Dedicated to everyone who’s encouraged me on this incredible journey.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

About The Author

MALICE AUTHORS

Copyright

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THIS STORY WOULD BE nothing without the tireless efforts of Jill P., who stayed up until two in the morning with me numerous times, hashing out chapters and listening to me whine. You coaxed Ellie out of her shell and convinced me to let Dublin play with knives—all while talking me down from numerous author temper tantrums. Jilly, this story is as much yours as it is mine. Thank you so much for helping me take these characters to the next level. You’re right, you’re not a writer—you’re a miracle worker!

Thanks to Mel. You went over this story numerous times and gave me lovely, honest feedback.

Thank you, Paige, Keevs and Mira, my lovely beta bots. Mikhail says hi.

Thank you, Cherry B, Liz S., Ida and Ariel V. for volunteering to help me work with the first draft. You guys offered such amazing input.

Thanks to Eri for renewing my faith in Ellie’s character.

Thank you, Brit/Imogen at Imogenary Designs for the amazing cover and your tireless support. I know that I got on your nerves with my countless changes, but—like always—you stayed classy.

Thanks to my editor, Gemma Fisk, for cleaning up my messes and adding sparkles and shine to this draft.

Thanks so much to Victoria Colotta at VMC Art & Design, LLC, formatting extraordinaire, who is not only incredibly talented, but also patient, kind and exceedingly professional.

Thank you, the many people who read the drafts online and encouraged me from the very first chapter. You guys have made everything up until this point a complete blast.

“The blood of the pure is the bitterest poison to a corrupted soul.”

—A.R. Simone

CHAPTER 1

Memento Mori

I HATED WHEN PEOPLE sugar-coated things. Straight and to the point was how I preferred it—and a rather infamous lack of bedside manner was the reason why I had elected to see Dr. Wallis in the first place.

“I feel that it’s best not to trivialize the more serious diagnoses,” he warned, living up to his brutal reputation. “So I’ll just come right out and say it: you’re dying, Eleanor.”

He sounded so formal. Hell, he could have offered me a handkerchief for all the emotion his voice held: “Here, miss. It’s clean.”

I felt tempted to laugh, but that pesky meaning couldn’t be ignored.

Dying.

It took me only a second to process it.

Dead.

Dying.

Dead.

It took even less for the words to sink, like a stone, to the pit of my stomach and settle there, heavy and solid, but I wasn’t surprised. Startled, perhaps—it was devastating news—though, in a sick way, I figured I’d always known that, rather than pass away peacefully in my bed of old age, I would die a horrible death. My own mortality had fascinated me ever since I’d smuggled my first horror film from the servant’s break room as a teenager and watched it while huddled beneath my blankets.

‘That will be me,’ some cynical voice had whispered inside my head, and I had known then, as surely as I knew my own name that I would die just like the unfortunate bimbo at the mercy of the knife-wielding psychopath. While I hadn’t expected said death to come in the form of a terminal illness that would turn my own blood into the murder weapon, I had to admit that it was pretty violent in its own right.

“Hemohemorrahgia,” the doctor began, reiterating the speech he’d given just minutes before. “It occurs in less than one percent of the world’s population, but it is fatal in ninety percent of all reported cases. There is no cure, and—”

I stopped listening.

Hemohemorrahgia. Ironically, I had never even heard of the cause of my impending demise until a few months ago—and the disease had been a guess, thrown out by a frustrated doctor as the potential cause of a bevy of symptoms.

Why was I so tired all the time?

Why did even breathing exhaust me?

Why had a paper cut required a blood transfusion, donated platelets, and stitches to stop the bleeding?

After months of tests a team of medical professionals had all reached the same grim conclusion.

“The prognosis is rather bleak, Mrs. Gray,” the doctor continued, “but I think it’s better if we honestly discuss your options—”

“Miss,” I corrected absently.

Dr. Wallis wrinkled his nose, causing the black frames of his glasses to twitch. “Pardon?”

“It’s Miss Gray.” I unlaced my fingers and held up my unadorned hand. “I’m not married.”

“Oh.”

From the way he swiftly glanced me over, I could tell that he had never looked up from my chart long enough to give me a good appraisal before—despite this being our tenth meeting. I could guess what registered now as his gaze took me in: dull brown hair, sallow skin, and enormous green eyes that took up too much of my small face.

“Oh,” he repeated and his tone revealed what even he was too polite to say, despite his reputation: no wonder. “Well, Ms. Gray, I can arrange a consultation with social services or grief counseling. Whomever you need to help you through this very difficult time—”

“It’s fine.”

“Pardon?”

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice louder. “I said it’s fine. I don’t need anything, thank you.” I shifted in my seat and fidgeted with the hem of my skirt as an uncomfortable thought took hold. “I guess this means I’ll have to draw up a will though.” I couldn’t keep the petulant whine out of my tone.

I’d always dreaded the day I would have to draw up one of those legal documents to ensure that—after my unfortunate demise—the family fortune wasn’t devoured by money-hungry lawyers.

At least the ‘To whom I bequeath’ part would be easy; I would leave everything to Georgiana, the little sister I hadn’t seen in three months. My, would she be ecstatic to finally get her hands on our parent’s millions. True to stuffy, upper class thinking, they had left control of the estate to me, the responsible one, rather than my “willful harlot” of a little sister, as Father had put it.

Despite everything, I felt myself smile thinking of her. Beautiful, blonde and unashamedly brash, Georgie was the type of person who everyone secretly wanted to be—myself included. She slept with billionaires for diamonds, and had jettisoned off to Paris rather than attend her final semester of university because, according to her, studying was, “As boring as balls.”

One could only imagine what mischief she would get into with the family fortune at her disposal. Though, the prospect of being berated for eternity by the spirits of my parents did temper my curiosity a bit. In Mother’s eyes, dying before the ‘black sheep’ would have been simply unacceptable.

“Ms. Gray, I do have to suggest some form of counseling,” Dr. Wallis insisted. For once, he almost seemed concerned—at least until I realized that he would probably get a hefty referral fee from whomever he ‘suggested’ I see next. “A colleague of mine is one of the leading psychiatrists in the country. In fact, he’s here right now for a seminar. I could—”

I shook my head. “No thank you.”

I didn’t need anyone to soften the blow of what I’d anticipated for half of my life. There wasn’t much else that needed to be said anyway.

I was dying, the sky was blue.

I wondered if they were serving pasta in the cafeteria today …

“A-are you sure?” Dr. Wallis sputtered. “He has a rather extensive reputation—”

“Positive,” I replied. “Can I go now? Please?” I attempted to stand without waiting for an answer, and the doctor rushed forward.

“Miss Gray!”

He caught me by the shoulder, and it was a good thing he did because, despite my bravado, it had been a struggle to even haul myself out of the chair. Deep down I knew that the doctor’s firm grip was the only thing keeping me upright. He frowned as he steadied me, and reached across his desk to press the button on a small intercom with his free hand. Instantly, a sweet sound of acknowledgement came from the other end.

“Yes, Doctor Wallis? Should I send in—”

“Natalie,” Dr. Wallis said over her, “have a nurse bring a wheelchair and escort Miss Gray to the inpatient wing.”

“Yes, sir.”

I waited until he took his finger off the button before wrenching my arm away, even though I had to cling to my vacated chair to keep my balance.

“No. No hospital,” I hissed. The hell was I staying in this horrible place for another night. “No more tests. I can walk to the car quite fine on my own.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Dr. Wallis shook his balding head as if he thought I was a child who needed placating. “Ms. Gray, accept the wheelchair at least. The liability …”

So nice to know that he only cared about me falling on hospital property out of fear that I might sue for it. Sighing, I dug into my purse with a shaking hand and withdrew my checkbook. After scribbling out a figure, I slapped the sliver of paper down onto his desk and gave it a little shove in his direction.

“Buy a new wing,” I said, confident that the figure drying in ink was more than enough to do so. “On behalf of the Gray family. Dedicate it to—” I snickered. “Bloodbath Five-Thousand.”

“Pardon?” The doctor frowned.

“Nothing. Can I go now?”

I figured that I had my answer when he didn’t prattle on about counseling or liabilities, especially when I heard the delicate crinkle of a check being stuffed into a pocket.

Wrestling my purse strap over one shoulder, I turned for the door. Near the threshold, I added without turning around, “I’ll be sure to let Natalie know that you’ve changed your mind.”

The very pleasant Natalie sent me on my way with a smile and an enthusiastic, “Have a good day, Miss!”

Oh, Natalie. If only.

I had barely gone two steps from the door that marked the entrance to Dr. Wallis’ office suite before I found myself shaking. I had to lean against the wall and dig my heels into the carpet just to keep from sliding down to the floor.

In the end, I only managed to stagger three more steps before collapsing altogether.

My stomach heaved and, in a flurry of colorful liquid, I coughed up a breakfast of toast and jam right in front of a sign that proclaimed, ‘Hand washing: the best defense against germs!’

Lovely. You would think—considering how hefty my medical bill was—that the drugs they gave me during my stay would at least help combat my symptoms.

They didn’t.

Gazing forlornly at my puke, I wondered if I should have donated a statue or something to go along with that new wing. Or at least tip the poor janitor unfortunate enough to have to clean up the mess, some grand, kind gesture to mark my final days. Instead, I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity for another minute before I finally found the strength to drag myself upright on unsteady limbs—mentally berating myself the entire time.

I should have let Harper walk me in like he’d insisted. He was the driver who’d served my family faithfully for over fifteen years—and I had threatened to fire him just to keep him from escorting me inside. I just couldn’t shake the thought of what that would have looked like; the heiress, too needy to walk into a damn hospital without the company of a paid companion.

Never in a million years did I want to be that woman, the one with diamonds dripping from her neck who couldn’t even catch a cold without the whole damn world holding its breath. Though, at least that woman never had to muck up her own vomit with a crumpled napkin fished from her purse and stagger down the hall before someone came by to notice the mess.

How many floors was it to the garage? Three? Five? I fished Dr. Wallis’ business card from my coat pocket and scoped out the location of his office: the fourth floor.

Funny. It was a struggle to go even four feet.

The halls stretched for a hundred miles in either direction. My vision drifted in and out of focus, and with every step, I wobbled precariously on my heels. Damn those years of Cotillion where not wearing proper footwear in public had been seen as an even greater sin than forgetting white gloves at tea.

My thoughts were a blur, the only goal being to make it to the elevator without causing a scene. People were already staring at me: the woman in the burgundy peacoat clinging to the wall for dear life.

Easy does it, girl, I chanted while urging my aching limbs forward. Easy does it …

I didn’t even see him coming.

Wham!

I went sprawling. There was no scream, no gasp, just the sensation of everything suddenly jolting into motion like a tape slammed into fast forward. I hit the ground hard, hearing the sound before I really felt the pain.

“Are you all right?”

The voice came from a million different directions at once. I couldn’t see—everything was white …

But it was a full minute before I realized that the odd light came from someone who stood above me, so pale they practically glowed. I blinked frantically until the figure came into full focus.

He looked like a doctor, a beautiful, angelic doctor with hair the color of spun gold and skin paler than snow. He must have been foreign too, judging by that startlingly rich accent. English? As young as he was—mid-thirties at least—he definitely wasn’t one of the old geezers consulting on my case.

He said something else that I couldn’t discern, worried eyes scanning my body up and down. They were the oddest color. Gray?

I didn’t realize I was still sprawled out on the floor until he offered a hand to haul me back to my feet. Dazed, I took it and a jolt went through me as his fingers entwined with my own. He was cold—painfully so—but I held on.

“Are you all right?”

Rather than answer, I peeked through my hair, relieved to find that the hallway was empty of anyone else.

“I’m fine,” I lied. My chest heaved with the effort to suck in oxygen. Pain danced down my spine while I clung to the man’s hand a little longer than necessary in an effort to regain my balance. “Just a little dizzy, is all.”

He gave me a funny look. It wasn’t quite a smile, but the mocking tilt to that stern mouth seemed amused all the same. “Are you sure?”

A sudden rush of warmth coated my chin as I nodded my assurance that I was perfectly all right—within seconds, I found it near-impossible to breathe out of my nose.

“Damn it.”

I recognized the sensation and what it entailed—but seeing as how I had used the last of my tissues to muck up my own vomit, I was forced to pinch the bridge of my nose with just my fingers. Desperate to staunch the blood flow, I tilted my head back, and that slight motion alone nearly knocked me off my feet. My body tensed, bracing for another impact. Only it never came.

The next second I found myself shoved onto a bench instead. Firm fingers batted my own away and replaced them with what felt to be a wad of cloth. I glanced down and recognized the shape of a white handkerchief with a monogrammed corner sporting the letters D.H in black thread.

His initials?

“Thank you,” I mumbled around a drizzle of blood.

I figured I should have been alarmed, but I was more worried that Harper would notice the crimson stains on my coat. The old coot was sharp—he would figure out the truth no matter how much I lied. A third nosebleed in as many days might have been enough cause for him to drag me back into the hospital this time, whether I was willing or not.

“That’s quite a lot of blood.”

The casual observation brought my attention back to the stranger, and I felt my eyes widen as I observed him closely for the first time: blond hair, firm jaw line, perfect, glowing skin.

Altogether, he was probably the most handsome man I had ever seen—but those piercing eyes honed in on the stream of blood issuing from my nose without a shred of real concern. He made no move to get help, and a bizarre emotion itched at the back of my mind.

Unease?

I didn’t miss how that gallant smile never reached his eyes, and with every second that passed, the uneasy feeling became full-blown suspicion.

He wanted something. Years of dealing with people who coveted whatever my family name could garner had made it second nature to spot a hidden agenda. When he reached out—perhaps to merely adjust my sloppy grip on his handkerchief—I jerked back, spraying blood in a vicious arc.

“I’m fine.”

He retreated, but for the briefest moment I caught something flashing across his gaze that I shouldn’t have: annoyance —as if my reaction had not been a part of his plan.

Or months spent virtually alone had simply made me paranoid. I shook my head and pressed my nose more tightly into the handkerchief.

“I’ll promise not to press charges against you for running into me if you go away,” I mumbled into the cloth. Guilt pierced me at the rudeness; years of forced etiquette seemed to be draining from my body just as quickly as my blood.

Though, damn it, I was dying anyway.

“Really?”

I glanced up, only to find that the odd, mocking tilt to his mouth was back. Was he toying with me? “Seriously, I’m fine, so you can go now, please—”

“Pardon me for saying this, but you don’t look very fine.”

I wanted to take offense, but it was the truth. Designer clothes speckled with blood, skin so pale it was almost see-through, hands painted red. I must have looked horrible.

“In fact,” the stranger continued, “I would go so far as to say that you are anything but fine, Eleanor Gray.”

CHAPTER 2

Choices

THE FACT THAT HE knew my name didn’t alarm me.

My family owned half the city, including a good portion of this very hospital. Considering that my sister’s escapades were constant fodder for the tabloids, I would have been more insulted if he didn’t know who I was.

But once again …it was that look in his eyes. It chilled me right down to the bone; I know you, Eleanor Gray, it said. Way more than just a face from the Society Pages.

Before I could choke out a reply, he smiled—for real this time—and my poor brain struggled to find the right words to describe it. Dazzling. Magnificent ...

The flash of pearly white teeth nearly knocked me senseless. I lost my grip on the handkerchief for a split second, sparking the taste of copper over my tongue.

“Word travels fast around here,” he said, voice traveling down my spine.

I felt my nose wrinkle as I frowned. Apparently news of my terminal illness had spread before I’d even left the damn hospital. How long before my picture ended up splattered over the front of some tabloid beneath the headline, Heiress given weeks to live?

I didn’t answer. Instead, I willed my nose to stop bleeding, though I had a feeling that I was quickly becoming in danger of needing transfusion number four.

I felt so dizzy all of a sudden. As if, at any moment, I could pass out. Faint.

“What do you see?”

“Huh?”

The question threw me off and had me turning to face him before I could help it. Wordlessly, he inclined his head and my eyes automatically followed.

The hall we were in opened onto a causeway, where patients and visitors alike wandered the pristine floor.

The sight reminded me of a hotel—albeit minus the IV poles some people sported instead of suitcases. The air was the same: that busy, ‘places to go, people to see, get the hell out of my way’ vibe that made everyone seem closed off, further away.

Without meaning to, I found my gaze settling over a young girl who had her head wrapped in a polka dot headscarf. Beside her, a man I guessed to be her father pushed an IV pole that rattled over the floor.

She was almost as pale as I was, with dark, bruise-like circles underneath her eyes—but that wasn’t what stood out to me the most.

She was smiling. Walking, talking and …smiling. Despite the obvious physical signs, if you went off that expression alone, you would have never guessed she was sick at all. My gaze remained glued to her, even as the mysterious doctor spoke up again.

“Mortality,” he said grimly. “It’s the most precious commodity in the world, don’t you agree?”

I nodded. I may have not been that invested in my own life, but I could read the fervent desire on all the other faces—from the new mother carrying her infant in a car seat, to the elderly man clutching a newspaper to his chest.

The lust to live was always the same.

“There are some who would do anything for another chance at life, for more time.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly that it wasn’t until my mind processed what he was really saying that his morbid tone struck me like a blow.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sounded like I was under water. My nose was still dripping. Even the pressure of my hand wasn’t enough to staunch the blood flow.

“You wouldn’t,” Mr. Gray Eyes said with a shrug. “Immortality doesn’t interest you, does it, Eleanor?”

Alarm raced down my spine—no longer was I convinced that this was just a random chat with a stranger. It was all in his tone.

“I have to go.” I clutched the now bloody handkerchief and tried to stand. My legs felt as flaccid as limp noodles. Sweat poured down the back of my neck, and the erratic beat of my heart quickened and then faltered. Thump, thump, th-ump.

“You’re not afraid of death,” the man—though I was now seriously doubting that he was a doctor—continued. “You welcome it; or so you tell yourself. But, I’m here to offer you a choice—”

“I think …I need a real doctor.”

I was through humoring him. Without bothering to be polite, I attempted to stagger in the direction of the activity, grasping onto anything to steady me. My hands were slippery and my once-burgundy peacoat was now soaked scarlet.

Hemohemorrahgia kept haunting me in Doctor Wallis’ curt tones. 90% fatality!

“Mortality can be a hindrance of sorts.”

The man was still talking, only I had no idea just what he was getting at. More importantly, why hadn’t he gotten a doctor or flagged down a nurse? I clung to the wall and scanned the crowd of blurring faces, desperate to catch sight of another white lab coat.

“I think I …need …help.”

It took all my strength just to get the words out. And he only ignored me.

“I’m here to offer you a choice, Eleanor: accept your impending death, or …something else.”

What else? I struggled to ask but was only greeted with silence. It stretched on for a good five minutes before I realized that he had finally left. That strange vibe was gone at least, but so was any sensation or feeling in my limbs. Or sound. My vision was an inky shade of gray, nearly black, but …

When I finally gave into the darkness, I swore I could hear him whisper one last time, “It’s your decision, but if you’re smart, you will make the right one.”

Beep, beep, beep played the horrible mechanical lullaby that lured me out of sleep.

Oh no.

I knew that smell. That icky metallic taste in my mouth that came from the solution they used to flush an IV. Heart sinking, I realized where I was even before I peeled my eyes open to a worried Harper and clinical white walls.

“It’s been two days, miss,” he announced, frowning beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. At least the man knew exactly what I wanted to hear: no sappy stuff, just the facts.

“Get the car ready,” I rasped the moment I found my voice.

Ouch. It hurt to talk. I had to take a few sips of the water Harper poured from a pitcher just to erase the grittiness in my throat. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten here or why. All that mattered was the fact that my trusty driver was already standing, ready to carry out my bidding.

“I’ll have the car brought around in a minute, Miss.”

I could tell from his expression that he wanted to say more—something other than the customary confirmation of orders.

That he was concerned, perhaps? Worried? That maybe this time I should stay inside this horrible place, strapped to a bunch of machines?

Whatever it was, at least he knew better than to mention it out loud. Without another word, he disappeared through the door of what I guessed to be a private room. Oh God. I was definitely in a hospital—not even an emergency room bed, but an actual inpatient wing judging from the sounds of chaos coming from the hall.

What had Harper said? Two days?

I shivered at the thought. Forty-eight hours of blissful unconsciousness while these trigger-happy villains in white had been free to do whatever they wanted to me—all while gleefully charging my family’s account.

I forced down a few deep breaths, and then tried to sit up.

It was a bad idea.

It hurt—everything hurt; my body, my skin, my head, even my hair. I felt tender and used and broken, which was probably why the IV snaking from my wrist wasn’t clear with the usual maintenance fluid, but red.

For some reason, I wasn’t alarmed by the sight of what had to be my fourth transfusion this month, merely annoyed. From experience, I knew that they wouldn’t let me leave until the whole thing was finished running—no matter how many lawyers I threatened to call.

I sank back against a wall of pillows with a sigh. Everything that I had always put off loomed overhead, threatening to come crashing down if I didn’t take care of it soon. That whole ‘will’ business would definitely need to be dealt with—and not only for the sake of the money. In fact, I was willing to put the welfare of my Siamese cat, Mr. Tinkles, above the entire Gray fortune.

Tinkles had been rescued from a shelter after an accident had left him blind in one eye and missing two hind legs. Like any true spinster in training, I had given him his own wing in the house and a personal cook. He was my special baby and he absolutely hated me. I couldn’t even look at the beast without him flexing his claws.

To be fair, he hated everyone, but if making sure he had fresh tuna every night was the price Georgie would pay for taking control of our inheritance, then so be it.

In fact, it seemed very important to ensure Mr. Tinkles’ wellbeing. There were so many things Georgie needed to know: his nightly schedule, and how to rub his belly with the sole of her slippered foot so that it didn’t hurt so much when he scratched, the importance of his favorite toy, Mr. Squeakers.

Oh, and the whole ‘your sister is dying’ thing. That should probably be mentioned as well.

I glanced around the room and found my cell phone resting on the bedside stand, most likely courtesy of Harper. I attempted to reach for it, annoyed by just how badly my fingers shook. In the end, I settled for keeping it on the table and switching on the speakerphone. I tried six of the eleven numbers I had listed for Georgie before someone finally picked up on the third ring.

“’Lo?”

I sighed at the sound of a man’s voice, and strained my own to carry. “Can I speak to Georgie or Georgiana or Peach or Sprinkles, whatever she’s calling herself now—” She went by so many damn names these days, I could barely keep up.

There was a grunt from the other end. “Hey, sweetcheeks! Phone.”

A second later, my sister’s chirpy voice filled the room, laced with static. “Hello, helloooo?”

Wonderful. From the high-pitched giggle edging her words, I could tell she was already drunk.

“Georgie?”

“Ells!” Her shriek bounced off the walls and I wished that I had the strength to slap my hands over my ears. Instead, they just twitched by my side, too heavy to lift. “Ellie-Bellie! What’s going on?”

Her worried tone caught me off guard.

“What do you mean?”

Unease coiled in my stomach. Had Harper gotten to her first?

“You only call when something bad has happened,” Georgie accused. “So what is it? Did the stock market crash? Are we desti …dessitude?” Another tattered giggle.

“Destitute,” I corrected offhandedly. “And no, we are not, by the way. Where are you? I’ll send the car.”

I rolled my eyes in anticipation of the answer; which seedy bar would Harper have to drag her out of now?

Her reply came on a bubbly bit of laughter. “Belize, darling!”

“B …B-what?”

“Buh-leeze,” Georgie squealed, drawing out the word. “Paulo here has a Villa. We’ve had a whole beach all to ourselves!”

My guess was that ‘Paulo’ was the charming answerer of the telephone and with a hazy grasp of geography I assessed that Belize was somewhere in South America. Georgiana sure knew how to pick her men. Though, to be fair, she was in the tropics while I was stuck in a hospital bed. I shook my head to clear the rare bit of jealousy that thought stirred.

“When are you coming back?” I asked, though I guessed the real question was why I was so surprised that she had left the continent without even telling me?

That was typical Georgiana. I could only be grateful that, this time, she had remembered to bring along her cell phone.

“Not for three weeks,” Georgie said. “Paulo has some business to take care of, and then we plan on going on a cruise—”

“Do you think … Do you think you might be able to come home early?”

I hated how petulant I sounded. I might as well have added a ‘pretty please’ onto the end—however, from her tone one might think that I’d suggested my sister sprout wings and fly.

“Early? What on earth for?”

Was it really that much of a hassle to visit your only sister?

“I could send the family jet ...”

“Oh no. Something is wrong,” Georgie whined. “What is it? The last time you sounded like this, Dad had his heart attack.”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just …miss you, is all.”

“Miss me?”

I could picture her scrunching her nose up as she tried to puzzle out the meaning of those foreign words. My family never threw out terms like ‘love’ and ‘missed.’ We merely coexisted: a band of allies bound together by blood and money.

My parents never had a marriage—merely a business arrangement. Georgie and I weren’t their children, but assets. I had only one other relative, apart from my sister: an eccentric uncle by the name of Orwell who hadn’t been seen since Father’s funeral.

“Well,” Georgie said, “you’ll see me when I get back. We’ll get lunch or something, huh?”

“All right.”

I didn’t have the heart to mention that I wouldn’t be alive in three weeks, according to Dr. Wallis’ grim prognosis.

I was dying.

Only now did the realization hit me like a kick in the gut—and my irresponsible kid sister couldn’t even come home on a private jet, just so that I could tell her in person.

I would be lying if I claimed to not feel something. Hurt? Though, maybe the ache in my chest was just pity at the thought of Mr. Tinkles going without his nightly belly rubs? What would he do without me …

“Ellie? Ells? You there?”

“Yes,” I croaked, shaking my head to clear the troubling thoughts. “I’m here.”

“I have to go. I don’t get good service out here, so it’s probably best if you don’t call me for a while. At least until I get back. Also—” I sighed, guessing the turn of the conversation before the words, “Can you send me some money?” even left her mouth.

“How much?” I demanded, cutting her off mid-plea.

“About two hundred, give or take.”

I wasn’t naïve enough to assume that she meant the amount at face value.

“Two hundred thousand?” I clarified, just to drill the point home; she could jet off to Belize without a word, but it was nice to know that I, big sister Ellie, would always be her glorified ATM.

“Pretty please?”

I wanted to be annoyed, but she could have asked for two-hundred million and it still wouldn’t have made a difference.

“Fine,” I said, forcing down a dry swallow. “It will be in your account by tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ells! You’re the best! Smooches.”

With a fake kiss, she hung up.

I didn’t even get the chance to mention Mr. Tinkles and what should happen to him in the event of my unfortunate demise. For the longest time I just sat there, staring at the plain walls of my hospital room while trying to ignore the commotion of doctors and nurses from beyond the doorway.

Several realizations hit me all at once.

For one, I was alone. I was dying and I was alone.

I didn’t even get the chance to tell my little sister that everything was all hers—apparently, beach-hopping with someone named Paulo was more important.

My kitty would go hungry.

“Miss Gray?”

I jumped as the door opened and someone entered the room. Assuming it was a nurse, I struggled to pull myself upright while pointing at the hated IV.

“I’m leaving as soon as you get that damn thing out of me …”

I trailed off once I realized that the small figure approaching me was a young girl. She was a pretty thing with charming blue eyes and a pink scarf wrapped around her head, turban style.

It was nearly a full minute before I realized that I recognized her; the girl from the other day. From all appearances she looked to be the sickly child I had seen on the causeway, but at the same time …

This girl wasn’t pale. Her skin was fuller and those eyes were less sunken in. The only thing on her arm was a tiny pink bracelet whereas two days ago, there had been an IV.

I’ll take whatever she is having, I thought in awe of her transformation. Perhaps there was a trial for a new miracle drug being tested somewhere in the hospital?

“Hello,” she greeted me. Her smile was beautifully crooked, revealing one missing front tooth and a dimple in her left cheek. In one hand, she held a single rose which she placed on my bedside-stand. In the other was a folded slip of paper. “He told me to give you this,” she said, offering the note.

He? “Who told you?” I asked, even as I raised my trembling hands in an effort to grab the ivory slip. Harper? Dr. Wallis? “Was it a man in a uniform? Was he wearing a hat?”

That smile widened as she shook her head. “Nope. He did.”

I was confused. Even more so when she reached over to take my pathetically weak hand in her own. She was warm. Gently, she eased my fingers apart and slipped the paper into my palm.

“He said to read it and answer the question at the bottom.”

Huh? I stared down at the white slip.

Was it some kind of hospital survey? A list of things I would have to ‘pinkie promise’ not to sue for if they let me out against medical advice?

I didn’t care. I pulled the edges apart as the girl stood back, forcing my blurry vision to take in the words scrawled across the page.

Eleanor Gray, you have been chosen, the first line read in black ink. Certainly not the usual opening of a ‘please do not sue us’ letter. Intrigued, I read on:

Choose wisely. You will only be presented with this opportunity once.

Choices …that word triggered something—a memory. Blond hair, gray eyes: that strange doctor from the hallway.

Had he sent me this note?

By the time I reached the very bottom I was convinced this whole thing was a joke.

There were two neat lines of script, each in front of a box. A checkbox. It reminded me of one of those notes you received from a boy in grade school—or, like the ones I had received with strict instructions to pass on to Georgie. One of those, Do you like me? If so, check yes! Only, the options specified in this note differed slightly.

Well, Miss Gray, this mysterious ‘he’ had written. Make your choice.

Beside each box was a single word, and if I wasn’t so weak I would have rubbed my eyes just to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on me.

Live, read one option. The other was just as simple. Die.

Choose wisely, the writer reminded. Either option, once selected, cannot be undone.

“What is this?”

The note slipped through my shaking fingers to bounce onto my lap but, when I glanced up, I was shocked to find that the strange girl had vanished. All that was left behind was that startlingly red rose on my bedside-table. Next to it was a plain silver pen that I was quite sure hadn’t been there before.

I blinked, shook my head and wearily rubbed my eyes again.

But all three items remained.

It’s a joke, I told myself sternly. Obviously that “doctor” in white had a thing for messing with the minds of the terminally ill.

Terminal.

For some reason, that word made my heart beat faster. I was terminal. Voice cracking around a laugh, I tested the word out loud.

“Eleanor Louise Gray is terminally ill.”

Thinking of Mr. Tinkles and Georgie and my parents’ two, cold plots on the family estate, the words died in the back of my throat. Impulsively, I found myself reaching for the pen. My fingers closed over the shaft, and I dragged it closer while spreading the note flat on the table’s surface.

My choice?

Death, of course, I thought with a harsh bark of laughter. I wasn’t afraid. I had stared down that dark abyss my entire life, as the girl who nobody really saw, but everyone wanted something from.

My parents had demanded perfection. Georgie, attention. Mr. Tinkles, tuna. Even Harper, as wonderful as he was, stuck around because of a hefty paycheck every month.

No one wanted just Ellie and, as I sat tucked in that hospital bed, I realized for the first time that I had never really lived my own life. The epitaph on my tombstone might as well read, “Here lies Eleanor Gray; she lived to serve.”

Death was the one thing I had always had control over. From the age of thirteen I had gotten the grim gist that how, when, or where didn’t really matter. It was something final. Something that—in that moment—would happen only to me.

No one else could take control.

Only now, I needed to take control. These days, the doctors and nurses called the shots. I was just the body strapped down, forced to suffer it all until …

I gulped and dragged the pen over to the box marked Death. I made a faint line—barely a mark on the ivory—before something made me move a little to the right.

Okay, Mr. Doctor, I thought as I formed a tiny check as neatly as I could. Two can play at this game.

He wanted to give choices, did he? Well, I choose Life. My own life, to live the way I wanted without being at the beck and call of someone else.

That vibrant, streak of black ink blazed from the page in triumph. I felt oddly proud of myself as the pen slipped from my fingers to roll across the floor.

When unconsciousness found me again, I could have sworn that I was smiling for the first time in months …

Even as a deep, accented voice chased me into the darkness, whispering, “Choose wisely.”

CHAPTER 3

Million Dollar Man

CONSIDERING THAT THE LAST thing I remembered was being strapped down to a stiff hospital bed, I couldn’t imagine how on earth I had wound up in mine. The feather-soft mattress beneath me, outfitted with plush cotton sheets, was heavenly compared to the scratchy straw-like material that covered the beds in the medical ward.

Was I dead?

Or better yet, had Harper—aiming for a nice raise—broken me out of the hospital, with those bloodthirsty doctors clawing at his back?

The thought made me snort, but I had a feeling that that wasn’t it.

No …the reason I was here probably had everything to do with the stranger standing in my room. I could sense them there. Not a servant, I deduced, not quiet and meek—this intruder’s scent proclaimed their presence as loudly as if they had shouted.

It was spicy and dark, slightly musty as well—as if they spent most of their time in a place that lacked fresh air. It almost reminded me of how my father had smelled during those last days, when the dusty books of his study had impregnated him with their scent.

“Who are you?” I asked, too drained to even bother opening my eyes. “Is this about money?”

If they were a burglar, they could have every last penny as far as I was concerned. Hell, even a criminal probably had better intentions for it than Georgie did.

To feed a hungry family? I wondered. World domination?

Either way, at least those family millions would finally leave the vault.

Seconds passed and I didn’t receive an answer. Not even a threat.

Well, buddy, it’s your lucky day, I thought without stopping to consider the reasons for the silence. I was simply too tired to play these games.

“The safe is down the hall to your right in a room marked ‘staff only,’” I began. “Inside you’ll find brooms, mops and a painting of fruit on the wall. Flick the switch underneath the frame and it will open. The combination is—” I bit my lip trying to remember. “The combination is the founding of our first company, so 1794. Inside is all the cash we carry on the property; at least a few grand.”

I had never bothered to count it.

“The accounts are a bit trickier. It would take days for me to transfer all the money wirelessly, but if you call Handson, our accountant, and tell him ‘I have Ellie Gray hostage and I’ll kill her if you don’t blah, blah, blah,’ he’ll probably be cooperative. He’s a nervous little fellow so just promise him a percent or two and he’ll do all the work.”

Silence again.

Here I was, panting with the effort getting all that out had cost me, and I didn’t even receive so much as a thank you in response. Though, on second thought, there was no sound of eager footsteps rushing off to squander away the fortune either.

I sighed as another thought began to take hold. “If you have to kill me for whatever reason, just please—” I wearily tapped the bridge of my nose with a finger. “One shot, right between the eyes. Make it clean.”

Still nothing. Not even the cocking of a gun.

That does it! I wrenched my eyes open, prepared to demand they do something—only to have the words die right in my throat.

Leaning against my bay window, fingers pressed against the glass, was a man almost as pale as the gray daylight that ghosted his skin. I noticed instantly that his clothes were too perfectly tailored for the average burglar, and while I couldn’t conjure a name, his broad shape was eerily familiar.

Him, a part of me whispered in recognition. Even with his back to me, I somehow had no trouble picturing a face graced with the chiseled features and silver eyes of that strange doctor from the hospital—only today he wore a plain sweater and a pair of dark pants rather than a lab coat.

“Good evening, Miss Gray,” he called over his shoulder, as cordially as if he were an old friend who’d just popped over for a chat.

I bolted upright, automatically clutching the top sheet to my chest—a glance down revealed why: I had been stripped naked. Parts of me were even still visible through the delicate sheets and I hunched over, drawing my knees up to my chest.

Had he brought me here? Undressed me?

“Who are you?” I demanded, voice trembling. “How did you get in here? Where’s Harper?”

“So nice to see that you’re finally awake,” was all he said.

Finally. I stiffened at his tone threading my fingers together over my chest.

“W-What do you mean?”

His reply came from over his shoulder. “You’ve been out for three days.”

Three days. The words spun around my brain, collided.

“What?”

The man shrugged. “Your reaction was stronger than most. Your body must have been in even worse shape than your doctors realized.”

“Reaction? What are you talking about?”

“I read your chart, of course. It’s customary for all potential cases.”

“Potential …what?”

Was he there at Dr. Wallis’ behest to convince me that I needed a therapy ‘consultation’? Before I could fully consider the thought, something in his crisp, clinical tones triggered a memory that I supposed had been weighing in the back of my mind all along.

Life or Death.

“You!” I croaked, tightening my grip on my bed sheet. “You sent me that note.”

The accusation didn’t earn a single reaction. Not a frown, nor a flush of guilt. I might as well have said nothing at all. Apparently, gazing down at the estate’s front lawn was a lot more interesting than placating me.

Too stunned to do anything else, I found myself following the line of his gaze through the window panes, surprised to find that it was already early in the evening. The sun was only a few hours from setting and shadows loomed around the edges of my bedroom, threatening to swallow it whole. I barely recognized the plain layout with its simple, bare-bones furniture and lavender walls.

Days trapped inside the hospital might as well have been an eternity.

“What a very funny joke,” I stammered, gathering the nerve to sit up further when nearly a minute passed without an explanation. “Tease the terminally ill heiress. I bet your friends got a kick out of that.”

Still nothing.

“Well,” I said weakly, “I’m sure you all will be howling once I call the police—”

“You’ve made your choice.”

The man finally turned to face me, and just like the other day, his rare brand of handsome threw me off; a strong chin paired with a beautiful Roman nose. He smiled and it should have been impossible for such a harmless expression to spark such a dangerous reaction inside my body. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Lightheadedness alone probably would have dispelled my desire to reach for the panic button installed underneath the edge of my bedside stand.

As it was, my hand was already darting for it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My fingers stilled over the button. One little press and a hoard of private security guards would flood my room.

“Give me a good reason,” I countered, hating the way my voice shook. The temperature in the room dropped within an instant. I couldn’t stop shivering, and his eyes …

The intensity in them locked me in place, almost daring me to disobey.

“I’ll give you twelve,” he said coldly. “Twelve wives. Twelve lives. Twelve …well, you get the gist. It’s difficult to be both menacing and rhyme at the same time so I truly suggest you take my word for it.”

He smiled, fulfilling my unconscious wish, but the sight chilled me to the core of my being.

Twelve, I guessed, was the number of security guards under the estate’s employ, and if my powers of deduction accounted for anything, then he had just threatened to kill them all.

Shadows cut over his gaze, making it seem fathomless, empty. A tense few seconds passed before a sudden cold sweat made my finger drift away from that button—for the moment. “Who are you?” I choked out. “Where is Harper?”

He frowned and raked a hand through his blond hair.

“Harper is out for a stroll—” I gulped; Harper wasn’t the type for leisurely walks. Before I could argue that point, the stranger continued. “As for who I am? Well, that is a very general question, Eleanor. You probably just want a name, so I’ll give you one: Dublin.”

“Dublin?” I echoed. “Like the city in Ireland?”

“Dublin,” he said. “Like the city in Ireland. What? Don’t like it?” He scratched beneath his chin. “What about Helos? Dublin Helos. It’s a rather fine name if I do say so myself.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious. His accent made everything he said sound mocking. Though, at least the strange name would give the police something to call him in their trespassing report—but rather than reach for the panic button again, I found myself continuing the strange conversation despite every instinct warning me not to.

“Well, Dublin.” I swallowed hard. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

He shrugged. “It seemed as good as any a place to conduct business.”

That caught my interest. “Business?”

Was he a thief after all? Here to drain my family’s accounts under the pretense of a medical house call?

I bit my lower lip, not liking the expression that crossed his face as he reached into the pocket of his pants and withdrew a neatly folded note.

“This business. You, my dear, have a contract to sign.”

I waited for the punch line—obviously, this was another joke—but as the seconds passed, that stern expression never wavered.

He was serious.

My mouth fell open. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to form any meaningful words—but the shock didn’t last long.

“Get out.”

I clutched the sheet to my body as I stood, digging my toes into the plush carpet. The motion carried me away from the panic button, but hell, there had to be a servant—or someone—around to hear me scream. I sucked in air, only to have his laughter startle it back out again. The sound was electric and Dublin was the definition of a devil-may-care attitude as he inclined his head.

“How strange,” he murmured. “Just the other day, you could barely support your own weight, and now look at you ...”

I glanced down before I could stop myself, and it wasn’t long before I understood what he meant.

I was standing on my own. For the first time in months, I wasn’t forced to hold onto something just to stay upright. Not only that, but my throat wasn’t sore. I didn’t feel dizzy. Breathing alone didn’t exhaust me.

Alarmed, my gaze swung back up to his face. “What did you do to me?”

I was positive that he had done something, something dramatic enough to render me unconscious for three days.

An illegal drug?

An experimental treatment?

Rather than give me a definitive answer, Dublin merely flashed another disarming smile, but it was decisively colder than before.

“Have a seat, Eleanor Gray,” he told me, gesturing to my bed with a wave of his hand. “We have much to discuss.”

I remained standing—though, I should have screamed, run, darted for that panic button. He was unarmed, and a grin alone shouldn’t have seemed more threatening than any weapon—but there was something in his tone that rooted me to the spot. I had to know …

“About what?”

Dublin didn’t respond right away. Instead, he offered something to me that I hadn’t even realized was in his hand until right then.

At first glance, it could have been a leather binder, like the one a check might come in at a restaurant. However, when the surface caught the light, I noticed something sneering at me from the center of the cover: the golden emblem of a snake.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” he suggested, giving the object a shake.

It was a challenge. When I didn’t move, he extended the book between us, a dangerous olive branch.

I knew then that I should have run despite his threat. Fingers shaking, I reached out and took the book instead. The moment I did, something cold raced down my spine like the caress of an invisible finger. I could have sworn I heard a voice whisper ‘Don’t’ in my ear as I settled the light object on one palm and flipped it open.

Trapped between the leather cover was a fancy-looking document that reminded me of my parent’s will. For a brief moment I wondered sarcastically if he had taken care of that dreaded chore for me. To bolster that hope, my name was written across the top in elegant black script. Only, below that, rather than ‘To whom I bequeath’ was a line reading, ‘Duties of the contractor, hereinafter referred to as the debtor, shall include:’

A growing sense of dread coiled in my gut as my eyes swept over those scrawled words.

1. The debtor shall hereby fully submit to the will of the contract holder.

2. The debtor shall hereby perform any and all duties necessary to fulfill the contract.

3. The debtor shall hereby…

“What is this?” I wrenched my eyes back to Dublin’s, unprepared for the emptiness I found in them.

“It’s what you agreed to, Eleanor.” He wiggled two of his fingers with that white slip of paper tucked between them. “Read the fine print next time—” His tone turned harsh. “Every choice comes with a price.”

It wasn’t until the waning light reflected off the paper in his hands that I remembered the note with those damn boxes.

Check for life.

Check for death.

Which one had I picked? Suddenly I couldn’t remember.

“You’re crazy.” I slammed the binder shut and threw it at his feet for good measure. Once …twice, it bounced over the carpet before rebounding off the polished toe of his shoe. “Now get out, before I—”

“Before you what?” In a burst of cool air, he was in front of me. His gaze locked onto my own as I stumbled back. Those grayish eyes were so dark they nearly touched on black. “Before you what, Eleanor Gray?”

I couldn’t breathe. A chill wafted from him, as if he’d just come from outside, and my body reacted by tightening in places that made me wish my bed sheets weren’t so damn thin. It didn’t help any that, a split-second later, his expression shifted into another chilling smile.

“You’re a smart woman,” he declared in a tone so deceptively soft I would have preferred that he shouted. “You know the law of give and take. We made a bargain—and I’ve already upheld my end of it.”

He gestured to my body with a wave of his hand. Ta-da!

“I gave you life.”

“L-Life?” I sputtered incredulously. “I’m terminal.”

For a second, it didn’t matter that he was a stranger nearly twice my size who had already threatened to kill a dozen people without batting an eyelash. I snorted; an act so unladylike that my mother would have dropped dead if she wasn’t already tucked in her grave. “If you thought you could extort money from me, then sorry to break it to you, but—”

“Money?”

Dublin threw back his head and laughed. The odd reaction was so startling that I almost would have preferred that he’d punched me in the stomach.

“You poor, sweet girl,” he murmured, shaking his head as the chuckle died off. “You think this is about your money?”

I didn’t like the way he said that. I was used to being the only person who could act blasé about wealth—the Gray fortune was the only reason anyone ever took an interest in me, after all.

“Then what?” I demanded hoarsely. “What else could you want from me?”

Suddenly, his thumb shot out to trace my bottom lip. Beneath his touch, my teeth chattered. The bed sheet started to slip through my trembling fingers. Right before I lost my composure completely, his hand fell back to his side.

“A return on my investment,” he said. “You owe me four days, Eleanor, whether you’ve changed your mind or not. Though be relieved; others have paid far more for even less of a taste.”

“A t-taste of what?”

Dublin just smiled. “Hungry?”

Ironically, I didn’t smell it until then—a faint scent that tainted the air. I turned, scanning my room more closely, and it wasn’t long before I discovered the source.

I don’t know how I had missed it before. Someone had set up a small table near the foot of my bed—as well as raided my mother’s china cabinet, apparently. The best selection was on display: the priceless silver and imported porcelain. Mother’s prized crystal vase was even full to bursting with roses that I guessed had been cut right from the garden. The flowers cast a crisp, calming scent that contrasted with the fear racing through me.

“Well, Eleanor?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Dublin incline his head in acknowledgement. “Ready to negotiate?”

I suppose I could have gone for the panic button or threatened to scream. I wound up doing neither—perhaps because a part of me wanted to believe that I was still sleeping. Even in this bizarre dream, I wouldn’t let him think he had the upper hand.

“Of c-course,” I croaked and took a step forward.

The room swayed alarmingly. It was a struggle just to clutch my bed sheet in place, though I tried not to show it. Instead, I tossed my hair casually over my shoulder and pointed to my wardrobe with what I hoped passed for an impassive expression.

“Can you grab me that robe?”

If my lack of threatening to go to the authorities impressed him, he didn’t let on. That mouth just cracked into an amused smile, but he quietly did as I asked and returned to my side a moment later with a velvet dressing gown slung over his arm.

“Thank you,” I stammered, unnerved by how close he was.

The memory of his touch lingered over my skin as he watched me drop my sheet and wrestle my arms into the sleeves of the robe. Once fully covered I didn’t feel any less naked than I had before. From the way his gaze smoldered, I had a feeling that Dublin knew it—and relished in my discomfort.

“Have a seat, Eleanor.”

At his prompting I returned my gaze to the table, craning my neck to get a better look. The source of the enticing smell appeared to be bacon and eggs—but only one side of the table was set. Maybe he was watching his figure? Or perhaps bacon and eggs wouldn’t be the only thing on the menu…

I attempted to take another step forward and nearly lost my balance. Already that unusual burst of energy seemed to be fading. Realizing this, Dublin reluctantly thrust one hand out in front of me.

“Here—”

“No thank you.”

Ignoring his hand, I staggered the rest of the way to the table. Somehow I managed to collapse into the chair before my legs gave out.

“Well, Ms. Gray…”

Dublin was across from me in the blink of an eye, already seated. His eyes gleamed, as if daring me to question how he had managed to move so quickly.

I didn’t and after a moment’s pause, he continued. “Shall we begin?”

“Begin what?” I attempted to hold his gaze and had to bite my lip just to keep the questions inside. I was bursting with them: why was he here? How had he gotten in—again?

Without bothering to explain himself, he reached across the table and lifted a knife. The dull edge gleamed as he casually swiped through a chunk of butter, heedless of the way I flinched.

“Toast, Eleanor?”

When I didn’t answer, he dragged the substance onto a slice anyway and placed it on the plate before me: a challenge.

The greasy smell of food was tempting—I couldn’t lie—but starving seemed a better option any day than losing what little dignity I had left by giving in to him. So, I politely pushed the toast aside with the tips of my fingers while my stomach grumbled in defiance.

“Where’s Harper?”

It was past the usual time when Harper would bring me the newspaper and ask if I wanted to go for a drive. I spared a half-hearted glance around my room, un-surprised when I didn’t find a familiar, wizened figure lurking in the corners.

Dublin sighed and waved two fingers dramatically through the air. “Harper. He’s here. He’s there—” Suddenly his gaze honed in on mine and all trace of humor was gone. “He’s alive if that’s what you mean.”

I shifted to hide my relief. He could have been lying, but the man seemed too…oh, I don’t know. Maybe another one of mother’s words would fit.

Posh.

Dublin Helos with those damn good looks and irritating manners was what my darling mother would describe as posh—sneering as she did so.

Posh were those gallant types who snuck into galas to chat up wealthy, little old ladies and charm the money right out of their ears. They were usually the bastard children of some obscure baron or business tycoon, but rather than the average ‘cad’ as mother put it, the ‘posh’ were honorable to a fault.

“How did you get in here?”

This question earned me an amused laugh. “I came in through the front door, Eleanor, really—”

“Don’t call me that,” I spat before I could help it. “I’m Ellie. Just Ellie.”

“Oh?” His mouth formed the basis of a smile, but the expression never reached his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, Eleanor.” He wagged a finger from left to right. “Now is as good enough a time as any for a first lesson; nicknames are unprofessional.”

I felt my eyebrow arch into the air.

“You sound like my mother.”

Margaret Anna Louise Gray—who would rather be stoned to death than called Maggie—had been a stickler for decorum. She never called me Ellie. Not once, even during a fleeting moment of affection.

It was always Eleanor.

“I’m Ellie,” I insisted, though I stared at the violet wallpaper behind his head rather than meet his gaze. “I won’t answer to anything else.”

I couldn’t see his reaction, but when he spoke again his tone was level.

“I think now would be the best time for us to negotiate our terms.”

“Terms for what?” The words distracted me enough that I turned to face him, and instantly regretted it when he placed something on my side of the table.

A familiar golden snake hissed at me from a rectangle of black leather, and I wanted nothing more than to push it—and the entire table, for good measure—away from me.

Fingers shaking, I choked down the fear and delicately flicked the book open with the end of my thumb instead.

“What is this?” I asked, even though I knew damn well what it was: the contract with all those strange terms. The debtor shall do this. The debtor shall do that.

Only, I had no idea on earth just what I was in debt for.

Rather than throw the book at him—along with a polite insistence to go to hell—I bit my tongue. My father had been a master businessman, and if there was one piece of advice he had sorely repeated, it was never cut and run.

Never let them see that you’re in over your head, sweet pea, he’d recite around bites of ham. You might as well hand them the company.

Dublin Helos would never get my …company. So, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper, I started to read with what I hope passed for a casual expression. The more I read, the further my mask slipped. By the final line, my eyes were threatening to pop right out of my head.

“You can’t be serious.”

It was a slave agreement; that was the general consensus all the duties of the ‘debtor’ added up to. The signer of the contract, in this case me, basically agreed to submit themselves entirely to the ‘will’ of the contract holder.

I had an ominous hunch as to just who that was.

“You’re insane.”

“Oh I am,” Dublin agreed without clarifying whether he was referring to the serious or the insane—or both. “But, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here.”

He pushed back from the table and settled his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on his knee.

“What do you remember from the other day?”

I felt my nose wrinkle as I tried to recall my time in the hospital. My mind was all fuzzy, but like a jar being shaken, a few lucid thoughts popped out after a moment.

Blood, a girl, a rose, and a stupid check-box.

“The little girl,” I heard myself croak. “You sent her?”

Though, who else would? I knew that he had watched me that day, watched me watch her.

However, if I was expecting guilt, I was sorely disappointed. Dublin’s expression resembled a cat’s as it waited for a mouse to figure out that it was hopelessly trapped.

“You sent her.”

It wasn’t a question this time. Dublin had been the mysterious ‘he’ she had referred to. Not only that, but I suspected that he had been responsible for her drastic change in health as well. I pictured how her skin had glowed with health and the way her eyes had sparkled. The same way, I knew in my gut, mine did now.

“You changed her—”

“We made a bargain,” he corrected, voice deceptively soft. “The same one I made with you.”

“You had her sign that?” I jerked back in horror, nearly knocking the chair backwards. “A child?”

A revolting image popped into my head of the girl scribbling away her rights in crayon while Dublin sported that sinister, wolfish grin.

“Of course not, Eleanor.” For once, he actually sounded insulted. “My, you do have a flair for the dramatic…”

“You said you made a bargain—”

“I did. With her father. His terms are the same as yours.” He gestured to the contract book.

