pulled from the table. The music is light and festive, a celebration of death and dying, and with every passing moment the smell of blood and lust gets stronger. I get passed over again and again, but I still feel eyes on me.
Someone is watching me.
It’s not Nathan anymore, thank fuck. His gaze is locked in curious horror on the slender female vampire straddling one of his table mates, her face buried deep in his neck.
But still, the agonizing, relentless pressure of someone’s focus sits on my shoulders, making my skin prickle.
Reluctantly, I glance up at the high table. As soon as I do, all the food I ate turns to cement in my stomach.
Dammit. Of course the prince is still looking at me. He suspects something, I just know it.
But even as I lock eyes with Bastian, the prickling sensation on my skin doesn’t go away. Someone else is looking at me, not just the prince. I turn my head the other way, peering past the pale but happy-looking Chelsea, and meet the gaze of the glowering bouncer punk I spotted at the auction.
I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the darkness of the auction house, but beneath the glittering chandeliers, I can see that his irises are a deep, dark blue, almost black. His gaze burns like fire, and he doesn’t look away when he sees me looking at him. His expression doesn’t change at all, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. I wish I could read his mind, but I think I know what’s on it.
Dinner à la me.
I tear my attention away from him, anxious to break the too-intense staring contest, but there’s nothing to look at in this entire room but vampires doing their vampire thing and humans begging them to do it.
Pasting a listless look on my face, I scan the room, which turns out to be a big mistake when I catch sigh
t of the gorgeous blond guy we ran into in the hallway. He’s been watching me too, I think, but unlike the other two men, he grins when our eyes meet and starts walking over.
Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck.
So much for staying under the damn radar. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to make it through an entire meal without getting fed on by someone, but I really don’t know if I’m ready for this.
What’ll it be, blondie? a panicked voice in my mind whispers. Dark meat, or white?
The joke falls flat even in my own head, because of course it does. Everything in me is screaming at me to find a stake and shove it through the nearest blackened heart. My pulse picks up as he comes closer.
“Hi,” he says affably. “I’m Connor. We met in the hallway?”
“Right.” I give him a tight smile. Why is he talking to me like I’m his equal? “Darcy.”
He cocks his head to one side, his firelight eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Oh, like from Pride and Prejudice, right? Or, wait… wasn’t that the guy’s name? Not that that’s a bad thing. I like guy names for girls.”
I snort a laugh in spite of myself. He grins at me, clearly encouraged. Is he really trying to impress me right now? Must be a trendy vampire diet to hit on their food before taking a bite. Hell, maybe I’ll try it myself one of these days and give my tuna sandwich some hilarious one-liners before I eat it.
“Hey, would you like to dance?” he asks suddenly, jerking me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I blink at him, then glance out at the dance floor. It’s full of couples—vampire couples. All the tributes are busy snacking or being snacked on. Turning back to Connor, I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Is that even allowed? Us dancing together?”
His ears go a little pink as he follows my gaze out to the dance floor and around the room, then he shrugs. Those amber eyes of his darken ever so slightly as he shifts them back toward me. “It should be. It would be a crime not to ask a beautiful woman like you to dance. I’ve never been real good at crime.”