“And what will you have him do?” My voice shook. It took everything I had just to keep from bolting for the door. Though, I wasn’t sure if the force keeping me in my seat was bravery or shock, as I envisioned some poor man in a suit and tie scrubbing the stone floors of Dublin’s lair—because someone like him most definitely had a lair.

Fortunately, the reality seemed far less morbid.

“He’s a businessman,” Dublin grunted, almost reluctantly, as if he didn’t like discussing this with me. “One who just so happens to be in touch with several rather sought after accounts. He will keep me in touch with those accounts. Our transaction is simply a business one, you see.”

“So this is about money,” I argued, annoyed that he had beaten around the bush. “I’ve already given you the location of the safe—”

“This isn’t about money, Eleanor.” His tone was too hard, too serious, and I knew in the pit of my soul that he wasn’t lying. “Money is paper. Cheap. I deal in something a little more …sacrosanct.”

“Like what?”

I was curious despite my better judgment. How couldn’t I be, when I had grown up being told that money was everything?

As my father liked to boast, “Money is God; the only thing worshiped by all.” In the world my parents had raised me in, Dublin might as well have just committed sacrilege by claiming that he didn’t want it.

“What could be more valuable than money?”

Ivory teeth flashed as Dublin replied.

“Your soul—not literally,” he added as I flinched back. “Figuratively, Eleanor; someone’s will, mind and body. Control those and essentially …” He held his hand out flat and curled his fingers one by one as if trapping something invisible within them. “You have their soul.”

I stared for what had to be a good few minutes before I finally found my voice again. “So you want my s-soul?”

“Your money would be just a stack of paper to me,” he said, “but you … You are invaluable.”

Despite everything I had to smother a snort.

Me, valuable?

It was the first time in my life that anyone had ever separated my worth from the Gray inheritance. Ironically, that same person wanted me to sell it to him. But for what purpose?

I blurted out another question, rather than pondering it. “Tell me what you gave me and that girl. Was it medicine?”

I wasn’t completely naïve—he had to have done something. I was convinced that whatever it was must have been a drug or some type of treatment unavailable on the market.

I waited, but he never pulled out a vial or pills or a syringe. Without a word of explanation, Dublin merely extended his arm across the table instead. The finger of his free hand tapped a blue vein snaking through his wrist.

“Life,” he said, eyes boring into mine, willing me to understand what he didn’t put into words. “That is my commodity, Eleanor.”

I stared, watching the indigo lines running beneath his skin and couldn’t help visualizing the liquid pumping through them—the same liquid that ran through my own veins, slowly killing me instead of sustaining.

Then it all clicked.

“Blood.” Dear God. “You gave me your blood?” I pushed back farther from the table, trembling with horror at the thought of him injecting me with a contaminated syringe. For all I knew, he could have been more terminal than I was. “You are insane,” I croaked. “You’re psychotic.”

“But, my dear—” Dublin withdrew something from his pocket and unceremoniously tossed whatever it was onto my lap. “You’ve already made your choice.”

I glanced down to find a folded square of paper resting over my knee. I unfolded it nearly in a daze and was unsurprised to find that damn note with the check boxes.

Live had been my choice after all.

“This isn’t a legal document,” I said, balling the whole thing in my fist. “It was just some silly game.”

“Oh, but you don’t play games, Eleanor Gray,” Dublin insisted, so damn matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help but wonder if he had been following me my whole life, watching from the shadows as I chose a good book over a game of hopscotch at recess. “You’re much too serious for that, and you knew damn well what you were doing when you marked that paper.”

He sounded so sure, so confident. You are this. You know that. With just one damn look he could have me second-guessing myself and everything I’d grown up believing; around him, the sky wasn’t blue anymore; the grass wasn’t green; Ellie wasn’t brave.

He leaned closer before I could even find the sense of mind to dive for the panic button. His gaze pierced mine, swirling with a range of emotions I couldn’t decipher.

“What am I?” he asked suddenly, catching me off guard.

“P-Pardon me?”

“You heard me. What am I, Eleanor?”

Irritated, I spouted off a list of adjectives. “Loud, brash, rude, boorish, malevolent—”

“No.” A laugh edged his words, but there wasn’t a trace of amusement in it. “Let me try again; what am I? I know you feel it; there is something ...different about me isn’t there?”

My throat jerked around a gulp. I didn’t like him being so close. His eyes were midnight, daring me to voice out loud what was really running through my mind: evil, dark, something dangerous.

“Human,” I settled on sarcastically, “and a rather annoying one at that.”

“No.”

Without warning, his hand struck the table with enough force to send the crystal vase jumping two inches into the air. It landed with a heavy thud, spraying water and blood-red petals all over the table cloth.

“You out of everyone …you know the truth,” Dublin declared, eyes flashing. “It’s lurking somewhere at the back of your skull, Eleanor. I could sense it in your eyes that first day when you didn’t fall for my gallant knight routine. You flinched back. Why?”

“You were a stranger,” I stammered. “I-I—”

“Wrong again.” His voice took on a guttural edge. Nearly a …growl. “You sensed something. What? Think, Eleanor, what did you feel? What did your gut tell you?”

It felt like he was shouting though he never raised his voice. White points flashed below the hood of his mouth. Sharp, triangular …

Fangs, my mind supplied. No, teeth. They had to be plain normal teeth.

“Instinct whispered a warning to you, Eleanor, as I am sure it is warning you now. I want to hear you say it. What am I?”

He was right. A single word slipped from my throat before I could stop it. “M-Monster.”

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, Dublin sat back and propped a hand beneath his chin.

“I prefer the term, ‘shrewd’, Eleanor, but for now ‘monster’ will suffice.”

I was shaking. Wrapped in my thick robe, in my nicely heated room, I couldn’t stop. My teeth chattered but I clamped my jaw shut rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing just how badly he affected me.

“So, you gave me your blood,” I rasped. “That means nothing other than the fact that you have a very sick sense of humor—”

“Does it?” he wondered.

I was unnerved by how calm he seemed, how collected. One might think that I had been the one to barge onto his private property and that he was merely humoring me.

“Is it magic or something?” I demanded next.

Seriously, this whole conversation was so strange. I had to curl my hands into fists just to keep from making ‘spooky fingers’ in the air for emphasis.

Dublin, however, did not seem to be in on the joke.

“You tell me.” His eyes were a flat, horrible shade of gray that sucked all life from the room. “How do you feel?”

Like I’m dying, I wanted to say, taking the brave, sarcastic route. The truth slipped out regardless.

“Better ...”

I didn’t feel as weak as I had for months now, nor as lightheaded. I hated to admit it. It made me feel so very pathetic … But with him sitting across from me, I couldn’t deny the truth.

“And do you know why that is?” he wondered.

“I guess because …” I swallowed hard. “You gave me your b-blood.”

Or at least some new form of medical treatment—I was determined to believe that ‘my blood’ was a code word for something, though I had no idea what.

“Correction.” He held up four slender fingers. “I gave you four days worth of my blood.”

“Why? What’s in it for you?”

At this point, that seemed to be the only reasonable question to ask, apart from inquiring as to which mental hospital he’d escaped from.

“Why?” Dublin shrugged, raking his fingers through his hair. “With your resources? You have the makings of a valuable asset.”

The word choice didn’t upset me as much as I thought it would. After all, I was used to being seen that way: Ellie Gray, not much by way of personality but at least she’s loaded.

“For what? What do you want from me?”

Those gray eyes clouded over and suddenly he was harder to read than a hunk of stone.

“Whatever I see fit.”

“So, if I want more …of your blood—” I grimaced. “I have to sign that damn contract without even knowing what it is that you want?”

“You already owe me for four days, Eleanor.”

My eyes darted back to the contract book and I recoiled, physically repelled by the sight of it.

“You’re insane. I don’t believe any of this—”

“Shall I give you a demonstration?” Dublin leaned forward in a fluid motion, hands braced flat against the table. “I’m sure there are plenty of ways we could test out your newfound energy …”

I paled, the nails of my free hand piercing the armrest of my chair.

“W-What on earth would make you think that I would even want your ‘help’ in the first place?”

Oblivious to my unease, Dublin politely cleared his throat and pointed to the paper still balled up within my fist.

“You’ve already made your choice. Why else would I be here?”

“What, this?” I glanced down at the questionnaire, haunted by that damn question. Live or die, Eleanor? “It was a joke!”

I threw the stupid note, unconcerned as it landed in a steaming bowl of oatmeal. Then I stood and staggered over to the window, barely managing to catch myself against the glass.

My body was on fire, heart pounding so fiercely that my body trembled with the force of my pulse. I felt charged, like I could just punch something or maybe someone. I felt … exhilarated, I realized in horror.

It was a strange emotion considering that, these days, mine typically ranged from bored to exhausted.

I had never felt like this; excited, terrified, petrified and wholly alive.

I couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at Dublin from the corner of my eye. He was watching me, eyes glinting as if he knew my every thought and then some.

Live or Die?

Choose wisely.

He didn’t intimidate me—or so I tried to tell myself—and if he wanted to play this twisted game, then I would too. Without a word, I turned and headed toward my nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

He was beside me in an instant, hand on my shoulder, chilling me even through the thick velvet of my robe. I attempted to shrug him off, and when that didn’t work I put all my energy into reaching for the knob of a small drawer.

“I’m getting a pen,” I snarled back at him. “So that I can sign your damn contract.”

Besides, I told myself, trying to ignore the way my fingers were shaking, the lawyers would rip that baseless piece of paper to shreds anyway. Any judge in the world would take my side and Dublin Helos would be left without even a penny to smirk over.

I had nothing to lose.

Those gray eyes widening ever so slightly were the only sign of surprise. The next instant, Dublin was yanking me back towards the table.

“I have one,” he told me, before shoving me down into my seat.

A second later a silver pen dangled from his fingers, as innocuous as a dagger. I took it and stared down at the contract book while Dublin flipped it open. My hand trembled as I pressed the tip of the pen to the parchment …only to hesitate at the last second.

The dotted line taunted me. What are you doing? It sneered. The bored little heiress so afraid to die you’d play into some sick little fantasy?

Fear was almost enough to make me back away, like every ounce of common sense warned me to.

But then I pictured Georgie and Mr. Tinkles.

It was easy to tell myself that the thought of dying without even being able to say goodbye was what finally made my fingers clench around the pen.

“Hold it like this,” Dublin instructed.

A cool finger nudged my thumb until it struck a tiny golden emblem on the side of the shaft—a twisted serpent matching the one on the book.

I thought it might have been some strange form of decoration. At least until I attempted to sign my name; the moment I pressed down, a sharp pain shot through the pad of my finger, drawing a gasp even as my hand scribbled out a single letter E. The ink was bright red, suspiciously like …

Don’t think about it, Ellie. Ignoring the color, I forced myself to continue forming the letters of my name. E-L-E-A …

By the time I signed the very last Y, it was too late to have any second thoughts.

My entire body trembled as I set the pen aside and watched it roll into a bowl of fruit. My thumb throbbed, and I knew deep in my soul that I would never be able to forget the sight of my own blood smeared across that golden snake.

But there was no going back. I felt as though I’d fallen off some giant precipice, only I had yet to hit the bottom.

“Finally.”

Dublin snatched the contract book from the table. With some sleight of hand it disappeared, most likely into his pocket. Then, he reclaimed the chair opposite from me, mouth split into another disarming grin.

“Now, we can begin.”

CHAPTER 4

A Deal With The Devil

I FELT LIKE I had made a deal with a devil, though that analogy didn’t quite explain why my stomach was curled into a million little knots. It was a sensation similar to what you felt right before diving into water so deep that you couldn’t even see the bottom.

Terrifying, but not exactly a bad feeling after all was said and done.

“B-Begin what?”

“You need to repay me for four days,” Dublin explained. He formed a steeple with his fingers over his placemat and watched me from overtop it. “You have options, of course.”

“Options?” I found myself leaning forward to meet his gaze, despite how every instinct in my body urged me to run in the opposite direction. I was curious as to what kinds of ‘payment’ could be more valuable than cold, hard cash. Blood? Bodily fluids? My actual soul?

“What are they?”

“Your family name does carry a lot of weight,” Dublin grudgingly admitted. “I could use that to my advantage.”

In other words, business arrangements and corporate intimidation. The socialite in me sniffed.

“And the second?”

He shrugged. “Unlimited access to your family’s accounts—”

“I thought you said this wasn’t about money.”

“It’s not,” Dublin insisted. “I’m sure your charming smile could open more doors than a stack of Gray millions, but they certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

“And that’s it?” I felt my lips curve into a frown. Was I, dare I say it …disappointed?

How anticlimactic. Here I was, prepared to sell my soul, and the proverbial Devil just wanted the same old thing I’d been giving to everyone for free: dutiful little Ellie and the Gray family name.

“No. That’s not it.” Before I could react, Dublin reached across the table and lifted my chin with the pad of his thumb. Goosebumps erupted over my skin at the contact. He was one of the few people in years to touch me without wearing clinical rubber gloves and my body didn’t know how to register the sensation.

“I must admit, Eleanor,” he began while his gaze searched mine. “I’ve brokered hundreds of contracts, but this is the first time someone hasn’t taken the easiest of choices.”

Easiest. I batted his hand away. “So there’s more?”

I wondered what. Not business, something told me. His scoff all but proved it.

“Nothing you’d be interested in. I make contracts with people from all walks of life, Eleanor, and trust me—” That icy gaze raked me over once. “You’re not the type.”

“The type to what?”

His jaw clenched and I was able to guess what even he had enough tact not to say out loud; the type to matter. So much for that ‘valuable’ nonsense. When it came right down to it, he saw me the same way everyone else did—as a body stuffed with dollar bills.

I tried rephrasing the question. “How else could I fulfill this contract—”

“Tell me, Eleanor,” Dublin said cutting over me. “Would you steal? Cheat? Kill? Fuck strangers for no reason other than being told to do so?”

My mouth fell open. I didn’t think anyone had ever spoken to me so crudely, ever. I was insulted, revolted, intrigued.

“Is that—” I had to clear my throat just to find my voice again. “Is that how you have some people fulfill their contracts?”

“Yes.” Dublin’s gaze was fathomless. “Those who have ‘natural’ talents to bargain with, rather than money.”

“Like …”

He rattled off a list. “Intelligence, cunning, beauty.”

I flinched at his insinuation of the opposite, though I should have been used to it by now. All my life I’d been the ‘Gray girl,’ or ‘Sexy Georgie’s sister.’ Never—not once—had I ever been called beautiful. After facing the truth in the mirror for twenty-six years, it didn’t hurt so much to admit it now.

I wasn’t beautiful, or smart, or cunning—but that didn’t mean that I liked having the fact rubbed in my face by someone who looked like a perfect, blond Adonis.

“You said I had a choice,” I parroted, throwing that word right back at him.

His reply was curt, irritated. “I did—”

“Then why should my appearance matter?”

A better question was why was I pushing this?

I had no damn idea. Perhaps because something in me railed against the thought of always being written off so easily? ‘Gray’ and ‘money’ might as well have been my definition. I waited for Dublin to come clean and admit as much. But when those gray eyes narrowed, I knew that I had made a mistake.

“Get up.”

His tone was so harsh that I lurched automatically to my feet. Instinct urged me to run. Run fast, run hard and far, far away from him—screaming if possible. But all I did was just stand there, toes digging into the carpet.

With a predatory grace, Dublin stood as well. His gaze honed in on mine. Then, he issued a command that made my blood run cold.

“Take off your robe.”

“W-what?”

“Your robe.” In a matter of seconds, he skirted the table to stand in front of me, unconcerned as I stumbled back. “Take it off.”

I shook my head, too terrified to speak. Suddenly, this game wasn’t so thrilling anymore. The tables had turned, and we had come full circle right back to the obvious scenario; he was a dangerous male stranger and I was …alone.

“Do you even understand what your choice is?” Relentlessly, he advanced, forcing me into a corner. My gaze darted for the panic button. I could feel my legs twitch, ready to spring for it. “Thought so.” Suddenly, Dublin withdrew, leaving just enough space between us to keep me from panicking even more. “Now, which will it be?” he wondered. “Business or money?”

In an instant, I realized that he had been bluffing—dangling my own threat before me, like a belt before a misbehaving child.

That fact shouldn’t have made me feel so foolish. Who would want to ravish you? A part of me scoffed. Silly cow!

“I suggest the first choice,” Dublin continued, as if we’d never left the table. “I have a few arrangements that could use the Gray family name to get underway. More than sufficient to cover four days—”

I stopped listening. Almost numb, I trailed a single finger down to my waist, following the sash of velvet cinching my robe until I reached the knot holding it all together.

Business or money, Eleanor? I wondered.

Then, I pulled.

“This is your only feasible option—”

Dublin froze mid-sentence, as the heavy fabric slid down my arms and pooled at my feet.

Baring myself before a stranger was nothing new. I had been bathed and dressed with the aid of servants my whole life, and months in the hospital had all but obliterated any sense of modesty I may have had left.

Still, I felt a strange sense of triumph as I stood there, shivering and utterly naked. I didn’t know what kind of reaction I was searching for when I finally scanned Dublin’s face. Guilt? Shock? Some damn common decency to turn away?

Instead, he caught my hands before they could creep up to cover my exposed chest and yanked them back down. Then, as composed as ever, he stood back and crooked a finger; come.

I couldn’t explain just what made me take the tiniest of steps in his direction. Bravery? Sheer stupidity? An inexplicable urge to throw him off-balance the same way he seemed determined to unnerve me?

Whatever it was, I was left bared to his mercy and I didn’t feel brave in the slightest.

“Turn around.” He made a twirling motion with his finger and I found myself obeying the command, aware of his gaze inspecting every inch of me.

My arms, legs …

He eyed me the way a predator might a wounded, damaged bit of prey, wondering if anything useful could be salvaged.

“You’re pale at least,” I heard him mutter once I completed my circle. “Easier to see the veins.”

What an odd thing to notice.

“For what?” I glanced at him from over my shoulder, but he didn’t bother responding.

The minutes ticked by, and a tiny sliver of modesty had my hands inching back up to cover my exposed breasts before he could appraise them as well. The novelty of being bold and daring had worn off, considering that I didn’t have much to validate it.

My body wasn’t toned and curvy like Georgiana’s. When it came to the opposite sex, I could be summed up in one word: unappealing.

“Pedigreed blood. That could be a plus,” Dublin said under his breath. I jumped as cool fingers grazed the line of my throat, skimming my pulse. “You’ve suffered no major trauma?”

“N-No.” I ducked out of his reach.

“Illicit drug use?”

“Of course not!”

He nodded just once, reminding me of a doctor performing a routine physical. Now, open wide and say ‘ah.’ His next question, however—while spoken in the same crisp, clinical tones—pertained to another orifice. “Are you a virgin, Eleanor?”

“P-pardon me?”

“A virgin.” He enunciated the word in two sharp syllables: vir-gin. “Have you ever fucked a man? Woman? Anyone?”

My answer was a breathless squeak. “Of c-course not.”

Dublin frowned, annoyed by the response, though I couldn’t fathom why.

My virginity had never really been a sticking point for me. Unlike the heroines in the romance novels I was sometimes bored enough to read. I didn’t resent it, and I wasn’t inclined to go on some dramatic adventure to lose it.

Georgie, rumored to have been deflowered by a cabana boy at age sixteen, was the romantic one. I, on the other hand, agreed with my mother on this point; sex was …necessary. Like eating or breathing, it should be done only when there was a purpose for it.

Mother had been quite open about the fact that she and my father had only ‘done the deed’ roughly three times during their entire marriage. Twice, give or take, to create me and Georgie, and once more on my father’s birthday when they had both drunk too much wine. There wasn’t a point otherwise, or so I had been told.

Therefore, I had absolutely no idea why Dublin was looking at me like that: as if I had some sort of debilitating disease apart from the one I was dying from.

“That will need to be rectified,” I thought I heard him mutter before turning away. “Get dressed.”

Too dazed to argue, I stooped and eagerly slipped into my robe.

Now what? I wondered as I warily followed him back to our impromptu ‘negotiation’ table, arms crossed tightly over my chest. Dublin took his customary seat without a word, and I just stood there. When nearly a minute passed in silence, I found the courage to noisily clear my throat.

“So …”

“So,” Dublin said, swiftly cutting over me, “you will have four days to repay your current debt, and we’ll go from there.” He leaned back, eyes seeking out mine. “Is this how you choose to fulfill your contract, sans your fortune?”

He didn’t elaborate, though…maybe he should have?

All of a sudden, I felt woefully in over my head. Here was a stranger who’d claimed to have sold me his blood and I had just signed the legal document he shoved onto my lap. Not only that ...

He saw you naked, a tiny, indignant part of me huffed. Eleanor Louise Gray, what the hell has gotten in to you?

I dug my toes into the carpet rather than give him the satisfaction of watching me dart back to my bed in hopes of waking up from the nightmare.

“So, to repay this ‘debt,’ I would have to lie, cheat, steal or…” So much for being brave—I couldn’t even get the word out, fuck. Vulgar! My mother scolded from the grave. Instead I made a little sound at the back of my throat. “Mmhm …with strangers?”

Dublin seemed mildly amused. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he leaned back even further, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “There are people out there whose names aren’t as weighty as yours,” he began in a lofty tone. “Whose money isn’t a weapon they can use to evade whatever irritates them. Yet …they have other ‘assets’ that are just as valuable.”

His words pierced me right through the chest: in other words, apart from the Gray name, I wasn’t important. The knowledge made me feel …well, certainly not worth a fortune. More, resigned. Dublin might have been insane, but he—better than anyone else—had illustrated perfectly just how the world saw me.

And I was sick of it. I was sick of being seen only as Eleanor Gray—sick of being tied to my parent’s name. If Dublin, the insane doctor with the ‘magic’ blood, wanted me, then he would get me: the great, dull calamity that was Ellie.

Nothing else.

“Yes,” I blurted suddenly.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes.” I sucked in a breath and released it in a rush of words, “that is how I want to fulfill my contract.”

“No.” Dublin sat bolt upright. Those golden eyebrows arched, and his mouth deflated into a hard, flat line. He almost looked …surprised, before a cold expression wiped any trace of emotion away.

“N-no?”

“No.” In a blur of shadow and ivory, he stood, drilling into me with eyes so dark they bordered on ebony. “Your name or your money. Pick one.”

I staggered back, catching myself on the end of my chair. “B-But …why?”

His excuses were quick and succinct. “This isn’t a game. You’re inexperienced and untested. I would have to train you myself—” Which, judging from his tone, was the most unacceptable condition of all.

“You said I could choose,” I pointed out, raising my voice as his deepened. “You said that other people have done that to fulfill their contracts.”

“Other people,” he snapped. “Not you.”

I stomped my foot—actually slammed my heel into the carpet like a petulant child. “But you said!” My voice ricocheted off the walls, echoing back to me. “You said that you wanted my soul. Me! If you want the money and the Gray family name, then you can go dig up my parents. This is me, and this is all I have to offer you.”

My lungs screamed for air. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. All the while I was left to wonder what in the hell had gotten into me—Ellie Gray didn’t argue—especially not with dangerous, male strangers about her ‘self-worth’. I had to resist the urge to curl up in a ball in the face of Dublin’s expression. His jaw tightened, and for once, he openly displayed a real emotion—anger.

“There will be a car waiting at six o’clock,” he hissed after a moment of unbearable silence. “Don’t be late by even a second, or you will pay dearly.”

My mind spun as I realized what I had done. What I had negotiated for.

“For what?” I rasped as he turned and headed for the door.

“You got your wish,” Dublin called back. “Your name and money are now off the table. All you have is yourself.” A gruff laugh told me how valuable he thought that was. “You should have just played the role of heiress. It suits you better.”

Yourself.

Suddenly drained, I sank into my chair, but when I spoke again, my voice was surprisingly steady. “You’ll …train me?” It was funny how that was the only thing that really stuck out from his venom-laced tirade. “To do what?”

“Whatever a client demands,” Dublin replied from the threshold of my bedroom. “You didn’t just sell me your body, Eleanor; you sold me your will, your dignity and mind. That is what the desperate bargain with when they aren’t lucky enough to have been born with a silver spoon engraved with the name Gray shoved down their throat. When I’m through with you, there won’t be a single thing that you can stick that pert little nose up at.”

I stiffened. What kinds of things did girls like me ‘stick their pert little noses up at’ anyway?

I was oddly curious.

“The amount I gave you should be enough to last you through the rest of the day,” Dublin went on, returning to the apparent root of our problem; my life and his blood. “I’ll replenish your dose tonight. Do you understand?”

I nodded weakly. Tonight. Dose …

“Six o-clock.”

The reminder was the last thing he said before the door slammed behind him, and I was left alone to contemplate my fate, now that I had now that I had stubbornly gotten my way.

CHAPTER 5

Ruin

SO, WHAT DID ONE wear to one’s potential ruin?

I had only a few hours to decide.

I spent the first huddled in the bathtub, until the water turned ice cold and my skin pruned—but despite how long I lingered, I still didn’t feel any cleaner.

Funny. No one had ever told me that shame couldn’t be erased with soap.

In the end, I gave up and stood, sopping wet, to grab a clean robe from the cupboard. I tied the sash around my waist as I wandered into the hallway, too restless to stay in one place.

The dark walls of the old house enclosed me, speckled with portraits of obscure ancestors: there was James, the first Gray to set foot in the Americas, hanging beside William, his perpetually disapproving elder brother. Near my bedroom hung the visage of Great Aunt Agnes who looked as pleased to have been painted as Dublin had when we’d struck our bargain.

Apparently, smiling was a foreign concept in this family.

As I tiptoed farther down the hall, I tried to remember what it had been like growing up in the cold, oddly formal lap of luxury.

Lonely. Oppressive. Dull.

Was it sad that Dublin was the first person in years to wander these halls who hadn’t been paid to do so?

With that thought in mind, I drifted through the corridors without a true goal. I didn’t even realize which section of the house I was in until I finally slipped into the drawing room where a pair of bay windows spilled waning daylight at my feet.

It looked to be an hour or so until dusk. The sun had already begun its descent below a horizon obscured by violet clouds. I didn’t know how long I stood there, dripping water onto the wooden floor—but when I finally turned away, the sky had darkened and I had less than an hour remaining until my deadline.

Six o’clock.

Heart pounding, I returned to my room and threw open the doors to my wardrobe.

The shadows were a captive audience, watching as I tugged at cotton, pinched wool, and tossed designer garments onto the floor one after the other.

Blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt. Black, gray, brown—I was sensing a rather depressing pattern. In fact, the most fashionable thing I owned was the robe I wore now which Georgie had bought me. The rest were all dour outfits hand-chosen by my mother.

Modest, was the word she had used to describe the color scheme. To her, anything brighter than maroon was gaudy—hence why Georgie had made it her mission since the age of fifteen to stock her closet with as many pastels as she could. I was almost tempted to creep into the other wing and raid my sister’s closet …

In the end I lost the nerve and settled on a burgundy blouse and a brown tweed skirt.

Perhaps it was time to look at this whole situation another way? Business, Dublin had insisted again and again.

I didn’t think he even got the irony.

So, he considered my torment ‘business,’ did he? Well, I would certainly dress the part. With a grim sense of determination, I pulled on the clothes and shuffled before the mirror.

The results weren’t very astounding: the dark color scheme sucked all life from my skin, and my hair was an afterthought of messy curls. All in all, the only detail I had any confidence in were my plain black heels—the one item I cared enough to buy for myself.

I looked like a crypt-keeper, ready to commune with the dead. Minutes from consorting with a deranged stranger convinced he had magic blood, I certainly felt desperate enough to have sought out even a ghost for company. Someone to tell my strange story to: Well you see, this infuriating man broke into my bedroom and I kind of sold him my soul—long story short, he wants to whore me out.

And you agreed to this, darling? My spiritual visitor would inquire, eyes wide.

Why yes. In fact, I insisted on it.

Darkness had fallen fully by the time I made my way into the foyer. Only a few lamps were lit, leaving swathes of shadow that loomed overhead. Once again, the house was empty—most of the staff went home after five anyway—though I still found it odd that no one had come to check on me in two days.

Because of him, a part of me suspected. Already, Dublin Helos seemed to have some eerie hold over the entire manor. I could sense a darker aura settling there within the corners, and even the curtains seemed to whisper warnings against the floor as I walked past. Stupid girl!

Finally, I approached the door, where a peek through a window revealed that the driveway was empty.

This all could have just been a dream, Ellie, I thought hopefully, tapping my foot against the floor. Perhaps my illness had progressed to the final stages already? Brain hemorrhages could cause hallucinations …

The sound of tires crunching over stone evaporated that theory. Seconds later, a dark car wandered up the path stretching from the main gates. Elegant, but not one of ours.

Dublin. I shivered as his voice echoed in my thoughts. Don’t be late by even a second …

It was all bravado, of course—it had to be. He wouldn’t dare hurt me. Not if he didn’t want to be sued dearly for a single scratch. Confident of this fact, I was tempted to call his bluff and push my luck by dawdling until six o’ one …

But I already had the door open before any thought of rebellion could really take hold.

It was the middle of January and freezing out. I half expected snow to come pelting down as I staggered across the stoop in my heels. My bare legs trembled, kissed by the chill while my gaze honed in on the strange car.

It definitely wasn’t the usual Rolls Royce that Harper drove, but a newer, foreign model built solely for speed. My faithful driver wasn’t the one to emerge from the front seat and circle around the car, either. Instead, an unfamiliar man wearing a black suit held open the door and faced me with an unreadable expression.

“Good evening, Miss Gray.”

I couldn’t seem to voice a greeting in return, even as I took a hesitant step forward, then another. The short walk down the front path might as well have lasted an eternity. By the time I finally settled onto the leather backseat of the car I couldn’t smother the tremors that rippled down my spine. Once the door closed behind me—trapping me inside—it took every last ounce of control I had to keep from panicking.

Easy does it, Ellie, I coached myself as the driver returned to the front seat and took the wheel. Just breathe.

That alone seemed laughable when it came to Dublin. I should have called the police rather than humor him. I shouldn’t have given in to his sick little game. I should have found Harper.

What had I done instead?

Bargain. Contract. Soul.

It all had the makings of a sordid nightmare that I desperately wanted to wake up from.

Or perhaps I didn’t.

As the car slipped through the gates, I was struck by the realization that this was the first time in years I’d left the house for a destination other than the hospital, or a boarding school, or a stuffy gala. Some sick, curious part of me was intrigued as to where this car might take me.

A secluded penthouse in the business district?

A parceled-off manor on a hill?

My mind spun, wild with imagination, but in all my little fantasies, a chic, brick building in the heart of downtown would have been the least likely of Dublin’s potential lairs.

For all intents and purposes it looked like a regular club—albeit the exclusive kind that you could enter only if your name was on a list. I couldn’t make out much through the darkness, just sleek lines and a few windows cut like long, rectangular slits into the building’s side. Above a set of glass doors hung a sign displaying the venue’s name in blood-red script. Anemia.

Going off Dublin’s apparent affinity for blood, I figured that he thought the name was a clever joke.

But, that’s not it, a part of me argued. You know the real reason …

A light rap on my window was the only warning before the door was opened from the outside. The driver stood there, offering a hand and I took it, allowing him to help me out onto the curb.

This early in the evening, there was no crowd clamoring to enter the club and the streets ran sluggish with rush-hour traffic. Minus the oblivious drivers in their cars, there was no one there to witness me approach the sleek glass doors of Anemia.

Surprisingly, they were locked. I tugged on the handles until my shoulder ached and eventually, the driver spoke up from behind me.

“Perhaps try the back way, Miss?”

I glanced in the direction he indicated. Apparently ‘the back way’ was through a narrow alley that separated this building from another. In the waning light, it seemed about as appealing as traipsing into the mouth of a giant monster.

But, Dublin’s threat kept echoing through my mind. Six o’clock.

I held my breath as I took a few hesitant steps forward and was instantly plunged into shadow. For an alley, it seemed clean, at least. Not one speck of litter dotted the ground, and I got the sense that it was traveled often. Perhaps an indirect route used only by those in the know?

It wasn’t long before I came to a metal door at the very back of the building. Curling a fist, I sucked in a deep breath and knocked once. A second later the door opened and ruby light spilled from the inside, casting my skin in a bloody glow.

“Eleanor Gray?”

Shadow obscured the speaker’s face, but in a dance of beckoning fingers, he invited me inside.

Run! A voice screamed from the back of my mind. Alarm and danger warred with the parts of me too stubborn to move.

If they found my body on tomorrow’s evening news—stuffed underneath some underpass—I would deserve it. Twenty-six years of obscurity warned me to just go back, tuck myself in my warm bed and hire twenty more bodyguards to thwart Dublin.

“Miss Gray?” Dark eyes watched me curiously from over the edge of the door. “It’s cold out.”

The polite display of concern startled me so much that I staggered inside.

“Th-thank you.”

The door closed behind me, plunging me into darkness. Someone reached for my coat and their fingers brushed my wrist by accident. I gasped—whoever the doorman was, he seemed just as abnormally cold as Dublin. Glacial.

“He’s upstairs,” that crisp tone informed me as I stood there, trembling and coat-less in the dark. “This way. The stairs are on your left.”

Another door opened, pulled by an unseen hand, and orange light flooded in.

I stumbled over the threshold. However, when I turned to get a good look at the mysterious door-opener, they had already shifted deeper into the shadows. I only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of pale skin before the door closed in my face.

I glanced around, taking stock of my surroundings. I seemed to be in a narrow hallway with gray walls and dark, tiled floors. There were no windows and, other than the door I had come from, the only way out seemed to be a metal staircase leading to an upper level.

Wobbling in my heels, I took a step forward …and then another when nothing seemed liable to rush from the corners to attack me.

I couldn’t hear so much as a murmur of conversation drifting from above. Or anything for that matter—just the sound of my own shallow breathing playing an ominous lullaby; in and out, in and out, in and out.

I felt seconds away from snapping. The silence here was more oppressive than the hush in Gray Manor—but at least my home was fully heated. The air in here seemed more frigid than outside. I swore my breath painted the air in tiny clouds of white.

No wonder Dublin seemed so cold if this was where he spent most of his time.

I clutched my purse tighter at the thought of him, nails digging into the leather. Then, with another glance at the closed door, I continued my slow trek toward those metal stairs. It seemed to take an eternity before my heel finally connected with the bottom step.

You can do this, I urged, forcing myself to climb another.

It’s just a game.

Another step.

Nothing he said can be legally enforced anyway.

Two steps.

The lawyers …

I managed to brace one unsteady heel against the top step just as a familiar voice lashed out like a whip.

“Get out.”

My foot slipped, sending me down hard to one knee, and I barely managed to hook my hand around the guardrail—preventing me from plunging down the stairs altogether. I gaped through the shadows, expecting to find a certain blond male glaring down from the top step.

Instead, I only saw the mouth of a hallway hidden in shadow.

“Oh, don’t be so cruel, Dublin.” The second voice was a woman’s low, playful purr—but I couldn’t see who it belonged to. Both she and Dublin sounded muffled, as if they were in another room. “I only asked one teensy little question. After all, it’s not just anyone that could have Mr. ‘I’m the cold, emotionless contractor’ even more brooding than usual. Do tell; is she pretty at least?”

“No—” Dublin’s reply was so cold that I wiggled my toes just to make sure they weren’t frostbitten by the chill. “And you won’t be very appealing either, if you don’t get out of my sight.”

“Oh, touché!” The woman giggled. “But I must admit that I am most intrigued by this new morsel. One simple contract and you’re glowering like the Devil. Are you going to tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“Oh let’s not beat around the bush.” The word was punctuated by another husky laugh. “The truth, of course! That she’s just a pawn. This poor, pathetic—”

“Eleanor Gray.”

After glancing around in hopes that another woman—coincidentally named ‘Eleanor’—had crept up the stairs after me, I realized that there was only one unlucky fool the speaker could be referring to.

“You can come out,” Dublin added, still unseen from my position in the stairwell.

Clutching my purse to my chest like a shield, I stood and gracelessly staggered up the remaining step.

The staircase opened onto a corridor that branched off into two directions. One led into a wide open room with black paneled walls and numerous closed doors. The other into what seemed to be a lounge, complete with sleek, black furniture. There, Dublin glowered from a leather chaise, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit.

I gulped and just stood there, mesmerized by those silver eyes. They seemed to pierce through me even from several feet away. It was a good minute before I even noticed the beautiful woman standing beside him.

“Saskia,” Dublin said, waving a hand dismissively in her direction. “You may leave.”

Saskia was a vision of red in an elegant cocktail dress. Her thick hair, in a matching shade of scarlet, had been scraped back into a ponytail so long it reached the small of her back. Blazing, amber eyes stared from a beautiful face that was almost as angular as a fox’s. She lingered for a second in a way that I suspected was deliberate, rebellious. Then with a slow, ripe smile, she turned on her heel.

“Oh, Dublin,” I thought I heard her murmur before she disappeared down another hallway. “She’s perfect.”

The way she drew the word out—puuuuurfect—gave me the feeling that she didn’t mean the term as a compliment. Either way, Dublin’s expression certainly reinforced the fact that I was anything but perfection. He stood and took in my rumpled appearance with one sweep of his gaze.

“God, Eleanor. You look like you’re on your way to a funeral.”

I fidgeted, annoyed that he had picked up my own rather grim analogy. My blouse had some color—however dull—so I couldn’t look that dreadful, could I?

Apparently so. Dublin surged forward before I could cringe out of reach. Like a disapproving parent, he tugged on my collar and fingered a wayward curl. When he finally took a step back, his frown had deepened.

“Should I take your outfit choice as proof that you’ve decided to rethink you agreement?”

He sounded like a stern father offering a naughty child a reprieve. You’ve been a bad girl, but I don’t have to punish you if you apologize.

I felt my mouth open, but no words came out.

Tell him yes, a part of me hissed. Write him a check for whatever he wants and go home.

“I—”

“Is this her?” The voice drifted from the back of the lounge.

Where there had been no one a second before, a man now leaned against the wall, the picture of poise. His eyes were an odd shade of brown that glittered like gold—hawk-like. Coifed, ebony hair was cropped close to his scalp, and he too wore a perfectly tailored suit. In fact, he could have been a darker-haired clone of Dublin, if it wasn’t for the simple piece of jewelry hanging around his neck.

The chain itself almost seemed feminine, formed of small, interlocking links of silver—however, the pendant dangling from the center of it was anything but delicate: it was the image of a falcon in mid-flight, talons drawn to seize prey.

“Mikhail,” Dublin acknowledged without even turning around.

“Rumor has it that you’ve taken on a new contract,” Mikhail murmured. A subtle accent toyed with his pronunciation. English? “Though, I’m surprised you’ve brought her here. Our client’s tastes have changed some since the last time you ‘visited.’ Pity. Had she looked more like the other one, I might have offered to take her off your hands ...”

Dublin stiffened and from where I was standing, I had no trouble seeing his expression: icy gaze and chilling frown. “Unfortunately,” he intoned. “But unless the laws have changed in the last fifty years, then they state that only she can decide on the terms of her repayment. This is her choice.”

My choice. Dublin’s tone explained everything without him having to spell it out: I was the imbecile foolish enough to insist on my own ‘self-worth.’

“Did she now? Interesting, the pawn actually set itself into play.” I couldn’t resist the urge to take a step back as Mikhail withdrew from the wall. He impassively eyed the way my curls threatened to burst from their bun before turning his attention to the rest of my dour ensemble. “You better pray that Yulia can do something with her,” he advised. “Otherwise …”

At the unspoken threat, Dublin’s gaze shifted to a color unlike any I had ever seen; a hot, molten silver. Without allowing Mikhail to leave first, he reached back and grabbed for my wrist.

“Come on.”

I had no choice but to follow him down a narrow hall illuminated by a silver sconce in the form of a serpent. The walls were black paired with an industrial tile floor and the whole layout seemed clean and crisply modern.

After a few feet, Dublin stopped before a seemingly random doorway and shoved me inside. The room was large with scarlet walls and black carpeting. It almost reminded me of my mother’s dressing room. There wasn’t much furniture other than a long table, a mirror, and a metal wardrobe in the opposite corner.

My heels sank into the flooring, threatening to trip me as Dublin forced me in farther, hands on my shoulders.

“Fix this,” he snarled to someone I couldn’t see.

It wasn’t until the figure moved that I realized why. The woman’s dress was the exact same shade as the wall. Her long, dark hair didn’t help differentiate her from the background any.

“So Saskia wasn’t lying,” she murmured, eyes glinting through the shadows. They were green and unusually slanted, like a cat’s.

“Just fix this,” Dublin repeated. His tone reminded me of a dissatisfied customer forced to make the best of a faulty purchase. At least cover up the broken bits!

He let me go, and footsteps marched in the opposite direction. A second later, a door slammed shut.

“Well, you’ve gotten him worked up.” The woman stood a few paces back, watching me. Her green eyes glowed with amusement.

“So I keep hearing,” I choked out in response.

The fact that I replied at all made her smile widen.

“Who can blame him?” she wondered. “After all, it’s not every day that one signs herself up for this life.”

She didn’t elaborate—but she didn’t have to. By now, I was well aware of the extent of my own stupidity.

“Let’s see what we have to work with. Come.”

Before I could wallow in shame, the woman beckoned me with a crooked finger and I forced myself to take a step forward, submitting myself to her inspection. Her expression was unreadable as her eyes darted from one plain feature to the next, though at least she wasn’t frowning.

“You have good skin,” she said at last, eyeing the buttoned-up collar guarding my throat. “And your hair …”

With the same uncanny grace as Dublin, she suddenly appeared in front of me and undid the knot of my bun.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured as the thick curls tumbled down my shoulders. She curled one around her finger before letting her hand fall. “A little long, but still far too lovely to be tied back.”

“T-Thank you,” I stammered politely.

Obviously the light was too dim in the room, because I had never heard my hair described as anything other than unruly, stubborn and wild. It was the only part of me unwilling to stay neatly pinned in place.

“You’re not the usual type,” the woman went on, fingers propped beneath her chin. “Dublin usually brings the …” She paused, seeming to think of a fitting word. I waited, curious despite myself as to what kind of women Dublin found ‘valuable’ without money or some stuffy old ancestry. “Typical ones,” she said finally.

“Ah.”

Going off the way her eyes flickered over my mousy hair and shapeless body I could guess just what she meant.

Busty. Lusty. Blond.

It wasn’t that hard to picture a smirking Dublin with some statuesque beauty on his arm, leading the way to a dastardly contract. Here, now sign away your soul to me—and do be dramatic about it. I am the Devil, you know.

“You’re not a bad change,” she added, “but you won’t fit the clothes.”

She gestured to a wardrobe in the corner, and I couldn’t resist the strange impulse that had me creeping towards it, fearful of what could be inside. It was a sleek affair, formed of black metal and adorned with golden handles in the shape of two twisting serpents—the emblem de jour.

“I doubt we have anything in your size,” the woman warned, almost apologetically, before I slowly eased the doors apart.

‘Doubt’ was an understatement. Nothing hanging neatly from the silver hangers seemed to “fit” me—both literally and figuratively.

Every article of clothing was made of the same silky material, cut into teeny strips more likely to cover Mr. Tinkles than any human. I shuddered, unable to keep a finger from tracing the hem of what looked to be a black, lacy bustier with blood red trim. If nothing else had made it sink in—not Dublin’s grim insistence, or the mysterious atmosphere of the club—then the sight of the clothing did; this was not the place for me.

“Are you all right?”

The woman frowned as I swayed, searching for anything to keep me upright. Spotting a chair in the corner, I rushed over to it.

Breathe, Ellie, I scolded myself as I collapsed onto the cushion. Breathe!

With Dublin’s words in my ears, I couldn’t even remember which muscles made my lungs expand with air—let alone how to use them. From the corner of my eye, I saw the strange woman drift closer.

“You are not the usual type,” she repeated, gently.

I could only nod.

Then, “Did Dublin force you into this?”

Heart sputtering with dread, I thought it over. Had he, at any time during that venom-laced tirade about why I should just be a ‘good girl’ and fall back to my fortune, insist that I do the opposite?

The answer horrified me. No.

I had done it. For some silly, intangible reason I would never fully understand, I had signed myself up for this.

As if her voice came from miles away, I heard the woman add, “If you were forced into this, he broke the rules, you know. Only the signer of the contract can determine the nature of the task necessary to fulfill the terms. You have a choice.”

“A ...choice?”

She nodded.

No wonder Dublin had been so insistent on money. Apparently, I would have to foist my checkbook over myself—he couldn’t just take it. Suddenly, my vision cleared. I could breathe again. Everything seemed sharper and with a sense of grim determination, I stood.

“Are you all right?”

Cool fingers fell over my shoulder, but I politely shrugged the woman off and made my way toward that intimidating wardrobe once again. I tried to be detached and clinical as I eyed a teeny strip of black fabric that was apparently meant to be worn …somewhere.

You’re back in the hospital, I told myself, and this is just some degrading gown.

Fingers shaking, I grabbed a hanger at random and observed my selection in the dim lighting. It didn’t seem so bad …

If I squinted, I could almost pretend that the garment was a scarf—though I had no idea how this ‘scarf’ was supposed to cover my ‘vital’ parts.

Holding the garment to my chest, I crept before the mirror and watched my wide-eyed reflection play over the surface. Dublin’s words echoed through my mind; intelligence, cunning, beauty. Only this time my subconscious added what even he had been too tactful to say out loud: none of which you possess.

For the first time in her life, little Ellie Gray was outside of the comfort and seclusion of luxury. I had never really thought as to what that might feel like—but this ...strange sense of calm wouldn’t have been it.

I cleared my throat, addressing the woman. “Should I …change now?”

She laughed. I got the sense that she found me wonderfully amusing but, unlike Dublin’s, her reaction didn’t make me feel ashamed.

“Yes,” she said while gingerly prying the hanger from my hands. “But not into that.”

She stood back and observed me once again, only this time her emerald gaze cut me right to the bone.

“You are very different,” she said finally. “Still beautiful …just not in the obvious way.”

I stared, enthralled, despite the logical part of me that wanted to scoff. Ellie, beautiful? Ha! Something in her tone made me suspect that she wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Then, how?”

“Innocence,” she said simply. “It shines from you—very subtle, yes—but no less enrapturing than physical beauty ...more so even.” For a moment she drifted off, eyes staring into the distance. “Innocence is irresistible to those who have lost their own. Even a moth is drawn to the light, and we creatures of the dark are no different.”

Creatures of the dark. The words affected me deeply, conjuring the memory of a dangerous question. What am I, Eleanor?

It was nearly a minute before the woman spoke again.

“Many of the girls who come here are one and the same,” she went on. “For any of them, that clothing would be suitable, but for you? For you …I will do something different.”

I stared as she fingered the hem of her red dress. Then, all at once, she pulled it over her head and turned the garment inside-out.

“I’m Yulia, by the way,” she explained, while running a hand along the dress’ cream lining.

With a violent motion, she began to tear the two fabrics apart.

“I am the stylist.”

In one hand she held a lone piece of silk that had made up the lining. The red remains of the actual dress, she merely allowed to fall to the floor. It didn’t seem to bother her that she was left wearing only a plain black bra and underwear in front of a complete stranger. Unconcerned, she just hurried past me to spread the silky material out over a long table.

The light reflected off her eyes as she pulled open a drawer and withdrew a small case—a sewing kit, I saw, once she flipped it open. Her nimble fingers danced over spools of thread before settling over a neat line of glittering needles. Seemingly at random, she withdrew one and tested its sharpness over the pad of her thumb.

“Whether you are here by Dublin’s will or yours—” As her eyes sought out mine from over her shoulder, I suspected that she knew damn well why I was here. “I will make the best of it. You will be just as tempting as any lovely face to those lurkers of the shadows, Eleanor,” she promised. “You can bet on that.”

Lurkers of the shadows …

“What is this place?” I croaked as Yulia set to work on the fabric. “W-What … What will happen tonight?”

She shrugged, though I couldn’t help thinking that the motion seemed more ominous than even Dublin’s warnings.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

CHAPTER 6

Angels And Demons

“ALMOST,” YULIA INSISTED, AS she tugged on a crooked hem one last time before finally stepping back. “Okay, you can look now.”

I couldn’t help the mournful sweep my eyes took over the thick, brown curls clumped on the floor as I prepared to face my reflection. “This is necessary,” Yulia had sworn before snipping a lock of my hair with a pair of scissors seemingly pulled from thin air. “It is too long. Now you have nothing to hide those eyes behind.”

That was an understatement. When I finally confronted myself in the mirror, I was horrified to find that—after Yulia’s impromptu hair cut—I was left with a length that barely reached my chin.

Scandalous! Mother would shriek. In her opinion, only harlots and dreaded feminists kept their hair so short. Though, I had to admit that the cut did make my eyes seem larger—soul sucking. If Yulia’s goal was to make me resemble a freakish monster with enormous eyes, she certainly had succeeded.

It didn’t help in any way that all I wore was the pale lining of her dress, hastily sewn into a simple, sleeveless shift. The garment had taken her mere minutes to complete, and yet could have hung in the stuffy boutiques my mother had frequented. The only obvious flaw was the fact that it was so short it barely covered my cotton underwear. Considering the white bottoms were all Yulia let me wear underneath it …

Well, underdressed wouldn’t have been a strong enough word.

“I don’t … I don’t think that …”

“You look perfect,” Yulia insisted while I blushed at the rosy bits of my body visible through the transparent fabric. “But don’t take my word for it. As the broker of your contract, Dublin has the final say anyhow.”

The thought of Dublin having any ‘say’ over me wasn’t comforting in the least.

“Here.”

Yulia turned her attention to the table and seized a tube of lipstick from the scattered objects. She swiped the waxy substance along my bottom lip, and then traced a careful line along both of my upper lashes with a stick of kohl.

The results weren’t terribly dramatic; the red added a slight bit of color to my complexion and my lashes looked a little thicker. I could barely meet my own gaze in the mirror, it seemed endless.

“One more thing,” Yulia murmured, still not satisfied.

She headed to the wardrobe, pulled a small box from the top shelf and withdrew a silver hair comb. I stood still as she tucked it into my hair, securing back one lone curl. When she appraised me the second time, she nodded to herself just once.

“This is the final touch. You look like an angel tricked into hell.”

That I believed. Glancing at my reflection, I was perfectly willing to believe that the woman staring back at me was an angel: a stupid, naïve, foolish angel who had merrily skipped through the gates of Hades without a thought as to what might happen to her.

“My, my, my—” I jumped, and turned to find the red-headed woman from before leaning against the doorway. Saskia. Her gaze drifted over me dismissively before settling on Yulia. “Are you finished?”

“Why?” In an instant, Yulia’s friendly demeanor dissipated, and she seemed almost as icy as Dublin. “What do you want?”

“I have another for you—” Saskia snapped her fingers and someone else staggered through the doorway. “One of mine.”

The stranger’s gaze met mine just once before nervously flicking away again. She looked no older than I was, but she was pretty with big blue eyes and sun-kissed skin. Blonde hair hung down her shoulders, the length mine had been a few minutes before.

“Make her look presentable,” Saskia ordered. “She starts tonight as well.”

“Fine,” Yulia snapped, but Saskia had already turned on her heel without a parting word.

Ice lingered in the air between them. Obviously there was no love lost there.

“Pick something from the closet,” Yulia told the blonde, flicking her fingers at the wardrobe. “I’ll be with you in a moment. You—” Her piercing gaze returned to me. “Tell Dublin that I have finished with you. You can go.”

She shooed me off, and I found myself unceremoniously ushered back into the hall on bare feet. Yulia had confiscated my heels, along with my clothes, muttering something about should be burned as she did so.

I tried to tell myself that the sheer shift was no less degrading than a hospital gown, though I mourned the loss of my hair more than anything else. I felt naked without a cape of curls to hide behind as I wandered the corridor in search of Dublin.

There was no one else in sight, but the air seemed heavy—electric. A prickling sense of unease raced through my skin. Something’s about to happen, my instincts warned. Something not good for Ellie …

“Is she ready?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her—”

The voices seemed to come from the distant end of the hall. I headed towards them—but I had only gone a step before a cold grip encircled my arm.

“There you are.” I found myself wrenched around so violently that I nearly staggered into the figure holding me captive. “Finally.” Dublin’s voice reached my ears before I glanced up to see his face, as well as the scowl forming there. “Yulia better have given you the clothing of a damn queen for it to take—”

Abruptly, he broke off. His eyes narrowed even more, raking over me once, twice. “She was supposed to make you somewhat decent,” he growled. “But this … This will have to do for now. Come on.”

He grabbed for me and I struggled to keep up as he manhandled me in the direction he’d come from. In a matter of seconds we were back in that mysterious lounge.

Only, there were other people there now.

A group of men were perched on the leather chaise, all wearing suits every bit as crisp as Dublin’s. A woman, draped in shadow, stood along the back wall. More silent figures lurked at random intervals, watching as I was hauled across the room.

With every step I took, another hair at the nape of my neck stood on end.

Alone with Dublin, unease constantly lurked at the back of my mind. Whereas here, surrounded by strangers, I felt like a foolish doe who’d wandered into a den of wolves—though at least these predators had a sense of style.

The interior of the lounge was chic and utilitarian. The floors were polished to gleam, and reflected the dark colors of the walls like a pool of shadow. The few bits of furniture were placed strategically near the edges of the room, and angled toward the center to form a makeshift stage.

Gathered there for all to see, stood at least ten women, all wearing various versions of skimpy, black silk from Yulia’s closet. A brunette wore a tight corset, while a sultry red-head dazzled in a sheer, lace number that left little to the imagination as to what waited underneath.

No one else was wearing white—and, ironically enough, I seemed to be the most conservatively dressed one there.

Not that anyone was looking at me.

For the first time, I noticed that the ‘club’ didn’t resemble the posh places brimming with excitement that I had glimpsed in television shows or heard of from Georgie’s tales. There was no bar; no DJ; no dance floor.

In fact, despite the elegance, the setting was almost bare in appearance, minimalistic.

Whatever the purpose of this building was, the women were obviously the main draw. Something told me that they were tethered to contracts, but—unlike me, with my coveted family name—they all used so-called ‘natural’ assets to fulfill their debts instead.

Intelligence, cunning, beauty.

”What happens now?” I asked as loud as I dared. “D-Do ... Do I need to go out there?”

Dublin made no effort to respond to me. I half-expected him to shove me out onto the center of the floor anyway, but he never did.

Desperate to give him a reason not to, I struggled to make myself small and insignificant, invisible. So much for that; eyes found me anyway, curiously peering at the underdressed fool in ivory silk, cowering at the heels of her master. Before I could die of mortification, the sound of two hands being clapped drew all eyes to the doorway.

Saskia strolled in a second later, trailed by the blonde woman who now wore only a sheer black blouse and lace shorts—apparently, Yulia had classified her as the ‘usual’ type. Head down, the latter slowly made her way to the center of the floor, allowing Saskia to take control of the room with all the gusto of an auctioneer.

“Welcome!” She smiled, seeming to drink in the collective attention—though with that blazing hair and ivory skin, even I couldn’t deny that it was warranted. “Here at Anemia, we strive to offer the best selection no matter your tastes, be them exotic, or …” Her gaze cut directly to me. “Plain.”

Something told me that she wasn’t referring to food, or drink, or some other harmless commodity. No …

When she gestured to the women, they split off, as if on cue, to mingle with the silent visitors in the crowd.

“What’s happening?” I whispered.

There seemed to be no ‘cheating’ going on. Nor any thievery, which only left ...

Dublin’s reply was cold, spoken directly against my ear. “Watch.”

I could only watch, entranced, as Saskia’s blonde was cornered by a man near the back of the lounge. Leisurely, he took her hand, eyes trailing the length of her arm, and I wasn’t sure why the sight struck me as so odd.

Her arm, I insisted to myself—not her breasts, or eyes, or whatever else a normal man would be interested in, all of which was on full display. But even from this distance I could tell that he was focused solely on another part of her anatomy, one so strange that I found myself voicing it out loud in disbelief. “The veins …”

A prickling sensation snaked its way through me. This isn’t right, it insisted. But my mind was desperate to cling to any plausible explanation.

Because she’s pale, I told myself, despite the healthy glow to her skin. There’s no other reason.

As if to prove me correct, the man bowed his head as though he only meant to deliver a gentlemanly kiss to the inside of her wrist.

But then his mouth opened.

His upper lip pulled back from abnormally long canines.

And, as I watched on in horror, his teeth sank into her flesh.

I don’t know if I screamed or even gasped—but the next second Dublin’s hand was over my mouth, trapping any sound I might’ve made.

“Quiet, Eleanor,” he hissed while dragging me into an overlooked corner. “This is the game that you wanted to play ...” My own words haunted me, as I watched sharp teeth pierce flesh and a pale throat work to swallow. There was no escaping it: a real man was drinking from a real girl’s wrist, and …

This was not a game.

This wasn’t the reality I had pictured waiting beyond Gray Manor.

This …was something else entirely.

“No!” Dublin growled as I tried to turn away. He seized my chin, forcing me to watch as drops of scarlet struck the polished floor. “Drink it all in.”

I thought I might vomit. Terror flooded my veins. My pulse hammered against my ear drums, drowning out everything else. Though, to be fair, the blonde in question certainly didn’t seem to mind the violation. Her head tipped back, red lips forming a perfect o-shape, while the breath left her lungs in a single gasp. As the man withdrew, licking traces of red from his lips, she swayed on her feet, eyes wide and unfocused. Then, at his gentle prompting, she followed him down another shadowy hallway …

All around, I could see various other ‘meetings’ playing out in much the same way. Each woman was approached by a pale figure, and then led into the shadows. It was a chilling sight, nearly silent, save for a few scattered gasps of shock and pain.

Oh God. Suddenly, the massive room seemed miniscule, and I was drowning amid a sea of white faces. My heart quivered uselessly in my chest, too stunned to beat properly.

Red. Teeth. Red.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

“Welcome to the darkness, Eleanor Gray,” Dublin greeted against my ear. “A world where those of us without your precious family name dwell in shadow; this is the little game you wanted to play, was it not? So play.”

It was.

Only now, I wanted to pack up all my toys and go home. Fear guided my actions as I struggled against his grip. “No! Let go of me—”

“Oh, Dublin!”

Saskia’s sensual purr made him freeze, nails nearly piercing my flesh as his grip on my arm tightened. Silence fell instantly, and I could tell from Saskia’s satisfied smirk that that was just the way she liked it; all the better to capture the attention for herself.

“Isn’t your new girl going to join us?” She gestured to me from across the room with a wave of her red-tipped fingers. “We have a client waiting.”

Sure enough, the number of girls seemed to correlate with the number of ‘visitors’ present—all of whom had already found their own scantily-clad girl …minus one. A man partially hidden in shadow was the only one without someone to chow on and lead to a private room. I recognized those glittering eyes. Mikhail.

“She’s not ready.” Dublin’s tone was iron, daring anyone to challenge him—though before they could, he turned and dragged me from the room, down the same corridor he had taken me to see Yulia.

Only now, he kept going, past the red dressing room and farther down, farther, farther. Without warning I found myself shoved into a windowless room with bare walls and a large bed dominating the center. Ominously silent, Dublin followed me inside.

The door closed, a lock clicked and I was trapped. Any relief I may have felt after being rescued from the nightmare of the lounge dissipated as soon as Dublin uttered his next four words.

“Take off your clothes.”

It wasn’t a cutesy joke or a mocking taunt this time. I could read it in his voice.

He meant every terrifying word.

“Now, Eleanor.”

I swayed, feeling in danger of doing something that my mother—with her aristocratic sensibilities—definitely wouldn’t approve of: faint.

Only the desire to preserve what little dignity I had left forced me to stagger over to the bed. Once there, my knees buckled, depositing me onto the mattress with barely a thump to my name.

“This is how you wanted to repay your debt,” Dublin reminded as he stalked forward with all the grace of a hunting wolf. “You seemed to have known exactly what this entailed when you so eagerly stripped for me before.”

In a matter of seconds he had swallowed the distance between us. Before I had the chance to react—run—cool hands pushed on my shoulders, hard. I fell back onto the mattress like a stone, sprawled out with him hovering above.

Right then it sank in: intelligence …cunning …beauty. There was only one way that women with ‘natural’ talents fulfilled their bargains.

I panicked.

When Dublin reached for me, I sucked in air, strained my lungs, and screamed louder than I ever have before. I kicked, scratched, bit the hand he tried to wrestle over my mouth to silence me—only, it wasn’t until I heard the words echo back that I realized just what I had been shouting.

Monster! Freak! Devil!

I sounded like a bimbo in a horror movie. Shock and shame made me fall silent, and Dublin stood back, prepared to grab me if I decided to run.

“I am a monster, Eleanor,” he declared.

His expression was fearsome. Two points of white flashed from beneath his upper lip, almost daring me to believe that for a second I was merely hallucinating.

“I am a monster, bound for hell …but if you recall, you were the one who hopped right into my mouth and prodded my teeth.”

I flinched, resisting the urge to clamp my hands over my ears and chant until I couldn’t hear him anymore.

But he was right; I had all but asked for this.

“If I am not up to your usual ‘speed’ of self-destruction, Eleanor, then I would be more than happy to go back into the showroom and find someone else willing to do the job for me,” he suggested. “I hear that Mikhail has quite the reputation for being rough …”

I cringed at the thought of those hawkish eyes.

“You owe a debt,” Dublin added, just to drill the point home. “A debt that must be repaid. You would have died without my blood.”

It was the first time he had revealed that little snippet of information, but the sad part was that deep down I had already known it.

“I didn’t ask for you to save me—”

Dublin whirled on me. With one hand, he seized my shoulder. The other went to my throat, fingers thrumming the pulse until my protests sputtered and died. All the while, his eyes bore mercilessly into my own.

“Oh, yes you did.”

He seemed to wait for a shout or another scream, but when I remained silent he finally withdrew and posed a challenge that made me shiver.

“So what will it be? Me …or one of those men out there willing to take both your blood and your innocence?”

“You ...are …the Devil,” I rasped once I found my voice again.

No other insult fit. He was the Devil, frighteningly detached, even while he offered what he claimed to be a reprieve.

“I am,” he agreed, cold eyes staring me down. “Though even the Devil can show mercy; accept my first offer, Eleanor, and this nightmare ends here. This is your last chance.”

Within his tirade lingered a truth I didn’t want to face; I could have given in and merrily fallen back on my checkbook. I should have, but …

Some childish impulse wouldn’t let me, the same one that had driven me to accept his contract in the first place.

I am more than just Eleanor Gray …

“Fine,” Dublin snarled when I remained frozen beneath him.

Aggravation leaked from his every pore as he looked over my trembling form in disgust. Then, with one firm yank on the hem, he tore Yulia’s shift from my body and tossed it to the floor.

“Trust me,” he insisted with a scowl as every muscle in my body tensed. “This disgusts no one more than it does me.”

CHAPTER 7

A Little Death

THE SECONDS PASSED, PAINFULLY slow, as cold air assaulted my bare skin.

When I didn’t try to run, Dublin glowered as if being here was one step above being burned alive at the stake. Then, with a resigned sigh, his eyes met mine.

“Touch yourself.”

Those two words sucked all the air from the room.

I wasn’t so naïve as to think he meant ‘touch’ as in the innocent Simon Says version of eyes, nose, head and ears.

No, he meant …

Somehow, I still managed to find just enough breath to choke out, “W-why?”

His response was scathing. “You claim to be a virgin, correct? Well, if you don’t want the deflowering,” he said, actually making air quotes, “to hurt unnecessarily, then I suggest you take the standard precautions.”

My cheeks flamed. In the end I could only croak, “I-I don’t know how.”

“Drop the cowering prude act,” Dublin snapped. “This isn’t the place for modesty, and considering your nonexistent relationships with men, I’m sure you’ve mastered the art form.”

He waited, but my expression must have revealed that I was not stalling for modesty’s sake.

Only strictly professional physicians had ever touched me there, with prodding instruments and rubber gloves.

Hell, I didn’t even look at myself when I put on underwear. Sex, according to Mother, was purely a means for producing heirs to the family fortune—a duty falling solely on Georgie’s shoulders, now that I was dying.

Besides, who was I kidding?

Spinsterhood would’ve been my destination anyway.

“You can’t be serious.” From Dublin’s expression, one might think I’d declared I was the Queen of England and that I liked to run naked through the halls of Buckingham Palace. “Oh, for the love of—”

He sighed, and the mattress creaked beneath his weight as he moved.

“Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be,” he warned as his hand slid between my legs, ruthlessly forcing them apart.

I couldn’t resist the impulse to lock my knees together, even though I knew it was futile. Taking a thigh in each hand, Dublin easily spread them wider and muscled his way in between.

He was so large. Harper, who towered over me, had never made me feel so small and insignificant. I didn’t think I had ever been so close to another living being—not to mention so exposed.

I shivered beneath him, though I suspected that the reaction had less to do with the chill emanating from his body and more to do with him. Our pelvises nearly connected as he drew back on his knees, taking me in with one, dismissive sweep of his gaze.

Without warning, he reached down to finger the elastic band of my panties and every cell in my body tightened.

“W-wait!”

It was the first time someone had touched me without the excuse of a strict medical curiosity. Ever.

At my reaction, Dublin simply rolled his eyes and reached for my wrist.

I shook my head, but he peeled back the elastic of my panties with two fingers and forced my own hand beneath the cotton.

Stop, stop, stop, I chanted to myself, heart in my throat, as he pressed my fingers against the mound that I had never been brave enough to explore on my own. I cringed at the feel of coarse curls, skin …dampness.

I had no idea what to expect, but warmth, paired with the expert precision of Dublin’s fingers steering my own was not it. He guided my touch into a clumsy, awkward rhythm against that intimidating mound, over and over. It shouldn’t have been enough to coax a reaction from me—fear alone should have overridden everything else. But …

With every hesitant caress, a tiny knot inside me began to tighten. Nerve endings I didn’t even know existed sleepily stirred to life. I couldn’t deny it; those humiliating gynecological exams had felt nothing like this.

This is disgusting, I insisted mournfully to myself.

It certainly felt disgusting …much the same way that sneaking down to the kitchen and eating a chocolate cake out of the fridge at midnight felt disgusting. That stuffing yourself with honey-glazed donuts kind of disgusting—the aching, guilty sort of pleasure that made you hate yourself.

Lying beneath Dublin, mind a whirl, I absolutely hated myself for the way my legs fell further apart.

He was relentless in his ministrations—just light teasing, circles over and over and over. If I hesitated, he simply increased the pace, deepening the contact until my traitorous body flooded with the conflicting sensations.

Ice collided with fire in a chaotic whirlwind of left, right, up, down, round and round until my mind seemed to scream silent commands I could never voice out loud: deeper, harder, more, more, more …

I was dizzy by the time he finally released my wrist and batted my fingers aside. One cold hand seized my waist, pinning me down, while the other began to tug my underwear down my legs.

I whimpered out a protest, too lightheaded to find real words. He was too heavy to resist and broad legs as hard as stone kept me from being able to fully close mine.

“Really, Eleanor,” he spat, yanking at my panties until they cleanly tore away. “This doesn’t have to be a case of the ‘big bad monster brutally taking the innocent virgin.’ You have the power to end this debacle now; all you need to do is say the word and I’ll allow you to fetch your checkbook and spare us both the trouble.”

He sounded unbelievably annoyed. As if I should have been thanking him for allowing me the easy way out.

Again, when I made no move to leave, he hissed an irritated sigh, “Fine ...then lie still.”

Biting my lip until I saw stars, I made myself stiff. Frozen. Dead.

No! The prude in me wailed, this isn’t happening ...

But squeezing my eyes shut didn’t make Dublin disappear. My Devil lingered, determined to carry out his strange mission to corrupt me—and for some insane, crazy reason, I couldn’t find the voice to tell him to stop.

He was so cold without the warmth of my hand as a buffer. I flinched away from his touch instinctively, but then his forefinger came in a light, swift motion before the chill became too much.

Sparks shot up and down my spine. As if from far away, I heard myself gasp, but I couldn’t slap a hand over my mouth in time to smother it.

The sound seemed to be all the encouragement Dublin needed, because his hand stilled. Then, one long finger curved, slipping through the heavy folds …

My entire body stiffened at the intrusion. I shouted, hands flying up to rain down blows over his shoulders, as I cursed him to hell and back.

Nothing fazed him. He was painfully solid, as if carved from granite, right down to the fingernails.

Ignoring my protests, he began to move, thrusting that single digit in, out, and around …harder each time until heat blossomed and swelled.

I tried to twist out of reach, but he was too strong, anchoring me in place, and I had no choice but to suffer every jolting sensation.

“Your clients won’t take the time to do this beforehand,” I heard him mutter, while that finger twisted, to rub against the inner parts of me. “So I suggest you take notes …”

Oh. My body went rigid, nails clutching the bed sheets. I gasped again.

This was horrifying, debasing, violating and …incredible.

Muscles I didn’t even know I had sprang to life as they were stretched to the brink. Nerve endings flared and popped. Sizzled. Through it all, he kept moving; in and out—faster—until that odd heat continued to grow, surging through my skin.

Fire. Ice. Fire. Ice.

I was trapped in-between two polar opposites.

Suddenly Dublin pulled back. Was that a good thing? Or bad? I couldn’t really remember ...

I frowned in confusion at a ripping sound, before I realized just what it was; a zipper being undone.

His hand left my waist as he removed his pants one-handed, revealing muscled thighs that made me quiver at the thought of them pressed against me. Despite everything, I was struck by how beautiful he was up close—perfect—like a statue carved of ivory marble.

Who seemed to think that it was his grim ‘chore’ to ‘deflower’ me.

His eyes flashed in warning when I unwittingly flinched in anticipation of what was about to come. His hand was on my shoulder before I could even think to move, holding me down as his body settled over mine.

“It’s like a Band-Aid, Eleanor,” I heard him growl somewhere above me. “It’s better if you don’t draw it out.”

I could feel something cold and firm nudge that little cleft between my legs—God, was his entire body made of steel? I didn’t even get the chance to scream or even mourn my threatened virginity. With one single thrust, he entered me—hard. The pain was sharp, like the shock that came from accidentally cutting your thumb on a knife. Deep inside, tender flesh burned as my body struggled to accept him. I shrieked but the sound was swallowed by the mattress squeaking beneath the sudden shift in weight.

Forget all those romantic little notions about fireworks and ‘connection’ and perfection—whatever nonsense romance novels proclaimed—this hurt.

He gave me no time to adjust before he moved in a series of hard, sharp jabs that pushed me deeper into the mattress.

Oh, God, oh God!

I squeezed my eyes shut and laid there, forcing down a scream with every thrust.

Like a Band-Aid, I told myself, a painful, enormous, ‘deflowering’ Band-Aid. Dublin was massive and I was splitting apart at the seams.

I waited for it to be over but, as if reading my mind, he only quickened his pace, swiveling his hips, pounding deeper, harder, faster, faster, driving my body to its breaking point.

I could hear the sharp sounds of skin hitting skin; my own labored pants; the violent creaking of the bed. Pain loomed overhead, urging me to scream. Run. Something!

But beneath it all …was something else; this tiny ball of heat that coiled with every thrust. Tighter. Harder. My entire body seemed to focus on this one building sensation, distracting me—even from the fear—until …

Every single thought blurred. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. My only conscious action was to grab hold of the bed frame and cling to it.

With each stroke the knot in my belly tightened. Colors melded together. Senses sharpened.

Guilt or shame suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

I was spiraling and I … I wanted more. Don’t, I told myself even as my hips arched into him, body flexing against the mattress.

Above me, Dublin slowed his assault, eyes so dark they swallowed the shadows. Then he shifted, striking brutally in one long stroke.

A groan tore from my lips, and my back bowed, driving him even further.

He froze, gaze darkening into a color so black it seemed endless.

Eventually, he began to thrust again, violently, deep, deep, deeper. He was cruel, holding nothing back.

I was baking—burning alive—and he was dousing me in gasoline.

It was too much.

I couldn’t … Something was … I needed …

Abruptly, he twisted, sparking a friction that had my head rolling back, eyes flickering beneath heavy eyelids.

Yes.

I broke apart.

My mouth flew open but nothing came out. Every nerve prickled, sparked, exploded.

Ellie Gray was gone—everything was just a collage of colors.

I was flying, falling, tumbling out of control.

For a minute, I was afraid that I would never be myself again—just a mess of disjointed emotions and fragile thoughts.

Then …it was over.

I couldn’t see as Dublin rolled from on top of me. I felt breathless and lazy and weak, but when my vision finally cleared, he was gone …

And I was alone.

CHAPTER 8

Bracelets

“YOU HAVE TO FORGIVE me; we’re not used to serving breakfast.”

I groaned as the voice pulled me from a heavy sleep. I peeled my eyes open, expecting to find the violet walls of my bedroom and a grumbling servant trying to rip the sheets out from under me.

Instead, I found a dark-haired woman holding a glass of wine beneath my nose. Or at least …I hoped it was wine. Suddenly, all red liquids seemed suspicious.

“I did the best with what I could find,” she added, gesturing toward the tray someone had set on the bed. Her green eyes were familiar, and a name sprung to mind on a wave of dark memories. Yulia.

At her prompting, I glanced down at the tray. On it was a crisp package of crackers, a stick of celery and a piece of mint gum.

“The wine is unconventional, I know,” Yulia admitted, swirling the liquid around with a tilt of her wrist. “But, we don’t stock orange juice, and I thought you might appreciate this a little more, anyway.”

She was right. Still groggy, I grabbed the glass and drained it while she watched. It was sweeter than even my father’s old vintage, but I barely registered the taste.

I just wished it had been hard liquor instead.

I was sore in places I didn’t even know could be sore. I was exhausted, drained beyond belief—but all of that could have been bearable if it wasn’t for the underlying sense of satisfaction that was so heavy it felt surreal.

And shame, there was plenty of that too. Both made it impossible to ignore what I desperately wanted to. Don’t, I told myself as I wrestled my body upright against a mound of pillows. Don’t go there. Too late.

I, Eleanor Gray, was no longer a virgin. Even worse—the man who had done the deed of removing said virginity had done so under the duress of a silly contract.

Also, a part of me added, almost on a bored note, he had fangs.

I was pretty sure by now that he had fangs.

“Dublin told me that he gave you your dose last night?” Yulia inquired while scanning my arms as if looking for a bandage or a hint of an injection spot.

I flinched at the sound of his name before I even processed the meaning of her question. Dose? I shook my head.

“Hmph.” Yulia shrugged. “It must have been while you were sleeping.”

The thought was terrifying. Almost as terrifying as it was to look down and realize that I was neatly tucked beneath the blankets—not sprawled out on a pile of crumpled gray sheets. I didn’t dare think that Dublin would take the care, meaning that someone else must have tucked the covers over my naked body.

“So …” I glanced up to find Yulia watching me intently. “How do you feel?”

Going off her expression, I suspected that she wasn’t asking out of politeness. God, did the whole world know? I had a vision of Dublin sulking around the lounge, complaining to anyone who would listen about the ‘dreadful deflowering.’ Still, Yulia seemed genuinely concerned, so I bit my bottom lip and mentally assessed my throbbing limbs.

With every movement I winced, as an ache unfurled deep inside; the result of muscles being pushed beyond their limits. The sensation felt no more uncomfortable than I would have expected after a strenuous run or vigorous exercise. I could feel the beginnings of bruises taking shape over my waist, but I figured that had more to do with how hard Dublin had held me down, rather than any deliberate infliction of abuse on his part.

“Fine.”

Aside from the physical pain, most of my suffering came purely from damaged pride, and my psyche was more than willing to nail that point home. You stupid, spoiled cow! Idiot! Next time, just write the damn check!

“Ah …” Yulia nodded and her mouth opened as if she meant to say something. Then she seemed to think better of it and the red lips closed again.

“Why are you here?” I wondered after a moment. “I-I mean ...you didn’t have to help me.”

I would have thought that Dublin would have wanted me to stew in my shame alone just to reinforce the fact that I should have accepted his first offer.

“Why not?” Yulia countered. Her tone seemed harmless enough, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she had evaded the question on purpose.

Though why did it matter either way? At least her company kept me from focusing too much on myself.

I turned my attention to her ‘breakfast’ and grabbed the celery stick at random, desperate to use the pretense of eating as an excuse to keep my mouth shut. I could sense Yulia watching as my eyes scanned the room.

It was plain. The only light came from a silver light fixture hanging from the ceiling—unsurprisingly it was in the shape of a serpent. There were no windows, so I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. There wasn’t any furniture other than the bed. Hell, it could have been a simple bedroom at Gray Manor if the bed frame wasn’t sleek metal instead of antique wood.

“Eleanor.” Yulia’s tone made me stiffen. “You can talk to me, about anything. Anything at all. I’m here.”

I had a feeling that she wasn’t referring to the typical girl talk.

“There is something,” I began warily.

Several somethings to be exact—but one sordid little image in my mind was stuck on replay, and no matter how hard I tried logic couldn’t explain it away.

“What?”

“I saw …”

Goodness, how could I even say it? I cleared my throat and tried to find the words. “I saw someone b-bitten last night.”

Not only that, but I was starting to suspect that pale skin and piercing eyes weren’t just odd physical features that pretty much everyone in this building shared out of coincidence.

What am I, Eleanor? Dublin had asked. I want to hear you say it.

Rather than rush me to the insane asylum, Yulia simply rolled her eyes. “I knew that bastard wouldn’t tell you himself,” she scoffed. “He’s much too fond of theatrics.”

“T-theatrics?”

I had to disagree. Judging from the way he had acted as though my screams were poisonous acid dripped directly onto his ear drums, I was willing to go so far as to say that Dublin Helos was definitely not the ‘theatrical’ sort.

“He gets a kick out of watching people discover the truth on their own,” Yulia explained with an exasperated sigh. “It makes him feel all ‘mighty Devil, collector of souls.’ He can be quite an ass if you haven’t guessed.”

I choked on a bite of celery. While I sputtered, Yulia perched herself on the edge of the bed and gingerly patted my shoulder. Her warmth was a shock. I couldn’t remember if I had even noticed it before, but in the wake of Dublin’s icy chill her heat hit me like a thousand degrees.

Nearly a full minute passed before I gathered the nerve to ask another question. “Are you a …”

What? Say it, Ellie, demanded Dublin’s crisp tones. Say it out loud—admit it!

Yulia’s laugh snapped me out of the waking nightmare. “No. I’m …different.”

‘Different’, other than fangs and blood? The look in her eyes warned me not to even ask. You’re not ready.

I was too shocked to find the words anyway. Too many things swirled through my mind: fangs, pale skin, and a strange affinity for maniacal laughter …

It all added up to one horrible, impossible conclusion.

Say it, Ellie, my consciousness taunted. Say it!

“Saskia,” I heard myself croak instead. “Is she?”

Yulia shook her head. “No. Most—” She seemed to pick on the way my entire body tensed—waiting for her to voice what I was too chicken to. In the end, she just allowed ‘most’ to linger on the air. “They don’t tend to frequent the Den unless they need to feed. Mikhail is our overseer; however Saskia manages most of the contracts. Dublin used to oversee our operations, but this is the first time in years that he’s stayed longer than a few minutes.”

Years? Interesting. Had I—with all my insistence on being ‘just like everyone else’—pushed dear old Dublin out of a retirement of some sort? A part of me was almost gleeful at the prospect. At least until Yulia frowned.

“Speaking of Dublin …”

I stared as she moved to the foot of the bed. There, she reached down and lifted something from the floor. It was a slender box, I saw, as she placed it flat on the mattress and pulled off the lid.

Inside … At first, I wanted to believe that they were merely bracelets, two delicate, slender bracelets that just so happened to have been connected by a silver chain.

But one didn’t need a key to unlock ‘bracelets’.

“Dublin’s orders,” Yulia said, fingering a link of one cuff. “He wants you to get used to wearing them. Some of our clients have …certain fetishes.”

I gulped, unwilling to even consider what type of person might request that someone else wear handcuffs—let alone pay for the privilege.

You got yourself into this, Ellie; you’re the one who wanted to repay a debt based on your own ‘merits’.

“Wear them?” I whispered hoarsely. “How?”

Yulia’s pointed glance at the headboard was all the explanation I needed.

“Oh God.”

Suddenly, I felt pathetically small, huddled beneath the sheets while a woman beautiful enough to have stepped out of a fairytale told me that the monster in charge of my fate had requested that I wear chains—just to practice.

“It’s customary for all of the girls,” Yulia insisted, as if that made it any better. “Would you like to bathe first?” I nodded, wishing I still had a curtain of hair to hide the way I blushed once I realized that I was still naked. “I’ll get you a robe.”

Yulia left and returned a moment later with a garment made of black silk. I pulled it on only to realize that—despite reaching down to my ankles—it was no less revealing than my tiny white shift. Unwilling to ask for another one, I stood and silently followed Yulia down the hall and into a wide bathroom.

Like everything else in the building, the layout was sleek and impeccably modern. The floors were black marble and the tub looked big enough to swim in. Yulia left me there with an apologetic frown and advice to use the violet-scented soap beneath the sink.

“It soothes the skin.”

I didn’t dawdle or waste time by soaking. Nor did I allow myself to enjoy the sensation of warm water rushing over my skin. Instead, I grabbed a clean rag from a cupboard along the wall and set about attacking my throbbing limbs with an almost clinical precision.

Bruised hips. Sore thighs. Oh, was that blood streaking the washcloth in a single rust-colored stain as I dragged it between my legs?

No worrying, Ellie, old girl, I told myself. Stiff upper lip. Don’t think about it. Just focus on the task at hand.

I finished up quickly and threw my robe back on without even bothering to dry off.

Yulia was in the bedroom, waiting for me. Without her even having to say a word, I moved toward the bed and sat down, close to the headboard, but still far enough away to …

God, what should I do? Lie down? Sit up? Funny, I had never had to contemplate my comfort while wearing handcuffs before.

I stiffened when Yulia approached, but she only grabbed the box and slid the chains from their perch of black velvet. Her fingers lifted my left wrist and seconds later I heard a ‘clink!’

I couldn’t look. The weight of the metal was oppressive, but not as uncomfortable as I might have imagined. I still had room enough so that the cuff merely felt like a bracelet—at least until I tried moving my arm farther than a few inches from the headboard.

“He wants you to wear both until he returns,” Yulia explained. I looked up to find her twirling a second set around her finger. “But I shall only attach one pair for now. He can place the other.”

She promptly allowed the other set to fall back into the box.

It blew my mind how she seemed to respect Dublin’s words and still thwart him at the same time, first, with my styling and now with the chains. The tiny acts of sabotage reminded me of a sister, humoring an older brother but still determined to keep him in his place.

“It’s strange,” she said. “You’re the first girl Dublin’s brought in years. Many of the ones already here belong to Saskia.” Her tone made it clear what she thought about that. “I thought he was done with this part of the trade.”

“The trade?” Apparently, collecting contracts based upon the suffering of others was some kind of fulfilling career.

“Contracts,” Yulia amended. “I assume that he’s been negotiating other bargains, rather than the club recently.”

Other bargains. I recalled the deal with the sick girl’s father. Were simple business deals Dublin’s preferred method of repayment after all?

“I’m surprised that he’s brought you here,” Yulia admitted, as if following the same trail of thought.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the only reason I was here was because I was a fool, too stubborn to let herself be used for her name and money like any proper heiress.

“He was furious with how I dressed you, by the way,” she added, though she almost seemed amused by the thought. “He said that I made you look like a child, that you were unappealing, and that you are ‘never to wear white again’.” She frowned, mocking Dublin’s crisp tones.

I felt my cheeks flame with mortification, though I doubted that I would have been any more ‘appealing’ in one of those tiny, black ensembles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite that furious,” Yulia declared without a hint of regret. “So do you know what I did?”

She stood and moved to the door, but at the threshold, she glanced back over her shoulder, green eyes blazing.

“I bought yards of ivory silk. And lace.”

The next person to enter the room came what seemed like hours later and carried another tray, stocked with real food this time. The fare consisted only of a sandwich, a soda and another pack of crackers, but tucked beneath it all was a handwritten note: He comes at midnight—Yul.

Midnight.

The realization made my stomach churn, considering that I didn’t even know how long I had to contemplate my fate.

There was no clock in the room, and the girl who’d brought the food had left without even a backwards glance in my direction. I felt like a twisted Cinderella, doomed the moment the clock struck twelve.

Or, in a more morbid tone, a helpless Red Riding Hood tethered for the wolf’s arrival.

Dublin. Even thinking of his name unwittingly conjured images of last night. I didn’t want to think about them. I sure as hell didn’t want to relive them—but they were still there, haunting me until I couldn’t escape the memory of it.

Desperate, I attempted to distract myself with thoughts of hatred instead. It was easier to loathe him; despise him; curse him to hell.

Huddled against the headboard, I entertained myself with all kinds of lovely visions of revenge; Dublin, roasting on a fiery spit, prodded by eager demons armed with numerous pointy objects; Dublin, imprisoned by his own damn chains on the Gray property for my amusement.

Wait …

That last thought didn’t seem quite as devious as I meant it to be. In fact, the image of Dublin, smirking even while manacled, didn’t seem to affect his dream self nearly as much as it did me. My skin grew warm at the thought, though I had no idea why, or why something in me trembled at the prospect of ever holding that kind of power over him ...

Perhaps because, even while chained, he still would have been able to speak.

‘Do you have it in you, Eleanor?’ The fantasy Dublin wondered. ‘Do you have what it takes to play games with the Devil?’

Suddenly, the knob on the door twitched. A second later it opened, allowing in a gust of cool air that had me shivering beneath my thin robe. And then—at what I guessed was midnight on the dot—the source of my torment finally strolled in.

CHAPTER 9

Lessons

HE STOOD THERE, MY Devil dressed in black, and just watched me, waiting.

For the dramatics, I guessed, for me to shriek and scream, and curse him to hell.

I wanted to—oh God, how I wanted to—but like a true stoic Gray, I attempted to squash all emotion and face him head on. ‘Decorum’, Mother used to sniff whenever my shoulders slouched even an inch out of perfect alignment.

Decorum.

“You’re awake,” Dublin remarked, chasing the ghostly admonition away. His tone radiated anger, but was oddly polite at the same time.

I wondered why. Perhaps the sight of me in chains put him in a good mood?

When I didn’t answer, he took a step closer, and I ruined my brave façade by jerking back against the headboard.

“Did Yulia explain what is to be expected of you?”

“E-expected? There’s more?”

Being chained and half-naked wasn’t enough?

Dublin glowered for a long moment before launching into a speech with all the gusto of a stuffy professor: Welcome to Sex Education 101, the bondage edition.

“For the next two days you will continue to learn how our ‘employees’ entertain their clients. The day after—” coincidentally, my fourth and last day indebted to him “—you will take a client of your own.”

“Why?” I blurted stupidly. “I thought—”

“Must we go over this again?” His irises darkened around fathomless pupils. “You owe a debt, Eleanor. Unless you’ve changed your mind on how to repay it …” He paused, as if waiting for me to jump at the chance to do just that by lunging for my checkbook. When I didn’t, his brow furrowed even more. “Then, these are the terms of your contract.”

“But …why another client?” I asked after a dry swallow. “Wasn’t last night payment enough—”

“I was not your client,” he said harshly. “And last night was merely a convenience on your part, trust me on that.”

Convenience. He made it sound as if my virginity had been something icky he’d disposed of and I should have been thanking him for it.

“Why?” I asked even though his expression warned me not to. “Why you?”

“You will take a real client in two days,” he said, ignoring my question altogether. “While it’s practically no time at all to prepare …you should still be somewhat ready.”

Left with no choice—other than to resort to my fortune—I sat there, mulling it over as detachedly as I could.

Two days of instruction.

One day of application.

No mistakes ...

I felt like a student back in University.

“And until then?” I couldn’t even look in his direction, so I allowed myself to inspect the silver cuff encircling my wrist for the first time instead. There was no keyhole, just a seamless strip of metal.

How on earth would he take them off?

“Until then, you will continue your training,” Dublin said, snapping my attention back to him. “With me.”

By some miracle I managed to keep my expression blank. What kinds of ‘training’ could one learn in two days at the instruction of Dublin Helos? I had a sinking suspicion that chains were only the beginning.

“In what?”

Dublin shrugged, but there was nothing casual about the motion—tension leaked from him so thick that I could almost smell it.

“Take a wild guess,” he suggested. “After last night, I’m sure your mind is running rampant with possibilities.”

That was an understatement. At the memory of blood and teeth, my heart sank through my body and flopped out through my toes.

I wanted to protest, to tell him to go to hell, that a true Gray didn’t belong here, etcetera, etcetera.

But I knew that any display of fear on my part would cause him to revert back to that damn ‘first’ offer—and somehow the thought of being written off so easily seemed more unbearable than any horrors this club might hold. I had come this far. Three days should have been nothing compared to what fate had in store for me.

According to my diagnosis, I was already dead.

You’re insane, Ellie, a part of me whispered as my nails dug into my palms, but it wasn’t loud enough to make me demand he let me go. Yet. “So, would I have to ...”

“Tonight,” Dublin began in a tone of steel without giving me the chance to finish, “I expect no less from you than I would from any other girl here.”

His scowl proclaimed what he didn’t bother saying out loud: As much as anyone can expect from you.

“And what would that be?” I rasped once I found the nerve to speak again.

“There are standards we follow here,” he said, words raining down like blows. “We’ll start simple. Your first lesson is respect. Do you understand?”

He deliberately paused.

“Yes,” I croaked.

“Yes what?”

I stiffened. What more could he possibly want me to say? Oh yes, my Devil—beholder of my immortal soul?

Then it clicked. Oh good Lord, he couldn’t possibly mean … Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I said it anyway, fingers clenching into fists.

“Yes …Sir.”

He didn’t acknowledge the title. Instead, his gaze finally honed in on my unbound wrist and his entire body went rigid.

“Yulia,” he hissed, while marching to the foot of the bed where he snatched the spare set of cuffs from the box. Without another word, he grabbed my free arm, forcing me to lie down on my back or risk having the limb pulled right from its socket.

“Your second lesson,” he growled while snapping the manacle in place, “will be obedience. We’ll start simple; spread your legs, Eleanor.”

My eyes widened. “B-But …you said—”

“You’ve failed already,” Dublin announced, voice flat. “Let’s hope your bank account is more reliable than its owner ...”

He started to reach for the other cuff, but something made me speak out. “W-wait!”

He paused, hand outstretched and I could feel my skin burn with shame as I slowly forced my legs apart.

The fabric of my borrowed robe was thinner than tissue paper, and Yulia hadn’t left me with either a bra or underwear to wear underneath. I didn’t want to guess how much of me he saw from his position.

Though, I might have felt more ashamed if he didn’t look so bored.

“Good.”

He sank onto the mattress and slid a hand beneath my calf. Every nerve stalled beneath his touch as he lifted the leg and forcefully flexed it at the knee.

“You do have smooth skin,” he admitted as an icy finger traced the inside of my thigh, brushing tendons, veins … “At least that’s something.”

My mind spun as he let me go and reached beyond my head to undo one cuff with a subtle click. Rather than command me to leave, he launched right into another ‘lesson’.

“Let’s review.” As he spoke, he grabbed for my hand and dragged it down to my side. “Show me what you learned yesterday.”

What I learned? My mind churned with images; him, fingers, blinding heat.

“W-why?”

“I told you once that this isn’t the place for modesty,” he warned, before pressing my hand to the apex of my thighs regardless of my protests.

I whimpered at the back of my throat, but was too breathless to fight him. Instead, I tried to look at it clinically.

This isn’t your hand, I told myself as Dublin curled my fingers within his and pressed them to that intimidating mound of curls. It’s just a doctor’s instrument …one currently being shoved up your—

I winced as Dublin forced a finger inside me. It didn’t feel quite as painful as it had yesterday, more sore, but the sensation was unwelcome none-the-less.

Or so I tried to tell myself. I stiffened as once again he began to move that icy digit in and out ...

Out and in.

My cheeks burned with shame at my body’s reaction. That odd heat returned, flooding through my belly, my veins …

“I told you,” Dublin grated against my ear, sounding miles away. “Your clients won’t take the time to check whether you’re ready or not and we don’t stock lubricant—” He made it sound like a dirty word. “So, I suggest you take notes.”

On “notes” he slid that probing finger in a deep, slow circle that made my eyes flutter.

Holy …

Without warning, Dublin withdrew his hand and nudged my own fingers in its place.

“Show me,” he commanded.

My eyes slid shut with a reluctant groan. I felt like a child again, forced into a horrendous confection of lace and velvet, and ordered to sing a warbling, off-key version of ‘Silent Night’ for the stuffy investors at my parent’s dinner parties. Dublin’s expression was the same as theirs had been; cold, impassive, and indifferent.

But in all those horrible, pitchy memories, I couldn’t remember ever feeling as mortified as I did now, with him sneering down at me while I …

I squashed the thought and gave my head a firm shake. I could tell that he was only pushing the topic because he knew it embarrassed me.

He wanted me to give up.

Give in, and accept his first offer like a good, dutiful girl.

I refused to give him the satisfaction—it was my body, after all.

Right?

“No,” I whispered, sounding stronger than I’d expected.

“No, what?” I could almost hear the triumph in his voice as he pictured me reaching for my checkbook in defeat.

I took a deep breath to steel my nerves and forced my eyes open to stare into his. It was a mistake; his gaze was endless and I was drowning in it.

Miraculously, I managed to slide a trembling finger down that intimidating path of curls without collapsing into a puddle of shame.

I stiffened at the contact. It was nothing like when Dublin touched me, but it wasn’t a bad feeling per se. That searing heat flared sleepily in response and I pressed a little harder- while he watched.

His eyes were narrowed into slits and I was reminded of a stern teacher, just waiting for the moment he would have to discipline a misbehaving student. However, when the seconds passed without him saying anything …I guessed that I was doing it right.

I bit my bottom lip and carefully applied a bit more pressure. I Gasped. The sensation of warmth that surged in response caught me off guard.

It was pleasure, I thought. Deep inside my belly I felt a familiar knot being to tighten.

“It’s not going to bite you, Eleanor,” Dublin murmured, not satisfied. Bold and sure, his hand slid down to cup my own, forcing a deeper contact. “Shall I give you a quick lesson in anatomy? This …” His thumb slid up, striking a bundle of flesh that made every ounce of air leave my lungs. “Is your clitoris. I suggest you remember it. Trust me; no one wants to spend good money on a prude.”

Good money. God, he made this whole thing sound like prostitution.

Duh, a part of me hissed. What did you think this was?

My heart faltered as Dublin’s thumb drifted away from my clitoris and traveled lower. I wanted to run screaming from the room, butt naked and dripping with blood. No sooner had I thought about escape than I felt Dublin’s fingers curve, replacing my own and suddenly I couldn’t think about anything anymore.

A million conflicting sensations assaulted me all at once: Heat. Hot. Hotter. Searing.

God, I was burning alive. My hips arched, aching to feel the relief of his icy touch, but it was only when I heard him laugh that I realized what I’d done.

“At least you’re not screaming,” he said, and I doubted the real Devil himself could have sounded more menacing. “You learn quickly …but not quickly enough.”

His hand returned to my thigh, creeping over my knee.

“Can you tell me what happens next, Eleanor?”

It was a dangerous question, made all the more ominous by his tone.

“Don’t feign ignorance,” he added. “I know Yulia told you some glimmer of the truth. Let’s see how smart you are; put two and two together. What happens next?”

I shook my head, even though a grim idea was beginning to unfold in my mind anyway. Nibble, nibble, Ellie. Those teeth aren’t just for show.

Yulia’s words chose that second to run through my mind, seeming to reinforce what I was too terrified to comprehend: Most only come to the Den to feed.

“Take a wild guess,” Dublin urged. One nail deliberately teased my skin. Tap. Tap. Caress. “I want to hear whatever dark, little fantasy is making your heart beat so quickly.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, but a fearful guess slipped out anyway.

“Are … Are you going to b-bite me—”

“Are you going to bite me, what?”

His tone would haunt my nightmares for the remainder of my foolish days; so very smug, sinister. I could scarcely find the nerve to answer him.

“Are you going to b-bite me, Sir?”

I didn’t dare open my eyes, but his finger never ceased tracing patterns over my skin. Just light, dangerous little circles, over and over ...

“Again,” he commanded in a voice so deep that it vibrated in my bones. “Say it again.”

“Are you going to bite—ah!”

Pain jolted through my body, and I shrieked, eyes flying open.

My first thought was that he’d pinched me, finally sinking that nail into my skin, but no … Somewhere during the course of a few seconds, he had moved, and his mouth was affixed to the curve in my knee rather than his hand. His throat jerked to swallow and blood dripped down to dot the bed. I tried to scream. I wanted to …

But just as my mouth opened, sensation flooded my body and I couldn’t do anything but breathe. It wasn’t painful, like I would have imagined. Instead warmth seared through my veins, traveling right down to my bones; sharp, piercing. It felt …indescribable.

My eyelids fluttered. My vision blurred. Dublin, feeding from my leg, was miles and miles away and …

I was on cloud nine. Every single cell in my body came alive with a pop. I croaked for air. Tried to move—think, feel, anything.

Either Dublin was oblivious to my reaction or he just didn’t care. That tongue was ruthless, swirling, licking, tasting.

I wanted him to stop … Continue. Stop. Never, stop! Drain me of every last drop until …

“Eleanor.”

Suddenly, the universe shifted and I found myself back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Dublin’s voice sounded louder than it had before, as if he were speaking inside my head, shouting.

“Eleanor!”

I blinked to find him hovering above me—but the expression on his face wasn’t the usual infuriated scowl. Those gray eyes were wide, mouth stretched in a frown, and for the first time I didn’t get an overwhelming sense of hostility from him.

Could he be ...worried?

“Say something,” he demanded, and my heart skipped a beat.

How many times had he made that request, I wondered? Would I be punished for not obeying quickly enough?

“Something ...” I said.

I felt dizzy. It was a struggle just to suck in air. Breathe …

“Look at me.”

My eyes scanned his face, settling over the fangs peeking from the hood of his mouth. Oddly enough, it wasn’t hard to finally admit to myself what they actually were.

Not regular teeth or a figment of my imagination, but fangs ...

Honed to a point and dripping with blood.

“Can you move?”

Confused, I shook my head. Why on earth would I want to? I could just lay here forever, drowning in pain and pleasure …

I doubted Dublin could have looked any less shocked if I’d spat on him. His eyes scanned my thigh, narrowing over the scarlet stain spreading beneath my punctured knee.

“Must have bitten too deep,” I thought I heard him murmur.

“Too deep?”

The words didn’t fully register—I was too busy hating myself. Pain I could bear. Every tragic heroine needed to suffer in order to make her plight believable, but that …

That had been anything but painful.

Admitting as much made me feel like a dirty little traitor, but it had felt …good. My body was warmer than the effects of a glass of strong brandy. Even while chained, I was floating, flying, and I wanted more.

Suddenly, Dublin reached for my leg. Cold fingers curled beneath my knee and I waited, every cell alight as he observed the bleeding limb before lowering his mouth.

A sound I’d never heard myself make tore from my throat even before his lips finally made contact with my flesh. I couldn’t remember being so on edge before in my life, so electrified.

But rather than bite, those two sharp points merely scraped the flesh, once …twice. Then his tongue came to lap away the blood. Liquid-quick it slipped back within the crevice behind my knee, caressing the bleeding wound.

“You taste …decent,” he remarked after another careful lick, breath chilling my skin. .

He sounded almost surprised at that. Sweet, not bitter, I could imagine him thinking. I expected him to take more.

I knew, deep in my bones, that I wouldn’t have fought if he had, but he abruptly let me go instead and pulled back.

“Listen to me closely. It’s time for your next lesson.” His eyes sought out mine, reinforcing every stern syllable. “You must never allow yourself to be bitten more than three times in one night by a single client. Understood?”

I nodded, even though my brain struggled to process his words.

Three. Bite. Night.

“I mean it, Eleanor, no more than three. There are safeguards, of course—” He dragged the pad of his finger down to the center of my throat and I could barely find the strength to focus on what he said next.

“But, if a single client ever tries to feed a fourth time, you fight—scream, claw, kick. You resist as if your very life depends on it. Understood?”

“Three times, no more,” I managed to croak.

The funny thing was …I wished he would do it a second time.

Instead, he stood and tugged his collar neatly into place. He would have been the picture of perfection if it wasn’t for a single spot of blood that marred his chin. With little fanfare, he swiped it away with the pad of his thumb and launched into another ‘educational’ session.

“Lesson four,” he began while pacing the length of the bed. “Your clients will combine various …acts while feeding.” He gestured to the chains. “Sex, bondage, sitting on their lap and calling them Santa Claus—whatever it is, you do it. No questions asked. No tantrums thrown.”

This time he didn’t even bother with a growled ‘understood?’ The message within his gaze was crystal clear.

But I was still stuck on Santa Claus.

I had lost my virginity only yesterday. Now there was talk of bondage, fantasies and the drinking of bodily fluids—not to mention that I was currently in chains.

To say that I was overwhelmed would have been an understatement.

“I need to hear you agree, Eleanor.” His tone was crisp, like a teacher waiting for affirmation from a naughty student; I will not disrupt the class.

“I …”

“Repeat after me, Eleanor: I understand, Sir.” He mocked my high-pitched tones, but the fact just made him seem even more sinister.

“I …”

Suddenly, he was crouched over the bed, and every cell in my body went on high alert. He ignored my fear, creeping towards me like a pale Devil with beautiful eyes.

“Perhaps things are moving too quickly?” he asked.

I nodded.

Too quickly.

“Too …strangely,” I said.

“Of course,” Dublin agreed in a tone that was far too gentle. “You’re inexperienced. You’ve probably never considered half the things I’m talking about in your dizziest little daydreams, but do not worry, Eleanor ...”

I flinched as an icy finger trailed the length of my throat once again, lingering where I knew my artery would be pulsing.

“When I’m done with you …there won’t be a single thing you’ll be too haughty to try.”

Before I could react, he was fully above me, bracing his weight on both hands. His chill hit me with all the force of a pile of iron chains, pinning me in place.

“We’ll start slow,” he promised in a tone that made my blood run cold. “Bare your throat.”

Automatically, my head tilted back into the pillow, and his body lowered even further over mine.

I had to clench my teeth just to keep them from chattering. Ice wafted from him the way heat would from anyone else—but even that didn’t terrify me as much as the way warmth flared through my skin wherever his chill touched.

Torturous seconds passed like eons while his icy breath fanned across my neck.

Then ...just when I thought the anticipation might drive me insane, he lunged, fangs piercing through flesh, and this time I didn’t even try to smother my scream. It erupted for a second before he bit down harder, choking off the sound.

I was in agony. Searing, incredible pain, and then …

I couldn’t feel anything, nothing but a bubbly sense of calm that knocked me under. The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever felt.

It was sharp, almost unbearable, but underneath it all was this tingly pleasure that had me gasping out. “Oh.”

My mouth was open. My eyes were wide. I was suddenly reminded of how that blonde had looked while being bitten—only now could I begin to place the expression on her face. Ecstasy …

“Eleanor!” Dublin’s voice yanked me from my daze.

My vision cleared to reveal him kneeling beside me, but I could barely find the energy to focus on the gaze burning from beneath those golden lashes.

When had the earth stopped spinning?

“Maybe it’s best to start you on one bite for now,” he said slowly.

“Mhmm,” I tried to speak—what, I didn’t know—but it felt very important to say something.

To do something …

“Eleanor—”

Dublin sounded miles away, but everything had gone black once again. Were my eyes closed? Or had I finally given in to the silly little fool I was deep down and passed out?

Either way, a stern voice chased me into the darkness.

“Eleanor!”

CHAPTER 10

Venom

“I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT need something a little stronger than wine today.”

The words seemed to come from a billion different directions at once, all clashing inside my brain.

With a groan, I peeled my eyes open and attempted to focus. A pale blob hovered above me. After a moment of frantic blinking, the shape slowly converged into a frowning Yulia. In one hand she held a shot glass, which she promptly shoved beneath my nose.

The amber liquid smelled like mouthwash. I tried to refuse it with a shake of my head, but Yulia wouldn’t budge.

“Drink up,” she said sternly. “Think of it as medicine. Should I get you a spoon full of sugar?”

I cracked a tired smile and warily eyed the drink again. Brandy, I suspected. With a sigh, I opened my mouth and Yulia poured the contents in, watching as I choked it down.

“Good.”

After setting the shot glass on the floor, she perched on the end of the bed. Today she wore a black sweater, paired with a set of black tights and leather boots that reached her knees. Her green eyes were guarded as they warily scanned my own.

“How do you feel today, Eleanor?”

I didn’t like her tone. Neither did I like the realization that I was neatly tucked in bed with my upper body propped against a wall of pillows. Not to mention that I felt—as Georgie would put it—like “shit scraped off someone’s shoe.”

My body hurt. My brain hurt. My goddamn eyes hurt. It took everything I had in me just to suffer the burn of the alcohol traveling down my throat without vomiting.

“What happened?” I sounded like someone on their death bed. Considering that I had been in that exact situation a few days ago, it wasn’t really an exaggeration.

I couldn’t resist the frantic impulse that had me glancing around the room, searching for so much as a hint of an IV pole, or one of those damned beeping machines—or even, god forbid, a doctor. The fear turned out to be in vain once I recognized the same, windowless room I had awoken in yesterday.

“You’ve been out for a few hours,” Yulia explained in response to my question. “Dublin thinks you must have had a bad reaction. It happens sometimes.”

A reaction? “To what?”

She shrugged. “To the venom. It affects some more than others—”

“Venom?” The images of last night flooded back, one after the other: teeth and blood… I couldn’t resist the almost childish impulse that had me wondering out loud, “So, is he a snake or a vampire?”

Vampire. I couldn’t even begin to explain how strongly that word affected me. Goosebumps prickled all over my skin, which promptly brought up the realization that, once again, I had been stripped naked. At least the cuffs were gone, I saw, glancing down. The only sign of them was an angry red circle on the inside of each wrist.

“It’s in their fangs,” Yulia said finally. “It subdues the victims they feed on. Makes them docile and speeds up their heart rate for easier …”

Bleeding.

She didn’t say it, but I knew that was what she meant. My own heart in my throat, I brought a trembling finger up to my neck and wasn’t really surprised when I felt the gauze of a bandage.

“He bit me.”

It felt worse to say it out loud. Inside my head the event could have been just some sick, twisted little fantasy—a nightmare. Out loud, the words hit the air with the finality of a death sentence.

There went my sanity.

“Dublin’s furious,” Yulia added. “Most people can handle at least five or six bites worth of venom. In his opinion, if you can’t even handle two, then there really is no place for you here, is there?”

She made it sound like a challenge and I could clearly picture Dublin grumbling. All this time, wasted for nothing.

“Where is he?” I didn’t really process the motion of my hand flying out to swipe the blankets from my legs, but the next thing I knew Yulia was holding onto my shoulder as I swayed on my feet.

“Eleanor—”

“Where is he?”

Suddenly, it felt very important to see him, my Devil in the flesh. What little of Yulia’s words I’d understood didn’t sit right.

Venom. Reaction. No use …

If the bastard thought some teeny weensy fainting spell was enough cause to revert back to his ‘name or money’ ultimatums he had another thing coming. I took a step, only to stumble as a sharp pain travelled up and down my leg. I gasped—it felt like I’d been stabbed, but a glance down revealed the true culprit.

There was another gauze bandage taped to the inside of my knee. Oh. I vaguely remembered that he’d bitten me there as well.

“Easy …”

With surprising strength, Yulia hauled me upright and steered me back to the bed. It was only when she politely draped a sheet over me that I remembered that I wasn’t wearing anything at all.

“You should relax,” she urged

I didn’t want to relax. I wanted to see Dublin. I wanted to know why I currently sported his bite marks on my body.

You know why, idiot, a part of me hissed and I huddled beneath my sheet. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?

“Dublin’s not even here,” Yulia insisted as I tried in vain to stand again. “He rarely comes before sundown.”

Her words placated me somewhat.

At least I had the time to recompose myself. After all, it was hard to be intimidating when you looked like death warmed up. I observed the translucent flesh of my hand, watching the indigo veins snake and wind underneath. I was about four shades paler than usual. My hair felt like a bird’s nest set on top of my shoulders. Only God knew what I looked like full-on from the front.

You had a bad reaction ... Glancing at Yulia from the corner of my eye, I wondered just how ‘bad’ she meant.

“The first few bites are always the hardest on the body,” she went on, glancing down at my bandaged knee. “It can overwhelm the system and cause dizziness or fatigue—”

“But?” I could sense a very big one hovering over the entire conversation.

Nervously, Yulia tucked a black lock of hair behind her ear. She wouldn’t look at me. “But rarely do people faint. Even after more than one bite.”

I was horrified. Being ‘out for a few hours’ was one thing, but ‘fainted’ just sounded so …weak.

What would Mother say? Tsk, tsk, Eleanor, a true Gray never loses control.

“Just for a few hours,” Yulia confirmed. “Dublin was worried—”

I didn’t know why, but the thought of that stern face twisted in concern for me made something in my chest twitch.

“He hates leaving a contract unfinished,” Yulia went on, dashing any suspicion that he might have actually cared for my welfare. “The whole thing is negated if the signing party is no longer able to fulfill their obligation.”

Of course that would be the reason for his concern; the man seemed to live only for his silly little contracts.

But you were foolish enough to sign it.

“So what does that mean?” I found myself asking of the wall while Yulia inspected the fingernails of her right hand.

“The terms have changed,” she said after a moment. “If you can’t be bitten, then that complicates the whole issue of you working in a feeding Den, doesn’t it?”

That it did.

It was stupid—I should have felt relieved. If what she was saying was the truth then I was home free through no fault of my own. I could, for all intents and purposes, tell good old Dublin to shove his contract up his ass, along with that pen and still keep my stupid pride.

But I wasn’t relieved. More like …disappointed, annoyed, and angry with myself, of all things.

Silly little Ellie, too damaged to even properly sell her soul.

“I do think he is overreacting, however,” Yulia added softly. “It’s rare, but if a client has exceeded the maximum number of bites per worker they sometimes resort to cutting. It gets the blood flowing, but without the injection of venom …”

Cutting? The thought of Dublin taking a knife to my skin was more terrifying than the fact that his teeth had already pierced through a vein.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, staring at the floor, but it wasn’t until I felt Yulia’s hand on my shoulder that I glanced up again. While I was distracted she must have left and come back, because now she offered me a black robe that I was sure she didn’t have before.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she suggested. “I’m dying to get my hands on that hair.”

Hours later, I was back in the red dressing room, sitting on a stool before the mirror while Yulia brushed out my shorn, damp curls.

It was a strange comparison, but I almost felt as if I was back in Gray Manor while a servant did the same—albeit Yulia was a lot gentler than the former.

“I was right,” she declared while observing my chalky reflection in the mirror. “This haircut does wonders for you.”

Wonders. I would have scoffed if I wasn’t afraid that she might take offense. The only thing ‘wondrous’ about me was how damn strange I looked without a mane of curls to hide behind. My eyes were two emerald saucers staring from the gaunt face of a ghost.

“I don’t think I was meant for short hair,” I said seriously.

“Nonsense!” Beaming, Yulia dragged the brush through my hair once again. “It gives you character.”

I wrinkled my nose and observed my reflection, trying to see whatever she saw, this mysterious woman with character. After nearly five minutes I still hadn’t found someone noteworthy, but Yulia suddenly pulled away and placed the brush on the table.

“I’ll be back.” Without another word she slipped through the doorway, leaving me alone.

I could hear her footsteps retreating down to the longue. Voices came next, and then shouts, that quickly faded into murmurs.

When minutes passed, and Yulia didn’t return, I stood and found myself creeping into the hallway after her. The angry voices came again, though from this distance I couldn’t tell who they belonged to.

“So what now?” a woman was demanding. Yulia?

“Don’t look at me. Ask your Master. He knows the code—”

“There you are.”

My heart felt as if it stopped as someone spoke directly into my ear. I swear every ounce of blood in my body surged down to my toes. I recognized that voice, all right. Heart pounding, I turned around to face Dublin.

So much for him not visiting the club during the day.

He wore dark colors again: black pants and a deep indigo sweater that made those eyes gleam. They scanned my own coldly as if searching for any hint of emotion—to exploit, I guessed.

“Well, at least you’re standing.”

His voice gave nothing away and I crossed my arms over my chest in an effort to hide just how badly they trembled. Yulia said that he had been furious, but looking at him I couldn’t tell. He seemed like the same, arrogant bastard who had barged into my bedroom; ice cold.

“It’s a good thing I ran into you,” he went on, advancing closer. With every step he took forward, I took two back. “It’s better if we get this over with now.”

His hand fell over the door and I backed away until I was fully inside.

“Get what over with?”

“You’re done—” He shoved something at me that I barely managed to catch; my plain, brown purse. “There’s a car out front. It will take you back to—”

“B-But what about the contract?”

“Your contract?” His eyes widened and narrowed in quick succession. Is she serious? I couldn’t tell if he was more surprised by the fact that I was asking about that stupid contract or that I had dared to interrupt him. “‘But what about it, sir?’” he intoned nastily. “And we will revert to the terms that I first suggested.”

Money and the family name.

“B-But …Yulia said that only I could set the terms of my repayment.”

Dublin gaped at me. Literally, his mouth fell open and he just stared—for so long that I risked a peek in the mirror just to make sure I hadn’t grown six heads.

“Are you sure that illness was affecting your blood and not your brain?” He wondered finally.

I had to admit that he had a point. The way I was talking, there had to be something wrong with me mentally.

From inside my purse my trusty checkbook seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Use me! It pleaded. You’ve been falling back on me all your life—what’s so different now?

Maybe it was the way he was sneering at me? Smug, haughty, as if he just knew that I would be a good girl and run back to my manor with my tail between my legs, eager to forget my naughty walk on the ‘dark side’. A part of me agreed with him; bravery was overrated. It was much simpler playing the role of the docile heiress who communicated only with dollar signs.

But at the thought of surrender a larger part of me would scoff and I would forget all about being afraid, if only for a second. Dublin was unlike anyone I had ever met, terrifying in so many ways. I should only want to run from him, but …

I had this insane urge to pinch him instead, if only to gauge his reaction. Jutting my chin defiantly into the air, I did the next best thing—I kept asking questions.

“Why did you bite me?”

I knew the only logical reason, of course; practice for the real thing. He’d said as much during his little lessons, but for some reason I didn’t buy that. He had noticed my reaction the first time. He had been worried …but then he’d bitten me again. Deeper, too—if the pain that flared whenever I moved my head accounted for anything.

I couldn’t shake the way he had looked last night either—as if my reaction to his bites had proved some dark suspicion of his once and for all.

Silly, silly Ellie, a part of me scoffed. Always so paranoid.

“Why else?” The harshness in his tone made my nails clutch at the front of my robe. “Newsflash, Eleanor; it’s not your face people would pay for.”

My cheeks flamed as the insult hit its mark. “But ...w-what about the contract?” I pressed, feeling like a child clinging to a ratty teddy bear as their only shred of comfort.

“Forget the damn contract,” he snarled. “You can’t be bitten. You can’t work at the den. In fact—” he leaned closer until we were nearly nose to nose, throwing me precariously off balance. “I’m willing to go so far as to say you aren’t of good use for anything. You should go now, while you have the chance.”

He shooed me away: actually waggled his fingers in a way that told me to get the hell out.

I just stood there. Maybe I was stuck trying to think of a good comeback or perhaps I was just in shock? Either way, a silky voice took advantage of the silence before I ever got the chance to reply.

“It’s too bad, Dublin.” My head swiveled around to find Saskia leaning against the doorway. Ample cleavage strained against the v-cut of her ruby red gown. “Her contract isn’t yours to dictate.”

Quicker than I could comprehend, Dublin moved. My first thought was that he had only turned to face her—until I realized that I was way closer to him than I had been before. My chin bumped his elbow as he blocked me from view.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Saskia giggled but, with Dublin in my way, the only part of her I could make out were long pale legs ending in blood-red high heels.

“Raphael owns her contract, remember?” she said sweetly. “And only he has the final say in how and when she fulfills it. It’s all in the code, though I could understand your lapse in memory seeing as how you’ve been reclusive for so very long.”

Raphael? The name didn’t ring any bells for me, but Dublin stiffened and the icy air wafting from him suddenly felt degrees colder. Almost without meaning to, he shifted and I could see Saskia’s face once again.

It was a few, tense seconds before he spoke again. “He’s never had an issue with how I’ve managed them before.”

“Well, he does now,” Saskia replied, tucking a piece of loose red hair behind her ear. “He wants her on the floor. Tonight. Mikhail has already made the arrangements …”

If I would ever see Dublin Helos even remotely speechless, then this was probably it.

His mouth opened and closed—I could hear the clink of his teeth snapping together. Eventually, he managed to find only two words to spit out in Saskia’s general direction. “Why now?”

Eyes glinting, Saskia pressed a pale hand delicately to her mouth as if to smother her laughter.

“Because I called him, of course. It doesn’t matter why she’s here, or who she is—” She sent a cold glance in my direction before returning to Dublin. “We must follow the rules, and they state that she must be up for auction like everyone else.”

I guessed that the ‘auction’ was what took place in the lounge at night, when those pale figures selected their choice girl from the bunch.

“Though,” Saskia added with a sniff, “whether someone wants her or not is another matter. Still! The rules must be followed—”

“She wasn’t ready then,” Dublin countered.

Saskia seized her bottom lip and made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat; So?

“I don’t make the rules, darling. Raphael does, and he wants her treated just like anyone else. In every way.”

With a chilling giggle, Saskia turned on her heels and retreated down the hall. The click clack of her shoes hitting the wooden floor echoed like parting gunshots. When she finally disappeared into silence, I gathered enough nerve to tiptoe away from Dublin and face him fully.

Confusing snippets of the conversation spun around my brain, making me dizzy.

Who was Raphael?

What had Saskia meant about my contract?

Eventually, the urge for answers outweighed any sense of self-preservation. “What was she talking about?”

“Are you happy?” Lightning-quick, Dublin seized my arm and yanked me closer, snarling the words into my face one by one. Anger blared through those silver eyes, threatening to scorch my skin from the intensity of it. “You wanted to play this game. You couldn’t just take the easy way out. Well, it’s too late to back out now.”

He let me go so harshly that I stumbled back into the wall. My sore knee buckled, threatening to dump me onto the floor—but before I could so much as begin to sway, his hand was on my shoulder, holding me upright.

I didn’t even want to put a name to the expression that crossed his face for only a second; rage? Anger? Pure, unfiltered hatred?

Fear?

“What’s going on?” I croaked, “M-maybe if you would just talk to me, I could understand …”

Ha! Talk—the only thing Dublin liked to do was rant and rave and order. I waited for him to prove as much with another mocking reminder to call him ‘Sir.’ But he just stared me down for so long that for a moment all I could see was icy silver.

Beneath his scrutiny, my heart pounded, surging blood to every inch of my body. Could he hear it?

Abruptly, he turned his back on me.

“Get dressed. You want to talk? We’ll talk.” Near the threshold of the room, he glanced back over his shoulder and added, “I’m taking you to lunch.”

CHAPTER 11

Tea For Two

LUNCH? I BERATED MYSELF for not asking whether or not I would be on the menu before Dublin disappeared through the doorway.

For a minute, I could only stare after him, until a bit of common sense finally managed to sink in. Get dressed, stupid.

I staggered to the wardrobe and appraised the teeny bits of black material with a sense of dread. Bustieres, leather skirts …

Not exactly casual wear. Yulia had to keep real clothes somewhere, and I determinedly pushed my way through hangers to reveal the very back of the closet.

As if conjured by my desperation, I found a garment bag hanging from a hook and I snatched for it, too distracted by Dublin’s voice in my head—hurry up!—to worry about the implications of stealing. Swiftly, I undid the zipper and withdrew the two pieces of clothing stashed inside.

One was a white blouse, lighter than gossamer, with flowing sleeves and a delicate collar. Paired with it was a navy skirt way more fashionable than my mother’s brown tweed monstrosity.

But that wasn’t all. The bag still felt heavy so I raced over to the table and dumped out the remaining contents. A tiny makeup case plopped out, along with a folded slip of paper. The case, once I gathered the nerve to open it, held a matching pair of black lace underwear and a bra, a tube of red lipstick and more of that mint gum. The note had been written in the same, elegant scrawl as the message from my dinner tray last night.

This is your chance, Yulia had scribbled in black ink. Ask him anything you will, but remember—the word was underscored by three heavy lines—that quaint little saying about curiosity and that unfortunate cat! –Yul

P.S., she’d added at the bottom of the page, we don’t keep toothpaste here (only mouthwash) so do the best you can with the gum. And, Belize is lovely this time of year, isn’t it? I wonder if Dublin thinks the same.

Huh? The gum thing I understood—and absently, I unwrapped the strip and began to chew it—but Belize?

Perhaps I was being too cynical, but Dublin didn’t strike me as the type to serenely lounge on the beach, sipping Mimosas, let alone give a damn whether or not it was ‘lovely’ in the tropics this time of year. Rather than ponder the odd request, I shed my robe and dressed more quickly than I ever have in my life.

When I finally faced the mirror, I expected the usual ‘Ellie the unfashionable’ horror show. Instead …

The white of the blouse played over my skin, making it seem more porcelain than sallow. The blue countered the darkness of my eyes. I still looked creepy, of course—though more ‘undead flight attendant’ than childlike ghost.

Tucked in the corner near the door, I found my shoes and hastily pulled them on while shoving Yulia’s note into my pocket.

“Are you ready yet?” Dublin snapped from the hall.

“Y-Yes.”

I grabbed my purse and swung it over my shoulder before racing for the door. I hadn’t gone more than a single step over the threshold before an icy hand seized my forearm.

“Keep your head down,” Dublin hissed. I had to jog just to keep up as he sped through the hall, dragging me after him, and down a flight of stairs.

I expected for us to go out the back way, the same way I had come in. Instead, Dublin turned through a door I had missed before, and I found myself in a brightly lit lobby where sunlight streamed in through sleek windows.

It was midday already. The sky was a glorious blue with no clouds in sight …and I found myself glancing back at Dublin, heart in my throat.

Would he combust?

Burst into flames the moment a drop of sunlight touched his unholy skin?

As if my very thoughts were the trigger, he froze and I waited for him to sizzle into ash right before my eyes. Instead, he eyed a potentially lethal puddle of light and frowned. “Damn. Forgot my sunglasses.” Looking directly at me, he added, “The sun’s killer today.”

Had this been a movie or something that I was observing from the outside, I would have laughed—how funny, the vampire had jokes. As it was, I could only stare. What made it worse was that I knew that he knew I was gaping at him. Surely some nasty remark would come next? Maybe a quip about biting or blood?

As it was, he simply headed through the main glass doors, leaving me to catch up. By the time I finally stumbled outside after him, Dublin’s only reaction was to raise a hand to shield his eyes in lieu of those missing sunglasses.

And he didn’t even burn.

Out front, the same black car that had delivered me to the club waited by the curb. It looked even more terrifying in broad daylight. The driver stood beside it, holding the door open and without pause Dublin hauled me forward.

“Watch your head,” he warned before shoving me inside.

I crawled across the backseat and sandwiched myself against the door—but it still didn’t seem far enough away from him.

Dublin alone took up more than half of the backseat, and I had to do some fancy maneuvering with my legs just to keep any part of me from touching him. Regardless, I felt his chill without the need for any physical contact. His very scent seemed ingrained on my conscience; winter and spice.

“The Café Claret,” he told the driver.

At his request, the car lurched into the mid-morning traffic. I didn’t know how to react when Dublin leaned back against the leather headrest without acknowledging my presence. I watched him from the corner of my eye, unable to decipher a single emotion.

This is your chance! Yulia’s voice urged in my head. Ask him what you will.

“So…” I cleared my throat. “You aren’t burning to death in the sun.”

Nice one, Ellie, I scoffed to myself. Way to hit him with the tough questions.

However, the remark didn’t earn me the exasperated reaction I would have expected. Rather than roll his eyes, Dublin simply shrugged.

“I’m not.” Then, with what I guessed was deliberate slowness, his finger struck the button that lowered the tinted window, allowing the sunlight to stream in uninhibited. “It’s beautiful out,” he remarked while gazing at the brilliant blue sky above. “Not too warm. The perfect day for a stroll.”

Okay, so obviously the rules of Dracula did not apply in this instance—at least not to him. I squirmed, wondering just what that meant for me, but while we were on the topic of weather, I decided to take the rest of Yulia’s advice.

“Belize,” I blurted, gauging his reaction carefully; his jaw tightened, though it could have been just a response to me talking in general. “It’s beautiful this time of year isn’t it—”

A shrill tune cut over me; the beginning notes of Beethoven’s 5th symphony, my ringtone for Georgie. How ironic, considering the location of her current impulsive getaway.

I fumbled inside my purse for my cell and brought it to my ear. As I did so, I happened to catch sight of the notice that flashed across the screen: 15 missed calls over two days—all from the same three numbers.

Uh oh.

“Ellie?” Georgie demanded before I had the chance to even say hello. “Ellie, are you there?”

For once my chirpy, happy sister sounded strained and frantic.

“I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“Did you send the money?”

Oh. Somewhere in the chaos of selling my body and soul to a vampire, I had forgotten all about Georgie and her two hundred grand.

“I’ll have it to you by the end of the day,” I promised, perhaps a little harsher than necessary, unable to shake a nagging sense of guilt that mingled with irritation. These days, I was lucky if she called me three times a year and I couldn’t even remember to fulfill her usual monetary request.

What a horrible sister I was.

“Oh, Ellie …” Georgie sighed. I could picture her readjusting the headset against her ear and nervously fiddling with a strand of blonde hair. “I didn’t mean to sound so bratty. It’s just that …things with Paulo didn’t work out at the villa—” Poor Georgiana. Had he run off on her? Found a new blonde to play with? God forbid that she would have to suffer the mess she created. “I just need a little something to tide me over.”

“Just wait a few days and you’ll have more than enough,” I snapped before I could help it—and I wasn’t talking about the length of time it would take to process the transfer, either. Dublin, supposedly, would only give me enough of his magic blood to last another two days, counting this one.

After that …

Mortality was staring me in the face. I still hadn’t gotten around to drawing up that will. Time was ticking.

My cat needed a guardian.

My sister needed to know some glimmer of the truth.

My wardrobe needed to be burned rather than plague the unfortunates at Goodwill with hideous fashion choices.

But what was I doing instead? Hopping into a car with a brooding man who claimed to want to take me to ‘lunch’ after all but damning me to hell.

“Don’t talk like that,” Georgie said. “I know that lately I’ve been playing the role of selfish little sister but I—” She broke off abruptly. “I love you, Ellie. I promise that I’ll be home in a couple of weeks, but …I’ve got to go now.”

Click! She hung up and I was left to process her words; I love you.

The phone slipped through my fingers to land with a thump on the seat. I couldn’t even remember if, outside of childhood, we had ever consciously uttered those words to each other. Not at Father’s funeral. Definitely not at Mother’s. Maybe, at Christmas one year, after too much wine?

Was it absolutely pathetic that I couldn’t remember?

I could always blame the memory lapse on shock; it wasn’t like Georgie to carry on a conversation longer than it took to say, give me money, oh, Ellie, please? Ta-ta! I couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been trying to tell me something, something important ...

I’d be damned if I could even begin to guess what it was.

“We’re here.” Dublin’s quiet declaration jolted me back to reality.

The car had come to a stop, and he already stood on the curb. I scrambled out after him and gaped up at the front of a chic hotel. It overlooked the bay and had a grand view of the harbor. The Café Claret was apparently housed inside of it.

“Come on.” Without waiting for me, Dublin had already passed through the glass doors of the building. I hurried after him, clutching my purse to my chest.

Inside was an elegant affair of expensive wallpaper and antique furniture lined in gold—the kind of place my mother would have loved to hold court. A pretty young woman stood within the spacious lobby and smiled, as if she’d been waiting her whole life for the very moment that Dublin walked through the door.

“Mr. Helos!” she greeted warmly. “Your table is ready.”

“Thank you, Abigail.” I almost didn’t recognize the man standing beside me from his warm tone. He even smiled with a charming grace that he never displayed toward me.

Abigail turned and led the way through a pair of French doors into a well-lit dining room. A row of bay windows revealed a stunning view of the waterfront. The soft yellow walls and polished wooden floors made the space seem charming and I could picture people fighting to eat here.

Though, at least for now, it was entirely empty, save for us.

Odd. But it wasn’t until Abigail came to a stop before a table facing a window that I realized why; it was the only table set.

“A private room, as requested,” Abigail chirped, proving my suspicions to be true.

The table itself looked harmless enough. A cream tablecloth set off the gold filigree in the china plates, and a vase of daises in the center added a splash of color.

No knives or goblets of blood in sight.

With a wary glance at Dublin I sat down, and he took the seat across from me.

“Thank you, Abigail,” he said, flashing the woman a magnificent smile, and she skipped off, closing the doors of the dining room behind her. “All right, Eleanor.” All at once, his voice changed. It deepened, taking on a hard edge, and something told me that it was a special tone he reserved only for me. “You wanted to talk? Let’s talk.”

He snapped his fingers and a second later a man entered carrying a tray of food. One by one, he placed dishes of soup and salad and bread between us and then left again.

“Let’s start with your options,” Dublin went on, unconcerned by the interruption. He unrolled a set of silverware and placed a spoon and fork on my side of the table. “There are none.”

He stared me down from over a bowl of clam chowder and waited, as if to make sure the words sank in.

“You’re stuck now, Eleanor. I hope you’ve enjoyed your little taste of hell.”

I forced down a dry swallow—though, like him, I played my role in our charade by picking up a delicate salad fork. “I wouldn’t exactly call being attacked by a mad man something that can be enjoyed—”

“Don’t do that,” he warned before I could even finish my brave little quip. “Don’t you dare pretend like this is some big bad deal that I forced you into. I gave you every chance to save yourself.”

“Oh?” As casually as I could, I tilted my fork and watched the sunlight glint off the silver. The view from the window was breathtaking; the busy harbor front and stunning blue water. I couldn’t help thinking that, if it wasn’t for Dublin, it would have been a wonderful place to waste away the afternoon. At least without facing him directly, I could gather up the courage to finally speak. “What else do you call it when someone barges into your bedroom and won’t leave until you sign a silly piece of paper—”

The entire table jolted as he lashed out and snatched the fork from my hand. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” He slammed the utensil down on the table. “Well, it’s too late for you to back out now.”

“So then tell me,” I countered, matching his tone to my own surprise. “I’m sorry, Dublin, but it’s pretty melodramatic when someone spews doom and gloom all the time but won’t give you any damn details!”

His eyebrows shot up into a fringe of blond hair and frankly, I was pretty shocked myself.

This wasn’t me. Eleanor Gray didn’t talk back and she certainly didn’t get flippant with those bigger and stronger than herself. She was a docile little mouse and very comfortable with the fact.

Until now.

There was just something about Dublin—something irritating—that made me want to dig my fingernails into my own eyes and scream at the top of my lungs. Even worse, once he noticed me there, bleeding and hysterical, I would probably point and laugh, ‘hahaha, I made you look! I made you notice me!’

It was such a juvenile reaction and I absolutely loathed him for being able to make me feel this way.

“Thank you for the lunch,” I stammered, suddenly rising from my chair, “but—”

I didn’t get the chance to go so much as a single step.

In a blur of motion he was standing as well. His arm went around my waist, yanking me back into a wall of solid, ice-cold muscle. I squeaked out a sound that could have been a scream, only to find myself flipped over and shoved onto the table so hard that the wood buckled.

A vase of flowers fell to the floor.

Silverware clattered down.

It was all I could do just to throw my arms out on either side and grab hold of the table’s edge for balance.

“Easy.” Dublin hovered above me, hands on my waist. Those eyes were so dark that they were no longer gray but a fathomless black. “You make it way too easy …”

I shivered as the pad of his thumb came to trace my throat, brushing the bandage covering his bite. Through French doors leading to the lobby, I saw that Abigail had mysteriously disappeared from her post near the front desk.

“You make it way too easy to have your body coiled with fear, heart pumping so frantically that I could choreograph a waltz to your damn pulse.” His nail tapped out a rapid rhythm against my carotid artery; tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap! “I only have to look at you for you to reek of fear, Eleanor. You must really think me the Devil.”

I couldn’t respond.

Right then, he did look like the Devil; undeniably handsome with fire in those eyes. My nails dug into the underside of the table, scraping wood as sweat trickled down the back of my blouse.

I waited for him to hurt me. Bite me? Kill?

Suddenly, he pulled back instead.

“You want to know the truth, Eleanor? I tried to give you an easy deal. Hell, I all but handed more time—more life—to you on a golden platter. But you couldn’t just quit while you were ahead.” He shrugged, but the motion was a violent display of tension. “Well now …it’s too late.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I mean the terms of your contract are now set in stone Eleanor,” he declared with all the warmth of a death sentence. “I don’t make the rules anymore.”

“Then, who does?”

He made a terrifying sound that could have been a chuckle. “I’m only the salesman, Eleanor and just like everyone else, I too have a boss.”

A boss? So, he didn’t go out collecting souls on his own sick whim—it was his job? I recalled what Saskia had said; too bad, Dublin, you don’t own her contract, Raphael does.

“Then who? Who owns my contract?”

“Well, he’s not the Devil,” Dublin began, before the thought could even form in my mind. “Though, to be honest, he’s not too far off.”

A not-Devil who held my virtual Devil’s chains. Interesting.

“So …” I cleared my throat and fought to keep my voice steady. Stay in control, Ellie. “You got my contract for him? Why?”

I was proud of myself—at least I sounded civilized. What I wanted to say, ‘You’re like a dog on a leash, how quaint,’ probably didn’t have the same ring to it. Regardless, Dublin frowned as if reading my mind.

“All contracts belong to him,” he insisted, apparently referring to this mysterious Raphael. “I am merely the broker.”

‘Merely the broker,’ my ass. I could sense that there was more to it—so much more. Though, I figured that you could fill a book with everything Dublin wasn’t saying.

Not that I was exactly in the position to demand any answers, considering that I was slung over the side of a table, holding onto the edges for dear life. I blushed at the realization that my skirt had ridden up dangerously high.

I clamped my knees together to salvage what little shred of dignity I had left, and slid forward until my heels hit the floor. Then I tugged my skirt back into place and ran a hand over my blouse. My eyes were on the floor when I gathered the courage to speak again. Two sets of silverware were scattered about, including my unfortunate salad fork.

“Do you pick your victims at random?” I wondered. “Or is there some kind of ‘Manifesto for the Dark-hearted’ which lists all of the sick and downtrodden souls ripe for the taking?”

No answer.

All righty then …

I had gotten my little dig in. I should have left well enough alone, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself.

“Does this Raphael ever meet his ‘contractors,’ in person? Or,” I added on a bitter note, “is he content with allowing you to perform the brutalizing and intimidation in peace—”

“This really isn’t a conversation we should be having out in the open.” Dublin sounded as if we were merely discussing the weather—but I wasn’t fooled.

Not a bit.

His eyes were molten, threatening to burn if I stared at them long enough …

So I peered down at my heels instead.

“Why?” I prodded. “Is he like Lucifer, after all? Will saying his name out loud make him appear?”

I tried to sound mocking, but deep down I trembled at the thought of whoever could make Dublin so serious that he didn’t even scold me for disobeying his little rules.

Someone, Ellie, my inner voice warned, who you never ever want to meet.

Still, I couldn’t help the urge to twist the knife. My mouth opened, eyes narrowing. “Rapha—”

An ice cold hand descended over my forearm, squeezing so tightly that I gasped out loud, but the sound had scarcely left my mouth before Dublin let me go again. I suspected that the contact had merely been a warning.

Watch your mouth.

Instead of saying as much out loud, he withdrew a wad of money from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. Then, he turned on his heel and headed for the lobby.

I was forced to run just to keep pace with him, and by the time I made it outside, the sleek black car was already pulling away from the curb and zipping into the thick of traffic ...

Though, Dublin stood on the sidewalk as well, watching it go.

I stiffened, as he glanced over and found me there, huffing and puffing. Rather than speak, he turned and began to stroll down the street, blond hair gleaming in the sun. The silent command to follow him was all in his posture; his shoulders set in a firm line that dared me to run.

Regardless, something held me back; an invisible hand on my collar, shaking me. Use your brain, Ellie, it told me, while I wavered there on the sidewalk. You can run—go home—it’s not like he can stop you in broad daylight.

Though he certainly seemed to have no qualms about renting out an entire restaurant just to terrorize me in peace. I doubted that the police officer strolling into a doughnut shop across the street, or a bit of mid-morning traffic would ever deter Dublin from attacking me if the mood struck him. So, I swallowed, held my head high, and chased down my Big Bad Wolf in a pair of designer heels.

The bastard made me sprint after him for nearly a block, and it wasn’t until a change in the traffic light forced him to stop at the curb that I finally managed to draw even with him. The moment I did, his hand shot out for my wrist before he turned down the other end of the street, pulling me along like a dog on a leash.

Despite everything, I found myself gazing around, embarrassingly wide-eyed. I had never seen the city like this. My family wasn’t exactly the ‘afternoon stroll’ type, and I had only glimpsed most of the buildings and winding streets from the safety of a car.

This was so different.

So …real.

The cacophony of activity was overwhelming without a sheet of bulletproof glass to hide behind. A barrage of sounds assaulted me: honking horns, shouts, chatter. For a moment I could pretend that I was just an average pedestrian, hurrying through the chaos of mid-morning city life—but Dublin’s icy grip was like an anchor tethering me to a grim reality.

He steered me down a narrow street that opened onto a boulevard where a beautiful cathedral rose in the distance. It sat in the middle of a park amongst a strip of emerald grass littered with flowers, and was such an unexpected sight that I found myself staring.

“I never knew this was here.”

Dublin didn’t reply. He continued at a brusque pace down a path that cut through the green, heading straight for the church. It was an odd destination for a vampire. I had to bite down some nasty jab about crosses and holy water. With every step we took, the grandiose building loomed above, beautiful and imposing.

It had been built in the Gothic style, with tall spires aiming to pierce the sky. I think I even caught sight of a gargoyle or two scowling from the roof, cold and distant—but beneath the intimidating exterior there was a faint softness that couldn’t be denied.

Children played beneath the shadow of the bell tower. Couples strolled along the path, gazing up every now and again at the stained glass windows depicting biblical scenes in vibrant colors.

A sign near the entrance read, The Cathedral of St. Jude the Apostle.

“How fitting,” I found myself murmuring. “The saint of lost causes and desperation …”

St. Jude was definitely on my shortlist if I ever needed a patron; my entire life had been nothing if not a lost cause.

“You know the Saints?” Dublin glanced at me from over his shoulder, as we mounted the steps leading to the cathedral entrance.

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the way my insides twisted as his eyes met mine. He sounded so skeptical, as if he’d assumed that I didn’t know anything outside of the inner workings of my family’s accounts. Oh, and how to use my checkbook, of course.

“I went to boarding school,” I admitted, fighting to keep the irritation from my tone. “To keep my sanity I used to read. At some point I picked up a book listing all the Catholic Saints.”

Not exactly the average light reading of a sixteen-year-old girl, but it had certainly passed the time.

“Hmph.” Dublin made a sound in the back of his throat as he pulled on the handle of one of the building’s main doors. “And here I thought that all you girls did at those schools was ride ponies and learn which doilies go best with which tea set.”

“Oh, we did plenty of that too,” I said, smiling at my quip.

Welstrom Academy had been the perfect hell of my mother’s devising. There, the girls had been periodically stuffed into identical confections of starched white cotton, and forced to recite ‘the duties of a proper lady’ until our ears bled.

“But in between the tea parties and etiquette lessons I had to find some way of keeping my sanity.”

Dublin didn’t reply, but I was too distracted by my surroundings to really wonder why. Not counting the creature by my side, the interior of the cathedral was the most beautiful and intimidating sight I had ever seen in person.

The stone walls stretched at least ten stories high, leading to a vaulted ceiling that made every breath within its chambers echo. The pews were fashioned from solid wood, and yet everything seemed cared for down to the last piece of pristine glass hanging in the windows. There wasn’t a single cobweb or item in disrepair.

Not a speck of dust.

I couldn’t seem to think of a single thing to say—yet, at the same time it didn’t seem right to speak inside the cathedral anyway.

For once, Dublin appeared to be of the same frame of mind. He led me by the sleeve, past a seemingly endless aisle of pews, to a darkened corner. However, as we passed a crucifix of Christ nailed to the wall, he paused. With what I guessed was deliberate slowness, he reached out to trace the silhouette of the metal figure.

Not screaming in agony, I noticed when he pulled away. A little ways away from it was a basin of holy water that I assumed was used for blessings. Dublin dipped a finger within the liquid and allowed a crystalline drop to fall onto his tongue.

“Refreshing,” he murmured, with a pointed look in my direction.

Once again, I cursed the vampire rules established by that esteemed Dracula—apparently, the whole bit about crosses and holy water was useless as well.

Had Dublin been merely a slave-of-the-night and allergic to all things holy, as the folklore claimed, I could at least dream of one day having the upper hand.

As it was, I was pretty much stuck in the same figurative situation that we were literally in now; him dragging me by the arm into the unfathomable shadow.

He didn’t even have the decency to at least pretend that traipsing over sacred ground was painful. Without so much as a wince, he pulled me past the altar toward a confessional tucked into an alcove. Someone had placed a sign over the door the parishioner was meant to enter. Out of order. Do not use.

The sight struck me as odd, considering how everything else inside the church seemed so carefully maintained. I wondered why the object had just been left here, forgotten—at least, until Dublin pulled open the door, heedless of the warning.

Rather than a chair to sit and do the confessing, the cabinet opened to a set of stairs cut directly into the stone wall behind it. Something told me that the passage had been purposefully hidden.

But where would it lead?

“Ladies first,” Dublin prompted, before I even had the chance to question.

I found myself gulping instead. How many people knew this was here? The few patrons spread out amongst the pews seemed too busy contemplating to notice us.

The staircase was pitch-black and narrow. The damp smell of decay tickled my nose and despite my newfound bravery, I wasn’t inclined to go skipping merrily into it.

Not that Dublin gave a damn whether I wanted to or not.

“Any day now, Eleanor,” he growled against the nape of my neck.

Right. With a sigh, I squared my shoulders and took a step into the confessional. It was a tight squeeze. My shoulders threatened to brush the stone walls on either side, and I had to fight down the urge to scamper right back out. Only the thought of who waited behind me deterred me from doing just that.

It was dark. I could barely make out the next step before the door closed behind me with a solid thud, plunging me into further shadow.

“D-Dublin?”

No answer. I didn’t dare risk turning to see if he followed, so I just continued to feel my way forward.

It was a long climb. I swore I counted at least fifty steps alone before I lost track.

And there only seemed to be countless more.

Sweat had glued my shirt to my skin by the time I finally came against a solid surface blocking my path. I reached out, feeling what felt like wood beneath the tips of my fingers. A door?

I searched blindly for a doorknob—but before I even found one, the door opened from the other end as if on cue.

“About time,” Dublin harrumphed from within a puddle of bright light. He stood back, revealing a spacious room where a series of lattice windows overlooked the lawn below. I turned, even though I now had a pretty good idea that Dublin hadn’t been behind me all along. In fact, he looked like he’d barely gone a step, let alone two flights of stairs to get here.

“How did you … How—”

“Come.” He jerked his head for me to follow and didn’t bother to elaborate.

The room resembled a typical entryway. The layout was circular, with several archways leading into separate areas. The walls were covered in old wood paneling, but the style seemed different than the overall feel of the rest of the church—even simpler. A sleek chaise sat in a corner, paired with a silver light fixture that hung on the wall above it; this time, a candle, rather than a serpent-shaped sconce.

“I had you take the visitor’s entrance,” Dublin explained while closing the door I’d come in from. “Hope you don’t mind.”

His tone revealed that he didn’t give a damn either way, but I was too busy pondering his words to really notice.

“The entrance to what?”

Rather than answer, he turned and headed through the closest archway. I assumed the room beyond was a study of sorts. Shelves covered almost every inch of the walls, lined with books that—at a glance—didn’t seem to be the typical biblical volumes one might find in the average church. I don’t think most parishioners were interested in reading ‘War and Peace’ or ‘The Complete Literary Volumes of Chaucer’ in between bible verses.

A desk sat in the room’s center, before a large window that let in gleaming daylight. Without much fanfare, Dublin walked over to it and casually pulled open a drawer.

“I’ll allow you to review the basics,” he offered before tossing something onto the desk’s surface. “I don’t want to sound too melodramatic, but you did sign it in blood.”

I gulped, knowing exactly what was beneath the cover of that leather contract book without even having to flip it open.

CHAPTER 12

Holier Than Thou

WHEN I DIDN’T MOVE, Dublin snatched up the contract himself and lifted the cover.

“I, Eleanor, Gray,” he read, mimicking my voice, “hereby agree to yadda, yadda, yadda, body and soul.” He closed the book with a thud. “I don’t think it can get any clearer than that.”

“I know what I signed,” I said tightly.

Liar, my inner voice hissed. I had no damn clue—only I was just too stubborn to admit that I was in way over my head.

Dublin seemed to be of the same mindset. “Do you?” His tone posed an inescapable challenge.

Then prove it, Eleanor. Say it out loud: I’d like to be a good girl and consult my checkbook, please.

Rather than rise to it, I changed the subject.

“So, I start tonight, then?” I tried to ignore the part of me that cringed at the thought of being at the mercy of someone other than him. “Is ... Isn’t that what Saskia said?”

Dublin just stared. As I watched, his gaze darkened into an unforgiving shade of gray that made me wish I’d never spoken at all.

“Were you dropped on your head as a child?” he wondered after a moment. “Deprived of love? Did mommy and daddy not give you enough attention to go along with your diamond-encrusted pacifiers? Is that why you throw yourself into danger at every turn? They offer therapy for that, Eleanor.”

“My parents are dead,” I countered, though I had a feeling that he already knew that. Either way, he didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

“I would prefer if you at least shivered,” he spat. “Sobbed. I have a spare handkerchief, you know—” He dug through his pocket for a square of white cloth which he tossed at my feet. “At least then I would know that you somewhat comprehend the gravity of the situation.”

Gravity? I chewed on my bottom lip. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is: if you think that one night with me was so horrible, try spending it with someone who’s paid for your ‘services.’ Someone,” he went on, just to twist the knife, “who won’t be as ‘accommodating’ as I was.”

I don’t think I realized just how terrifying the prospect was until right then. Within a few days time, I would have to take another client—someone other than him, and despite his cruelty I wasn’t inclined to meet anyone he considered to be worse.

“Let’s hope you remember your ‘lessons,’” he remarked as if reading my mind.

I turned so that I wouldn’t have to see his face and found myself at eye-level with the spine of a leather bound copy of Hamlet.

“Okay,” I said, forcing out a shaky breath. “Let’s say that I am sufficiently alarmed—hypothetically.”

“Well, then maybe what I’m saying will finally sink in?” His boots struck the floor in tandem as he came up behind me. “This isn’t some silly game you can just quit whenever the fancy strikes you. I won’t have you making a fool of me.”

Ice-cold fingers encased my forearm—though surprisingly, the grip didn’t seem intended to hurt. He merely lingered, reinforcing every word he said.

“It’s not like you haven’t benefitted from our arrangement. After all, what’s one night of debauchery for four whole days of life?”

“Days that I spent in bed,” I pointed out. “Unconscious.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Dublin said, releasing my arm. “I gave you the time. How you spend said time is up to you.” Which sounded like a cop-out, if there ever was one. “Besides,” he added. “What else would someone like you do during your free time anyway? Crochet? Embroider napkins? Contemplate your impending spinsterhood?”

I hated the fact that he sounded genuinely curious.

“Technically,” I groused, “I don’t think you’re considered a spinster until you pass menopause.”

“Hmph.” I glanced over my shoulder to find him taking in my appearance with a sniff. “All the better then.”

He shoved my contract back within the desk drawer and locked it with a key seemingly pulled from his sleeve. With some sleight of hand, he made it disappear once again. Standing there before him, I tried to process my options. I felt more helpless then than I had felt chained to a bed.

“I thought you didn’t ‘own’ my contract?” I attempted snark, but the words came out more hollow than anything else, tired.

“I don’t,” he insisted, glancing up to meet my gaze. “I merely keep the new ones until the initial agreement is fulfilled. Then it’s sent for …filing.”

It sounded so clinical. What, was there a library of countless contracts? At the thought, my throat went dry and I couldn’t even ask.

“I wish I had another day with you at least,” Dublin admitted, almost to himself. His tone could have even been called ‘sympathetic,’ if it wasn’t so cold. “Let us hope that whoever buys you will be too desperate to care that you’re …” His eyes raked me from head to toe and narrowed. “Inexperienced,” he settled on finally. “Though, I’ll send Yulia over when you wake. Perhaps she can work some kind of miracle—”

“Wake?” I glanced at the window. It was broad daylight outside, but something told me that he didn’t mean when I woke tomorrow morning.

He shrugged, mouth flattening into a grim line. “I’m giving you your dose early. Just part of it now, and the rest later. You’ll need the strength.”

“Oh,” I croaked.

I had a sinking feeling at the thought of just what I would need the ‘strength’ for. Sheets. Heat. Sweat.

Dublin frowned as if reading my mind. “Oh do spare me the dramatics.”

He came around the desk and snatched my arm. I flinched as he held it out flat, eyes on the fat blue vein rising from the crook of my elbow.

“Perhaps later, if we have the time, you can entertain me with full-blown hysterics once the extent of your stupidity sinks in,” he suggested, sounding a little too eager at the prospect. “But for now, it’s time to be a good girl and take your medicine.”

On ‘medicine’ he withdrew something from his pocket: a small cylinder with a metal casing, a syringe. I couldn’t see the color of the liquid inside, but I could guess easily enough.

Scarlet.

Without so much as a ‘by your leave’ Dublin pulled off the needle cap with his teeth and attempted to jab the bevel beneath my skin.

“Wait!” I jerked out of reach, clutching my arm to my chest. “W-what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, do you know of any other way to get my blood into your system?” He made a sound of a mock surprise. “Oh wait, would you rather drink it instead?”

I cringed, shaking my head. “N-No!”

“Well, then …” He raised an eyebrow and gave the syringe a slight jiggle. “Shall we get this over with? I do have other appointments, you know.”

I shuddered at a mental image of him, doling out needles to the other poor souls tethered to him by a contract like candy. “Now shoot up! It’s good for you.”

“I d-don’t want it.” I staggered back into the corner, fighting the cliché urge to form a finger-cross and shout, “Stay back!”

“Funny—” He took a menacing step forward while I huddled against the wall. “I don’t remember asking.”

“This is a church,” I squeaked, as if he was the pious sort who might actually be against intimidation within the holy space.

“Technically,” he said but, to my utter shock, he stopped and tucked the syringe back within his pocket.

I stared at him, wondering what he could have meant. Without explaining, he brushed past me and entered the main hall. “I don’t have a guest room,” he called over his shoulder. “So, you’ll just have to make do with the couch.”

“W-What?”

I tiptoed after him, nearly gasping out loud as the true meaning of his words sunk in. Suddenly it all made sense: the ‘visitor’s entrance,’ and the strange study ...

“You live here?”

He turned to face me with a shrug. “I like the irony of it.”

Which I guess was as much as a ‘yes’ as I was ever going to get.

I glanced around, trying to see everything in a different light. The furniture had the same, dark, muted feel to it as the lounges in the club—black leather. But there was a different aura here; that same sense of preservation as in the rest of the church, with everything neatly in its place.

Contrary, unusual and so very Dublin.

“You live in a cathedral?” I repeated, just to help it sink in. As he said, the ‘irony’ of it was mind-boggling; the damned vampire, dwelling in a house of worship like a beautiful reverse Quasimodo.

“I don’t ‘live’ anywhere,” he said softly, stressing the word; a not so subtle reminder that he was supposedly undead.

I gulped, wringing my hands as he turned to stare from one of the windows. The seconds passed in heavy silence, while he gazed down impassively at the world below. The sound of chirping birds and muted children’s laughter created a stark contrast to the grim interior of the suite. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t have time for this,” he told me without turning around. “You need my blood to see you through tonight and I have other matters to attend to. Don’t tell me the silly, naïve Eleanor Gray has lost her bravery already?”

I bristled at the challenge in his tone. So, he thinks me afraid does he? I didn’t give myself time to think the action through before I stuck out my arm, baring the vein.

“Do it.”

He turned and surprise crossed his face for barely a second. Without a word, he withdrew the syringe again and crossed over to me as slowly as a predator approaching a bleeding doe. One good blow and it would be game over.

My eyes widened as I took in the sharpness of the needlepoint glinting in the sunlight. It looked so very long. Lethal.

“Grin and bear it, Eleanor,” Dublin advised before sticking the needle in with one clean jab. The pain rose up as sharply as a bee sting but faded in mere seconds. “It will be over before you know it.”

I blinked. The next second his words garbled together as darkness filled my vision and then, I was falling ...

“Good evening, Eleanor.”

I peeled my eyes open to find a grinning Yulia hovering above me.

My head throbbed. The room was spinning, and a glance down revealed that someone had unceremoniously dumped me onto a leather chaise. Surprise surprise, it didn’t take me long to guess just who that might have been. Dublin.

If my memory accounted for anything, I was trapped within his evil lair, sleeping off the effects of …

I bolted upright, eyes darting to the inside of my arm. There, just along the crook of my elbow, was a tiny, red mark that stung with the slightest movement—courtesy of his so called cure. Just like when I had woken up that first day, my entire body ached, though Yulia seemed to be aware of this fact because, once again, she was armed with booze.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” I rasped, while my free hand reached for the glass she shoved in my direction.

“Drink up,” she commanded without explaining what was inside it.

I brought the glass to my lips as I scooted to the edge of the couch. After an apprehensive glance, I decided that the liquid looked and smelled like rubbing alcohol. Still, I managed to choke down two gulps as Yulia came to stand before me.

“We have to hurry,” she said. “Dublin threatened to have my head on a pike if I don’t get you to him on time.” She imitated his frosty tones, hands on her hips.

Tonight her outfit of choice was a black dress that stopped above her knees, paired with emerald heels matching the color of her eyes.

I took another sip and glanced warily around the room as I swallowed. The windows were sheets of ebony, and the only light came from a lit candle, affixed to the wall above my head. The orange glow tossed shadows in random directions, making the room seem large and cavernous. Crypt-like.

“I brought you some clothes—” I turned as Yulia gestured to an open trunk at her feet. It was large and old-fashioned, like something a pioneer might have stored her things in during the long train ride out West. But rather than calico and straw hats, this bit of luggage brimmed with flimsy bits of white silk and lace—clothes only in the loosest definition of the word.

“You don’t have many options,” Yulia admitted. “I tried to bring some variety, however ...” She sank down on one knee and gingerly lifted three garments out, one by one. “You can wear white, off-white or almost white.”

“Oh.” I set my glass down at my feet and made a show of studying each one.

They were all shifts as light as gossamer, though they differed in the details. One had a delicate row of pearl beads along the collar while the second had straps so thin they looked incapable of even supporting tissue paper. The last one was the plainest of the bunch, with a simple shape and flimsy, see-through sleeves.

“This one won’t win you any favors with Dublin,” Yulia warned, most likely referring to the slightly longer hemline than the others.

To be fair, Dublin didn’t seem to want me in white at all. But I was too busy focusing on the fact that, within a few hours I would be on display for a room full of hungry vampires to give a damn about my fashion choices. The thought of being slightly more covered from prying, dissecting eyes was too tempting to resist. I could almost hear Dublin hissing ‘tsk, tsk! Unacceptable, Eleanor,’ as I pointed to the sleeved one.

“I’ll wear that.”

Yulia flashed a mischievous grin. “I thought you might, but I’m not complaining. Come on—” She urged me upright with a wave of her hand. “Let’s get you dressed.”

I obediently rose to my feet and allowed her to tug my blouse over my head and undo my skirt. In one simple motion, she lifted the shift above me and brought it down, pulling my arms through the sleeves.

At her prompting, I spun in a circle, allowing her to observe the way the fabric hung over my lanky frame.

Even ‘dressed’ I didn’t feel any more covered than I had in my underwear. The hem barely covered my buttocks, and the bold neckline plunged low between my breasts. I felt utterly ridiculous. Yulia seemed to reach the same conclusion, because she rummaged through her trunk for a tube of dark red lipstick and swiped it across my lower lip.

“Blend,” she ordered and I obediently rubbed my lips together. Still unsatisfied, she dug through her belongings once more for a single strip of white ribbon. “There,” she breathed as she looped the length around the back of my neck and tied my curls back. “Perfect.”

The next second, she was shoving everything back within that case, and then hefted it beneath one arm. “Come. Dublin’s being even more of a brooding ass tonight than usual. He wants to make sure that you understand what is expected of you.”

Her sharp gaze found mine from over her shoulder, and she paused expectantly.

Oh, I had a pretty good idea of what he expected. Shrieks. Screams. Dramatics. I would rather die than give him the satisfaction, so I gritted my teeth and jerked my head once.

“I understand.”

“Good.” For a long minute her gaze seemed to search mine, peering deep, though I had no idea what she could be looking for. Finally, she continued, “I don’t know what he’s told you …but it’s more than just sex. You are a commodity, of course—” Though at the moment, I felt about as valuable as a bottle of milk on a shelf in a supermarket. “And yet, you still have the opportunity to wield some element of power.”

Power? I waited for her to elaborate. How on earth could someone like me ever hope to have the upper hand over anyone—vampire or otherwise? Let alone in a stupid, gauzy dress?

Without explaining, Yulia turned and led the way down a corridor. I followed her and was surprised to find that Dublin’s so called “lair” was much larger than I had originally thought. The layout almost reminded me of a penthouse suite, and I could only guess what might lurk beyond the closed doors.

Torture chambers? Jail cells? A closet filled with a million priceless suits?

I didn’t dare risk sneaking a peek behind one, as I traipsed past on bare feet.

“You wouldn’t happen to have shoes in there would you?” I pitched hopefully with a nod at that trunk. I had left my heels on the floor of the main room and creeping back to get them wasn’t appealing in the slightest.

Yulia shook her head. “You won’t need them.”

The words held an ominous edge; you won’t need shoes again. Ever.

I didn’t have long to contemplate her meaning, before the hallway ended near–of all things–an elevator. Apparently, Dublin saved the ordeal of the stairs only for his ‘guests’, the bastard.

No wonder he hadn’t had the decency to even seem out of breath, I groused as I followed Yulia inside.

The interior was made of dark wood with a single silver keypad featuring only three levels. Yulia confidently pressed the bottom one, and the doors slid shut, before the cabin plummeted.

I bit my lip, desperate not to ruin my new shift already. As Dublin had suggested, I should save my dramatics—and the bastard was certainly due for a bit of nervous vomit on his shoe. Luckily, my stomach only managed to flip once before the descent slowed and the doors slid apart.

“It’s dark,” Yulia warned as she led the way. I only had the sound of her footsteps to guide me through the shadows, as a rank, damp smell tickled my nose. Were we in some kind of lower level, beneath the cathedral?

“I’ve asked Dublin to consider putting lights down here but, you know men.” Yulia’s laugh fluttered in the still air. “Anyway, here we are—”

There was a click, like that of a car door being opened, and then a wealth of light flooded the room. I blinked while my eyes adjusted and tried to make out as much as I could through the dark.

We stood in the middle of what seemed to be an underground garage, beside a red sports car that I assumed was Yulia’s. The shrouded shapes of what seemed to be other vehicles were spread neatly in rows with the same care and precision that seemed to maintain the rest of the property.

“Hop in,” Yulia urged, holding open the cherry-red passenger door. I slid onto the leather seat while she tossed her case in the trunk and circled to the driver’s side. “I’m surprised he brought you here, you know,” she admitted while starting the engine. “Even I haven’t been invited in years …”

So Dublin did live here, then.

“How can he even live here?”

I pictured him lurking in the bell tower, unbeknownst to the pious parishioners down below. Wasn’t there a commandment or something? Thou shall not live in a house of worship whilst thou is a demon?

From the corner of my eye I saw Yulia shrug. “You should ask him.”

Her tone was polite but I got the hint. While she seemed to love thwarting him, Dublin was strictly off limits. I shifted on my seat and preoccupied myself with gazing from the window.

Eventually the long tunnel had opened up onto a gravel road. We were out in the country now, it seemed, surrounded by fields and wilderness. The entire drive must have taken only a few minutes, but a glance behind me revealed that the church had disappeared—along with the rest of the city entirely.

The tunnel itself had to stretch for miles, and I had a suspicion that the founding priests hadn’t included it in their original floor plans.

“Is he Batman?” I blurted, which was the only comparison that came to mind according to my limited knowledge of popular culture. Did Dublin fancy himself as a vampire Bruce Wayne, with oodles of money to transform his domain as he pleased?

Yulia didn’t reply. Nearly ten minutes more must have passed in silence before we finally turned onto a main road, heading toward some unknown destination. I had a feeling that none of the exits she took led back to the city, either.

As if reading my mind, she finally spoke. “Tonight’s auction is not at the club.”

Uh-oh. I sat straighter, instantly on guard. “What do you mean?”

“The venue has changed.” Her tone was cautious. Hesitant. “Mikhail has decided that the newest crop of girls should be …put to the test, so to speak. Even I don’t know what the hell he and Saskia have in store for tonight.”

I definitely didn’t like the sound of that. “T-test?” My voice raised an octave while my imagination conjured all sorts of unhealthy possibilities; me, chains, spectators…

“It’s not what you think,” Yulia assured me. “It’s just something Saskia came up with to increase the appeal. Think of it as a marketing stunt. Dublin’s not happy,” she added, as if that lessened the blow. “But there isn’t much that can be done about it now … You can’t fault the venue, though.”

As if her words were the cue, a monstrous shape appeared on the horizon and I felt my apprehension only multiply.

While Dublin may have disappointed in all my comparisons to Dracula, this new ‘venue’ certainly didn’t. The sight reminded me of some reclusive count’s estate, massive enough to put even Gray Manor to shame. Even in the dark it looked like an ideal haunt for any monster, and suddenly I felt uncomfortably similar to the heroine in that certain Bram Stoker novel.

“W-What is that?”

I waited for some grandiose title. Castle—insert gothic-sounding name here.

Yulia didn’t humor me this time. “Just stay close to me once we’re inside,” was all she said.

Uneasy, I fidgeted on my seat, eyes glued to our mysterious destination. The path to the manor alone seemed to stretch at least a mile, lined by a row of naked trees whose branches tossed shadows that slithered over the landscape as if alive. When we finally approached an iron gate that barred the way to the front of the house, it opened, seemingly on its own.

I couldn’t make out much of the manor house itself, but the stone seemed even darker than the night sky. The whole structure towered overhead, and I felt as insignificant as an ant in its shadow. Windows illuminated with orange light cast an eerie glow over the front terrace.

Yulia parked in the center of a stone courtyard and, in an instant, a pale figure appeared near her window with a hand outstretched.

“Don’t scratch it,” she warned the man—who was wearing a crisp suit topped by a blood-red tie—as she gracefully exited the car and dropped the keys into his palm.

Without a word, the man climbed into the driver’s seat, took the wheel and drove off the second I scrambled out onto the pavement.

I couldn’t see anyone else around, but something warned me that the house was full regardless. The whole property reeked of that same eerie vibe one might feel near the outskirts of the tiger’s den at the zoo.

Predators be near …

“Let’s get this over with.” Yulia turned to the manor and craned her neck back to take it in entirely.

Impassively, her green eyes swept over the grand entryway where twin, marble staircases led to the grand, main doors. The longer she stared, the darker her expression became, before eventually she surged forward with a sigh of defeat.

I scrambled after her, shivering as the cold ground met my bare feet. I felt horribly exposed as I hastened up those steps, naked. It certainly didn’t help that the two ushers—both wearing suits identical to the mysterious driver’s—glanced me over once and then shared a look. I could almost guess what they didn’t say out loud; another one.

However, they acknowledged Yulia with a monotone greeting spoken in unison, before pulling open the doors. “Evening.”

She said nothing in return.

In fact, she seemed unusually distant, as she guided me into a breathtaking entryway, bathed in shadow.

An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling. Dark paneled walls framed a large room where a winding staircase dominated the center—and none other than Saskia happened to be descending the bottom stair.

“Yulia,” she greeted flatly. “What a …surprise.” Her tone was even colder than her expression, but despite the ice lurking in her gaze, she still looked regal. Her unbound hair blended with the vibrant scarlet of her dress and set off the ivory in her skin. “I would have thought that Dublin would deliver his own toys tonight.”

“Not everyone can be like you, dear Saskia,” Yulia replied. “Always free to do Mikhail’s bidding.”

Saskia’s eyes narrowed, even as she flashed a poor imitation of a smile. “I hope you’ve explained what is to be expected of her—” She jerked her head in my direction. “We wouldn’t want Dublin to be embarrassed in front of all the investors, now would we?”

Her sly tone revealed her true feelings on that matter.

“Expected?” A slight tremble in her voice was the only clue that Yulia might have been caught off guard. Of course, like any good predator, Saskia immediately picked up on it.

“Why yes,” she purred, while approaching us on blood-red heels. “It’s a showcase tonight, darling. I would have hoped Dublin had told her.”

“Showcase?” Yulia’s voice was harder than I’d ever heard it. “Is this a circus now, Saskia?”

The other woman shrugged off the apparent insult. Her smile reminded me of the way a tiger might observe fresh prey prance into its den, eager to deliver the killing blow. “I like to try new things,” she said. “It keeps the mood interesting—we don’t want our buyers getting bored with the same old routine, now do we? After all, if Raphael thought that we did not take our duties seriously …”

“He’s here?” Yulia’s voice caught and her hand flew to her throat as if to trap more words inside it.

But it was too late.

“Well of course he’s here,” Saskia replied. “And you know just how picky he can be when it comes to these things—” She sent another pointed glance in my direction. “I wouldn’t want dear old Dublin to present anything ‘lacking’ before him. Who knows what the consequences might be?”

With that, she breezed past us and disappeared down a darkened hallway. I gaped after her like an imbecile before I finally got the sense to turn to Yulia.

“What did she mean by showcase?”

The word had a horrible connotation from my boarding school days. Those wretched events where us girls were festooned with ribbons, thrust on stage, and expected to demonstrate ‘all that we learned’ to our bored—and in my case intoxicated on the offered brandy—guardians. Call it a hunch, but I assumed that this version wouldn’t be anywhere near as innocent.

“We need to find Dublin.” Yulia took off through a nearby doorway and I followed behind, fighting to keep from blurting more questions.

Mikhail had wanted the auction to be here, but why? And why this showcase? And why had Saskia seemed so smug?

My mind spun as I fought to keep pace with Yulia through the winding corridors. I was panting by the time we finally entered a room where a man stood before the only window, watching the moonlight seep in between the black curtains.

“It’s about damn time,” he grumbled without turning around—though, that voice needed no introduction.

“Saskia, the bitch,” Yulia hissed, ignoring the hostility in his tone, “did you hear what she’s planning?”

“Of course I have.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Dublin turned. Tonight he too wore an impeccable suit, secured with a dark blue tie rather than a red one. Against the dark walls, the paleness of his skin stood out in stark contrast. “I’ve known for two days now. She is in control of the public relations, after all—” He put a mocking twist on the words. “There isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

“But—” Yulia glanced at me and then back at him. “You’re just going to let Eleanor go out there with nothing?”

His gaze slithered in my direction and narrowed. “Surely, Eleanor, if you have some hidden talents capable of enticing potential buyers, then please speak up.” He waited, tapping his foot impatiently.

I couldn’t even come up with a snarky remark. My throat went dry and every single breath rasped out, harsh and broken. Suddenly, it made sense why he’d been so angry at me before; you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Apparently this “showcase” had been in the works for days, devised by Saskia in an attempt to catch him off guard. Humiliate.

I guess that, in his own way, the bastard had tried to warn me—but it was too late now.

“Well that’s settled.” Dublin crossed his arms when I didn’t speak, expression glacial. “There’s no help for it.”

“He’s going to be there,” Yulia said, stressing the word. “Raphael. Are you just going to let Saskia win this round and make a fool out of you?”

“It’s not like I have a much of a choice,” Dublin replied, but his voice was softer, resigned. “Those are the terms of her contract.”

“Ugh!” With a growl of exasperation, Yulia whirled on me. “There must be something you can do?” she demanded. “Sing. Dance. Anything?”

I shook my head. The only talents I seemed to possess were warbling show tunes off-key and butchering the violin.

“Think!” Yulia urged. “There must be something?”

“I … I was a background dancer in the ballet recital during my senior year?” I pitched weakly. “I’m not even sure if I remember—”

“Well there you have it,” Dublin interjected. “I’m sure some grade school ballet will have all the buyers drooling. Let’s just pretend that she’s ill so we have an excuse not to put her in this sham.”

“We can’t.” Yulia raked her hands through her hair. “Not with Raphael in attendance. He’ll take it as a sign of weakness. Or worse, a taunt—which is exactly what that bitch wants—”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

From the exhaustion in Dublin’s tone, I sensed that this feud with Saskia was long-running. Years, my inner voice suggested.

Yulia bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. But I refuse to let her win. And,” she added in undertone so softly that I got the sense that I wasn’t meant to hear it, “what do you think will happen to Eleanor if she does?”

They both looked at me then, expressions guarded.

“We don’t have the time for this.” Abruptly, Dublin brushed past me and headed for the door. “Get her ready as best as you can, but don’t expect …” He trailed off and sent me one last searching look, eyes settling over my face. Then, without another word he left.

“Damn it!” I flinched as Yulia formed a fist with one hand and smashed it into the palm of the other. Her eyes blazed as they honed in on mine through a fringe of black hair. “You said you danced?”

I shook my head, not sure where she was going with this. “J-Just ballet in school.”

Horrible ballet, I might add. I had always been the clumsy sort who lacked the grace that everyone seemed to think should have come with the territory of being ‘upper class’. But, like every girl at Welstrom Academy, I had been enrolled into that particular form of torture four days a week for five years.

“You have a dancer’s body.”

I followed Yulia’s gaze, convinced that she couldn’t possibly be observing the same lanky, stick-thin limbs that I was.

“I …I’m not—”

“Let me see.” She stood back and snapped her fingers. “Show me.”

“B-but.” I fidgeted, twisting my toes together. “I was just a cygnet and that was years ago.”

In our senior class production of Swan Lake, I hadn’t even been cast as a “big” swan but a duckling—the only role suited to my skills. My part had more or less consisted of flitting around, flapping my wings while trying not to trip over my own feet.

Still, Yulia was insistent. “Try.”

I sighed and weakly raised my hands over my head, attempting to recall that all important first position. Pretty hands! Mistress Romata, my old instructor, used to shout in furious Russian, and I could sense the poor woman rolling in her grave as I did a clumsy imitation of the first few steps.

I waited for Yulia to cringe in disgust and admit defeat, but the tilt to her mouth reminded me of an artist wondering if anything worthwhile could be created from a shapeless lump of clay.

“Again,” she ordered, only this time she came forward to guide my movements.

Expertly, she slowed down the motion, hands on my shoulders, as if her grace might seep into my skin. She corrected mistakes, added a few suggestions here and there. Then she made me run the dance, over and over and over again.

“This is a game, Eleanor,” she told me when I finally came to a stop, panting and dripping sweat. “A game of the body and the mind. You must take control. Tease. Taunt—but never once let him forget that this game is yours, and yours alone.”

I guessed that she was referring to my potential buyer, though—if my preparation for this showcase was any indication—I doubted I’d find anyone who would buy me at all.

“Now, again,” Yulia demanded, before I could dwell on the fear, and I had no choice but to lurch into another pathetic spin and try not to fall.

CHAPTER 13

Dance Of Fate

“IT’S TIME.”

I froze mid-step as Yulia broke off her instruction to observe a clock hanging on the wall.

“Damn it. If only …” She shook her head, cutting off the thought, and reached for my hand. “You can’t be late. Come.”

Nearly weak with fear, I followed her out into the empty hall. Every step I took seemed to echo tenfold, resonating in my mind like shouts.

Shadows draped the dimly lit passage but weren’t dark enough to obscure the odd, dangerous beauty of it. The walls were a deep shade of blood-red and the floors were polished wood. Unlike the sleek, ultra-modern Anemia, the dark colors cast an ancient aura that made it seem even more unwelcoming than Gray Manor.

I felt like a prisoner being led through a medieval castle on her way to the dungeons.

Right on cue, Yulia turned, bringing us before the threshold of a wide circular room that seemed no less terrifying than a torturer’s pit. The archway was sheathed in gold and the gilded doors were open, revealing what waited beyond. The layout resembled that of an old-fashioned theater: a circular stage, surrounded by elevated seats rising up to the high, domed ceiling.

My heart sped once I realized that every seat was full. There were so many people—no, so many shadows—watching from swaths of darkness. In eerie contrast, a single puddle of light illuminated the center of the floor, where a scantily clad woman danced before the crowd. With a grace I could only dream of possessing, she rolled her stomach in tune to an exotic beat playing from unseen speakers.

“Damn it,” Yulia hissed from my shoulder, eyes on the performance. The woman’s movements were sure and elegant—enticing.

If the amount of eyes fixed in the same direction was any indication, I knew that I could never compare.

“I can’t do this.” My voice broke. I felt five seconds from grabbing onto the end of Yulia’s skirt like a child. “I can’t …I can’t—”

I took a step back and a wall of ice met my back through the thin material of my shift.

“Get ready.” The command accompanied the cold hand that descended over my shoulder, and I knew who stood behind me without even having to turn around. His scent had been ingrained within me by now: spice, ice and all things forbidden.

“Get ready,” Dublin repeated. “You’re on next.”

Oh, God. The elegant room swam in and out of focus. Dark wood and marble blurred into one indistinguishable cage. I couldn’t breathe. His words had made it final; there was no way out. I felt like the pawn in a life-size game of chess, and Saskia already had me in an inevitable checkmate.

“I—”

“Look at me.”

I couldn’t resist his voice. Yulia had slipped into the shadows, muttering something about ‘saving him a seat’ but the funny thing was …I barely even heard her.

For the split second that I turned and made eye contact with Dublin Helos, the world faded into the background. Those harsh shadows became muted gray, and the pulsing beat of music lowered to a hum. Nothing existed save for a pair of eyes dominated by fathomless irises.

“I can’t do it,” I croaked, hating the roughness in my voice. “I’ll scream. Throw tantrums—whatever you want. Just don’t make me do this.”

“It’s too late for that.” Without warning, his thumb shot out to graze the bottom of my chin, unnervingly gentle and fearfully cold. “Look on the bright side,” he suggested, moving that glacial touch up to my cheek. “We’ll both suffer for your stubbornness.”

I flinched, my entire body going stiff. He made it sound so deliberate—as if I had done all of this on purpose. Though, if he cared how his words affected me, his expression didn’t show it.

“Every girl has at least three minutes,” he continued, changing the subject to the task at hand. “The goal is to entice a potential buyer, though I’m sure that you could just stand there ...”

With that, he turned, disappearing through those open doors, and I was alone, seconds from having to ‘perform.’

Terror filled me as the current act began to wind down. The woman had moved her arms above her head as she flexed her hip in a sensual, sure motion that I was certain had every man drooling.

My mind went blank. Everything vanished—that silly cygnet dance and Yulia’s corrections. It was all gone. All that registered was that I was now the only one standing. Minutes must have passed without me even realizing it.

There was no clapping, or any fanfare to close the last act. The other dancer was simply gone and, in her place, Saskia held court with a mischievous grin.

“Well, then,” she started as her eyes settled over me. “Our next selection is brought to us courtesy of none other than …Dublin Helos.”

Her voice took on a hard edge as she spoke his name—but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the scattered gasps of shock that erupted around the room.

Dublin had a reputation, it seemed. I turned like everyone else, hunting for that blond head among the crowd, but I couldn’t distinguish him from the countless other pale faces.

Was it sad that I even wanted to see him? To take one last look at the face of my tormentor before I skipped into the lion’s den?

I chalked the strange desire up to the fact he was pretty and just left it at that.

“Mm-hmph.” Saskia cleared her throat, and I glanced over to find that her amber eyes were on me, pale arm outstretched.

Her fingers fluttered. We’re waiting.

Blood surged beneath my skin, playing a haunting melody in the absence of any music. I wanted to crawl into the nearest corner and never come out. Or squeeze my eyes shut and hope that, by sheer force of will, I might wake up from this nightmare.

Maybe you could just stand there? Dublin’s harsh suggestion echoed in my mind. Even Yulia had seemed doubtful that I could ever live up to whatever high standards this ‘feeding den’ seemed to set.

For once, we all were in agreement. I was doomed, doomed, doomed.

“Any day now, darling …”

At Saskia’s insistence, I forced a dry swallow and took a step forward. Then another, painfully aware of the fact that at least a hundred sets of eyes were focused solely on me. As I approached the center, hushed murmurs of conversation swelled into a deafening hum. Who is she? Dublin’s?

After three more steps, Saskia finally allowed her beckoning hand to fall.

“Bids will be placed after the show,” she reminded the crowd. “Let’s begin, then.” After clapping her hands together twice she eased back into the shadows, abandoning me in that enormous puddle of light.

Think, Ellie! I told myself as I stood there, petrified. Do something!

But my body wouldn’t obey my commands. Air stubbornly clung to the inside of my lungs. I couldn’t move.

Helpless, I glanced up, hoping that, by some miracle, a reprieve might materialize from thin air—but the unsteady rasp of my breathing was the only sound in the entire room. A million body-less specters stared, waiting to gobble me up. And I could only stand there, in a pathetic white gown, with no clue of what to do.

I felt compelled to take Dublin’s advice and curl into a ball. Wait it out. Hide. But then …

A flash of golden hair caught the light. My eyes latched onto the owner’s features: ivory skin, eyes like silver, stern, inflexible jaw. He sat in the third row, in between Yulia and a man I didn’t recognize. Raphael?

Regardless, Dublin was the only figure I could seem to focus on. Those infamous eyes honed in on my own with a spark of recognition. Just get it over with. I could imagine him growling—and he was right. I should have just stood there and suffered the confused looks of the audience, wondering why their sexy dance had been capped off by some fool in white.

There was no way in hell that I could ever prove them wrong. Just as he had insisted only a few days ago, my only redeeming attribute was my wallet. But at the thought, a confusing emotion flared before I could help it; that pathetic urge to prove him wrong. Pinch him, poke him—anything to push him off that high horse and get a reaction.

After all, this whole mess was his fault for ever pretending that I could have been ‘valuable’ in the first place.

My heel twitched against the floor. Suddenly, I could feel sensation in my limbs again.

This is your game, Yulia had insisted, as she made me run that dance a final time. You are not a duckling but an angel with a broken wing—lost—and your dance is the only thing that can keep the monsters from gobbling you up, for a little while at least. You know that it’s inevitable; they will get you eventually. But for now, you can keep them at bay with a dance ...

The words gave me the strength I needed to shakily enter the first step; my right foot struck the floor, as I rose up on one leg ...

And I had to suppress a gasp at Dublin’s reaction.

He lurched forward, eyes narrowing to slits. What the hell is she doing?

I should have left it off there. I had gotten a rise out of him and it should have been enough …but, it wasn’t. I found that once I started, it was much harder to stop.

My arm swung up into an arch, and I strived to make the movement slow and deliberate like Yulia had insisted. God, I felt utterly ridiculous. I wasn’t graceful. The motion seemed more jerky and disjointed than anything else, but I staggered into the next step, heart pounding, without giving myself the chance to give up.

I could see Dublin curtly shake his head once. No. Stop.

Why? I wondered, as a prickle of irritation cut through a wave of fear. Can the Devil not handle humiliation?

Defiantly, I attempted to spin ...and tripped as my foot caught on a slick patch of flooring.

I went down hard. One of my knees struck the floor, sending a burst of pain shooting up my spine. Both hands flew out to brace my trembling body over the marble—polished to the point where I could clearly see my own reflection: wild curls, dark eyes and an expression that I rarely saw on my face these days.

Was that …determination?

A hush fell over the crowd. There wasn’t a single sound, not a laugh nor a gasp.

I glanced up warily and saw why; Dublin was standing.

He towered over the seated figures in the third row, eyes honed in on me with such ferocity that for a moment I couldn’t breathe.

Those blazing, silver irises spoke for him. Get up.

Slowly, I crawled forward, almost to the edge of the stage, my eyes seeing only him. Fear kept me attuned to my body in a way I had never been before. I could feel each roll of my shoulders, every harsh intake of air, every sway of my hips as I came close enough to touch the faceless spectators in the first row.

Then, inch by painstaking inch, I rolled onto my knees, every cell pulsing in rhythm to the beat of my heart, in the absence of music.

My knee throbbed. Somewhere in the flurry of motion, one of my sleeves had fallen down my shoulder. Only God knew how much skin was revealed—how much of me that he could see. My fingers fluttered uselessly at my sides, aching to adjust it, but I didn’t dare.

Instead, I met his gaze and waited.

Would he march down to me and haul me from the room? Command me to leave?

I waited.

And waited …

I couldn’t put a name to the emotion that flooded my body as the seconds passed without a reaction from him. Shock? Foreboding? Smug satisfaction?

Soon the room blurred into impenetrable darkness, and I was alone in the spotlight, watched by a single pair of frightening silver eyes.

Nothing else.

No one else.

But it couldn’t last forever. My time was ticking after all.

The next step required that I stand and turn, fluttering my arms like wings, and rise up on one leg again. Aware of Dublin tracking every motion, I stumbled through it, the rare moment of gracefulness gone. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back. A muscle in his jaw twitched and I faltered again, foot wobbling in the air.

Every nuance in his body language urged me to stop and let him suffer his humiliation in peace. Give up. While the shadows shielded me from the reactions of the audience, only God knew what they were thinking ...

But, driven by some impulse I couldn’t understand, I kept going.

Two minutes felt like a lifetime. Ironically, I wanted it to last, extending the uncertainty of what would happen when I finally stopped. As long as I kept moving, being ‘auctioned,’ or sold, or whatever didn’t matter.

I’m an angel, I chanted in my head as I struggled to follow Yulia’s instructions: turning my body slightly left, rolling my hips right, fluttering my arms up as my belly slowly undulated.

Only one thought kept racing through my head; keep going ...don’t stop. Don’t stop.

Until, at last, Yulia’s instructions dwindled to one last motion.

I was panting by the time I completed the final step, head bowed, arm outstretched.

There was no clapping.

No booing or hissing.

Not even a sniff.

I had no idea what to expect as I lifted my head, eyes seeking out my captor one more time …

But he was gone. The chair between Yulia and the stranger was empty, and Dublin wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“Hmph.” I turned to find Saskia slowly making her way onto the middle of the floor, eyes sparkling with amusement. The train of her red dress swished against the marble, reminding me of the hiss of an attacking serpent.

“That was …interesting,” she sniffed. “And now, next will be another one of my selections …”

Taking her blunt change of the subject as my cue to leave, I backed away, blindly searching for a doorway, or a hall to disappear down. Everywhere I looked, I only saw the theater seats and pale faces. There was no way out …

“Eleanor—” I flinched, fighting down a shriek, as a hand clinched my forearm. The next instant, I found myself dragged through an unseen corridor and into the shadows. I turned and nearly collapsed with relief when I made out Yulia’s emerald eyes through the dark. Before my knees could even begin to wobble, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.

“That was beautiful,” she breathed against my ear.

A beautiful mess, I thought, still trembling with exertion. But it was over now. I was ready to curl up into a ball and accept my fate …though strangely, before I did, I found myself wishing for one last glimpse of those watchful gray eyes. I turned, eyes straining through the shadows, but the doors of the theater closed, sealing me off from that haunting crowd.

“What happens now?” My voice caught. I was shaking from head to toe. Yulia had to place her hand on my shoulder just to keep me steady.

“Now …” She glanced furtively over her shoulder and then steered me in the opposite direction. “Now, you wait. Bidding should start soon and then …”

My subconscious fears were more than able to fill in what she wouldn’t say: then we would see if my little flailing duckling act had attracted any hungry wolves.

I felt sick and exhausted. Judging from the way my skin prickled, I guessed that I was beet-red with mortification as well. My head slumped on my shoulders and I didn’t look up from my bare, sore feet, as I followed Yulia into another room.

This one was furnished with only a chair placed before a window that overlooked a hillside kissed by moonlight.

“You’ll stay here,” Yulia said, forcing me inside with a gentle shove. “When it’s your turn, you’ll be called back into the theater and …”

“Sold off,” I finished for her.

If anyone had bothered to buy me at all.

I shuffled forward, heart in my throat. I hardly noticed when Yulia left and the door closed behind her.

All I could picture was silver eyes, watching me through shadow.

“Well, Ellie,” I told myself as I stumbled over to the chair and collapsed onto it. “If years of safe, comfortable living have pushed you to be a thrill seeker in your final days, you’ve gotten your wish ...”

Vampires apparently had no concept of time.

It felt like I waited for ages, stuck in that room alone. A morbid part of me wondered if this little bidding session could last an eternity—perhaps the spectators forgot that their ‘commodities’ had an expiration date?

Thinking of Dublin, and his disdain for all things pertaining to my welfare, the idea wasn’t all that funny.

Calm down, I told myself. Try not to panic.

Of course, as the seconds ticked by, I failed miserably in that aspect.

I had to sit on my hands just to keep from wringing them together. When that didn’t work, I stood. Paced. Tore at my hair and tried not to relive what I’d just done.

My feet throbbed with the memory of that stupid dance. A thin layer of sweat glued my shift to my body, and my white hair ribbon had come loose—only when I tried to adjust it, the whole damn thing slid free to float to the floor.

How many girls were next? I wondered, too distracted to care that my curls fell into my eyes. How many half-naked beauties had already sashayed for the buyers, putting my poor, juvenile ballet to shame?

Though the even bigger question was; why the hell did I care in the first place?

Why hadn’t I just done what Dublin had mockingly suggested and just stood there? Made myself invisible? Hid.

Why try at all? Because I did try.

I had done my best to perform in that sick sideshow of the damned. Those three, pathetic minutes were some of the few in my whole life where I could say that I had actually worked at something—even a task as mundane as trying not to fall while flapping my wings.

And what good had it done me? For all I knew the consequence of not being bought was a public beheading. Even so, I couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting me.

“Eleanor—”

I flinched as the door finally opened, though I wasn’t nearly as relieved to see Yulia standing there as I thought I would be. In fact, I wished more than anything else that my wait really had lasted an eternity.

“Eleanor,” she repeated. “It’s time.”

“A-All right.”

I felt like a certain French queen on her way to the guillotine. As I crept into the hall, I half-expected to find Dublin lurking in the shadows, ready to gloat over my humiliation—the icing on the mortification cake—but there was no one else around.

“Come.” Yulia’s face was drawn tight, revealing nothing. “You’re the last one,” she explained as she led me through the twisting corridors. “I know Saskia ensured that purposefully, the bitch. But the bidding’s over now.”

“D-did anyone …” I trailed off, unable to say it.

“I don’t know.” Yulia glanced at me from over her shoulder. “I wasn’t allowed in,” she admitted. “Formalities according to Saskia, but if anyone did buy you …” She trailed off as we approached the doorway of the theater. It seemed even more intimidating than before; a giant monster waiting to swallow me whole.

“If anyone bought you,” Yulia repeated, “they will claim you here.” The next second I found myself gently shoved forward. “Good luck.”

Yulia’s voice was the last comforting sound I heard before the door closed behind me, and I was trapped.

“Ah, finally.” Saskia stood in the center of the floor, basking in the spotlight.

Her expression revealed nothing as to whether or not I had been bought. Instead, she merely cleared her throat like an auctioneer at a farm, readying to present the next prize cow.

“The last selection,” she announced to the crowd, wiping her hands on the side of her dress. A slight slip in her fake smile was the only clue as to her true hostility toward me. “Would the buyer please come forward to claim your …prize?”

My breath caught as I scanned the rows of pale faces.

I waited …

But, no one stood up, or moved, or even coughed.

“Any time, now,” Saskia murmured, but her tone was smug. I got the sense that this whole show had been some sick joke on her part just to rub it in.

I hadn’t been bought.

I didn’t know why the fact made me feel so small and insignificant. Or why a tell-tale burning sensation prickled behind my eyes.

Focus, Ellie, I insisted. My skin was on fire. It was a struggle just to breathe. In and out …you can do it.

I couldn’t, and the seconds passed without a single attempt to claim me. It was only when I was afraid that I might actually wither and die beneath the shame, that I finally saw him.

He stood in the shadow of the doorway, mouth flat in a firm line. When he noticed me staring, all he did was incline his head once; come.

I had already taken two steps toward him without even realizing it. My heart pounded as I rushed the rest of the way, while the interior of the room twisted into shadow.

There was complete and total silence. Only the frantic sound of my own heartbeat ushered me out of that blinding puddle of light. The moment I came close enough, Dublin snatched my wrist and dragged me into the hall without a word. Not even a single, nasty insult. Still, I felt the need to say something—anything at all.

“I’m sorry …I’m sorry.”

It was pathetic. If anyone should have been sorry, it was him for goading me into signing that all-important contract in the first place; for ruining my simple, sheltered life with his talk of blood and ‘deals.’

I should have been glad to spoil his plans by not being bought. As it was, all I felt was this wrenching, churning guilt …

What the hell had gotten into me? I should have just lain there.

“I’m sorry—”

“For what?” He never looked back, but I had no trouble picturing his expression, anyway; stormy eyes and emotionless frown.

Was he trying to get me to say it? Admit it out loud?

I failed, now commence with the barrage of insults, please?

Instead, I could only manage a pathetic sentence spoken against the hard expanse of his back. “I didn’t get a buyer.”

My throat felt tight. Painful.

And it shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have felt so damned ashamed.

“I’m sorry—”

“You did.” My first thought was that my desperate brain had imagined the words to ease the shame. But, then he spoke again, clearly enough so that I could make no mistake. “You did secure a buyer.”

He turned suddenly, shoving me into an empty room. Confused, I glanced around the unfamiliar interior, taking in the only furniture; a velvet chaise, a bed ...

But there was no one there holding a receipt for one Eleanor Gray. Even stranger was that Dublin had followed me inside. From behind me, the door closed and I heard the lock twist.

“W-who?” I asked, voice shaking as I eyed the bed’s black, silk sheets. “Who bought me?”

I figured a part of me already knew the answer before he even said it out loud.

“I did.”

CHAPTER 14

Sold

I WAITED FOR THE punch line.

Some quip about how silly I was, maybe? How foolish?

The minutes ticked by, but he said nothing. Nor did he move, and I could only stand there as ice cold breath caressed the back of my neck in a steady rhythm. Whether or not this was some twisted game, I had no choice but to play along.

“You b-bought me?” I hated how breathless I sounded and struggled to keep my voice steady. “Is that allowed?”

“It’s not unheard of.”

I frowned. What? Did all men like him buy their own toys to keep them from getting lonely on the shelf?

“The rules say that you must be bought,” he added, “but they do not specify by whom.”

Ah. A loophole. It would have been nice to know that little detail before I’d made a fool of myself.

“So, why you?” I gathered enough nerve to turn and face him, shivering beneath the flimsy material of my shift. The room was massive, but with him blocking the door it might as well have been a closet. “Why me?”

He shrugged, expression unreadable. He didn’t mention our tense standoff in the theater, though his body seemed free of anger—for now. “I don’t like to leave things unfinished,” he said finally. “And I refuse to offer an ‘unsuitable’ commodity.”

Unsuitable? I tried to hide the way I flinched by crossing my arms over my chest.

“So this is just another way for you to finish my training?” I wanted to make air quotes, but one look at those eyes and I squashed the urge. “To make me ‘suitable?’”

“For what?” he wondered. “The timeline specified in your contract is almost up. You only needed to secure one buyer and you have. You’ve fulfilled your bargain.”

“Oh.” I shifted on the tips of my toes. For some reason it was harder to process those words than it should have been. Fulfilled your bargain. “So, was this just some way for you to save face?” I wondered. “Beat Saskia at her own game?”

“Possibly.” His voice gave nothing away and I felt lost, grasping at straws.

“But …”

I shivered as his hand drifted to my cheek. I could only stare as he caught a stray curl between his thumb and fore finger and then tucked it in place behind my ear. Thinking of his crisp and clean suite above the cathedral I got the sense that he preferred for things to be nice and neat. Perfect.

“Don’t make any mistake,” he went on, returning that hand to his side. “I didn’t buy you to ‘save’ you from the horrors of being auctioned. It was strictly a business transaction on my part, and I will expect no differently from you tonight than I would from any other girl.”

The words didn’t affect me the way they should have. I didn’t tremble with fear, like Little Red before her Big Bad Wolf. I didn’t cower. Instead, I tilted my head back and observed him carefully.

I expect no different tonight …

“So you bought me for …” I cleared my throat, gathering up the nerve to utter that so very dangerous word. “Sex?”

I thought of all those busty beauties and laughed—I couldn’t help it.

The idea of him wasting good money on me—to salvage his pride of course—while everyone else had probably beaten themselves bloody over one of Saskia’s ‘girls’ was both pathetic and damaging to my pride. Laughter was the only way I could hide just how badly his utter lack of faith in me hurt.

“You must take your line of ‘work’ very seriously,” I sneered. “How much was I worth to save your own skin, hmm? One dollar? Three? Five?”

“The cost is irrelevant—” His eyes slid shut and reopened a chilling shade of gray. “I never leave a ‘project’ unfinished.”

His fingers encircled the ball of my chin and lifted it, forcing me to meet his gaze for so long that I swore I could taste silver—strange and metallic—on my tongue by the time he finally pulled away.

“Let’s see how well you recall your lessons,” he proposed.

Before I could react, he leaned in, lips grazing my jaw-line before settling near my ear. Then, he whispered something; a command so vulgar that I had to dig my own nails into my palms just to keep from gasping, horrified.

I figured that I should have slapped him, like any good socialite would, just turn dramatically on my heel and stomp away. Why, I never!

But I knew in the pit of my gut that was what he wanted me to do; to merely flash his fangs and have me run screaming from the room. I think he only knew how to play the role of evil villain and watch people react.

Well, not this time.

I pulled myself up to my full height and took a step forward. My gaze deliberately traveled from that cold, handsome face—avoiding those eyes however—and down to that blue tie, then lower …and lower.

Look at it clinically, Ellie, I told myself, all the while reaching for his zipper. It’s only a duty. The same way he liked to insist that everything leading up to this moment had been only ‘business.’

You don’t really believe that, my inner voice whispered. Do you?

I tried to ignore it.

Apprehension coursed through my body, as the pads of my fingers caught hold of the tiny bit of metal. Slowly, I dragged the zipper down, gulping as his words taunted me; a request so blunt that I couldn’t even repeat it inside my own head.

He was watching me, expression blank as I undid the clasp holding his pants together while fighting to keep from accidentally brushing his skin.

Clinical, clinical, I chanted while I loosened my grip so that his pants could slide unhindered to the floor.

God he was beautiful. I hated how my body noticed that—reacted to it—even though I should have been disgusted by him, by this.

But, the fact was that ...I was morbidly curious as to just how far I was willing to go. Innocent little Eleanor Gray.

He wore navy boxers underneath, and I never knew that such a simple piece of cotton could seem so menacing.

Come on, a part of me scoffed. Be serious! You can’t possibly mean to …

But I only heard Yulia’s voice as I stared down at the intimating appendage shaping the front of his boxers.

‘Take control. Tease. Taunt—but never once let him forget that this game is yours.’

The advice was heartening, but Dublin didn’t seem inclined to let me make the rules.

“Any day now.” For once, there was no mocking edge or sarcastic pun in his voice. Just ice. “I’m sure that even you must have read a naughty romance novel, or two, in your spare time. They give a pretty good play-by-play of how it’s done—”

He broke off, mid-sentence when I sank to my knees. I didn’t say a word, even while I blindly reached for the waistband of his boxers.

I didn’t look up …at first. I couldn’t.

Instead, I took my time, winding the soft cotton around my fingers and slowly pulled the material down to his knees. Calves next. Ankles.

When the fabric finally hit the floor, only then did I look up.

My breath caught. His body was one of those sights that never failed to knock you senseless, no matter how many times you saw it—though once again I only saw half. His suit-coat and tie intimidated me too much to even think about taking them off.

So I settled for gaping at his lower body. Particularly one impressive aspect …

Crude drawings in sexual education textbooks could have never done him justice. His shaft was rigid, jutting from a thatch of golden hair and seemed every bit as menacing as the man himself.

“This doesn’t work if you just stare at it,” I heard Dublin comment from above, sarcastic once again.

Very well … I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

I guess I was supposed to touch it first? Was it utterly sick that I actually wanted to?

My hands shook. It seemed to take forever before they stopped trembling just long enough to make an attempt, and I couldn’t breathe when I reached out and gently traced the tip of him with my finger.

Dublin’s reaction was swift. His jaw snapped shut, teeth gritted while those eyes darkened into a color that bordered on ebony.

I had no clue what the hell I was doing, but he didn’t bat my hand away, so that had to be a start, right?

Fighting down my unease, I reached out for him again, trailing a finger along his impressive length. The skin was surprisingly soft, almost like silk. I marveled at how damn cold he was—frozen. Hard too, like steel.

Focus, my inner voice hissed. What had he mentioned? Romance novels?

Sure enough, what few I had read did give me a vague idea of what was expected.

I curled my hand around him, forming a fist—or as much of one as I could. A prickle of apprehension flooded my belly when I realized that my fingers didn’t quite meet.

He couldn’t possibly think I could fit it all in, could he? I fretted. Still, I began to pump my hand up and down, watching the act with an almost student-like curiosity.

It didn’t look erotic. In all honesty, it looked ...ungainly. Crouched as I was, I still had to strain upright just to find the right leverage. He was so cold it hurt to maintain the contact for too long.

Still, I could feel him stiffen and, God help me, lengthen even more beneath my touch—that was a good thing, right? I couldn’t ignore the part of me that shivered, remembering that night in the club. The way he had felt inside me …

The thought made my grip tighten involuntarily, and Dublin damn near jumped out of his skin.

“S-sorry!” I pulled back, afraid that I had hurt him—only to have a hand colder than ice descend over my shoulder, locking me in place.

He never moved.

I snuck a peek at him through my lashes and saw that he stood completely still. Frozen.

He could have been a beautiful Romanesque statue carved from marble, if it wasn’t for the way that one part of him seemed painfully alive. Silken flesh strained against my fingers tips, throbbing in a way that seemed to demand something that I had no real knowledge of how to deliver.

I was panting. My throat tightened, eyes drifting up and over the alabaster skin shielding muscles so hard they could have been chiseled from marble.

Run away, a part of me whispered, this is your last chance.

Then our eyes met—silver on green—and I stopped thinking altogether.

Keep going. He didn’t say it out loud, but those eyes did the talking for him, black pupils dominating the pale irises. Now!

I could only weakly pump my fist up and down until I found a steady rhythm. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and as if I was suddenly psychic I knew exactly what he wanted next without him ever having to say it; those sordid little romance novels had covered that as well.

Heart pounding with anticipation, I lowered my head, using my hand to guide me, and closed my eyes.

Unacceptable! My mother hissed from the grave as my tongue slid out, brushing along the tip of him.

Would it be like licking a frozen pole in the middle of winter, a childish part of me wondered? Could I get stuck?

But my tongue glided over him easily, numb by his chill. God, he tasted like snow; delectable, glacial, masculine snow.

As if from miles away, I heard myself gasp—but I wasn’t in my body anymore. Eleanor Gray was dead and gone, and some new creature was in her place. One who relished the tendrils of heat that prickled through her belly as her tongue hesitantly swirled, stroked, slid down his length from tip to base and back again. It was like some long buried part of me knew instinctively what to do.

And I guessed that I was doing it right.

A low sound teased the air. Like a good little heroine I wanted to chalk it up as something other than what I knew in my soul it to be.

A rumble of thunder? I wondered innocently. The roar of a distant jet plane?

Certainly not a growl, primal and animalistic enough to match the ferocity of the fingers that came to fist in my hair.

“It’s not a lollipop, Eleanor,” I heard him croak after a moment. “They call it ‘cocksucking’ for a reason.”

That they did.

I wasn’t insulted, oddly enough, or ashamed, or embarrassed.

I felt nothing at all but raw, sweltering heat as I shifted forward on my knees, parted my lips and took him slowly into my mouth. His hands coiled through my hair, goading me on, urging me to take more, more, more.

When I couldn’t go any further, we both sucked in a breath; let it out in unison, drew in another. I don’t know if he even needed to breathe—but the harsh sound played like a lullaby.

And there was no escape.

My inner prude taunted me; slut, whore, skank. No heiress should ever debase herself so wantonly!

But the barrage of insults couldn’t smother the true emotion I tried so hard to deny—ignore.

It felt utterly amazing being wanton.

For the briefest of moments, I had control. Over him. Over myself. The simple action of my mouth on his shaft caused him pleasure, though he would never admit it out loud.

But neither could he hide it.

It was all in the way his body tightened. How he began to rock back and forth in tune to the slow rhythm he was urging on with that grip on my hair.

My tongue cradled the tip, which was the most of him I could fit in my mouth, brushing it as gently as I could. Once. Twice. Again.

And with a brashness I never knew I could possess, my lips closed around his shaft once more, urging him further into my mouth.

“Enough—”

I blinked, dumbstruck, as he shoved me back, though his expression was too dark to read. My mouth was open, lips wet. Moisture dribbled down my chin and suddenly reality hit with a vengeance.

Oh, God ...

Shame and guilt flooded back, and in an instant I felt worth even less than the five dollars I had accused him of spending on me.

Until those eyes flashed, a brilliant, hungry silver, and he moved.

“Get up.” The order was more for show because he hauled me upright before I could even begin to stand on my own. A hand cinched my waist, lifting me easily from the floor as he staggered back the few steps necessary to reach the bed. Then he shoved me onto it.

I trembled as he mounted after me, wrenching my legs apart. I expected him to toss out another humiliating command, to force me to touch myself again.

But all he did was grab at my shift before tearing it right down the middle.

The next second his hands were sliding beneath my underwear, tugging them down. Eyes dark, he fisted the ivory lace into a ball before tossing it onto the floor.

And I had nothing left to hide behind.

Like a monster from a fairy tale, Dublin loomed above—still in that impeccable suit-coat and tie; the Big Bad Wolf with a weakness for Armani.

His pupils were dilated. Just a sliver of that infamous eye color remained, nearly lost amid a sea of black. The sight reminded me of displaced halos, circling the black demonic abyss their angelic possessor had fallen into. Two small bits of ivory glinted from beneath his bottom lip and I knew in my soul what they were: fangs.

God, he looked terrifying ...

I could only lay there, half-naked and trying to catch my breath.

Every single nerve in my body prickled, warm and alive—conflicting with the goosebumps that rose to life in the face of his chill. My throat ached in memory of what I had just done. What little of my shift remained felt more oppressive than the man on top of me.

And I still couldn’t help the fact that my eyes kept darting down between us, to where that crisply tailored suit ended and Dublin Helos began.

Oh God. Images swirled through my head, making my skin heat with shame. Me. The floor. Him. My mouth. Him. What in the hell had I done?

What was I still doing?

“Look at me—”

I was too breathless to admit that, technically, I had never stopped ‘looking’ in the first place. Instead, I forced myself to glance up, eyes passing over that mockingly bright tie, and met his gaze just as the last hint of those gray irises finally vanished.

Without warning, his right hand came to encircle my throat. The contact was light, though in my mind the embrace might as well have been a manacle chaining me down.

“Who am I?”

Huh? I blinked, confused by the question only to tremble as fear set in. That voice wasn’t his. It sounded deeper, guttural.

“You’re D-Dublin,” I heard myself croak, only to have the words cut off entirely as his thumb slid down to my collar bone, caressing what I knew to be the path of a vein.

“Wrong answer—” My heart sank at his tone. “How quickly you forget your lessons already.”

In disapproval, the icy tip of his nail grazed through the light fabric of my shift, slowly inching downward …

A strangled sound tore from my throat as the pad of his finger brushed the underside of my breast. He was so cold—my body’s reaction was swift and unavoidable; a nipple tightened, rising sharp to graze his palm.

All the while, he posed that same question again, impatient.

“Who am I, Eleanor Gray?”

I choked in a breath. Held it in until my lungs screamed for air and tried to let it out without making a sound.

Good God. I never even knew that there were that many nerves in one spot…

“I want an answer,” his voice came from miles away. “Who…am…I?”

“S-Sir?” I pitched halfheartedly, wondering if this was some not-so-subtle reminder to play by the silly rules he had set. “Dublin, Sir—”

His hand returned to my throat with slightly more pressure, cutting off the words.

“No. Come on, Eleanor,” he goaded while caressing my windpipe with a thumb. “Use that witty little brain of yours. I want you to say the one thing I’ve been waiting to hear you utter since our first sordid little meeting.”

There were so many possibilities. You were right? I surrender to your magnificence, oh evil one? Though, heart pounding, I had to admit that, this time, I knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

“V-Vampire.”

His eyes narrowed in response and my blood ran cold—though that might have had more to do with that icy touch creeping along my body more than anything else.

“I prefer the term ‘Master,’ for tonight,” he corrected, flashing teeth that seemed uncomfortably sharp. “After all …I did pay for the privilege.”

“P-Privilege?” I gulped, distracted; ‘Master’ seemed so much more demeaning to utter than ‘sir.’ “The privilege of what?”

Having me butt naked and a slave to his every whim wasn’t enough?

Dublin shrugged, as if the answer were so obvious that he didn’t want to waste any time saying it. Instead, he slid his free hand beneath my waist, forcing my legs further apart, and settled into the space between them.

I held my breath, painfully aware of every ridge and curve of his palm on my hip. His body felt like solid ice against mine and I knew in the pit of my soul that it would be so easy for him to crush me if he wanted, to utterly destroy me in an instant.

So why the hell did his nearness make my heart jump in a way that had nothing at all to do with fear?

“I thought I said that you were never to wear white?” His eyes were on the upper part of my shift, which was the only bit of it still intact.

“T-technically …I’m not wearing much of anything,” I managed to croak.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Could that possibly be a smile? Or a grimace, as he eyed the way the fabric dipped dangerously low, baring more skin than I had realized.

I flushed, suddenly self-conscious, but as if reading my mind, Dublin moved before I could even attempt to cover myself. Very, very carefully he dragged a thumb along the pulse thrumming below my collarbone, following its invisible trail.

Down …down …all the way to my navel.

My entire body jerked, in tune to every feather-light motion. Anticipation turned to an almost uncomfortable level of neediness.

God. Just when I feared that this torture might last forever he shifted, bracing a hand against the mattress, and lowered his head ...

Alarm flared, blotting out everything else.

“W-What are you doing?” I tried to sit up.

Without speaking, his hand went to my thigh where he seized a bit of skin between his fingers and pinched. Hard. I gasped in shock, instinctively twisting to get away, but his knee fell over mine, locking me in place.

“Remember your manners,” he warned, mouth hovering above my skin. Bursts of cool air assaulted me with each word. “What are you doing …”

He made an expectant sound in the back of his throat, and it took everything I had in me just to choke out, “Sir.”

Satisfied, he released me, fingers cupping my leg instead, holding it tight against him.

“Do you know what happens next, Eleanor?” he asked in an undertone. Those eyes met mine again, unnervingly patient.

Oh no. Scenarios came to mind; him, me, fangs …

“N-No, Sir,” I lied, until another sharp pinch forced me to rasp, “Master!” instead.

“Oh, I think you know …”

How in the world was he still capable of speech?

From the back of my mind I was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the hard bulge pressing against my thigh was not a random metal bar. Going off the romance novels he liked to reference so much—paired with a basic grasp of biology—he should have been reduced to a rutting animal by now, humping anything he could reach and not …infuriatingly in control.

I was the one who felt barely tethered to reality. Who could barely process anything other than the sensations building inside her own body; a primal, almost animalistic need that demanded he touch me. Here …there … Anywhere.

“I think you do know, Eleanor.” I could feel icy lips against the hollow of my throat when he spoke again. “Indulge me.”

It was getting so hard to string together words, to think at all. I managed to gasp a strangled set of vowel sounds that I prayed he mistook for something intelligible.

Rather than reply, he seemed intent on just observing my skin, eyes narrowed.

It really shouldn’t have been that much of a shock when his fangs prodded my flesh.

“Oh!” I jumped anyway, threatening to lurch off the bed—only to find both of my hands clasped by just one of his. His lower body fell across mine and I was trapped.

And then, so slowly I couldn’t stand it …

He prodded again.

Scraped.

At the back of my mind, I knew that those fangs merely grazed the surface, never sinking too deep—or drawing blood—but my body’s reaction was just as violent as it had been that first night. I writhed. My toes curled helplessly in the black silk sheets.

My mind was dominated by a single thought: More, more! And when he finally allowed himself to go deeper, to bite … The world exploded.

Colors were sharper, more vibrant. Everything shifted and twisted and spun. I couldn’t hear a sound above the roar of my own heartbeat.

With teasing scrape after teasing scrape, he taunted me. The cruel game seemed to last forever until finally, he pulled back.

Those eyes held me captive, once again dominated by black, as he adjusted his weight and mounted me fully. His free hand began to roam my thigh and I tensed, heart in my throat, even before he forced a finger inside me.

I moaned at the intrusion. It hurt—though nowhere near painful as that first night. On second thought, the sensation was more uncomfortable than anything else. Without giving me time to adjust he started to move, thrusting in and out. With every harsh slide, he returned a little easier than before—deeper—but it wasn’t until he made a cruel accusation out loud that I realized why.

Like a teacher demonstrating the obvious to a naïve student, he held up a glistening finger for my observation.

“You’re wet,” he said before callously sliding the digit back in. And then another … “For me,” he accused while I quaked, damn near senseless. “You want this.”

The words bounced around the inside of my skull, unabashedly blunt. Wet for him. I wanted this.

God, I had no clue what he meant—something told me that I really didn’t want to know.

With him inside me I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His fingers alone were massive, splitting me apart, and worst of all ...

Some greedy, terrifying part of me just wanted more. It craved the destruction only he could bring more than anything.

When I didn’t reply to his taunts, Dublin fell into a brutal rhythm, twisting and curling those fingers, rubbing …until I was bucking greedily into his hand, gasping like a fish on dry land.

It felt good, I couldn’t deny that. Wrong—but so very, very good.

I groaned in a mixture of shock and relief when those fingers finally slid free.

Maybe then I could think? Catch my breath?

The thoughts turned out to be nothing more than wishful thinking as the contact was replaced by something else.

“No more preliminary games,” I heard Dublin insist on a barely restrained growl. I could feel his grip over my wrists quiver, as if every instinct he’d been fighting to control had chosen that moment to break free. Apparently, even a vampire could hold back only for so long.

“It’s time for you to earn those so-called five dollars.”

I flushed as he threw my own words back in my face—but I didn’t have to suffer the shame for very long.

He entered me slowly this time, almost as if in punishment, forcing me to feel every single ridge and curve of the shaft I had explored so thoroughly only moments before with my mouth.

Inch by precious inch he filled me, dominating every cell; I barely found enough room in my lungs to suck in air, to breathe.

My teeth descended into my lower lip as he withdrew. Thrust again. Again. Again.

If there had even been any pain this time it faded quickly, replaced by a heat that smoldered in my belly.

I didn’t know if it was a lack of ability to draw in oxygen or sheer will that kept me from making a sound, or crying out. Only the creaking of the bed filled the silence—but somehow that was more shaming than anything else.

This was really happening. There was no escape.

I didn’t know when my eyes started to flutter shut, or when my vision blurred. I was only aware of a sudden clarity as he pinched me once on my hip, hard.

“Look at me.”

I had no choice. My eyes drifted up to find that those swollen pupils had been reduced to mere pin-pricks amid a sea of gray.

His jaw was clenched, eyes glowing as he rocked his hips, filling me over and over until even a sharp pinch wasn’t enough to keep me tethered to reality. Every action slowly pushed me towards some invisible threshold …and then over it.

I moaned. Shuddered. Trembled.

Fire filled me, building within my belly until I couldn’t take it. Then, all at once, it boiled over into an inferno.

And I was consumed.

From light-years away I heard Dublin groan; the only sound he ever made during those twisted, silent minutes. Both of his hands had moved to my waist, holding me in place as he brutally pumped in a steady, unyielding rhythm. Newly freed, my fingers flew to his shoulders—the only solid thing within reach—pulling and grasping, heedless of the expensive fabric at risk of being torn in my clumsiness.

I couldn’t help it.

Oh God, God, God, I chanted as my body rode some imaginary escalator up, up, up, driven by every thrust until …

I broke. Nonsense, meaningless words tore from my throat as Dublin drove deep, striking a part of me that made everything darken for the briefest second—and then shatter.

I wasn’t in my body anymore. Ellie Gray was gone, and I was floating, flying, falling …

And, gradually, I came back down.

One. Two. Three.

I counted every breath until my vision cleared sometime after fifty. I was laying face-up in the middle of a crumpled pile of black sheets, panting as the last tendrils of fire faded away.

Oh, Ellie, I thought as my eyes traced my still-splayed legs and the sad remains of Yulia’s white shift. You whore.

But the word didn’t sting. I didn’t feel as ashamed as I should have, and I figured that was the worst revelation of all.

Dublin had already moved and sat at end of the bed, feet on the floor, back facing me. That crisp, clean jacket hung off one shoulder, revealing a dark undershirt and broad, pale shoulders.

I gulped. Had I done that? I stared down at my hands, wondering if they were capable of clawing at a thousand dollar suit. While I may not have been the most materialistic of women even I could appreciate luxury when I saw it.

Tsk, tsk, Ellie, I scolded myself. You should ask him for the bill.

But before my mouth could even begin to open, he turned to face me.

Those eyes had returned to normal—that frighteningly cold, impassive gray. His hands were at his throat, adjusting something that must have slipped free. Whatever it was flashed silver in the light.

A necklace?

The chain was delicately slender. As he tucked it back beneath his shirt I caught a glimpse of the talisman on the end of it; a small, silver cross. He had never struck me as the jewelry-wearing sort, and the sight conjured all kinds of nosy little thoughts before I could help it; a token from some past lover? A relic from his human life?

Regardless of the origin, I was depressed to find that yet another vampire myth had been proven false. The only lore I had left to cling to now was some rubbish about garlic.

Dublin didn’t say anything—not that I really expect him to. Instead, he merely watched me, shrugging to adjust that black coat. It was a silent, chilling game, our staring contest, a game that no one won, in the end, because we both turned away at the same time, as if by some silent agreement.

“So …is this it then?” I sounded strangely impatient as I addressed the wall behind his head. Is this it then? Can I die now, and gracefully end my suffering?

He didn’t answer.

I registered every rustle as he stood—to retrieve his pants I guessed. Retie his shoes. Fix that tricky collar so that his tie showed neatly in the middle. Perfect …

Minus the one drop of blood peeking at the corner of his mouth.

He had pierced my skin after all, I realized with a jolt. A tiny smear of red streaked across my chest, unnaturally vibrant. I glanced up to gauge his reaction, only he was already half-way across the room. I wasn’t that surprised when, a second later, the door opened and closed.

He was gone—but it startled me just how much that simple fact stung, as I curled up in the middle of a strange bed, alone with my newest shame.

What now?

Should I stay? Go?

But the only thing I seemed to be capable of was squeezing my eyes shut, blocking out the sight of that room, and just …

Wait.

For sleep?

For Yulia?

For a random burst of lightning to put me out of my misery?

Only God knew what.

CHAPTER 15

Negotiations

“GET UP—”

The cold voice jolted me awake, and my eyes flew open to an unfamiliar room enclosed by ebony walls.

Pain and shame greeted me like two old friends. A cold sweat basted my skin and from the way my cheeks burned, I suspected I’d been blushing in my sleep. To top it all off, my entire body ached inside and out. When I finally gathered the nerve to glance up, I almost hoped to find Yulia standing there beside the bed with a much-needed dose of alcoholic medicine.

Instead I found Dublin, glaring down with empty eyes.

“Get dressed,” he commanded. “Now.”

He tossed something onto the mattress: a black jacket, tailored to perfection. The same one, I realized with a gulp, that he had worn last night. My entire body heated up at the memory, not that I had long to sit and reminisce.

“Unless you want to be around when an entire manor full of vampires bed down,” Dublin called ominously from the doorway, “I suggest you do as I say.”

His tone conjured plenty of frightening possibilities, and I grabbed the jacket and shoved my arm through one of the sleeves without delay.

The garment was large on me and hung down almost to my knees when I stood up. A strange scent lingered in the fabric, making my stomach clench—ice, spice, him. My fingers shook so badly that I barely managed to fasten the topmost button before Dublin marched across the room and grabbed my arm to pull me along.

We entered the deserted hallway in silence—not that we stuck around long enough to greet anyone who might happen to walk by. Dublin was ruthless, dragging me through the corridors in record time. I barely noticed the entryway passing by in a blur before I found myself outside, stumbling down those front steps.

The sky was a faint, navy blue that marked the early morning hour before dawn. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and I could still make out the moon, pale and partially hidden beneath silver clouds.

I guessed it to be four or five in the morning, at least.

A car was waiting nearby and, without hesitation, Dublin wrenched open the passenger-side door and shoved me inside. I scrambled to adjust myself as he circled around to the driver’s side and took the wheel. Without a word, we took off, turning down the driveway and through the main gates that opened, once again, seemingly on their own.

I tried not to ask where we were going but once the city, glowing and vibrant, appeared on the horizon I couldn’t help myself.

“Are you taking me home?”

Why in the hell did I sound so breathless at the prospect?

One night in a spooky vampire mansion and I should have been begging to be taken to Gray Manor. But at the thought of traipsing through those empty halls and back to my own bed …

I shoved my hands into the pockets of his jacket and fidgeted on the leather seat.

Of course, Dublin didn’t answer or even spare a glance in my direction. He seemed entirely too focused on maneuvering through the slumbering city streets. He gave me no clue as to where we were headed, but when the car finally came to an abrupt stop, I felt myself frown in confusion as I took in our surroundings.

Thinking of the posh Cafe Claret and that elegant cathedral residence, I was stunned to find us parked within a narrow, filthy alley. Shadowy figures lingered on the corners nearby, and an odd stench reached my nostrils even with the windows firmly rolled up.

Going off Dublin’s polished persona, it looked like the sort of place he wouldn’t even have his trash dumped in, let alone enter himself. But there he was, already out of the car and pulling open my door without hesitation.

“Come on.”

I had no choice but to climb out onto the pavement after him, painfully aware of my bare feet—as well as the fact that I wore nothing at all beneath his jacket ...

No underwear. No bra. No lacy white nightgown.

My cheeks flamed as I grabbed onto the hem of the coat and tried to yank it down as far as it would go; barely to my knees. Oblivious to my discomfort, Dublin snatched for my wrist, and once again took off with me in tow.

We went down half a block before he pulled me into what appeared to be a small café. A sign on the window claimed “24 hr service.”

It was relatively clean inside, with linoleum floors and blue walls illuminated by a flickering ceiling lamp.

Dublin brought us to a booth in the back corner and shoved me onto the seat before taking the one across from me. When a yawning waitress appeared, he ordered two cups of coffee—black—without asking for my preference and we sat in silence until she returned and placed the steaming mugs down between us.

Warily, I grabbed one, desperate for something to keep me busy rather than twiddling my thumbs. I made a show of pouring in two creams and ripping open exactly three bags of sugar while Dublin watched, his own cup untouched.

With the hot mug in my hand I finally found the strength to voice a question. “Why are we here?”

Something told me that he wasn’t the type to go out for coffee at four o’clock in the morning for the hell of it. Rather than answer me directly, he withdrew something from his pocket—a folded slip of paper—which he carefully unfurled before placing it on the table.

A pen appeared from nowhere to roll in my direction.

“Your time is up,” he told me, eyes on the surprisingly blank sheet. “Usually, this would signal a need to …renegotiate.”

I blinked in shock and took a hasty sip of scalding coffee to hide it. “R-Renegotiate?” I stammered after I swallowed. “F-For what?”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “Surely, even someone like you had planned on bargaining for more than four days?”

More days? Was it funny that I had almost forgotten our little ‘arrangement?’

Though I was more surprised by the fact that he wasn’t running away from me, cursing the day he ever gave me his blood. Instead, he sounded every bit the businessman, and I took another sip, genuinely curious.

What on earth would someone like me do with more time? Contemplate my impending spinsterhood as he had so rudely implied the other day? But then I thought of Georgie and flinched; in all the chaos of the last few days, I had nearly forgotten that I was ‘technically’ dying.

“And what would I have to do?” I found myself asking. “Be put up for auction again?”

I couldn’t disguise my disgust at the mere thought of ever appearing on stage before Saskia.

“No,” he said quietly.

My head jerked up. Eyes wide, I waited for him to continue.

“Rather than the club, this time your contract would solely belong to …me.”

He made it sound so casual. So harmless.

As naïve as he seemed to think I was, even I saw right through the act; brown liquid sprayed in an arc as I choked.

“You? Doing what?” I sputtered, aware that all eyes were on us: the bleary-eyed waitress, the cook, and a yawning janitor in the corner—not that Dublin seemed to give a damn.

“Whatever we agree on,” he replied. “That is the meaning of ‘negotiations,’ after all. What? Don’t believe me?” Suddenly, he reached for the pen and scribbled something on the slip of paper. “I’ll start, then; while not unlimited access to your accounts, I want full use of your name.”

“Like how?” I asked, curious despite myself—even more so at his reply.

“Your endorsement.”

I frowned at a mental image of me smiling while holding up a box of cookies, or whatever else a vampire could possibly hope to sell.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” he added, as if reading my mind. “Your presence would come in handy during several business arrangements. Nothing less. Nothing more.”

“Huh.”

When I didn’t start raving about my name and money Dublin seemed to take it as a sign that I might play along.

He held out the pen.

Negotiations, hm?

“And no more auctions?” I asked just to make sure. My eyes warily drifted over his neat writing: Unlimited use of the Gray name.

“Done,” he said.

“And—” I swallowed. “What about …”

My hesitation alluded to what I couldn’t put into words.

“Yes.” His expression gave nothing away. “Sex will be a part of your bargain; a fair trade for more time—”

“Two weeks,” I interjected, trying to not let my shock show. A ‘fair’ trade? “I …I want just two more weeks.”

More than enough time for me to face Georgie and secure a guardian for Mr. Tinkles. I shuddered at the thought of my poor kitty; he had been neglected for nearly a week now.

Dublin nodded. Fine. “You will have seven days,” he clarified. “And so will I.”

A creeping sensation blossomed in my stomach as I considered it. Seven days for me, with a day spent paying off each one in return, adding up to exactly two weeks.

Talk about a hard bargain.

You should leave, the logical side of me insisted. Just get up and go home. This isn’t right.

I squirmed uneasily and reached for my mug again, only to discover that it was empty.

“What about the club?” I thought of that dark interior with a shudder as I set the mug aside.

His reply was swift. “You will accompany me there should I happen to visit on the days you repay me, and even then you would only service me.”

In other words, I wouldn’t be dressed up and sold off to the highest bidder.

“Oh,” I said. Given the swirl of emotions circling my mind, the word had a million different connotations.

Oh, I’m relieved I won’t be auctioned off like cattle.

Oh, but that means I’ll be at your mercy.

Oh, I am contemplating stealing your coffee out of desperation.

In the end, I couldn’t hide my sigh of relief.

The pen was still in front of me, and I cradled it carefully between my thumb and forefinger before pressing it to the page. It seemed to take an eternity before I gathered enough nerve to write out a single sentence before shoving the page in his direction. I felt like a high school student, passing notes.

Dublin read the line with one pass of those gray eyes; no cuffs.

“Nonnegotiable,” he said, without elaborating on why. He grabbed the pen and, in a smooth stroke, crossed out my words. “But while we’re on the subject ...”

After adding three more sentences, he held the page out for me to read. Considering the nature of them, I assumed that all three ‘conditions’ applied solely to me.

No touching without strict permission.

No kicking.

No shrieking.

I flinched at the last part, remembering his ‘damsel’ insult from what felt like a million years ago. How funny that in reality it had only been a few days. I thought for a minute, mulling over the strange fact that we were negotiating sexual preferences, as part of a contract, in the middle of a half-empty café.

“No kissing,” I added, thinking that the request was fitting enough and without a word, Dublin added it to the list: No kissing, on the mouth.

I wasn’t brave enough to ask why he felt the need to make that distinction. Instead, I wracked my brain, trying to think of something more to add to our strange list of agreements. “What about …b-biting?”

“Another non-negotiable point,” he said quietly. “When I need to feed, you will suffice.”

His eyes met mine for merely a second from across the table and it was like time stopped and then started again in slow motion.

“Do I get to specify anything?” I stammered, trying to regain my senses.

Dublin didn’t play along. “Of course not. My blood, my rules.”

Suddenly, he drew a sharp line across the bottom of the page.

“The terms are set; make your choice, Eleanor. It’s not dotted,” he told me, holding out the pen while I eyed that long, black line. “But I’m sure you know what to do all the same.”

That I did.

Run, Ellie, my inner voice urged. Is your soul really worth two weeks?

After four days with Dublin, it already felt tainted.

But it wasn’t until his cup of coffee had grown ice-cold and a bit of light began to brush the horizon—visible through the café’s only window—that I finally found the strength to pick up the pen ...

And I warily signed my name.

My drying signature taunted me. That piece of paper may as well have been a stone with my fate engraved on it—and, like a fool, I could only sit there, stirring the cold dregs of my coffee with a teaspoon.

“So …what next?” I tried to act nonchalant, while inside I was berating myself.

Silly, stupid, Ellie!

What the hell had gotten into me?

Did I like being threatened or mocked or …pinched?

Had I become some kind of thrill seeker in the span of four days?

I must have; what else could explain it? Something out of this strange arrangement must have appealed to me—enough that I signed again, right on the ‘not-dotted’ line. This time with nearly twice as much at stake, and twice as much Dublin to suffer.

I peered at him from beneath my lashes when he didn’t answer. Those gray eyes were on the menu, as if hash browns and scrambled eggs were more appetizing than gloating over me. However, I didn’t miss how his hand moved to grab the contract from the table and casually slip it into his pocket.

“Why me?” I found myself blurting. Now that I thought about it, the fact that he had brought up the ‘renegotiations’ himself was strange, especially when one factored in the little detail that my very presence seemed to irritate the hell out of him.

Judging by the four a.m. coffee and lack of proper clothing—without his suit-coat, he only wore that black undershirt—I guessed that this wasn’t the normal course of action for him either.

In fact, I got the sense from my few, clandestine dealings with Mr. Helos that he was more accustomed to having people beg for more time rather than bringing up the subject himself.

“Why you?” I added, fingering the rim of my mug. “Why not have my duties tied to the club, like before?”

A part of me wanted to believe that it had something to do with me; that I was special. Different. I had done my ‘bargaining’ well enough that he wanted more …

His reply, of course, was a little less than flattering.

“I wouldn’t dare foist you off on someone else.”

“So then why negotiate at all?” I tossed back. “I would have been more than satisfied with just dying, you know.”

It didn’t matter that the piece of paper in his pocket proved the exact opposite. So what? No matter the contract, I didn’t need Dublin or his time—or so I told myself.

“I told you.” Dublin’s icy tone forced me to meet his gaze—or at least stare at the plastic, vinyl booth behind his head. “Your name and your image could be very useful to me.”

I frowned, remembering his mention of ‘endorsements.’

“So what about the …” I cleared my throat. “Other stuff?”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “Please, Eleanor, for the love of God, do not get any cute ideas—” I blinked, distracted by a single, idiotic thought; were devils even allowed to utter God? “This isn’t about lust, or even attraction,” he added, his voice cutting through my mind like a knife. “Whenever I have ‘needs’ that must be slacked, I would prefer to avoid the hassle of having to purchase a woman every single time.”

He sounded so damn blunt about the fact: You’re just a body. One I don’t even prefer, but when nature calls …

I shouldn’t have felt so insulted. To be fair, it wasn’t exactly like he needed to pay a woman, or indebt one to servitude, for them to sleep with him. Though, even if he did, who was I to judge?

I was the one who’d lost my virginity as part of a business arrangement after all.

“Fair enough,” I said tightly. “And of course this isn’t about attraction; you’re not even my type.”

I had no idea why I was on the defensive. As if piercing eyes, handsome features and a body to die for—though I had never seen it in its entirety—wasn’t my type.

Hell, as sheltered as my life had been …did I even have a type?

I wracked my brain, filtering through the memories of my few childhood crushes for a pattern. Sadly, Dublin did not possess the pimples, freckles, or runny noses that seemed to dominate my past, one-sided relationships.

“This isn’t about attraction,” he reiterated impatiently, drawing me from my school-age memories. “This isn’t even about sex. The only thing that matters is our contract; and if I have to add up your few positive qualities to reach an agreement worth even one day …then I will.”

My teeth descended into my bottom lip—drawing blood—in an attempt to keep from making a sound. I refused to give him the satisfaction of ever knowing just how much those words hurt.

“Here.”

With a thump, something landed on my placemat; a napkin.

Oh. A shiver ran through me, once I realized that Dublin’s gaze had honed in on my bitten lip. Aware of him watching, my tongue flicked out to wipe away the blood. I dabbed at my mouth with the napkin for good measure.

He didn’t say a word as I finally set the crumpled tissue aside.

Taking advantage of the silence, I couldn’t resist asking, “How much did you pay for me?”

My heart lurched at the thought of knowing. I had a feeling the amount was even less than the few dollars I had joked.

Pennies?

“Why?” His tone was hard.

I risked sneaking a peek at those eyes and immediately wished I hadn’t. That gray had taken on a frosty crust in which I could clearly see my reflection: pale skin, massive eyes. An overall mess.

“I’m j-just curious,” I stammered.

His gaze held mine for so long that I swore I could feel frostbite creeping up my toes. Then, all at once, he closed the menu with a thwack!

“You threw out some pretty good guesses last night,” he said harshly. “Take your pick. Five dollars, you said? I’m pretty sure you were in the right ballpark.”

I didn’t quite process the motion of feeling along my seat—searching for something—until Dublin suddenly leaned forward.

“What are you doing?”

I froze. That slight shift of his body was dangerous; a tiger brushing the bars of its cage with the very tip of one claw, warning all within reach to be on guard.

“I …I’m looking for my checkbook,” I croaked—though I guess the search had been more symbolic than anything else, considering that I didn’t even know where my purse was.

“For what?”

His tone dared me to continue, and alarm prickled down my spine. Danger! Danger! Mayday! It was as if he knew what I was going to say, even before I stupidly uttered it. “So that I can write you a check for five dollars—”

“The hell you are.”

His rage was visible only within those silver eyes, but obvious to me nonetheless. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t like owing debts,” I said, gazing down at the cheery menu blazing with its bright colors and promises of “home-cooked” food. “You buying me wasn’t a part of our bargain.” Though, for all I knew that could have been his original plan all along, to save him the humiliation of ever trying to sell me off. “I will repay you the—”

“You will repay me as I see fit,” his voice cut over mine. Abruptly he snatched the menu from the table and practically shoved it onto my lap. “Eat something.”

“W-What?”

“Eat something.”

I stared down at the selection of breakfast foods and rattled off the first item on the list. “I’ll have a …an, um, omelet.”

Dublin snapped his fingers and within seconds the waitress reappeared, looking markedly more alert than she had before. Her brown eyes met mine, and I could only wonder just how much of our conversation she had overheard.

Dublin reiterated my request and with a forced smile she pranced off into the kitchens.

We didn’t speak. Not a word, until twenty minutes later, the waitress returned with a steaming plate of fried egg and two mugs of fresh coffee balanced on a tray.

When she set the food down in front of me, I grabbed a fork and stabbed into a piece of omelet—the moment I did Dublin spoke.

“You can have the rest of today to yourself.”

I glanced up, hearing the fork clatter to the floor before my mind even registered letting it go.

“What?”

His eyes closed. Re-opened and narrowed. I could practically taste his annoyance, mingling with the dregs of old coffee on my tongue.

“Monday you will begin fulfilling your contract,” he continued as if I had never spoken.

“M-Monday?”

Dublin mistook my shock—at the thought that a week of my life had slipped by already—for something else.

“Yes, Monday,” he parroted, amused. “Consider our previous arrangement as a ‘free trial’ of sorts. From now on, any day you bargain for must be paid off in advance.”

I gulped at the implications. “So for the next seven days, I’m …”

His smile was chilling. “Mine.”

I nearly fell off the bench.

He doesn’t mean it that way, a part of me frantically insisted. He probably meant ‘his’ in the same way that car was ‘his.’

Still, I couldn’t breathe.

Unconcerned, Dublin reached for the untouched silverware on his side of the table, grabbed a fork, and held it out to me.

“Eat.”

Warily, I took it, stabbed again at that same piece of omelet and brought it to my mouth. I held it there, weighing my next words carefully in my mind.

“What will I do?”

“Whatever I request.”

I tried to hide my disappointment as I chewed. The food was surprisingly good and I found myself swallowing the last bite before I could help it.

It unnerved me to realize that, the entire time, Dublin had been watching me. The moment I set my fork down, he tossed a wad of money onto the table and stood, reaching for my wrist.

“Have a nice day!” The waitress called as he manhandled me out onto the street.

The car was waiting, untouched, when we reentered the alley.

Around us, the city was just beginning to awaken. There were more people on the streets, I saw, as Dublin navigated through them. He didn’t seem to be heading for the cathedral, but I almost didn’t recognize the imposing monstrosity that was my family home when it finally appeared at the crest of a hill.

How foreign the place seemed to me after only a few days away ...

Even after my stint in the hospital, I didn’t remember feeling quite so cold, staring up at the gray stone—though I was sitting beside a vampire, for God’s sakes.

And the monster in question drove to the front gates without a word. He slowed near the small guardhouse where a bored security guard slumped in the booth.

It was only then that reality sank in.

I had been ‘technically’ missing for nearly four days. Distracted by Dublin, I hadn’t even thought to call. Or send word that I was relatively okay or alive.

Which one? I wondered as I eyed the front of the house through the gate. Had Harper sent the SWAT team or my family’s own private brigade of security guards after me?

“Let me talk to him,” I insisted, as the guard came around to the car. “They’ve probably been worried sick—”

Ignoring me, Dublin pushed the button that rolled down the window and leaned out of it.

“Morning, Lyle,” he greeted, as if I didn’t exist. “How are the kids?”

Lyle made a show of smothering a yawn beneath the back of his hand as he flipped the switch to open the gate. “Same old, same old, Mr. Helos,” he called, waving the car forward. “Welcome back.”

Back? The car lurched into motion and I could only stare, lost somewhere in between ‘Lyle’—whose name I had never learned until now—and the fact that Dublin had inquired about his children.

Without sneers or sarcasm.

Before I could even begin to choke out a request for explanation, he started to speak.

“I’ve kept an eye on the property while you were away,” he explained while navigating the car along the paved driveway. “I’ve also reassured the staff that you would return today.”

“H-How?” I didn’t know if I should have been alarmed by how he parked the car in front of the main walkway as comfortably as if he was the one who lived there.

I was too distracted by the thought of him wandering the halls, speaking to my staff and dolling out orders in my absence.

“How else?” He turned to face me fully, eyes bright in the growing daylight. “I am your new doctor, after all.”

“New …doctor?” My head was spinning.

“Speaking of which, I have your next dose of medication.” As he spoke, he pulled a small object from his pocket; another silver syringe.

I cringed into my seat as the inside of my elbow stung in memory of my last ‘dose.’

If Dublin noticed, or cared, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely tapped the side of the barrel with his nail, mixing the liquid within.

“This should last you for a few days,” he said. “Though it is a heavier dose than you’re used to. I’m hoping that your body has built up enough tolerance by now. You should only be unconscious for a few hours; twenty-four, at most.”

Well, so much for having the day to myself.

I could only stare, about as excited to receive my medication as a five-year old child. Prancing back onto Saskia’s stage butt-naked seemed more appealing than being unconscious for—as he put it—a “few” hours.

But it wasn’t like he asked for permission.

Instead, Dublin merely warned me to “sit still” as he pried my wrist from my body and jabbed the needle into a vein.

I hissed between my teeth as pain ran through me like an electric shock. Sharp. Burning. At the sound, Dublin frowned.

“Count to ten,” he told me, in a tone that challenged me to question him.

I sighed. Hesitated.

“Now, Eleanor.”

“One ...two …three …”

My mouth was still open, reciting numbers, but a funny thing happened between three and five. The world shifted. My heart flipped over in my chest. The sun was brighter than gold on the horizon, distracting me from everything else. And then Dublin himself changed. That white skin became almost translucently pale, as his body elongated like a snake’s. All the while, those gray eyes held me captive.

“Keep counting, Eleanor,” he growled, even as his mouth opened and promptly swallowed me whole.

CHAPTER 16

White

FOR THE FIRST TIME in days, I awoke without being confronted with booze or a frown.

“Good morning, Miss,” a smiling Harper greeted instead as I opened my eyes.

He sat on a chair beside the bed and seemed to be in the process of folding up a newspaper.

I had to blink a few times just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. After the past few days, his sweet, crooked grin was a godsend.

“Where have you been?” I croaked, rushing to sit up. “It’s been days—”

“I’ve been here, Miss,” he said calmly.

If it wasn’t for how the inside of my arm stung from the after-effects of an injection I would have believed that. Before I could question him any further Harper spoke over me.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel …” Respect for the old man was the only thing that kept me from blurting out the truth; like hell. Dead, disgusting, run over and then scraped from the road. “Fine,” I settled on eventually, though I could tell from the way his mouth wrinkled that he didn’t believe me for a second.

“The doctor said you would be sore when you awoke,” he remarked rather than argue. “Shall I have a bath drawn?”

“A bath sounds heavenly.” I sank back beneath my sheets, allowing my eyes to drift shut. Then—as the rest of his words sank in like a punch—they flew open again. “D-Doctor?”

I scrambled out of bed and hit the floor on my hands and knees.

“Yes, doctor,” I heard Harper repeat as he helped me to my feet. “In fact, he wanted to be notified the moment you woke up—”

“He’s still here?” I could taste bile at the back of my throat as I scanned the shadows of my bedroom, searching for that familiar mocking face.

“Yes, Miss. He is in the upstairs solar—”

I didn’t think.

I didn’t even take the time to notice that what I currently wore was way more comfortable than an Armani suit jacket.

Instead, I barreled into the hallway, stumbling like a drunk in the direction of the solar.

It felt as though I had traveled a mile by the time I finally reached that room in the corner of the east wing—though it could have only been a few feet. Then, with fear stabbing my chest, I pushed open the door.

Inside the solar, my two worst nightmares became reality all at once.

The first was Dublin, crouched in the center of the room, wearing another deceptively white ensemble. The second, was the fact that he was stroking a cat, who maneuvered as well as he could—despite missing his hind legs—to get scratched in just the right spot.

My heart plummeted at the sight.

“No!” I threw myself forward without thinking. “Leave him alone!”

The cat hissed at my presence and tried to dart out of reach, but I snatched him up into my arms before he could. Claws dug into my chest. The wheels that he maneuvered on—instead of hind legs—spun uselessly in the air. Loud, angry meows blared through my eardrums, and all the while I glared at Dublin.

“Don’t you ever touch him.”

It didn’t matter that Tinkles apparently didn’t think he needed saving. He was the one creature in the world who couldn’t hop onto a plane when the mood struck him, or disappear on me for days. He needed me and I’d be damned if I let Dublin Helos taint him the same way he’d already tainted me.

“Ever,” I spat, just to make myself clear.

Dublin stood back, watching me through narrowed eyes, but for once, there wasn’t any hostility in them, just a faint amusement that caught me off guard.

“You’re strangling him,” he said, finally.

Sure enough, Mr. Tinkles’ howling had taken on a decidedly desperate quality.

I winced as he delivered a particularly painful scratch to my chin, and let him go. The beast bolted from my arms—but rather than dart into the corner of the room that had been designated for his own personal use, he merely wheeled his way over to the feet of the enemy.

There, he glared at me while hissing: how dare you.

“I wasn’t hurting him,” Dublin insisted as my cat proceeded to rub its body against his legs.

It was a simple display of affection that Tinkles had never shown toward me. In fact, I don’t think he ever let me touch him without attacking.

“Just leave him alone,” I commanded weakly—not that Dublin seemed to be the one in need of hearing those words.

Impatient, my kitty had taken to batting an ivory pant leg with his paw, demanding attention until Dublin had no choice but to sink down on one knee and scratch behind his ears. I could only watch, oddly jealous. While the cat hated my guts, he certainly didn’t seem to mind my tormentor all that much.

Go figure.

“How was he injured?” Dublin asked as he trailed a pale finger along the harness holding Tinkles’ kitty-version of a wheelchair in place.

“A car accident.”

Dublin accepted the information with a nod. “I must admit that I was surprised to find only one cat,” he continued, eyes on Tinkles’ gray backside. “I was sure that you would have had at least a dozen. Though, his name isn’t too shocking; Gabriel,” he read off the collar in disgust.

“His name is Tinkles,” I corrected, a little more harshly than necessary. “He was rescued. Gabriel is the name his original owner gave him.”

“Tinkles?” From his tone, I could guess what even Dublin had enough tact not to say out loud; no wonder he hates you.

“It’s the sound he makes,” I tried to explain, though I damn well shouldn’t have felt the need to. “When his wheels roll across the ground …”

Both man and feline shared a look that made me flush crimson. Women!

I had the strangest, childish urge to stomp my foot; it seemed to be the only course of action I could take without screaming.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded instead, fighting to keep my tone level. “We had an agreement. I thought I was to have this day to myself?”

Though, from what I could tell from the window, the ‘day’ had already passed. Darkness stretched across the sky, black and endless.

“We did, but I wanted to make sure you woke up on schedule. Your body seems to be acting irregularly to the ‘cure.’”

God, he made me sound like a robot that needed fine tuning.

“Well, I’m awake now.”

I stuck my arm out and wiggled my fingers for emphasis. Only then did I fully realize that, during my unconsciousness, someone had dressed me in one of my old nightgowns. This one was plain, with long-sleeves and frilly lace on the hems.

It was something my mother had bought; a garment too modest even for me, which had been politely shoved to the back of my closet, hidden from any maid’s view. I doubted that either of them would have dressed me in it, and I had a sinking suspicion of just who had…

With the hideous white cotton hanging down to my ankles, I probably resembled something out of 19th century Victorian England. Though, I had to admit that the fabric did give me sufficient coverage for once.

I continued to assess the rest of my body, taking mental stock of every bruise and ache. I didn’t feel much of anything, oddly enough—even the places where he had pinched me weren’t sore. Neither were my hips or any other place that should have been hurting. Perhaps rapid healing was a benefit of his so called ‘cure?’

In fact, the only injuries I seemed to possess were the recent results of Tinkles’ claws. I flinched as a cool hand brushed my shoulder and the scratches decided to sting at full force.

“I’m fine,” I choked out before I happened to glance up, and remembered that Dublin wasn’t someone who might be concerned for my welfare.

“They’re deep,” he concluded just by looking at the jagged marks. As he spoke, he withdrew something from his pocket; another handkerchief. “I hope that one of his claws didn’t break off in the wounds. That can be very traumatic for cats.”

Traumatic for cats. I wanted to be annoyed that he seemed to be more concerned for an animal than for me, but I couldn’t disguise a hitch of fear in my voice. “You don’t think? Should I call a vet?”

He gave me an odd look. “He seems to be fine.”

When he offered the handkerchief to me, I obediently pressed it to the side of my neck. By the time I lifted it again, I was surprised by just how much scarlet had seeped into the white cotton.

From beside me, I sensed Dublin stiffen. Rummaging through what little I knew about vampires—the movie versions anyway—I wondered if the sight of fresh blood affected him much like an alcoholic having the world’s best brandy shoved right under his nose.

“Does this bother you?” I asked.

“No.” Though when I peered into his eyes, they had taken on a dangerous, silver sheen. “But you smearing it all over the damn place won’t help either of us.”

He snatched the handkerchief from me, folded it and pressed it to the worst of the wounds. I wanted to be annoyed, but his chill smothered the pain for a brief moment and I lost the urge. To his credit, Dublin dabbed at the blood with the precision of a surgeon, taking care to make sure that not even a drop touched his skin.

Perhaps he was taking his role as ‘doctor’ a little too seriously? I nearly asked, but one look at those eyes and I kept my mouth shut.

He could have been rough, but even I had to admit that his touch this time was oddly …gentle. When the bleeding stopped, Dublin withdrew the cloth, folded it again and turned his attention to the marks on my chin.

“Do you like experiencing pain?” he asked suddenly while mopping up a drizzle of blood. “Or do you just like surrounding yourself with beings that are inclined to cause it?”

We both turned to stare at Mr. Tinkles, who promptly hissed as if to prove that he wasn’t the least bit sorry for hurting me.

“I like being in my house, alone with no one there to judge me,” I replied, surprised by just how hollow the words sounded. I had meant for it to be some snarky quip and it came out more like the morose declaration of a future spinster.

Dublin chuckled low under his breath—the sound was chilling.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He dabbed at another bead of fresh blood with the cloth. “Your staff seem to judge you plenty.”

“M-My staff?”

“Eleanor Gray: so quiet, so mousy, so sweet.” He frowned as if all of those adjectives were the dirtiest of insults. “‘She’s so sheltered. So fragile.’ I think they’ve started a betting pool on when you’ll hang yourself in the foyer.”

It was such a harsh assessment that I had to force down a swallow as the back of my throat tightened.

“My father had a ‘heart attack,’” I said, once I found my voice again. “Which is Gray code for: he blew his brains out in the downstairs study. Mother had an ‘aneurysm,’ which meant that she really took sleeping pills, a bottle of valium and a glass of wine before bed. So you really can’t blame them.”

I certainly wouldn’t fault anyone for betting on when I might ‘off myself,’ for lack of a better term. Hell, Georgie seemed to be the only well-adjusted one in this family and she was off beach-hopping in South America with a man she probably met in the airport parking lot.

I had always been considered the smart, ‘responsible’ one, yet I was going to die in the same house I’d been born in. My fate taunted me and I could only stand there until the icy fingers at my chin finally withdrew.

“Doesn’t it bother you how easily the world writes you off?” His tone wasn’t mocking this time.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I would bet the terms of your contract that some tabloid editor somewhere already has the article with your suicide byline saved to his desktop.”

He watched me, seeming to expect a more dramatic reaction. I merely shrugged.

“That wouldn’t be a very fair bet. I mean everyone dies one day.” I’d been contemplating my own mortality since age thirteen and hadn’t batted an eyelash when presented with a fatal diagnosis.

“Do they now?” His tone was the only indication that I had crossed some invisible line—only I had no idea what it was.

“You look well enough,” he said abruptly, taking me in with one sweep of those eyes. Something told me that he didn’t mean the words as a compliment. “Your body seems to have finally adjusted to the doses.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t feel very adjusted. More ...naked. Unbearably vulnerable. I shivered and crossed my arms, once I realized that I wasn’t exactly wearing anything else beneath my nightgown. He was too close, and my stupid, traitorous body knew it all too well.

“Tomorrow you will accompany me on a business arrangement. Understood?”

I blinked, startled by the sudden change in subject.

Was he asking for agreement? I wondered. Or did he just want me to nod my head like a good little puppet dutifully accepting her orders?

I settled for both. “I understand.”

“And,” he added, his gaze holding mine, as frigid as winter, “I will expect nothing less from you than I would from—”

“‘Any other girl.’ I know, I know,” I blurted. “I am to be obedient and subservient to you, oh Master.” His eyes narrowed in warning, but he didn’t correct my overly dramatic tirade, oddly enough. I gulped, more unnerved than relieved by that fact. “May I ask just what this ‘arrangement’ is for?”

What on earth could he want that his dark brand of charm and intimidation couldn’t get for him?

“No,” Dublin said. “However, I expect for you to be ready and waiting at ten o’clock. I want you dressed appropriately.” He stressed the word. “I’ll even have suitable clothing sent over, so there should be no excuse.”

I cringed at the thought of the kind of clothing he might find ‘suitable.’ A leash and gag to drill home whatever controlling urge he seemed to have over me?

Sadly, with every second that passed, the prospect seemed less fantasy and more likely.

“I wish you hadn’t let Yulia cut your hair.”

I jumped as he reached out and caught a loose curl between his thumb and forefinger. His expression darkened as he tucked it neatly behind my ear.

“You were so much easier to overlook with it down to your waist, falling in your eyes ...”

The words were spoken so softly that I didn’t think he meant for me to hear them—but I took offense anyway.

“Well, I liked you better in white,” I countered—only to realize that, lo and behold, he happened to be wearing that particular color now.

God, Ellie. I shook my head and forced myself to walk to the opposite end of the solar, putting as much distance between us as physically possible. A burst of artificial heat rushed to replace his lingering chill, but I was still shivering. Those gray eyes were steel, pinning me in place, no matter how hard I tried to ignore them.

“Before I knew about your fetish for blood,” I clarified.

“Fetish …” His tongue toyed with the word and somehow that seemed worse than any insult. “I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.”

Suddenly, it became impossible to maintain eye contact. I glanced down to find that Tinkles had returned to his side and was rubbing against his leg, in search of attention.

“Ten o’clock,” he told me, before reaching down to give the cat another scratch behind the ears. “I would suggest that you not be late.”

“I won’t.” I didn’t like the warning in his tone; don’t be late, or else. “Ten o’ clock.”

“Oh …I almost forgot.” He paused near the doorway and nodded towards a chair in the corner. I recognized the shape of my purse resting on top of it. “You left that the other day.”

At his ‘lair,’ I remembered. The fact that he had brought it over shouldn’t have been so surprising—but coming from him? I was shocked.

Without another word he was gone. Some minutes later I seemed to feel him finally leave the manor once and for all. It was as if a black cloud over my head had lifted, but instead of relieved I just felt …cold in anticipation of the next storm.

Ten o’clock was tomorrow’s deadline, and only God knew what he had in store for me then.

CHAPTER 17

Business

AT THE SOUND OF hissing, my eyes flew open to find a furious Mr. Tinkles glaring at me from a corner, canines bared.

Apparently he was not at all pleased that I had spent the night in his personal solar. Too terrified to leave the room—even though I knew that Dublin had long gone—I’d fallen asleep with my back to the wall, chin balanced on my knees. My body ached as I unfurled my limbs, and I had to brace one hand against the wall just to haul myself upright. But once I saw the sunlight streaming through the window, fear instantly overrode any discomfort.

Oh no.

Dublin’s warning rang through my mind; ten o’clock. If my powers of deduction accounted for anything, then it was already mid-morning.

“Damn!”

I leapt over Tinkles, who had begun to stalk toward me, claws drawn, and I raced into the hall.

“Morning, Miss!” a servant greeted as I rushed passed. I barely managed to squeak out a halfhearted reply before staggering into my bedroom in search of something ‘suitable’ to wear.

The clock on the wall gave me less than an hour’s time and I had no idea where to begin. I eyed my closet, doubtful I had anything in there that might satisfy Dublin. It was only when I took a step towards it in defeat that I saw them.

Several black garment bags rested on my bed, each bearing a purple emblem reading Mystic. Fingers shaking, I grabbed one at random and gathered enough nerve to undo the zipper.

It was worse than I’d imagined.

While not exactly a leash or gag, the short black dress was just as intimidating. I couldn’t shake the paranoid suspicion that Dublin had picked it out only to reinforce that I didn’t belong.

Still, I had no choice but to pull the dress on over my head and creep over to the mirror. On me, the posh, sophisticated garment was a shapeless sack. It was as if I was cursed with the ability to ruin the allure of anything fashionable simply by wearing it.

“Suitable, suitable,” I muttered under my breath, as if just saying the word might magically transform me into someone who didn’t look so damn awkward. I briefly considered the idea of using makeup to salvage some semblance of beauty.

In the end, I settled on dragging a brush through my hair in the hopes that a few neat curls might help distract from my overall appearance. Once finished, I re-entered the hall with only minutes to spare.

I rushed back to the solar for my purse before stumbling down the stairs and out of the door just as a black car sped up the driveway. It came to a stop a few feet away, and I fully expected that stern-faced driver to be the one to climb out and greet me.

A flawless Dublin Helos did instead.

The man gleamed in a pair of gray pants and a white shirt crowned by a crisply starched collar. I felt struck dumb watching him, breathless.

At least until he caught sight of me standing on the front step and frowned. “You look even worse in black.”

I flinched and self-consciously ran a hand along the silky hem. “It’s what you sent for me.”

Therefore, my apparent ‘unsuitableness’ was entirely not my fault.

“I know that. But, damn …” He crossed the main courtyard and cupped my chin in his palm. Those eyes were hidden behind the lenses of sunglasses, thank goodness. But all the same, I had no trouble picturing the glare he wore underneath. “You look like an undead schoolgirl playing dress-up on Halloween.”

Considering which one of us was truly ‘undead’ in this situation, the insult stung twice as much.

“I did what you told me to,” I said in my defense. “S-Sir.”

We were playing his game again, I remembered, by his rules, and I wasn’t inclined to give him the satisfaction of berating me already for not following them. With his eyes hidden, I couldn’t tell if my use of the word surprised him or not. He merely held my gaze for a second longer before turning back to the car.

“That you did,” he muttered while wrenching open the passenger-side door. “Get in.”

I had no choice but to follow and shimmy onto the leather seat. He closed the door behind me and I tried to remember how to breathe while he circled around the car.

In and out, Ellie. Easy does it.

He didn’t explain where we were going, and I was much too pathetic to ask. I merely sat there, peeking out the window as we headed into the city. It was much like that impromptu trip to the Cafe Claret; with him, I saw the city differently. Everything didn’t seem quite as distant as it had when glimpsed from the tinted windows of my family’s car.

Light glinted off the windows of skyscrapers. The crisp lines of buildings and streets were sharper, bolder. The world had color. Clarity. It was a far cry from the gray, lifeless universe I was used to having stare back at me—but I wasn’t sure if I liked this new view much, either.

Eventually, the car came to a stop. Glancing out of the window, I expected to find the intimidating front of Anemia or some other club—maybe that mysterious manor? Anything other than a gleaming building complex with a statue of Hippocrates out front and a massive sign reading, Helos Industries.

I gulped, blinked, rubbed my eyes and looked again.

“You … You own this?”

I wasn’t that surprised when Dublin exited the car rather than answer me. In a matter of seconds he was by my side, ushering me out onto the curb.

“You own this?” I repeated, staring up at the gleaming letters that spelled out his name.

The building sat in the center of a massive, sprawling compound, surrounded by a lush garden that reminded me of an oasis smack-dab in the middle of the city.

“‘Own’ is such a relative term, Eleanor,” he drawled as we made our way down a paved path and through a pair of sleek glass doors.

But his name was definitely the only one plastered all over the white lobby in gleaming letters. The secretary sitting behind the counter nearly fell out of her chair when he approached.

“Mr. Helos! Sir—”

“Morning, Becky.” He pulled off his sunglasses with one hand and faced her head-on. “Is the boardroom ready?”

“Yes, sir.” Beneath that silver stare Becky blinked repeatedly and seemed to struggle to find more words. “Mr. Haswell is already waiting—”

“Excellent.”

Without looking back, Dublin reached for my wrist and pulled me along. I had to jog just to keep pace with him as he crossed the wide lobby and entered an elevator. Once inside, he let me go and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

“Why are we here?” I asked, though the answer was pretty obvious; the devil had an office in which to conduct his nefarious business.

Go figure.

“To fulfill your bargain,” he replied, proving my suspicions to be true. “There is a man who has an asset that I want. You are going to convince him to give it to me.”

“Convince?” I squeaked. “M-Me? How?”

He rolled his eyes while folding his sunglasses. “With your charm and wit, of course.”

Which gave me nothing to go on at all.

Noticing my frown, he scoffed in exasperation. “Use that brain of yours, Eleanor. I shouldn’t have to explain everything in black and white.”

My throat went dry at a sudden possibility. Would I have to ‘persuade’ him in the same way that I …

“Don’t let your imagination get the best of you, either,” Dublin warned just as the elevator doors slid apart, revealing a hallway lined with plush black carpet and gray walls. “If he was that sort of man I would have just borrowed a girl from Saskia.”

I was unsure whether or not to be insulted. Either way, I hated myself for the pout that pulled on my lower lip. “You are so beneficial to my self-esteem,” I grumbled under my breath, eyes on the floor.

It was only when he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze that I realized he had heard me. Those gray eyes held mine for merely a second, blazing.

“You’ll do fine,” he said before letting me go.

I gaped at him, speechless. Was that—dare I say it—encouragement?

“Because if you don’t,” he added as he turned away, “that would be a violation of our agreement.”

Before I could respond, he exited the elevator, pulling me after him, and I promptly lost the ability to speak at all.

I had rarely traveled the halls of my family’s businesses. “Man’s work,” Mother would sniff at the suggestion. In her opinion, our time was better spent suffering through dull teas with her equally emotionless, but well-connected, ‘friends’ while Father was busy trying to turn our millions into billions.

Even after their deaths I could count the number of times I had visited the business headquarters on a single hand—and even they didn’t look anything like this.

With steel gray walls and a sleek floor plan, the interior of ‘Helos Industries’ was the sort of place that I had no trouble imagining Dublin in; impressive, but with a dark air that instantly put your entire body on guard.

I tried not to gape as he led me into a spacious boardroom where a window displayed a stunning view of the courtyard. A man sat at the head of a table in the center of the room, watching us enter with shrewd eyes.

“Well, Helos,” he grunted as Dublin all but shoved me into the nearest seat before taking the one beside me. “I’m here. What the hell do you want now? Another permit for one of your shady dealings?”

The tone was hostile, but Dublin just smiled, the picture of an unfazed businessman.

“Not today, Eric,” he said. “But my friend here would like to negotiate instead.”

Suddenly, the attention turned to me, and it took every ounce of pride I had to keep from curling into a ball underneath my chair.

“Her?” The stranger’s expression was downright caustic as he glanced me over from head to toe and sneered. “She wants a multi-million-dollar tract of land? For what—to ride ponies? Where the hell did you find her, Helos? Bible study?”

Unsurprisingly Dublin didn’t try to defend me. Instead, he sat there, eyes on the wooden table and I got the sense that he was waiting. For something I was supposed to initiate, apparently. I recalled his words from the other day. I want your endorsement.

“I … I’m twenty-six,” I stammered.

“You don’t look a day over fifteen,” the man replied, taking in my pale skin and lack of makeup. “Where did you grow up? A nunnery?”

“Boarding school,” I countered. “Twelve years in England.”

That seemed to interest him. He sat straighter. “England? Which school?”

Warily, I rattled off my alma mater and his eyes widened with recognition. “Not just any girl could get into that playpen for high society.”

His disgust matched mine perfectly and with a smile I stuck out my hand.

“Eleanor Gray, at your service.”

“Gray?” He took my hand and gave it a firm shake while Dublin watched without venturing a word. “The Eleanor Gray?” I didn’t know that I was important enough to have a ‘the’ before my name, but I nodded all the same. “Your family owns the knife business, correct?”

“Cutlery,” I corrected with a small smile.

Considering how sheltered my upbringing had been, it was almost ironic that my family’s fortune had been built upon a company that manufactured some of the finest blades and cutlery in the world. The Queen of England no doubt cuts filet mignon with Gray silverware, Mother used to smugly remark.

“Please, you can call me Ellie.”

“Haswell,” the man blurted in response. “Eric Haswell.”

I looked at him with new eyes. Now that he wasn’t frowning, he didn’t look quite so old—maybe forty—with just a hint of gray mingling with the strands of his dark hair. He had kind blue eyes, and judging from his attire I guessed that he was some sort of businessman, though one who didn’t seem to operate in the same ‘trade’ as Dublin.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Eleanor,” he said in a slightly deeper tone than before. He seemed to be seeing me differently, too—I didn’t miss how his eyes darted to my purse and I swore they flashed dollar signs.

“Ellie,” I insisted, shifting in my seat.

I wished that Dublin would tell me what the hell he wanted from me. Sitting there, I was clueless, while Eric Haswell eyed me like a shark sensing fresh blood.

“I didn’t know that you were interested in the Lakewood property,” he said finally. “And if I had, I would have preferred that you meet me alone. How the hell do you know this cad, anyway?” He jerked his head in Dublin’s direction.

Oh, him? Well, he just owns my soul.

It wasn’t until an elbow rammed into my side that I realized I had said the words out loud.

Oops. Dublin glared, while Haswell just looked confused.

“What?”

“D-Dublin is an old business acquaintance.” I was surprised by how easily the lie rolled off my tongue. “When he mentioned the …property, I just had to express my interest. My father taught me the importance of investments, you see.”

Thank God that my father had actually instilled within me a sense of navigating business deals; or, as he had called it, “Verbal Poker.” As a child, after Mother had drifted off to bed clutching her nightly brandy, I would stay up, tasked with charming his business buddies out of house and home by way of pleasant small talk and shy smiles.

After all, no one suspected the sweet, innocent Gray girl of sneaking a peek at their cards while they weren’t looking. Eric Haswell seemed no different, and I tried my hardest to seem as polite and meek as possible.

“Is it still available?” Only God knew what Dublin wanted with a piece of land—construction of his own personal dungeons? But that touch at my side became insistent; go on. “T-To purchase?”

Haswell’s eyes narrowed and cut to Dublin. “Where the hell did you find her, Helos?” He wondered. “Maybe you really do own her ‘soul’ after all?”

I burst into a loud round of nervous laughter. Ha! Ha! Ha! Really …

Dublin didn’t speak and with a sigh Haswell turned back to me.

“You want the land?” he began warily. “What for?”

“I …um … For?” I winced as cool fingers pinched my side. “Personal use!”

Haswell studied my expression with one brow raised. “Personal use?”

I could only nod, hoping he believed me—though I wasn’t quite sure why I suddenly cared whether or not I failed, Dublin’s threat aside. As far as I was concerned, the man didn’t need anything that might further his devious plans, whatever they may be.

Haswell watched me for the longest time. Then he sighed. “Damn it, Helos, you win. I have never been able to resist a young woman’s charm.”

I was still reeling over the fact that someone had called me ‘charming’—even indirectly—when the two men suddenly reached across me to shake hands, and the conversation turned to talk of ‘settlements’ and ‘deeds’ and ‘land value.’

What had to be only ten minutes later, they both stood, leaving me to scramble to my feet.

“I’ll have the paperwork on your desk by tomorrow morning,” Haswell promised, adjusting his tie. “And the next time we meet, please do bring the intriguing Miss Gray.”

He took my hand and gallantly pressed his mouth to my skin. His warmth was a shock when compared with Dublin’s chill.

“Goodbye, Ellie.”

I attempted to choke out a reply only to find myself dragged down the hallway after Dublin before I could. We’d gone only a few feet before he pulled me into another room; an office this time.

“Not bad,” he admitted, letting me go. “I’ve been working on getting that damn land from Haswell for nearly a year now, and you’ve manage it in a day.”

Did I dare assume that awe colored his voice?

“What did you want it for, anyway?” I found myself asking while I rubbed at my chilled wrist.

After all of his mystery and suspense regarding the ‘business arrangement’ I had to admit that a simple deed purchase did seem rather anticlimactic.

“For a reason that you do not need to concern yourself with.”

I tried a different tact. “So, is he one of your contracts?” I nervously scanned the room as I spoke.

All in all, the entire space could be summed up by a few keywords; simple, clean and utilitarian—definitely his. The layout was neatly arranged, with an oak desk in the center and a row of fully lined bookshelves along the back wall. A large window overlooked the gardens down below.

“No. The bastard doesn’t know what I am,” Dublin said. “And while I would love to have control of his assets, he is not desperate enough to bargain with. For now.”

For now.

It all sounded so …calculated. Had he watched me the same way? Waited for that moment when I was apparently ‘desperate’ enough to take up his bargain?

The thought gave me chills and I staggered over to the window, huddling beneath the warm rays of sunlight streaming in.

“You did well,” Dublin said a moment later, and I was stunned by the fact that he seemed so surprised to admit it. You did well. It wasn’t a complete loss bringing you along after all. Quick! Look out of that window there and wave hello to the flying pigs.

Considering his mood, I decided to risk asking another question—one I knew he would never normally tolerate.

“What makes you decide to offer someone a contract?”

In other words; me.

His answer came without hesitation. “They possess something of value, something worth more time.”

Fair enough.

“So, what happens if someone wants out before their contract ends?” I turned to face him, watching the sun reflect off his pale skin. “Say they change their mind halfway through?”

“All debt must be repaid.” A warning laced his tone: so don’t get any ideas.

We stood there for a moment, just staring at each other. Then he sighed and ran a hand through that golden hair. “You’ve fulfilled part of your bargain,” he admitted reluctantly. “Were you anyone else, I might even offer you a reward.”

Uh-oh. Something told me that he wasn’t the sort to dole out sweets and candy as thanks for being a good girl. His idea of a ‘treat’ was probably another’s idea of cruel and unusual torture.

Still, curiosity had me in its grasp and I couldn’t escape it.

“Like what?” I blinked and suddenly he was in front of me. Every muscle in my body tightened as his icy fingers skimmed my jawline before he cupped my chin entirely in his palm.

“What would you want?” His tone threw me off. For once, I couldn’t sense any irritation or anger. Just …curiosity.

My mouth opened. “I …”

But my mind went blank.

“Hmm. I suppose that’s a trick question,” he said finally. His head was tilted to the side, thumb centered on the globe of my chin. “After all, what could the heiress, who’s always had everything, possibly want?”

I winced at his insinuation. “I have not always had everything.” Though, when I tried to consider what I had ever gone without, I couldn’t come up with a single thing. “I’ve just never wanted anything,” I finished weakly.

To my defense, the so-called ’coveting’ of luxury items had been deemed ‘tacky’ by my mother and therefore taboo. A pretty pathetic reason, but if such a thing as ‘sheltered heiress syndrome’ existed you would find my picture in the dictionary alongside a fitting definition: Always needs someone to tell her what to do, think and/or feel in order to properly function as a human being.

Dublin wasn’t satisfied with my answer. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be? Even for someone like you, there must be one thing.”

I was surprised to find that, once again, he sounded genuinely curious. My mind spun as he released me and turned his attention to the window, watching the daylight filter down. But I wasn’t fooled—he still wanted an answer.

“Anything?” I wracked my brain for an interesting reply, desperately trying to combat a voice—distinctly my mother’s—that shot down every thought.

Diamonds? Gaudy!

New clothes? A waste!

A lion? Tiger? Bear?

Impractical! Useless! Selfish!

“A ring,” I settled on finally, surprising myself. “One of those cheap, plastic rings that everyone just throws away because it turns your finger green.”

I had never had one, of course, but at school some of the braver girls would sometimes sneak into town and bring back their “treasures” from a few hours spent outside the lap of luxury: cheap jewelry, candy and toys.

“A ring?” Dublin repeated. I jumped as his voice brushed my ear in a burst of cool air. He was closer than I had realized. “Of all the things in the world, you would choose a ring?”

His tone told me just what he thought of that, but I nodded, unashamed.

“The cheapest, tackiest thing I could find.”

“Of all the ... I would have thought that even someone like you might have a more interesting wish.”

I turned to face him. “What is that supposed to mean? Sir,” I added hastily.

“It means …” He began to advance at a pace that had me instinctively backing up. For every step he took, I scrambled back two. “Eleanor Gray, the twenty-six year old virgin—until two days ago—wants nothing more in life than a plastic ring. I must say that I’m rather disappointed.”

He took another step. Another. I knew I was trapped even before my hip hit the side of the desk.

“W-What else is there?”

I gulped as hands colder than ice caught me by the waist and lifted me on top of the desk before I could even blink. I tried not to react as his arms trapped me on either side, locking me in place. A shudder rippled down my spine as my eyes seemed to focus on his against my will.

He held my gaze for so long that I felt dizzy. Weightless.

“What else is there?” he repeated under his breath. “I can think of a few things.”

My mind ran wild. Vulgar, primal things. Ice-on-the-tongue, breathless and panting things …

I struggled to breathe, hating myself for the weak little flutters that came to life inside my belly—especially when his hand disappeared between us to trail the length of my inner thigh.

CHAPTER 18

Fuel To The Fire

HE STROKED ME THROUGH the silky material, and I couldn’t believe that my body was capable of feeling so many emotions at once: fear, shame, and something else that made it so much easier to ignore the first two.

Heat flared with every light caress—hot, hotter, searing—smothering my own half-hearted protests before I could even voice them; this is indecent! Bad Ellie!

All the air left my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Think.

Sitting there, on the edge of the desk, I was trapped, and Dublin’s cold smile told me that he was well aware of the fact.

With a shift of his body he leaned closer, placing his mouth directly against my ear.

“I believe that your body has different needs besides just a cheap, plastic ring,” he informed me, unnervingly matter-of-fact. “Different wants …”

A lump formed at the back of my throat—choking me—as his hand slid between my knees and nudged them apart. Before I could react, he seized the hem of my dress between two fingers and began to draw the fabric up, pausing before he could reveal more than just mid-thigh.

“Should I stop?”

I blinked and tried to remember English. Stop? What’s that?

“Eleanor?” His tone was impatient, but the way his thumb toyed with the flesh of my inner thigh made it impossible for me to form a coherent response. “Use your manners; is this a suitable reward?”

On ‘this’ he brushed me through the lace of my panties and I nearly came off of the desk. Instinctively, my hands flew out on either side to grip the edge of the wood for dear life.

Breathe! I was so lost in the sensations swirling through my body that I almost missed what he said next.

“I can’t hear you. Should I stop?”

Say yes! Before I could even open my mouth, the pad of his thumb began to ease beneath the rim of cotton …

And I was lost.

Fire licked up and down my spine as he carefully began to pull back the material from sensitive flesh. As if of their own accord, my legs sprung apart, freeing that touch to roam …and all the while, he spoke heatedly into my ear.

“Should I stop, Eleanor?”

My teeth descended into my bottom lip so fiercely that I tasted blood—all in an effort to hold back a reply. Pain rose up to combat the pleasure, but it was a losing battle; I had begun to arch into his touch, anyway.

“You want this,” Dublin murmured as if reading my mind, voicing what I wouldn’t say.

Oh, God. I did. I wanted it—this hazy pleasure he promised.

It was wrong. I had no idea why my body reacted this way, only to him, but …

I couldn’t pull away.

Without warning, he added a second finger alongside the first, twisting and teasing my senses into oblivion.

I felt nothing—and then I felt everything. Sensation exploded in dizzying degrees and I could only fight to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head as Dublin steadily gave me my ‘reward.’

He was gentler than he’d ever been before, caressing my flesh with an intimate knowledge that made my skin flush with shame. In and out …

Around.

I couldn’t deny the ache that had my hips arching into him despite myself, seeking more, more, more!

With every stroke, that inferno raged higher, pushing me closer to a terrifying promise that made my mouth water in anticipation. A desperate thought played like a song through my mind; so close. I could only cling to the desk for dear life as Dublin delivered one last brutal stroke …

The last thing I was aware of was falling back against the desk. My mouth was open, but little sound came out. In fact, it seemed way more important to focus on just breathing as reality splintered into a million jagged pieces.

When clarity finally returned, it came in tiny snatches.

Piercing gray eyes burning through my blurred vision.

The fact that my dress had been shoved up over my waist.

That I was slung over the side of a desk like a cheap, tawdry office slut.

Oh God.

I pulled myself upright, wincing as the last tendrils of heat flared and died. Dublin stood a few paces away from me, tugging at his collar, and I wondered in horror if I had clawed at his clothing again.

That crisp white shirt wasn’t the only thing out of place.

One of my heels had fallen to the floor. A stack of papers had been knocked off the desk—disrupting the otherwise neat and clean office.

As I struggled to collect my senses, Dublin waited.

One hand toyed with a button at the hollow of his throat, while the other hung down by his side. My cheeks burned with shame as I observed those slightly curved fingers.

“Satisfied?” he asked, eyes burning bright.

I choked on my own voice. It took me a good five minutes before I could even remember how to form a proper sentence.

“I … I—”

“It’s polite to thank someone who has bestowed upon you a gift,” he reminded in a casual tone, cutting over me.

My stomach flipped. Gift?

“T-Thank you.”

His eyes narrowed, expectant, and I hastily added a whispered, “Sir.”

He stood there for a few seconds. Then his hand fell from his collar and he turned away from me. A single jerk of his head was my only indication to follow, as he crossed the office to stand beside a different door than the one we had entered through.

I slid off the table, sinking down to my knees, and grabbed my fallen shoe from the floor. Then I stood and crept after him, painfully aware of every single nerve in my body.

He pushed open the door to reveal a small bathroom and entered first, washing his own hands at the marble sink with a silent vigor.

I watched him, oddly entranced as the water glanced off that pale skin. Without shutting off the faucet, he dried his hands on a rag fished from underneath the counter and faced me, eyes silver.

“Come here.”

My body jerked forward, tethered to the sound of his voice, unable to resist. The moment I came close enough, he grabbed me by the arm and steered me before the counter.

I faced my reflection as I would a stranger.

My eyes were wide—enormous. I could make out every single shade of green swirling through the irises. I had this distant, far-off look, like the survivor of some traumatic, life changing catastrophe.

Numb, I could only stand there as Dublin wet another fresh cloth and then crouched down before me on one knee.

“N-No! You don’t have to ...” I jerked back, shaking my head, but his free hand latched onto my wrist and the pad of his thumb brushed the back of my hand in warning. Stay still.

I hissed out a sigh and tilted my head back to stare at the ceiling while those icy hands pulled the rest of my underwear down my legs.

“W-why?” I stammered when he tossed the black cotton into a nearby trash can.

He didn’t answer, and I could only grit my teeth as he brought the cloth down between my legs.

He swiped a few times with the washrag and then dried with a towel. The whole time I tried to reiterate to myself that his touch was just as detached as a real doctor’s would be…

So why the hell couldn’t I breathe even as the warmth of the water replaced his icy chill?

When he finished, Dublin stood up and yanked my hem back down. Then he switched off the water and maneuvered me back into the main office with one hand on my shoulder.

“I have another meeting in an hour,” he declared, closing the bathroom door behind us.

I gulped. Another ‘arrangement?’ Even more terrifying: another chance to earn a ‘reward’?

“But you’ve done enough for today,” he continued before the dark fantasies in my mind could truly take off. “I’m sending you home. Though, I’ll have you stop for new clothes, first. Obviously none of my selections are fitting and I’d rather not have you looking like an underage convent escapee.”

He turned back to the desk and settled himself into the plush chair behind it, while I just stood there, still with one heel dangling from my fingers.

“Leave?” My voice was unusually high pitched. I felt like a child who wasn’t sure if they had just received a spanking or a cookie—albeit a frozen, bitter, mind-altering cookie.

Dublin bent to retrieve the stack of papers I’d knocked off and shoved them into a drawer. Then he sat back and laced his hands together behind his head.

“Yes. Follow the hallway down to the elevators. Go to the first floor. Becky will show you out and the car is waiting out front.”

Everything sounded so neat, precise. Though, after glancing around his flawless office, I was pretty sure by now that he was a perfectionist.

In fact, the only thing remotely out of place in the entire building was me, standing there with my hair in my eyes and one sad heel on my foot.

“Most people would take this opportunity to leave now,” Dublin said quietly, expression unreadable. “Unless you would like for me to find something else for you to do …”

I turned and staggered through the door before he could do just that. In the elevator I managed to slip on my other shoe, but I was in a daze as I wandered past a smiling Becky, who chirped a pleasant goodbye I barely heard.

The sunlight was blinding as I made my way through the sleek glass doors and out into the courtyard. Sure enough, parked beside the curb was that infamous black car and the familiar driver standing beside it.

Without a word, he held the door to the backseat open for me and I scrambled inside. It seemed like once the door closed behind me, my brain felt it was the time to swarm me with a barrage of images; Dublin. Me. Ice.

I was hyperventilating by the time the driver took the steering wheel and pulled away from the Helos Industries complex. Recalling Dublin’s last words, I expected that—ten minutes later—when the car finally came to a stop, it would be in front of Gray Manor.

Not a plain brick building without so much as a sign on the front. The driver exited the car and came around to my end without a word of explanation.

“Is this …the right place?” I asked, fearfully eyeing the battered front door.

“Yes, Miss.” The driver nodded. “Mr. Helos mentioned something about clothing.”

Oh. I shuffled forward, daintily placing my heels on the curb—though I had no idea what kind of clothing could possibly be bought in a place like this. The driver didn’t give me any hints or words of encouragement as I straightened my back, wobbling a little in my heels.

It felt very much like that first night at Anemia …

I had no choice but to wander toward that battered metal door and hope that nothing nasty waited inside.

CHAPTER 19

King Me

I LINGERED OVER THE threshold while my eyes adjusted.

I couldn’t make out much, just a high ceiling and cavernous space. The only light came from a naked bulb dangling in the center of the room, and at first glance, the building appeared to be deserted.

At least until I noticed a flicker of motion to my right.

“This venue is by appointment only!” The voice came from behind what seemed to be a moving stack of clothing. It swayed unsteadily on pale legs supported by dangerously high heels. “If you would like to make an appointment then please call—Oh!”

The clothes fell to the floor, and an exhausted-looking Yulia stepped out from around the pile.

“Eleanor!” She wore another black dress and her dark hair was twisted into a loose bun on top of her head. “Dublin did mention something about sending you over … Oh my—” She broke off frowning as she took in my appearance, hands on her hips. “I warned him that those clothes would not suit you.”

Before I could offer a word in my defense, she turned and beckoned me forward with a wave of her hand.

“Come. Let’s see what we can find.”

I hurried after her, gaping as I did so.

The place appeared to be a warehouse, enclosed by metal walls. Burgundy carpet and a pair of leather couches in the far corner added a touch of homeliness, but nearly every inch of the room was dominated by a maze of shelves, all sporting countless fabrics: brightly colored silks, velvets and delicate cotton.

It was a seamstress’ dream.

As Yulia led me deeper into the chaos, I noticed a familiar emblem emblazed in the middle of the floor: a silver crescent moon with Mystic written in flowing script across the bottom. The clothing Dublin had sent me had come from here, apparently.

“Is this your…store?” I asked, glancing around—though I couldn’t see a single salesperson, let alone a cash register.

Yulia paused to dig through a stack of fabric on a nearby shelf. “I suppose you could call it that—” She waved a bit of silver cloth triumphantly through the air before rummaging through another pile. “We all have our day jobs.”

“Like Dublin,” I grumbled, thinking of that gleaming office building.

“Yes.” She glanced at me from over her shoulder. “Like him.” Her mouth remained open, as if she meant to say something else. Then she seemed to think better of it and snatched up another random bit of cloth instead.

“Come,” she commanded, moving toward the room’s center. “Per Dublin, you are ‘forbidden’ from wearing white.” Her scoff revealed what she thought about that. “And black just does not work.”

I glanced down at Dublin’s creation and wholeheartedly agreed with that assessment.

“I suppose we’ll have to try gray next.” I blinked as Yulia twirled around and draped a bit of gauzy fabric over my shoulders.

With a tug here, and a pinch there, she arranged the material to her liking. Every now and again she paused to pin everything in place with a needle seemingly pulled from nowhere, forming a makeshift dress over my black one.

“It’s not as flattering as the white,” she admitted as she settled another scrap of gray fabric against my throat. “But it doesn’t make you look quite as helpless as the black.”

Nodding to herself, she began to unpin all the work she had just done and gathered the fabric in her arms.

“I should be able to whip up a few things tonight and have them sent over in the morning.”

I could only stand there, stunned by the whirlwind fitting session. “So …you’re a fashion designer?”

Now her role as ‘stylist’ at the club made perfect sense, though I guessed from her sly expression that it wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

“Something like that,” she said, while folding all the fabric over the crook of her arm. “We all have our own …talents.”

“So,” I blurted, desperate for answers, “does that mean that Dublin really is a doctor?”

An invisible curtain fell across her face, blocking off all emotion. “He should be the one to tell you that.”

I swallowed back a protest, irritated by the mystery. How hard was it to just come out and say the truth, without riddles or double-talk?

“Oh, like how he ‘told’ me about the ‘auction’ or the ‘bidding,’” I wondered before I could stop myself. “Or how much he even spent on me?”

“Eleanor …”

“Or,” I added, suddenly furious though I had no clue why, “how he was able to weasel his way into my household? Or why he even offered me a contract in the first place? And who is this Raphael person anyway?”

I broke off panting, only to realize—as my voice echoed back at me—that I had been shouting.

“I know this is confusing for you,” Yulia began softly. “I can’t tell you much. I can’t. But ...I can try to fill in the basics as much as possible.”

I didn’t miss how she stressed that word—can’t. Perhaps her silence was more than just loyalty to Dublin? The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

“Here, sit down.” She nodded to a leather chaise, and I obediently perched myself on the very end of it.

“Now, Eleanor, what you need to understand is—” Abruptly, she broke off, shook her head, and seemed to change tactic. Sitting down beside me, she raised both hands and formed a triangle by connecting her thumbs and forefingers. “The business that Dublin and I ‘work’ for, so to speak, is like this triangle,” she began. “There is only one person at the top—”

“Raphael,” I guessed, and she nodded.

“Yes. Directly below him are ‘commanding officers,’ of sorts.” Something told me that Dublin and Mikhail fit into that category. “And then below that …”

She paused expectantly and surprisingly I knew the answer.

“Peons.” Or in this case, people like me tethered to a contract.

One of my father’s associates had spoken of his own business in the same way, after he’d had one too many glasses of wine.

Yulia nodded again. “Peons. Pawns—whatever you want to call them, they provide support for the …business.”

Something in her tone warned me that she wasn’t just speaking about some kind of money-oriented pyramid scheme.

“You mean, like a society?”

Those green eyes flashed, but she didn’t answer—at least not directly. Instead, she shifted, folding her hands neatly on her lap and turning to face me head on.

“Hypothetically speaking, how would such a society be able to exist, parallel to yours?”

She waited until I finally answered, taking a stab in the dark. “By having friends in high places?”

It was something that my father had claimed to rely on. ‘Charming, powerful friends,’ otherwise known as blackmail.

Yulia nodded once again. “Very high places, and very many friends who are bound to this hypothetical world by favors.”

A nice way of saying ‘contracts,’ I supposed, but the thought was alarming. One Dublin was enough— but she made it seem like there was a whole network of ‘contractors,’ with even more contracts spread between them.

In other words: a secret, shadowy world, complete with its own rules.

“Those ‘favors’ allow this society to exist in secret,” she went on, “but everything comes with a price. A price that must be paid—by anyone wishing to partake in this hidden world—to one person.” She connected two fingers together, forming part of a triangle once again.

“Like, to a king?” I supplied, playing along with the guessing game.

Yulia smiled but there wasn’t any warmth in it, just an ageless chill that made me shudder.

“Ah, but ‘king’ is such a mortal concept,” she said. “After all, how can one be a ‘king’ without a set reign? Do you know of any rulers who’ve held power for centuries? Millennia?”

I gulped at the prospect. Frankly, I never wanted to meet a man who could amass that kind of power.

“So all contracts belong to this …not-king?”

Or, in other words, Raphael.

“All are owned by him, usually,” Yulia corrected.

I frowned. “But I thought you said that—”

“Usually,” Yulia insisted. “But in rare cases, the contracts of certain individuals have been known to change hands, for a price.” I was lost, but those green eyes were insistent, unnerving. They peered deep into my soul, willing me to see whatever she seemed to be unable to say. “For a price, sometimes the contract of another can be bought,” she repeated. “And a very steep one, at that.”

Oh. Suddenly it clicked. ‘Bought,’ like mine had been apparently by Dublin.

“What kind of price?” I pressed when she didn’t continue.

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug.

“You tell me; what is your soul worth?”

The words struck deep. There was something hidden within them; a message she seemed desperate for me to understand, though her cryptic tale ended on that note.

“It’s getting late,” she declared, rising to her feet, though I was pretty sure that it wasn’t even past noon. “I’ll start on your wardrobe and have the first few items dropped off in the morning.”

She showed me to the door before I could ask more about this ‘hypothetical’ world and the ‘favors’ that may or may not have been contracts. Seconds later, I found myself standing on the curb while Dublin’s driver ushered me inside the car.

And then I could only sit there, staring into space as I tried to puzzle out what, through that whole convoluted tale, Yulia could have possibly been trying to tell me.

“Get up.”

The harsh command gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘rude awakening.’

Nightmare? I wondered groggily, but the icy chill clinging to my feet seemed to negate that hope—the result of a very real person yanking the blankets from over me. With a groan I peeled my eyes open only to have a coffee mug shoved beneath my nose.

“No,” I croaked, picturing Yulia and her customary serving of alcohol. My stomach pitched at the thought of another liquid breakfast. “No, thank you.”

But when the hand didn’t move, I had no choice but to sit up and take the mug in both hands.

I forced down a careful sip, only to discover that the amber liquid was tea rather than alcohol; sharp, incredibly bitter tea that kicked twice as much as the strongest shot of brandy ever could.

Or maybe it was just the sight of the man standing by the foot of my bed that sent my heart into overdrive?

“I don’t have all year, Eleanor,” Dublin snapped, infuriatingly impatient.

He tossed something down onto the mattress and then turned, tucking his hands into his pockets. I hated myself for the way I stiffened at the sight of him. Today, he was dressed from head to toe in elegant black—the only hint of color was that blazing yellow hair.

“I’ll expect you to be downstairs within the hour,” he called while marching to the door. “Fully dressed.”

I stared after him, shivering, as his words finally sunk in. Was today the day I would finally have to put that ‘endorsement’ clause in our contract to use?

He didn’t give me a clue before disappearing over the threshold, and I took a hasty sip of tea rather than ask. Only when I was sure that he was gone did I leap out of bed. My gaze automatically went to the item he’d left for me; another Mystic garment bag. This one, however, contained a simple, sleeveless dress in a soft shade of gray.

Unwilling to test my luck by keeping Dublin waiting, I barreled into my bathroom and dragged a brush through my hair. Then I pulled on the dress and paused only to grab a pair of heels from my wardrobe, before tip-toeing out into the hall.

I wasn’t brave enough to look at my reflection this time. Instead, I focused on retaining my sanity as I made my way down the stairs, knowing just who waited for me at the bottom.

This is your house, Ellie, I told myself sternly. Don’t you dare let him intimidate you.

That seemed easier said than done once I caught sight of Dublin standing in the foyer. At the sound of my approach he turned, eyes narrowing as they took me in.

“Decent,” he announced as I descended the final step.

I nearly tripped in shock. Coming from him, the statement could have been either a veiled compliment, or just another one of his many insults. Still, I decided to give him the benefit of doubt; at least he wasn’t scowling.

“Thank you,” I replied, running a hand over the soft material of the dress. It was a modest length, reaching down past my knees. Dublin’s eyes followed, tracing the hem. Then, surprisingly without a snide remark, he pulled another pair of sunglasses from his pocket and faced the door.

“I need to stop by the club today,” he announced. “You will accompany me.”

His words had the effect of a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head.

“The …club?”

“It’s just business.”

Considering that his ‘profession’ dealt in the trade of souls, I wasn’t at all comforted by the term.

“Are you going there now?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he inclined his head, placed his glasses over those sharp eyes and moved through the doors, leaving me to follow. I scrambled out after him, surprised by a dreary, cold rain that steadily fell outside. A mist of gray clouds covered the sky, but Dublin never removed those sunglasses, oddly enough.

The driver waited for us, holding open the door and I rushed inside, shivering on the leather seat. Beside Dublin, I may as well have been inside a freezer. Without a word, the driver headed toward the city while I tried my hardest not to stare at the man beside me.

When we finally reached Anemia, Dublin said nothing before stepping out onto the curb. He didn’t even reach for my hand this time to drag me along. I had to race after him just to keep from having the main doors slammed in my face.

It was dark inside. There was no one at the front desk or in the entire lobby for that matter—though realistically, in a club for vampires, who would be at eleven in the morning? I was quite willing to classify Dublin as an abnormality in his ability to withstand sunlight and the like, but to believe that all vampires were like that? It would have been too strange.

I observed the abomination in question, who stood beside me, dripping wet. The rain didn’t seem to bother him. He didn’t even lift a finger to wipe away a damp strand of hair glued to his forehead with the moisture. It was only when he turned to face me—with the lenses of his sunglasses gleaming like mirrors—that I saw my own reflection; eyes wide, mouth gaping open, cheeks red in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

I turned away, gazing down at the floor instead.

“Wait here.” Without another word, Dublin retreated down a hall that I guessed led to the upper level—but not without first issuing another command from over his shoulder. “Stay.”

Very well then. I grounded out a sigh between clenched teeth and observed the lobby with a frown.

It was spacious and decorated in the same mode as the rest of the club; dark colors and bold lines. Cold. Foreboding.

Only now could I appreciate just how different Dublin’s lair above the cathedral was in comparison. The dark wood had seemed softer, and yet there the silence had echoed endlessly. Yulia had mentioned that he didn’t have visitors very often. Picturing his charming personality, it wasn’t that hard to imagine why.

When the minutes passed without Dublin returning, I sat down on the very edge of a leather chaise and waited. God, Ellie, I scoffed at myself, disgusted by my own obedience. Maybe he should have gotten me a leash after all to go along with my new wardrobe? I was acting more and more like his pet every day ...

“Well, that’s because you are, dear.”

Alarmed, I bolted to my feet just as Saskia appeared from the shadows lining the hall. Red hair was piled elegantly on top of her head, amber eyes burning. Today her dress was a somber navy blue.

“Oopsies!” She giggled. “Was I not supposed to sense that? Look!” She made a show of slapping her hands over her ears and winked. “Can’t hear a thing.”

I couldn’t move. The little voice at the back of my mind was whispering, Impossible! There was no way in hell she could have heard me unless …

“D-Did you—”

“What?” Her sly grin turned playful. “Read your mind? Now, tell me darling, how on earth could I have?” On razor sharp heels, she came forward and circled me once; a hunting shark in a beautiful dress. “Unless Yulia told you all of our dirty little secrets,” she added, frowning. “Though if she did, you sure as hell wouldn’t be standing there now, would you? Hopefully, like a smart little girl, you would have already ran far and fast in the opposite direction.”

Running sounded like a good option now. I should have gone back to the car—and not taken the bait by asking the obvious question.

“Know what?”

Saskia tilted her head to the side like a cobra about to strike. “The truth, of course, about you and our dear friend Dublin. What? You didn’t think that he just picked you out of the crowd, did you? A plain, unassuming little thing like you?”

She threw her head back for a harsh bark of laughter. When her gaze met mine again, it was ice-cold. “Did it never cross your pathetic mortal brain that there might have been …a reason?”

Oh, I could guess his ‘reason’ all right—and it had everything to do with gaining control of my family’s fortune. Before the suspicion could fully form in my mind, Saskia shook her head.

“No,” she said quietly. “An insubstantial thing such as ‘money’ is something only mortals feel the need to obsess over. Here, I’ll let you in on a little secret—”

She sauntered closer, and it took everything in me not to react as she cupped my chin in her palm. Nails sharper than tapered steel scraped my jaw line in a dangerous caress.

“Dublin probably has more money lining his trash bins than is in any bank you could think of. We have no need for it. No desire for money.” She spat the word like a curse and let me go, turning on her heel. “Men like Dublin deal in the trade of lives—and they treat them with less reverence than you mortals do your precious money.”

I vaguely remembered Dublin saying something along those same lines; your name means more to me. Once again, Saskia shook her head—though, I figured that she didn’t even have to read my mind to guess my line of thought that time.

“There’s more to it, my sweet,” she purred, eyes gleaming. “So, much more. I would tell you, of course, but I’m not sure your little soul could stomach the answers.”

Listen to her, Ellie. Walk away ...

But, once again, I couldn’t help myself.

“Like what?”

I tried to remain still as she came towards me again. Saskia’s movements were like those of a lioness circling its intended victim—fluid, graceful, deadly. Each pointed tip of a heel struck the marble floor in tandem.

“I’m sure he’s fucked you already, hasn’t he?”

“W-What?”

Calmly she snagged a piece of my hair between two pale fingers, twirling it around and around.

“He probably couldn’t resist. Our Dublin has always had a soft spot for innocence.” She sniffed as if the word were something utterly disgusting and released my curl. “How he loves to taint and destroy pretty, pure things. He sure as hell didn’t want to share you, his sweet little Eleanor. One could only imagine what measures he’s taken to secure your contract—to ensure that you had no choice.”

“W-What do you mean?”

Her expression hardened. “While they tout their code ad nauseam, they rarely follow it, my dear. We are all but mere pawns in their grasp, meant to be manipulated as they please.”

“We?”

Rather than respond, Saskia raised a scarlet eyebrow, as if daring me to put the pieces together on my own. She was alluding to something. Something about Dublin, and more importantly ...me.

Only, I was too stupid to figure it out—at least until an elementary grasp of grammar revealed the answer for me. We.

“You have a contract …”

“We are all tethered to contracts,” she interjected. “Even your precious Dublin has another’s claws digging into his soul—so is the price of this life. You were damned the moment he laid eyes on you, and you poor pathetic thing, you probably didn’t even notice. You still don’t. There is nothing that a man like Dublin wouldn’t stoop to in order to get his way. Nothing.”

For a split-second, something crossed her expression: wrenching, tormented agony the likes of which I could only dream of.

“Nothing is sacred to them,” she hissed. “There is no part of your life they wouldn’t hesitate to destroy if only to meet their end goal. You would do best to always remember that. To him, you are a pawn, nothing more.”

Her words were chilling, I couldn’t deny that. Chilling and haunting—even more so, because they echoed everything that Dublin himself had said.

“How much did he pay for me?”

Saskia frowned at the interruption—in retrospect, I had no damn idea why I even spoke up in the first place. I would have almost preferred to cling to my indignant guess of five dollars …but this instinctive pull in my gut goaded me; there’s more to it. You need to know.

“Oh I’m sure Dublin told you all about that,” Saskia hissed. “Did you gloat when he did? You probably felt so pleased to be his favorite little puppet—” She broke off abruptly, eyes widening as if she discovered something in my expression that she hadn’t seen before. “Unless you really don’t know …”

“Know what?”

“He didn’t tell you,” she went on in awe. “Oh, darling, this is rich.” She laughed again, but it seemed more like a witch’s cackle, full of malicious glee. I half-expected her to clap her hands together like a child given an unexpected treat.

“Know what? What didn’t he tell me?” I was confused. Horribly confused—and terrified, because I knew deep in my soul that whatever could make her so smug was nothing good at all.

“Oh, Eleanor,” she murmured, in a tone much softer than before. “Unlike Yulia, I am not bound to that bastard. I can tell you everything, but first, you must do something for me.”

Run! My conscience warned.

If Dublin was the Devil, then Saskia was a creature far, far worse. I would be a fool to make any sort of deal with her. Still, that tiny voice I couldn’t ignore spoke up once more; you need to know.

I swallowed hard. “What favor?”

“I want you to say something to Dublin,” Saskia said innocently. “Just one little word, whispered right into his frigid ear. That’s it.”

It sounded so harmless, so innocent.

I wasn’t fooled.

“Like what?”

Amid a cloud of cloying perfume, Saskia leaned forward, allowing her warm breath to graze my shoulder.

“Just one little word. You can’t just blurt it out, of course,” she warned. “You must wait for the right time. Oh, I know!” She grinned, eyes glowing. “The next time he takes you to his bed, while he’s buried inside of you to the hilt. I want you to say it only then.”

I grimaced at the imagery. “Say what?”

“This—” She came close enough to whisper a single word into my ear before pulling away.

“Cael?” I frowned, tasting the strange syllables over my tongue.

“Uh-huh!” Saskia wagged a pale finger. “Only at the right moment. God, I wish I could see the look on his face …”

“How will you know?” I asked around a dry swallow. “Once I’ve said it—if I say it—how will you know?”

Her answering chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, I’ll know. Trust me, he will make that moment very, very clear—”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Instinctively, my mind conjured up a fearsome silver stare to go along with that voice, even before I turned and saw Dublin standing there behind me.

CHAPTER 20

Preference

“DUBLIN,” SASKIA GREETED FLATLY. “Eleanor and I were just having a little chat—”

“Oh, I’m sure you were.”

He approached us with all the grace of a hunting lion, and I couldn’t help the childish part of me that noticed how his demeanor was even colder towards Saskia than to me. Unlike his customary frigid expression, he held her gaze with a glare that would have reduced anyone else to a quivering pile of fear.

To her credit, Saskia didn’t even flinch.

“You called me here, yet you weren’t even where you said to meet,” Dublin continued in a tone laced with suspicion. “One might wonder why that is ...”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, darling!” Saskia shooed him off with a wave of her hand. “I was just getting some fresh air.”

As she spoke, her eyes slithered over to mine in warning: Careful, little girl. Hush. Sensing her glance, Dublin reached for my arm, and I found myself unceremoniously shoved behind him and out of her line of sight.

“What did you want?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, darling,” Saskia huffed. “I’m just the bearer of bad news; Raphael has requested that you take over one of my contracts.”

I flinched as Dublin’s grip tightened, nails indenting my skin.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Saskia chirped. “Maybe he thinks you’ve decided to take a more active role again, considering that you’ve come out of retirement?” Her amber eyes darted pointedly in my direction.

“For how long?”

Take over a contract? What on earth did that mean?

“I can’t be bothered to remember the terms of every single contract.” Saskia waved a hand absently through the air. “Mikhail is around here somewhere. Ask him.”

With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the door. However, near the threshold she paused, one foot poised in the air and a coy smile shaping her lips.

“Oh and, Dublin? I almost forgot …” Her tone was casual, as if the detail had simply slipped her mind, but the look in her eye was anything but innocent.

From the way Dublin tensed, I knew that he had seen the ominous glint in her eye as well. I had a horrible suspicion that Saskia had been waiting for this moment all along, like a cat toying with a mouse right before delivering the killing blow.

“Raphael has also requested an audience with you tomorrow night,” she began. “And he wants you to bring the lovely Eleanor along as well. Ta-ta!”

Smiling, she slipped through the doors with an elegant toss of her head, leaving me alone with a man who seemed inclined to break my wrist. I gasped as the delicate bones compacted beneath his grip.

“D-Dublin, you’re—”

He whirled around and the expression on his face struck me senseless. “What did she say to you?”

A shiver ran down my spine at his tone; I didn’t think I’d ever heard him sound so cold. His eyes were glacial, filled with such hatred …

It was a split-second before I realized that the emotion wasn’t directed at me.

“N-Nothing—”

“Nothing?” A single raised eyebrow was my only clue as to the true extent of his rage. “Don’t lie to me. Saskia isn’t one for small talk. What did she say?”

“S-She just wanted to gloat over how little you paid for me,” I lied, hoping that the small bit of truth might placate him enough to let the subject drop.

But the words had the opposite effect.

He drew back violently. His mouth opened ...

Then closed again. I doubted I could have gotten that same reaction if I’d slapped him. For the longest time, he just stood there, staring at me until I was forced to consider the impossible; Dublin Helos was speechless.

“She was just being cruel,” I rushed to add. “She only wanted to rub it in that I hadn’t been bid on—”

His eyes narrowed as he processed my words. Then, after another tortured second, he became his arrogant, distant self once again. “Stay away from her.”

Before I could even hope to respond, he turned and dragged me down the hall after him. With lightning speed we mounted a set of stairs and entered the hallway that I recognized as leading to the lounge.

There, a voice greeted us from the shadows. “So the reclusive Dublin Helos shows his face once again ...”

A beautiful man—whom I recognized from my first visit to the club—appeared around a corner.

Mikhail.

Today, he only wore a pair of black pants, a smug expression and ...nothing else. I tried to ignore the way my eyes darted over his body once before settling on his face. His strange pendant caught my attention again, only now something about the design of it seemed familiar.

I had seen a chain like that before ...

“Mikhail,” Dublin greeted in a voice of steel, dragging my attention back to him.

“Tired of her already, have you?” The man wondered, nodding to me. “Though she’s lasted longer with you than I thought she would. If you’re finished, I’m sure I could find some use for her somewhere.”

Dublin didn’t rise to the bait. “You have a contract for me. Where?”

“It’s somewhere around here,” Mikhail said, his eyes glinting from beneath a fringe of dark hair. “Though it’s nowhere near as important to Raphael as that of Eleanor Gray—”

“The contract, Mikhail,” Dublin growled, so low that I could feel the vibrations resonate in my bones. “Now.”

Unlike Saskia, Mikhail didn’t simper in the face of Dublin’s rage. Instead, he simply nodded to the lounge, the embodiment of indifference—but not without one last quip. “Careful, Dublin. Become any less of a recluse and one might think you seek to return to the fold …”

A threat laced the words more than any hint of a greeting.

Rather than respond, Dublin watched expressionlessly as Mikhail disappeared within the shadows of the corridor. Then, he shifted his attention to someone else. I turned along with him and noticed a woman sitting on one of the couches.

She faced away from me, but that peachy skin and wavy blonde hair seemed familiar. Somehow I knew—even before she finally looked over at us—that she was the same girl Saskia had brought along on my first night in the club.

Seeing Dublin, she stood, clutching a purse to her chest, and made her way toward us on a pair of black heels. Once she came close enough, she reached into the purse and withdrew a square, black object: a contract book.

Letting go of my wrist, Dublin took it and then casually lifted the cover.

“You are to remain here ...Katherine,” he informed her while his eyes scanned the page nestled in between. I attempted to sneak a peek from over his shoulder, only to have him slam the leather case shut before I could read a single word.

“Only from now on, you will answer to me. I’ll expect no less from you than would Mikhail.”

“Yes, sir.”

Katherine nodded, but from the way her eyes had widened while he’d spoken, one might think that Dublin had five heads, his fangs bared and had spit a few flames while he was at it. Her shoulders trembled as she hurried past Mikhail—who lurked a few feet ahead—and vanished down the hall.

Confused, I watched her go; was she now indebted to Dublin as well?

More importantly …would he have her do the same things I had done in order to ‘fulfill’ her bargain?

It wasn’t jealousy that stung through my chest like a hot poker at the thought.

It wasn’t.

“Interesting,” Mikhail murmured, brown eyes thoughtful as he watched the woman go. “Did you not have enough room on your arm for two pets?”

Dublin didn’t dignify him with an answer.

Instead, he turned, pulling me after him so suddenly that I was afraid my shoulder might be ripped right from its socket. In a blur we descended the stairs, barged through the lobby and reentered daylight just as the clouds above were beginning to break. Sunlight filtered down, bouncing off the ebony surface of the car.

I felt like someone who’d just re-entered reality after leaving the Twilight Zone. Saskia’s bargain kept circling my brain. Cael. Cael. Cael.

Considering how Dublin had reacted to her and I merely being in the same general vicinity, there was no way in hell that I would ever risk saying that word out loud. For all I knew, it was some kind of magic spell meant to kill us both—and no amount of information was worth the potential consequences …

I supposed. I hadn’t quite convinced myself of that when Dublin suddenly spoke while man-handling me onto the passenger’s seat.

“Lunch?” he grumbled, expression unreadable.

I didn’t get the chance to answer before I found the door slammed in my face. However, in a matter of seconds he appeared in the driver’s seat and the car slipped effortlessly into the mid-morning traffic.

I kept quiet as he navigated a series of twists and turns through downtown—but rather than stopping in front of the Cafe Claret or even that smaller coffee shop, I was surprised to find the imposing façade of Gray Manor looming above.

No sooner had Dublin parked the car than servants burst through the front doors as if they had played out this scenario a thousand times. One took his jacket, while another assured him that everything was “ready, as requested.”

He didn’t take my arm again and instead left me to catch up while he marched through the front doors—as if he owned the damn place—and headed straight for the drawing room.

My mind was a blur of questions—about Saskia’s pointed little ‘hints’ most of all—but when I passed through the doorway after Dublin, I promptly forgot all about it. Someone had already set a small table for two, and shock couldn’t even begin to describe the emotion that ran through me at the sight of steaming plates of food being carried in by a maid as if on cue.

Dublin sure knew how to run my staff like clockwork. He could have given Mother a run for her money in the art of slave-driving—I mean ‘management.’ Without a word, he pulled out a chair for me, but I could only stand there, gaping, until he cleared his throat.

“Are you going to just look at the food or eat it?”

My jaw snapped shut and I perched on the chair’s very edge. Satisfied, Dublin took the seat across from me and observed the platters being placed between us like a diligent overseer: a dish of soup, followed by a bowl of salad and a platter of fresh bread.

It was more than I was used to being served on a daily basis. However, a regular meal didn’t have the usual connotation when it came to Dublin. I thought of his ‘breakfast’ from all those days ago—coincidentally where he first presented me with his ‘cure’—and shuddered. All of a sudden, the crisp, white tablecloth and priceless china took on an ominous aura.

At the clinking of silverware, I glanced up to find that, once again, Dublin had taken it upon himself to serve me. He cut two slices from the loaf and spread each one neatly with butter before placing them both on my plate. Then he ladled a serving of steaming clam chowder into a bowl and placed it on my side as well.

Sitting back in his chair, he raised a single eyebrow in a way that conveyed what he didn’t say out loud; eat something. Now.

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I scooted closer to the table.

“You never eat,” I said and reached for a fork before he could even begin to snap at me. As I fixed myself a serving of salad, I added, “Is that a vampire thing—”

“It’s a preference thing,” he said, smoothly cutting over me.

Though, as if to prove me wrong, he ripped off a chunk of bread and took a bite. Entranced, I watched him chew, deliberately slow. The motion looked awkward—stiff—as if he were only mimicking the action and couldn’t quite remember how to do it naturally.

Finally, he swallowed.

“Preference,” he insisted, while dabbing at his lips with a napkin lifted from the table. “I’m sure that you wouldn’t enjoy the things I prefer to feast upon.”

Feast upon …

The word choice conjured up all sorts of unsightly images—namely me, trapped beneath him, while his fangs teased my knee. At the memory my body jumped as if remembering the jolt of heat that had run through my skin.

My tongue dampened, my throat tightened. I couldn’t breathe.

“Actually …that is something we need to discuss,” I heard Dublin begin, snapping me back to reality.

Uh-oh. No doubt this ‘something’ was the real reason behind our little ‘lunch.’

Warily my eyes met his. “W-What?”

“I need to feed.”

It was such a blunt admission that I blinked and tried to right myself before I could slide off my chair in shock.

“F-Feed?”

“I need blood, Eleanor,” he snapped. “I believe this was one of the conditions mentioned before you signed your new contract.”

The scathing tone stung, but there was something hidden beneath it; a dark sense of desperation that had me reaching up for my throat before I could help it. Tentatively, my finger prodded a pulse and I gulped at the thought of him leaping over the table for a bite.

“D-Do you just …”

As if reading my mind, he scoffed in disgust. “Not in here.”

I was confused. “Then, where—”

“Is there nothing you’re afraid of?” I flinched at the change of subject. His tone was too soft and those eyes flashed an alarming shade of gray. “You need to realize, Eleanor,” he practically growled. “This isn’t a game.”

As he spoke, ivory glinted beneath his upper lip, sharp and undeniably terrifying.

“I could kill you.”

I waited, though I had no idea for what.

Maybe the punch-line to this morbid joke?

But it never came.

He wasn’t laughing.

“And this,” he said next as if to prove my darkest fears to be true, “is the part where you run.”

I couldn’t deny how tempting the suggestion was.

My heart pounded, aching to give into that very urge, to dash from the room screaming and waving my arms through the air like a true damsel in distress. Instead, my father’s voice chose that moment to ring from the grave. “A Gray always fulfills his debts ...”

I couldn’t quite remember the context in which he had first given me that advice—but it seemed more than fitting now. Five dollars or not, there was no way in hell that I would ever allow Dublin to have more of a hold over me than he already did.

He appeared shocked when I only crossed my legs politely at the knee. I couldn’t quite face him yet, so I stared down at the table, fingering the edge of the white cloth with a trembling thumb. “I don’t understand,” I began in the strongest tone I could manage. “You’ve already fed from me before—”

“I bit you,” he corrected harshly. “And trust me when I say that I was adequately restrained.”

I glanced over to find that he had withdrawn something from beneath the crisp collar of his shirt; the long, silver, chain with that delicate cross dangling from the center. Had wearing the necklace somehow held him back from truly ‘feeding’ from me—sort of like a vampiric version of a leash? Or perhaps Dublin was the pious sort and the cross represented something more significant.

I started to ask, but he spoke over me.

“It would take a lot more than a few drops to satisfy my hunger,” he said without elaborating.

Oh. Surreptitiously, I cleared my throat enough to ask, “How much?”

“Enough that could be easily replenished by a dose of my blood.”

It was a deceptive answer. Kind of like if I had asked him, ‘How badly will jumping off this bridge injure me?’ And he had replied, ‘Not badly enough that the world’s best surgeons wouldn’t be able to patch you up—maybe.’

“Why me?” I found myself asking. “Why not just get a girl from Saskia?” As he had so rudely suggested the other day.

“Because I don’t want a girl from Saskia.” Oh? Before I could even consider the pathetic chance that he might have only wanted me, he continued. “A word of advice, Eleanor; never eat from the hand of your enemy.”

Fair enough. Feeding from me would have just been convenient—still, the prospect gave me an idea, one that I couldn’t resist, no matter how foolish. I shifted on my chair and tried to gather up enough nerve to meet his impassive stare.

“You biting me was a part of our agreement,” I began. “Not being chained and drained.”

“Just what are you saying?” There wasn’t any sort of expression on his face. God, he looked terrifying.

“I’m asking …if you have to put a monetary value on this new ‘condition’ what would it be?”

“What?”

I sucked in a deep breath. Here goes ...

“I wasn’t kidding about repaying my debt. If you maintain that five dollars was how much you paid for me, then I remain determined to repay every cent.”

I doubted he could have looked more shocked than if I had climbed onto the table and done the Can-Can over the salad bowl. “You can’t be serious—”

“I am.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “If I had to put a ‘price’ on what your blood would be worth to me, then …twenty-five cents.”

“Done,” I blurted without even wasting the time to be insulted. “From now on, every time you feed from me, twenty-five cents will be deducted from my debt. Fair enough?”

“Are you insane?”

I frowned at his tone more so than the question. “Probably,” I admitted. “But I told you; I don’t like leaving debts unpaid.”

He sat back in his chair, watching me with an expression that made me squirm. Taking advantage of the silence, I attempted another question. “What have you been, um …drinking up until now?”

“I have my methods,” he replied softly. “But nothing compares to feeding fresh from the vein.”

It was such a blatant admission. I couldn’t recall if he had ever spoken so freely to me before.

“Ah,” I croaked. “So do you have …regulars?”

“I don’t pick up random damsels from the alleyway like it’s a drive-thru restaurant, if that’s what you mean.” His tone was cold. “I may be a creature bound for hell, but I am discrete, Eleanor; feeding from you would merely be convenient.”

He watched me for the longest time. I supposed he wanted a definitive answer.

“It … It’s not like I have a choice,” I said finally.

“No,” he agreed. “But I like the drama when those in your position try to refuse.” His pompous tone merely strengthened my resolve to never give him the same satisfaction.

“What do you need me to do?” I demanded, fully prepared for him to spout some cryptic riddles.

I have to pierce a vein?

Eviscerate you over an open spit?

“I’ll have to tie you up.”

“W-What?” Tie was the polite word. I knew what he’d really meant: chain. “Why?”

He shrugged and suddenly jabbed a finger toward my bowl. Eat. It was only when I attempted to swallow a spoonful of the scalding liquid that he explained, “For your own safety. This won’t be like before, Eleanor.”

As he spoke, my gaze trailed down to that silver cross. He held it between two fingers, unconsciously swinging the chain back and forth like a pendulum.

“W-When?” It was the only thing I could think to say.

“Tonight.”

“Oh?” I tried to play nonchalant, while inside I was screaming. “At the club?”

“No.” His expression darkened, daring me to wonder why. I kept my mouth shut until he grudgingly added, “I’ll have a car sent around midnight. I shouldn’t have to tell you what will happen if you aren’t out front at that time.”

I shook my head.

“Midnight,” he repeated, rising to his feet.

As he did, I remembered something. “What do you want me to wear?”

It was a foolish question, but I was surprised to find that it was the only one I could think to ask.

He turned, glancing back at me from over his shoulder. “It won’t matter.”

I sat there, dazed as he disappeared down the hall in a flash of dove-gray, and wondered why that might have been.

CHAPTER 21

Red

I HID IN THE drawing room for hours after he left.

I couldn’t help it. Whenever I attempted to leave, I would picture him there, behind the door, waiting to jump from the shadows and shout, “Boo! You think you’re so brave, Eleanor? You’re just a silly little fool; you can’t hide from the devil.”

Gradually, darkness fell and it was only when I saw the moon peeking from beyond the window’s long curtains that I found the strength to finally stand. By the time I skulked back to my bedroom, midnight was approaching fast. After a frantic glance at the clock, I realized that I had barely an hour’s time to get ready—without a set of ominous instructions to dress myself by.

Using Dublin’s ambivalent answer—“it won’t matter”—as my excuse, I decided to aim for comfort as I crept toward my closet, or as much ‘comfort’ as one could find in a wardrobe composed entirely by my mother. Pants, slacks or—God forbid—jeans had all been deemed unacceptable.

I found a tracksuit, surprisingly, hidden within a drawer; a holdout from the brief month when Yoga had been ‘fashionable’ enough for Mother to let me consider it, before all forms of sweating were deemed unseemly once again. The material was a soft lime-green and clung to my body like a second skin.

Wearing it, I felt like some deranged schoolgirl preparing for a field trip—though this was more like a one-way excursion to hell, no refunds.

Feeling helpless, I ran a brush through my hair and paced my bedroom until exactly eleven forty-five. Only then did I make my way downstairs where I managed to slip through the front doors just as a black car glided up the driveway. The driver ushered me inside and I climbed aboard the dark chariot, ready to be delivered to my doom.

The ride didn’t take long. It felt like I’d only had time to blink before I found myself gazing up at the ominous spires of a cathedral, eerily silhouetted against the light of the moon. I wasn’t surprised that Dublin had chosen this place as his ‘restaurant’ of choice. After all, I thought in a weak attempt at humor, everyone likes a good, home-cooked meal …

“Miss,” the driver prompted and I realized that he’d been holding the door open for me.

Trembling, I climbed out onto the curb. The grounds were deserted. There was no one there to see me walk cautiously up the front path. No one to hear my screams, I thought with a nervous glance back at the retreating car. Though, while I couldn’t see anyone, the hairs standing on the back of my neck warned that someone—or something—was watching my every step ...

My heart twitched in my chest when I finally approached those massive oak doors. They were unlocked, surprisingly, and I lingered on the threshold while my eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.

You could still run, I thought while taking in the rows of empty pews and a desolate altar. You could still—

“You’re late.”

In a flicker of shadow Dublin appeared from behind a column and escape was no longer a possibility. He wore black again tonight; a collared shirt, paired with dark pants. That blond hair hung uncharacteristically loose—as if he had been impatiently running his hands through it—instead of slicked back into that perfect coif. The longest strands nearly brushed his shoulders, longer even than mine.

“I-I’m not late!” I shifted, keeping my back along the stone wall as the door closed with a thud, trapping me inside. “I was waiting at twelve, just like you said.”

He held up his wrist, revealing a small watch, and tapped the glass front with his finger; liar. “One minute past your expected time.”

My heart raced as his words from earlier screamed through my mind; if you are late by even a second you will suffer for it. His eyes glazed over and his nostrils flared as if he could smell my fear, but in an instant his gaze returned to a neutral gray. Then he turned and jerked his head in the direction of a nearby corridor rather than recall his threat aloud.

“Come.”

I crept after him, unsurprised when we came before another “out of order” confessional at the hall’s end—only this one revealed a hidden elevator when the false panel door was removed.

Without any explanation, Dublin slid inside and pressed the topmost button.

“Get in,” he snapped when I didn’t move.

I would have rather climbed all those flights of stairs again than be alone with him in such an enclosed space. Still, I held my head high and shuffled closer.

A good foot separated me from his bulk, and yet I still felt the full brunt of his chill. A freezer would have been warmer. As we ascended, my heartbeat counted the seconds—one, two, three—and ironically I imagined that had the elevator been heading down I would have truly descended into hell with the devil looming next to me.

Nearly a whole minute passed before the elevator doors reopened and I could breathe again. I recognized the entryway to his lair as our destination. This time, only a few candles on the walls were lit, leaving the rest of the hall swathed in shadow.

“You’ve already agreed to this,” Dublin reminded me as we headed through a random archway.

His voice was so low that I could feel the vibration of every single word in my bones. Any other day, I might have had the sense of mind to wonder why he felt the need to reiterate that. As it was, I couldn’t focus on much of anything.

“You signed the contract,” he reminded in the same, ominous tone. “So …I will expect no tantrums or hysterics.”

He turned and I found myself ushered inside a wide room, the contents of which made my mouth fall open. I vaguely remembered speculating once that he might have had a ‘torture’ chamber hidden somewhere within his lair. As it turned out, the thought wasn’t so funny after all.

At first glance, the room seemed bare to a fault; plain, sterile even. The walls were a dull shade of black and the floors were pristine, silver tile. It could have been something as innocent as an unused spare room if it weren’t for the drain cover in the middle of the floor and the chains hanging from the ceiling. Actual chains—long and silver—dangled from hooks to pool in neat piles, ready for use.

Looking at them, I couldn’t breathe.

The only other objects were a metal foot locker in the corner and a long, stainless steel slab, resembling one that might be found within a morgue—all within easy reach of those chains.

How …convenient. I might have crumbled into a puddle on the floor if Dublin wasn’t there beside me.

“What is this?” I heard myself croak instead.

My eyes darted around the room, too terrified to settle over one object for too long: sharp points, metal cuffs, convenient drain and all that silver raining down from the ceiling, waiting to ensnare me if I got too close. It looked like the lair of a serial killer.

“Restraints,” he explained in the same tone most might proclaim ‘the sky is blue.’ “I warned you. You will need to be—”

“Chained,” I finished for him. My voice shook. I had to suck in air just to find the strength to ask, “But why?”

I flinched in anticipation of the answer; you taste better that way? Because it’s standard vampire dining procedure? Because I said so?

With his back turned to me I couldn’t see his face, which made the impact of his next words all the more terrifying.

“So that when you struggle, I don’t hurt you.”

I had to dig my nails into my wrists just to keep from hyperventilating. ‘When’ you struggle.

“I can hear your heart racing,” he announced on a mirthless laugh. I blinked and he was in front of me, eyes burning. “What? Don’t tell me ... Has the brave Eleanor Gray finally realized how foolish she really is?”

I staggered back, nearly tripping over my heels. “I n-never claimed to be brave.”

Just foolish! A point that that was proven when I just stood there meekly, while he seized the zipper of my jacket and yanked, revealing the simple white top I was wearing underneath. He twisted the hem between his fingers and then pulled the jacket off with one hand, while the other wrenched the shirt up over my head.

“From now on, whenever you are with me, wear only the clothing Yulia supplies you with,” he grunted while tossing both garments into the corner without a second glance.

I wasn’t bold enough to mention that he had commanded I dress myself tonight. Instead, I nodded, relieved that he was speaking in terms of the future and not, if you survive tonight …

Besides, I wasn’t so attached to my wardrobe to mourn the loss of matronly skirts and dowdy blouses—though, I would have given my soul for either as Dublin began to tug my sweatpants down my legs.

“Wait,” I croaked as his icy fingers brushed my bare hip. “I-I thought—”

“This isn’t about sex,” he spat as if insulted. “But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not make a mess.”

Mess. The word conjured all sorts of horrific imagery: blood spatter, gore, all circling down that drain in the floor.

God, what in the hell had I gotten myself into?

I could only eye the chains with a lump in my throat as Dublin crouched to undo my heels and wrenched them, one by one, from my feet. Then he stood and steered me around to face him.

“Don’t look so terrified,” he snapped. But the way his eyes honed in on the frantic pulse surging through my throat resembled a wolf about to feast on a helpless fawn and …for once, my fear irritated him.

“I could always render you unconscious first,” he suggested in a dark tone.

Suspicions about just how he might do that aside, I shook my head.

“No! I want to be awake.”

To be fair, whether I was or not didn’t seem to matter to him either way.

Stupid, foolish, idiot. He didn’t have to say the words out loud. My own conscience sufficiently berated me in his place. Do you have a death wish, Ellie?

Standing there in my underwear while a vampire prepared to strap me down, I had to consider that possibility.

“Having second thoughts?” Dublin asked, almost as if he was willing me to say yes. He watched me from beneath a fringe of blond hair that he hadn’t even bothered to tuck back into place. The slight flaw was not a good sign. It made him seem feral. Wild ...

A Dublin without his obsessive need for perfection in all things was not a man I wanted to be at the mercy of. Ever.

My mouth opened, though I had no idea what I had meant to say; answer yes to his question? Maybe. Tell him that my clothes were much too expensive to leave lying around on the floor? Ha, a poor excuse for a stall tactic. Scream? It was the obvious choice, but it was already too late.

He caught me by the wrist and hauled me forward without waiting for a reply. I staggered, almost running right into his chest—however, before I could make contact, he shoved me sideways and onto the morgue-like table.

My head hit a pillow placed at one end of the slab while my feet were lifted from the floor and unceremoniously dumped on the opposite end, all within the blink of an eye. A second later, my right wrist was immobile, then my left. Ignoring the chains attached to the ceiling, Dublin had apparently withdrawn two sets of cuffs from his pockets and secured my arms to the headboard. Uselessly, I tugged on both, just to help the fact sink in.

I was pinned down, unable to so much as lift my head.

The only part of me that remained free was my legs. I couldn’t resist flexing my toes against the cold, solid surface for leverage while Dublin stood back to observe his handiwork.

“I should immobilize you,” he surmised, eyes on my flailing feet.

“W-Why?”

He shrugged, eyes an unreadable shade of steel. “Contrary to popular belief, Eleanor …I do not want to hurt you.”

The sincerity of that statement knocked me senseless. For once, there was a real emotion hidden within that deep baritone as well—unease.

How funny that he seemed to speak more freely when I was tied up.

“Not only would I completely waste my investment in you,” he added in an undertone, “but the mess …”

I grimaced at the thought of my blood splattering the walls.

“So nice to know you care,” I croaked, but something in his words struck me once again; the mess. I thought of his ‘not-biting’ bites from that night in the club, that pain, that mind-numbing ache. The blood …

If those had been mere ‘nibbles’ according to him, then just what horrors awaited me tonight?

My teeth descended into my bottom lip at the possibilities.

Dublin caught the motion and his eyes narrowed even more. He walked over to the door, casually closing it with a swing of his hand.

Trapped! The thought exploded through my mind, laced with fear as he came to stand before me. For the longest time, he just stood there, an intensity burning in his eyes, watching me carefully.

Was this how a steak dinner felt, at the mercy of a hungry diner trying to decide where to make the first bite?

I flinched when he moved, but it was only to reach for his collar and swiftly undo the buttons of his shirt.

In an instant, I forgot all about the potential ‘feeding’ or the fact that I was currently strapped down to a bed by my wrists.

God, he was beautiful. Evil and cold and unnervingly pale, yes—but breathtaking nonetheless, and as he slowly shed his shirt I had to admit that I was struck dumb. He was perfection in human form, shaped from ivory skin and chiseled muscles.

That silver chain hung from his throat, mingling with the golden thatch of hair covering his chest. Long, it almost reached his navel, where the cross dangled, glinting off his skin.

Does that necklace ever come off? I wondered, and in answer to my unspoken question, Dublin unclasped the chain and lifted it over his head—but just as the cross was ready to clear his shoulder, he hesitated and for the first time I could make out the expression that I guessed had been lurking behind those eyes all along: hunger.

In a violent motion, he swung the chain up, gathering the entire necklace in a fist, and then tucked it into his pocket.

It was as if a spell over him had been lifted. His eyes seemed lit from within, fiery, calculating, demonic. No longer enslaved to perfect posture, he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, like a wolf ready to lunge for my throat at a moment’s notice.

My gloating, infuriatingly emotionless Dublin was gone. The man standing above me was a predator, ravenous and untamed. In his eyes Eleanor Gray had ceased to exist and all that remained was prey.

Tendrils of terror coiled in my belly—especially when he opened his mouth, revealing fangs that glinted in the light: sharp, curved and the color of ivory.

An instinctive urge to survive flooded my veins and I struggled against my bonds as he crept closer. Panicked thoughts raced through my mind: Fight! Run! Scream!

Ironically, the room remained so silent that I could hear my own breathing, loud and erratic as he crouched down near the foot of the slab, seized my calf and lifted the left leg for inspection.

I imagined him scanning the skin, searching for a vein.

Was he like a bat with sonar in his ability to sense blood? Could he hear my pulse, even now rushing with every beat of my heart?

Or did technique not matter at all, as he lowered his head, spread those icy lips against the skin, and finally bit …

It was just like the first time he’d bitten me at the club.

I wanted to scream.

I tried to.

But I didn’t even have the time to gasp for air before he clamped down—fangs piercing through flesh—and suddenly nothing else mattered.

Heat flooded my veins, smothering everything with a raging fervor. Loud and intense, it hammered against my eardrums.

Time slowed. The world stopped spinning.

I could only lay there, pinned, as Dublin consumed me.

I now realized that he hadn’t been bluffing; this was nothing like before. He had merely been nibbling then, I suppose—tasting me like one might sample wine.

This time, he drank; unashamedly, uncontrollably. Not even my pathetic little whimpers were enough to hold him back.

He clutched my ankle so tightly I thought it might snap, keeping the limb immobile while he fed, unconcerned by the alarming amounts of warm liquid dribbling down my leg to pool on the cool steel underneath.

Drip.

Drip.

I could only stare, entranced, as his shoulders moved in sync, rippling with coiled muscle and I swore that I could hear every ravenous swallow, feel every savoring caress of his tongue …

Oh God! He is out of control; he’s draining you dry, Ellie, I thought hysterically. Gulp, sip … Soon there’d be nothing left.

A smart woman would have been afraid. But when I finally remembered how to make my body move … It was only to flex my calf, silently urging him to bite deeper, harder, swallow every last bit of me until there was nothing left at all …

Suddenly, my leg hit the slab with a thump. The icy chill withdrew and I glanced down, dazed to find a scene from a horror movie.

Blood was everywhere. A bright, garish scarlet painted my leg. It flowed over the edge of the table, splashing the floor beneath … So much blood.

“Eleanor—” I shuddered as Dublin appeared above me. How in the hell had he moved so quickly? “Say something,” he demanded.

I obeyed solely out of habit. “Something ...”

My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—high-pitched. Though, maybe shock had something to do with it?

Dublin was covered in red. It coated his chin, his hands. Splotches of scarlet painted that flawless marble skin. There were even streaks of crimson tainting his golden hair. The blood on his lips was so thick that it almost resembled lipstick and I snickered—until I realized that he would have made a much lovelier woman than I did.

Damn. It just wasn’t fair that someone could be so beautiful …

“Look at me.” His tone was sharp, forcing me to focus.

His eyes were a dangerous shade of gray, but hidden within them was what could have been concern in anyone else. Worry. Was it real …or just a figment conjured by delirium?

I was too dizzy to care.

“How do you feel?”

Feel? A million different sensations pulsed through my body, collided, exploded.

“Fine,” I settled on finally.

Better than fine, my inner voice insisted. Amazing. Incredible. Weightless.

Dublin didn’t seem convinced. His eyes narrowed, trailing down to my throat as if he thought that the truth lingered somewhere within my pulse.

“You’re not in pain?”

I shook my head, too distracted by how close he was to wonder why he cared.

Even slathered with gore, the man took my breath away. Shamelessly, I allowed my eyes to greedily drink him in.

His fangs were bared, threatening to pierce his lower lip. At the sight of them, every single nerve in my body throbbed with longing, though I had no idea why.

Warnings echoed through my mind—Ellie, what the hell are you doing? Stop! But nothing could prevent me from tilting my head back into the pillow and baring my throat.

It was as if my mind and body were two completely separate entities; what mattered to one completely horrified the other.

Scream.

Moan.

Resist.

Accept.

I was torn in half as Dublin watched with a frown, twisting his mouth.

“Eleanor.” He sounded different: colder. “Tell me what you feel.”

Ha! A tattered giggle broke loose and scattered on the air. I couldn’t help it. There was that ‘feel’ word again. I must have truly been in Hell if my Devil gave a damn about my ‘feelings.’

“Now,” he snapped when I didn’t respond fast enough. “Answer me.”

Gasping for air, I blurted the first word that came to mind. “Drunk …I feel drunk.”

Gloriously, amazingly drunk. Father’s best brandy couldn’t achieve such a bubbly, giggle-inducing high. I doubted that even the world’s best champagne could either.

Dublin Helos was a drug unto himself …and I wanted more.

“Can you feel this?”

I pouted, annoyed that he wanted me to concentrate when my head was spinning and I was flying somewhere above Cloud Nine, way too high to come back down …

“Eleanor.” That deep tenor hardened, warning me not to disobey, and I forced myself to focus.

His hand was on my inner thigh, heavy and cold. The sight should have been alarming I guessed, but it wasn’t. I felt way too dizzy: numb. In this euphoric state it just seemed ...right.

So, I sighed instead.

“Don’t feel a thing,” I heard myself reply while my head drifted somewhere above my body.

For once, there was no shame—my emotion du jour—just this frightening sense of abandon, driven by a desire I had never felt before and one I couldn’t shake: more, more, more. My body craved whatever he could give.

Dublin’s eyes narrowed and widened in quick succession. If anything, my answer seemed to have annoyed him further.

Perhaps, he wanted a more dramatic reaction? Should I cower like a damsel before Dracula? Beg to not be cast out into the flames of hell? Or, perhaps, scream like some horror movie blonde bimbo?

The thought was strangely amusing.

I pictured myself down on my knees, groveling at his feet: Oh, please, Dublin, the great and terrible. Oh please don’t chain me up! Unless you really want to ...

A golden eyebrow shot up into that fringe of hair. Had I said those words out loud? I didn’t have the time to wonder, before his hand rode up, deliberately encroaching toward that intimate part of my body.

“Can you feel this?”

The sensation was the equivalent of someone yanking the needle off a record.

The happy daze shattered.

Suddenly, I was back inside my own body and clarity returned like a kick to the stomach; namely, pain—sharp and fierce—throbbing through my calf. How had I missed that before?

But the most alarming realization was how his icy touch felt against my heated skin. I could feel his fingers inching up my thigh, painting my flesh like a canvas with my blood. They continued to roam, heedless of the way I shook my head.

“Can you feel this?”

I shivered as his touch crept higher, traveling uncomfortably close to the hem of my panties.

“Yes,” I gasped.

Too terrified to kick him, I writhed instead, feeling my wrists strain against their bonds.

“I-I can feel it.”

“Good.” The word held absolutely no emotion. I worried Dublin was gone. The monster was back and he watched my pathetic attempts to resist with no expression at all.

This is bad, Ellie.

As if to prove my worst fears, he tugged, sending the cotton down my legs in one fierce pull. I squealed in shock, yanking on the cuffs so harshly the metal bit into my flesh.

“W-What are you—”

“Hush,” he growled, sliding that thumb boldly over my hip, and then down my inner thigh, raising goosebumps as he went.

Lower.

Lower still …

“Do you feel this?” he asked, almost innocently, as I struggled to breathe. “This?”

Nerve endings flared when his thumb teased the apex of my thighs, slick and wet …but from my own blood or my excitement? I had no clue. He lightened the pressure of his thumb—barely touching now—almost as if he was forcing me to move, to seek out what I needed ...to respond.

Don’t, I told myself in vain, as that familiar heat began to build in the pit of my stomach. Don’t you dare.

I had already begun arching into him anyway, forgetting all about my damn pride.

My mouth flew open, eyes wide as tiny sparks prickled all over my skin. I was no longer in a daze, but painfully aware of every single touch, every slight tilt of my hips as my traitorous body sought more.

Thunder rumbled in the distance—or perhaps from his chest? I wasn’t sure of anything as he nudged my legs apart without warning and crouched down between them. Bracing one hand against the headboard, he lowered his head, hovering above my exposed throat.

At the same time, he repositioned his hand, allowing more contact. A brush. A slight nudge—deeper, harder than before. Every motion resonated tenfold all over my body until I was burning alive and it still wasn’t enough.

“What about this?”

Too breathless to respond I could only shiver. I could feel him, all right. Everywhere …

“And this?”

A burst of cold air on my throat was my only warning before the sharp points of unseen teeth raked along my skin, teasing …taunting, driving me insane.

A moan tore from my throat when he applied the slightest bit of pressure, drawing forth a delicate bead of blood that he lapped away with an icy tongue, a cold, victorious smile spreading across his lips. Dizzy, I could only wonder why he was doing this, especially after his previous insistence that this was only about his need to feed, ‘nothing more.’

As if reading my mind, his voice vibrated against my eardrum, low and guttural. “Your heart is pounding faster …your blood tastes sweeter.”

I tasted better.

How logical. With his hand down between my legs, and his mouth dangerously close to the pulse surging through my throat, Dublin had nothing on his mind but the discerning tastes of a blood connoisseur.

Even still, he was almost gentle as he coaxed me up that terrifying peak with every stroke of his hand. He drew it out, slowing down when my breaths turned to rasps and my vision blurred. Then—just as the sensation began to ebb—he would pick up the pace, rubbing harder, faster. It was a cruel mix of pleasure and denial of release and I was helpless. I bit my bottom lip, fighting back the moan I could feel threatening to break loose.

I felt painfully aware of every inch of him—down to the delicate piece of bloody hair that had fallen across his forehead. He was so close …but not close enough.

His chill encased me from head to toe, and I only wanted more.

More fire mixed with ice. More soaring and falling. More pain mixed with intense pleasure ... Oh God help me, I needed more.

“Don’t move,” he warned against my ear even as his frigid lips brushed the puncture wounds in my skin.

Over and over and over again. Then he sucked, lapping up the mess and my neck was coated in wetness.

He’s drinking too much, a part of me whimpered. Too fast …

As if he was well aware of that fact a dangerously possessive sound resonated deep in his throat. Those fangs only slid deeper and he added another finger beside that taunting thumb, stroking a furious rhythm that forced me even closer to the edge of sanity.

Mindless, I found myself gaping at the ceiling, forgetting all about his order to stay still as my body shuddered beneath his weight.

My head was detached again, floating somewhere against the ceiling. My legs writhed against that cold hard steel slab still slick with blood, feet slipping and sliding in a desperate quest for leverage.

Suddenly nothing else mattered. No matter how wanton or insane or desperate it made me seem—I wanted him to touch me. I needed him to. Take all of me, but even as the thought crossed my mind I heard him whisper something, nearly unintelligible against my skin and confusion shattered the craving. “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned ...”

“W-What was that?” I gasped, barely clinging to reality.

I hadn’t been meant to hear it. He stiffened, mouth stilling against the line of my pulse. When he finally answered me, his voice had regained some of that infamous coldness.

“It is customary to give prayer before one dines is it not, Eleanor?”

Prayer?

Before I even found the sense to muster a reply he surged, fangs piercing my flesh at the same time he filled me with the broadness of a thumb.

Just like that …the rest of the world fell away, plunging me into hell.

Only this time, I relished every bit of my destruction.

CHAPTER 22

Moonlight

I AWOKE TO THE sound of music.

Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, if I wasn’t mistaken.

It was a careful, if somewhat halting, rendition. The pianist forgot a key series of notes midway, but the mistakes did nothing to detract from the overall beauty of the piece.

However, unless Harper had hauled my grandmother’s Baby Grand upstairs, I couldn’t fathom how I was hearing it so clearly when our only piano was on the opposite side of the house.

In fact, even my much-beloved bed was nowhere near as soft as the mattress beneath me now. It felt decadently luxurious—not to mention that the silken sheets draped over my body would have never been found within the practical linen cupboards of Gray Manor.

“No,” I croaked as my eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling. “Definitely not in Kansas, Ellie.”

Neither, it would seem, was I in one of those strange rooms at the club. Or, I suspected on a hunch, that mysterious manor in the hills, leaving only one likely scenario ...

With a heavy sense of dread, I rolled over and forced myself to take in the interior of a room that I knew in my heart to be part of a certain vampire’s lair.

The walls were gray. There were no windows. Only a single black rug served as décor in addition to the bed.

But no chains, either, I realized with a sense of relief that left me breathless. My arms moved freely, and I raised a hand to find that the skin of both wrists was pale and unblemished. However, memories of last night lingered like a dark cloud on the edge of my consciousness, threatening to overwhelm my exhausted brain at any moment. Blood, ice, warmth ...

In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I sat upright and withdrew the blankets from my body.

The bed I had been lying on was enormous, yet it didn’t even take up half of the room, despite being the only piece of furniture here. Its sleek, ebony frame was in the modern style, with a square headboard that clashed with the ancient rafters supporting the ceiling above.

Trembling, I placed my feet flat on the floor and stood.

Someone had dressed me again while I had been unconscious—this time in a simple gray shift. The hem barely reached my knees, and I stared down in shock at my unmarked legs.

Somehow, I knew, even before I reached up to feel for myself, that my neck was also free of any injuries. No identical puncture wounds. No stray patches of dried blood.

And the questions only continued to build from there.

The door had been left open, allowing the music inside. I took a cautious step over the threshold and found myself following the notes, down the hallway and into a small lounge.

Rain pounded against the panes of the sole window, adding a muted backdrop to the melody. Go back, Ellie, a voice inside my head urged as I crept closer. Go back to that room and hide.

I couldn’t feign ignorance. I knew damn well that there could only be one person playing that tune. The same figure who starred in dark, hazy fantasies that I couldn’t quite yet force myself to remember.

Regardless, the sight of Dublin, studiously peering over a row of piano keys still caught me off guard. For one, he didn’t look like the proverbial Devil in charge of my fate—merely a man stuck inside on a dreary afternoon.

The room itself was painfully simple. In fact, the piano was the sole source of both furniture and decoration. There were no curtains lining the window. No paintings on the bare, white walls, but somehow the notes of music made it seem more lived-in than even his well-stocked study.

As I approached, the final, thudding note of Moonlight rang through the room, and he quickly moved into one of Chopin’s nocturnes without missing a beat.

“You’re awake.” I jumped as his voice rose above the melancholic notes, and gray eyes found mine from over the raised ebony lid.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that he had sensed I was there. He’d probably known the second I opened my eyes. I’d bet that he could even hear the way my heart raced at that very moment.

“I-I’m awake.”

“I can see that.”

His expression was wary, guarded. Almost as if he knew some dark, disturbing secret that he was waiting for me to puzzle out.

Unfortunately, I had no clue what it could be.

Perhaps that I probably wasn’t the first woman he’d brought here and ‘chained’ down in order to feed? The setup of that room had been methodical, and while inside of it Dublin had been …different. Terrifying questions lingered, but I was much too chicken to voice them. As the seconds passed in suffocating silence, I glanced downward at the piano instead.

It was a marvelous instrument, really. Sleek and black and probably worth a small fortune, which struck me as strange. Considering the lack of adornment throughout the rest of his domain—aside from those books in his study—the piano seemed even more out of place.

I found myself tiptoeing closer, too distracted by the steady notes of music—which he still played despite my intrusion—to notice how his gaze never really left me for even a second.

During the decorum-laced hell that had been my school days, I hadn’t really minded the forced piano lessons all too much. Of course, it was one of the many things I was subpar at, but playing hadn’t seemed quite as torturous as everything else a proper ‘lady’ had to learn.

My gaze strayed to Dublin before I could help it, greedily drinking him in. He was wearing black again. This time, a crisply tailored shirt of the finest quality—but the first few buttons had been left undone and for once, that necklace hadn’t been tucked beneath the collar of it, but hung freely.

A small part of me was intrigued as to why, but the rest was too entranced by the way his fingers flew effortlessly over the piano keys.

This was one of my favorites, actually. I had always been a staunch worshipper of the Romantic era—but I couldn’t help frowning as I noticed a faulty note here and there as the refrain was inching towards a crescendo.

And just like that …the music stopped.

“Can I help you?”

I flinched at the cold sarcasm in his tone. “Nothing. It’s just that …”

I came as close to the bench as I dared, trying to ignore the way his shoulders tensed at my nearness. He didn’t move—not even to turn and acknowledge me standing there. A part of me was torn between scurrying away with my tail between my legs, and staying to prevent one of my favorite musical pieces from being, if only slightly, butchered.

“You switched up that last bit a little.” Holding my breath, I reached down to quickly tap a series of keys. “It’s supposed to be like this—”

“Eleanor Gray,” he began, cutting over me, “not only a prima ballerina, but a concert pianist as well?”

I flinched, stung by the apparent insult—until I saw his face. He had turned to look at me from over his shoulder, but the expression in his eyes wasn’t cold or mocking. “Not a concert pianist,” I blurted out of shock. “More like an amateur; trained out of fear of being rapped on the knuckles by Master Grudsky should I make a mistake.”

He didn’t reply.

“Were you trained?” I risked asking, just to fill the silence.

“No …” He glanced down at his fingers as if noticing for the first time that they even rested on piano keys. “Though,” he continued, “it’s not every day that one’s playing talents are called into question by a woman who’s probably never performed anything other than ‘Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star’ at a school recital.”

Suddenly, he withdrew his hands and shifted over on the bench, leaving just enough space for someone my size to slip in next to him. “And I must admit that I am doubtful your memory could be better than mine.”

It was only then that I realized there wasn’t a sheet of music in front of him.

I swallowed hard, unable to resist the challenge he posed, despite the risk. “Oh, really?”

Tossing what remained of my hair over my shoulder, I perched myself on the bench beside him, as close as I dared. Ice danced down my spine in an excited thrill that I couldn’t bring myself to examine just yet. Instead, I settled my hands into position without bothering to realize that I hadn’t played this particular piece in nearly ten years. Biting my lip, I tried my hardest to remember the dizzying array of notes that comprised just the first line of music.

Then, aware of Dublin’s unwavering gaze, I began to play. My fingers seemed to flicker across the keys of their own accord, and I found myself pleased at how much I could recall—apparently all those torture sessions masquerading as lessons had paid off.

Nonetheless, I was still horribly out of practice. I could feel my cheeks flush as my fingers struck a stray note. Then another. I faltered ...wracking my brain to remember what came next, and missed yet another note before butchering the order of the next few. Years of inactivity were my enemy; I doubted I could have played Twinkle Twinkle flawlessly.

Finally, I stopped, unable to even look in Dublin’s direction. “Well,” I said on a weak laugh. “I guess I wasn’t …”

“Keep going.” I didn’t even realize that he had moved until I felt an icy chill ghost my hands.

One muscular arm encircled my shoulders so that his hands rested on either side of me. His thumb nudged my index finger, forcing it to strike the next key, and the melody picked up again; slowly, haltingly. All the while, he continued to guide my motions with nothing more than simple, light nudges, no less impersonal than taps from Master Grudsky’s infamous cane.

But, limited by the narrowness of the bench, he was close. Too close …

His head dipped low over my shoulder. I could feel the slow glide of what felt to be his nose, back and forth across the skin at the nape of my neck. The sensation sent a current through my body, causing my fingers to falter yet again. I swore that I could hear him breathing …inhaling?

Though, beneath his silent instruction, I didn’t miss another note. He hadn’t needed my ‘expertise’ after all, and I couldn’t help thinking that something else must have caused him to stumble over the music before, but I was too distracted by his touch to wonder what.

After what felt like an eternity, I struck the final key at his prompting. The next second, Dublin withdrew and wordlessly slid back across the bench—but his chill lingered on my skin. When I finally gathered the nerve to glance in his direction, I found that his eyes were a wintry shade of gray. Frozen, and yet brimming with some unfathomable emotion I couldn’t put my finger on.

Without warning, he reached out for a loose curl. Only, rather than tuck it back into place, he merely observed the lock from between two fingers, twisting it around and around before releasing it.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t stubbornly attempt out of pride?”

Without thinking I turned to the window, watching as the rain came down. “Flying,” I blurted. “Eleanor the bumbling Gray has never learned to fly ...and I’ve yet to gather the nerve to leap from a roof.”

I was surprised by the wistful tone in my voice; I hadn’t meant for the words to ring so true. Either way, Dublin didn’t respond, and I never mustered the courage to say anything else. For the longest moment, we sat there in complete and utter silence.

Then, finally, I heard the bench creak as he stood.

“I gave you your dose last night,” he said, explaining the lack of injuries. “That should be enough to get you through tonight—”

“Tonight?” I sucked in a breath at his morose tone.

Rather than explain, he reached over me to shut the piano’s lid.

“I have some business to attend to,” he said while heading for the door—when he didn’t make some backhanded comment about favors and contracts, I assumed that I wasn’t invited this time. “You can stay here until the rain stops,” he added, proving that thought to be true. “I’ll have a car sent around midnight.”

“Midnight?” Suddenly, it all clicked. Saskia’s pointed little reminder yesterday: we were to meet Raphael, it seemed. Tonight.

In all the chaos of last night I had nearly forgotten. Considering the way Yulia, Saskia and Dublin all seemed to refer to this man with that strange sort of uneasy reverence, I should have been terrified—but all I could bring myself to ask was, “What should I wear?”

He turned around to face me fully and this time, his expression was nothing but condescending.

“You must be mad if you think I’d leave that up to you. Speaking of which—” He casually flicked the edge of his collar with a thumb. “I’ve had that horrible creation you wore last night burned.”

I flinched at the mention of ‘last night.’ Instead of reliving those memories, I focused on those gray eyes and the disgust in his words. Despite myself, I mourned my little tracksuit; it was the one clothing item I owned that had not been approved by Mother.

“Burned?”

“It was a mercy killing.” He shrugged. “Yulia will help you get ready tonight.”

I noticed the way he said that, as if getting dressed tonight would, for the first time since I’d met him, entail more than just slipping on some flimsy shift and a hair ribbon. Before I could ask why that might be, he had already disappeared through the doorway. Stupidly, I found myself rushing after him.

“If you do decide to stay here,” Dublin went on, as if he fully expected that I would, “I shouldn’t have to warn you not to go snooping and poking about, do I?” I stiffened at the ominous tone and shook my head, despite the fact that his back was turned. With my eyes on the floor, I didn’t notice the way he suddenly turned, reaching out to snag my chin in his grip. “I will anyway,” he told me, eyes boring into mine. “Keep those pretty hands neatly folded, Eleanor. You go peering into something you shouldn’t …and I might just have to punish you.”

I gulped so hard that my ears rung from the force of it. Without elaborating on what said punishment might be, Dublin dragged a thumb over my lower lip.

“Yulia should come after nightfall,” he added, pulling away. “You’ll be brought to meet me a little before midnight.” He paused, his back to me. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but I will say it again: Eleanor, this isn’t a game. I won’t be very forgiving should you choose to make a fool out of me.”

His tone was ice and I had no idea what he meant. But before I could ask him to elaborate, he was gone.

The rain just wouldn’t stop.

It lasted the whole damn day, lashing at the windows of my Devil’s lair with a vengeance. Like a whipped dog I found myself huddling within the piano room, too afraid to even touch the instrument, let alone attempt to play again.

I tried to keep Dublin’s threat at the back of my mind: keep those pretty hands to yourself. Something warned me that he wasn’t overstating his threat by a single bit, but still …

The temptation to wander was too great to resist. Besides, it was either sit in the corner and relive every fuzzy bit of last night, or take my chances and roam.

So, I settled for the latter.

I’ll just look, I told myself as I shuffled down the hallway. One little peek …

But even Dublin’s lair turned out to be just as infuriatingly pristine as he was. There wasn’t as much as a speck of dust on any surface. No lint on the floors. Every room was bare bones with hardly any furniture, paintings or even a throw rug. Just stark colors, neat lines and polished spaces.

Mother would have loved it; a minimalistic abode without so much as a shred of anything that might have held some sentimental value. All in all, the place was as empty and cold as Dublin’s soul. Or, so I believed, until I entered his study.

It was in the center of the maze of rooms, near the elevator entrance. At a second glance the books on the shelves seemed to be more than just random volumes with the sole purpose of being decoration. There was Chaucer, and Shakespeare. Poe. Even the odd Brontë novel, oddly enough. Some were old and tattered to the point where I suspected they might have been first editions.

Did my Devil do a little light reading in between terrorizing? Intrigued, I tiptoed closer, peering over at the desk before I could help it.

There, right in plain sight, was a stack of papers—tempting, mysterious papers just begging to be read by one particularly curious mortal.

Don’t even think about it, my conscience hissed at me, who knows what he’d do if he catches you?

But I was already moving forward despite common sense.

He said I couldn’t touch, I thought to myself in an attempt to rationalize my snooping, but he didn’t specifically mention that I couldn’t ‘look.’

Therefore, I didn’t feel a shred of guilt as I merely ‘glanced’ over the papers scattered there. The topmost one was just a slender strip of paper that read Receipt of Delivery. The business in question had a fancy, foreign-sounding name that I assumed belonged to some kind of boutique. The delivered items were listed neatly on the next line: one bed set, linens, headboard, mattress.

The total amount for all the items was absolutely obscene, but that wasn’t why I found myself frowning in confusion—growing even more perplexed when I realized that the date of delivery was … yesterday’s.

Had Dublin had a sudden urge to purchase furniture? Perhaps he wanted to rest his weary head on something refined after gorging on my blood?

But, then I remembered the bed. My bed to be exact; the one I had woken up on in that strange, bare room.

No. I shook my head, despite the fact that it seemed to be the only rational explanation. To even consider it would mean having to take into account two impossible facts; one, that Dublin Helos had actually cared enough not to leave me in that terrifying room, strapped down to a metal cot. And two …

He had bought me a bed instead.

The possibility threatened to send my whole assessment of my Devil and his cold demeanor crashing down, so on an impulse, I did the only thing I could think of to distract myself. I reached out and yanked open the nearest desk drawer, ignoring the part of me that exclaimed in panic. No!

I half-expected for some kind of alarm to go off and for Dublin to appear glowering in the doorway. Naughty, naughty, Eleanor.

But the hall remained empty, and I just couldn’t resist my own curiosity any longer.

The first drawer held nothing of interest, only a pad of monogrammed paper and a set of silver pens. The second however …

Nestled against a box of envelopes I found something a little more intriguing. At a first glance, I assumed that it was nothing much—just a crumbled tabloid. Though, to be fair, did vampires even partake in the consumption of mindless gossip?

In my mind, I pictured Dublin sitting at his desk reading the latest on the newest trashy celebrity and grumbling to himself about what kind of contract he could use them for. I snickered at the absurdity, but a teeny part of me couldn’t help but wonder ...

Forcing myself to focus on the task at hand, I blindly flipped through the pages until I came across a section that had been dog-eared.

Georgie Gray: Back in The City After Italian Jaunt, read the blazing headline that presided over a spread of pictures. In one was my beautiful sister, looking like she’d stepped off a runway rather than through the doors of the airport. Behind her, partially hidden in shadow, was me, bundled in a hideous sweater.

I frowned, remembering that day, nearly six months ago. It had been one of the few times that I’d gone to meet Georgie directly at the airport. As always, I was the last to find out about her little rendezvous until she showed up needing money, but that time had been different.

Georgie had almost seemed glad to see me, as if we were two ordinary sisters meeting after a long absence. That is, until she had disappeared once again, this time for Belize.

It was only then that I realized I had never sent her the money I promised. Poor Georgiana. Had Pablo, or Fabio—whatever the hell his name was—run off on her already? Knowing Georgie, she had probably moved on to the next without shedding a tear.

The fact that Dublin had called attention to her picture didn’t surprise me. Even in the grainy, candid shot she was still undeniably gorgeous. Though it did bring to mind something that Saskia had said: You didn’t think that he had just picked you out of a crowd? Did you?

I frowned while replacing the magazine and pushed the drawer closed.

Georgie was on my mind as I stood and returned to the main room, watching the storm rage outside. Lightning flashed across the horizon—just as suddenly as the thought that raced across my consciousness. Why me?

Surely, if anyone had wanted to add a Gray to their collection of souls, they would choose my beautiful sister over me?

Maybe it was like Dublin had said; he only preyed on the desperate, those pathetic enough to bargain. In a nutshell, me.

But you’re not exactly the one begging your older sister for money every damn month.

I didn’t know how long I stood there, leaning against a wall. The muscles in my legs had begun to ache when a sudden noise snapped me from my daze, and I was surprised to find that the sky had already grown dark.

“Eleanor?” I started at the sound of Yulia’s voice. A second later, light flooded the room, cast by a nearby sconce. “I thought you might be here,” Yulia added as she crossed the room. Slung over her arm was another black garment bag, no doubt containing the infamous outfit for tonight. “I went by your home, but you weren’t there …”

There was a question in her eyes, one that I wasn’t quite ready to answer considering that I was standing in the middle of Dublin’s secret lair wearing only a flimsy shift. Instead, I jumped slightly and glanced at the window, startled by a sudden rumble of thunder.

“Well, then.” I turned to find that Yulia had set aside her garment bag, slim fingers flashing as she undid the zipper. “What do you think?”

I could only stare in shock as she withdrew a floor-length gown in a dark, deep shade of red comparable only to blood. It took a minute before I realized that she meant for me to wear it.

“Are you serious?” I shook my head. “I don’t think …”

“Dublin’s orders,” she insisted, casting an admiring glance at her handiwork. Her expression was uncharacteristically gleeful, and I had a suspicion that once again she had taken her liberty with my wardrobe, Dublin be damned. “And that’s not all.”

With a mysterious smile she reached into the garment bag and withdrew something small and black that seemed even more foreboding than the gown did. It was a mask. Elegantly formed, and decorated with shiny, ebony feathers, each half of it resembled a wing.

“Am I going to a masquerade?” I asked weakly, more intimidated by the prospect than I cared to admit.

Dublin and balls were two subjects that didn’t seem inclined to mix—not without some morbid twist, which made me picture another dreaded auction. Or perhaps a newer, more humiliating form of torture?

Yulia’s expression didn’t help relieve my suspicions at all. “Let’s get you ready,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Dublin made it quite clear that you cannot be late—”

“T-To meet Raphael?” I couldn’t explain how it felt to say that name outside of Dublin’s presence; it was a bit like mumbling Bloody Mary before a darkened bathroom mirror. Shivers ran down my spine.

“Yes,” Yulia said, but if I had been hoping for reassurance, I was sorely disappointed. Her expression was guarded—that stupid mask held more emotion. You’re doomed, it whispered to me, staring through empty eye sockets. Doomed ...

But at least you’ll be in a pretty dress. There was no denying that. After Yulia led me to an unexpectedly large bathroom, I bathed and found myself draped in yards of red silk.

On me, the gown had no shape, despite how many last-minute alterations Yulia attempted with a needle and thread pulled from nowhere—but the cut was pretty, sophisticated. However, a long slit, reaching nearly to my hip, had me apprehensive as I took in my appearance.

Biting her lower lip, Yulia arranged my hair, smoothing the shorn curls as well as she could before she finally settled the mask over my eyes.

“There,” she breathed from over my shoulder. “You look the part.”

“Of what?” I wondered. A deranged Alice in Wonderland about to wander down one rabbit hole too many?

“Of …a woman mysterious enough to be on Dublin Helos’ arm.”

“Mysterious? Me?”

The only thing remotely mysterious about me was how little I managed to fill out the gown in spite of how tightly it clung to my body.

“What should I expect?” I asked to change the subject. It was strange watching my mouth move from beneath the line of the mask. I hardly recognized myself. Who was this pale stranger with haunting green eyes? What secrets hid beneath her mask?

Yulia stood back, eyes shrouded in shadow. For the first time, I sensed the unease that I supposed she had been trying her hardest to hide all along. Dublin had seemed just as ominous, I remembered.

This meeting tonight might as well have been synonymous with ‘your demise.’

“What has he told you?” Yulia asked, reaching up to twirl a piece of her black hair around her finger. “Anything at all?”

I shrugged, though I couldn’t resist the urge to scoff. Dublin? Tell me things? Ha!

Not that you truly wanted answers, a part of me whispered. If you did, you would have taken Saskia up on her offer, damn the risk.

I cringed at the thought, and almost didn’t notice that Yulia had started to speak again until she reached out to cup my jaw in her palm.

“Just stay close to Dublin,” she said softly, eyes peering deep into my own. “Believe it or not, he won’t let anyone harm you.”

I blamed shock for the fact that I didn’t snicker at the statement like I should have. Dublin, protect me?

Yulia’s gaze was way too dark for her to have been joking. Though, the larger question was—from what would I need protection?

“Forgive me for the word choice, Eleanor,” she added, a little cautiously. “But what was that saying, again? You will be the shiny new toy on the playground. Be careful.”

I frowned. Strange word choice indeed. After all, even if I was a ‘new toy,’ who on earth would want to ‘play’ with me?

I wasn’t exactly the ravishing sort—as proven by that disastrous auction. Perhaps that was why Dublin had been given another contract? Someone worth auctioning, like the beautiful blonde?

Once again, I was reminded of Georgie and I couldn’t help but picture her here, a vision in red.

“Don’t worry,” Yulia insisted, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “Come, the car is out front.”

Heart heavy, I turned away from my reflection.

Who knew? My Devil’s Hell might have been safer than anything else that awaited me in this dark world.

What a terrifying thought.

“Oh!” Suddenly, Yulia paused, snapping her fingers in the air. “I forgot to remind Dublin to give you your dose tonight. I will—”

“He already did last night,” I said, remembering his words from earlier that morning.

“Last night?”

“After he fed,” I clarified.

“What?” Abruptly, Yulia whirled around to face me. She looked horrified, as if she had suddenly put two confusing puzzle pieces together and couldn’t believe the outcome. “He …fed from you?” Her tone implied something else entirely: and you’re not dead? Without warning she reached out, batting the hair away from my neck to peer at the smooth, pale skin. Her frown only deepened. “And you’re …okay?”

I didn’t like the way she said that. Okay?—as if I had gone tap dancing through a field of lions and lived to tell the tale.

“Is something wrong?”

“No—” Yulia shook her head once. “No ... It’s just that …” She trailed off, biting her lower lip and I wondered if his feeding habits were one of the many things about Dublin she wasn’t permitted to tell me. “It’s just that …he doesn’t often feed from a live host.”

My breath caught at her choice of words. ‘Live’ host.

It was a statement far too dangerous to question, once I recalled the morgue-like setup of that feeding room. The metal slab in the center took on a new, morbid connotation and it was a painful few seconds before I could feel air start to trickle back into my lungs.

“I was surprised, that’s all,” Yulia added, though it was obvious that she was still shaken by what I’d told her. Her eyes never quite left my face, even as she turned back to the doorway. “Come,” she said finally, ushering me forward. “You cannot be late.”

Dublin’s words whispered across my mind just then: don’t make a fool out of me.

Dressed in the color of blood, moments from meeting a vampire who, apparently, would make all my worst nightmares seem like fairy tales …

What could possibly go wrong?

CHAPTER 23

Belly Of The Beast

I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN so surprised when the driver pulled through a familiar pair of haunting black gates—after all, what better setting for a vampire’s ball than a reclusive manor resembling Dracula’s summer home?

Fear held me captive as I stared up at the imposing mansion and tried to talk myself out of sprinting back to the city in a pair of heels—the main reason being that I didn’t know which direction the city even was.

“Miss?” the driver prompted.

He stood on the pavement, holding the door open, and I had no choice but to climb out. I was alone. Yulia had stayed behind and for the first time, I didn’t have an escort.

You’re at the mouth of the beast, Ellie, my conscience warned as my gaze flickered over the impassive fortress of dark stone. Enter and you will be gobbled down whole …

Apprehension swelled within me as the wind tore at my hair and played with the skirt of my gown. I must have looked ridiculous, standing there like an imbecile while the car drove off.

In or out, Ellie? I wondered. The two footmen watched me from their positions near the doors and their empty gazes revealed no hint of what awaited me within.

You could always run …

In the end, fate decided for me.

“What in the world are you doing out here, darling?” The sultry voice accompanied the arm that slipped through mine, forming a link. Alarm raced down my spine. I had an uncomfortable suspicion as to who my new companion was, even before I turned to take in the beautiful woman standing beside me.

In the dim glow of the light filtering through the manor windows Saskia gleamed. Her hair streamed in the wind behind her, eyes sparkling mischievously from behind a scarlet facemask. A matching gown hugged her body tightly in all the right places, putting my elegant ensemble to shame.

“You’ll catch your death out here!” she told me with mock-concern. “It’s freezing out.”

I didn’t have the nerve to mention that technically, the creatures inside were colder.

She’s a predator, Ellie, a part of me warned. She can smell your fear. As if to prove it, her nostrils flared as the wind picked up and those red lips parted into a malicious smile.

“Have you considered my offer yet?” she wondered. “Or, have you decided to go above my head and get your answers from someone else?”

Her tone was casual—as if she didn’t give a damn—but I wasn’t fooled. What she really meant was: You could always go ask somebody else, but only I will tell you the truth, Eleanor.

Gritting my teeth, I kept quiet until she gave up with a bored sigh.

“Very well then. Come along!”

Tossing that mane of hair over her shoulder, she surged forward, all but dragging me behind her. I struggled not to trip as I scrambled up the marble steps, ensnared by her iron grip.

The closer we came to the manor, the greater my apprehension grew.

Music spilled from inside; a faint and haunting melody barely louder than a whisper. Through the doorway, I could make out that grand entryway with its blood-red walls and polished, ebony floors. Paired with Saskia’s costume, I once again felt like Alice about to enter a terrifying, Gothic Wonderland. The comparison seemed even more fitting once I caught sight of a man standing beside the winding staircase, frowning down at his wristwatch.

“You’re late,” Dublin snarled, looking up. “Another second and I was going to drag you here by your—” He noticed my current escort and broke off. Within an instant his already hard expression was replaced by one of pure ice.

“Saskia.”

“I found your little pet off her leash,” she told him cheerfully, unhooking her arm from mine. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let her stray too far—”

“Eleanor.”

I stiffened at his tone; hidden within it was a silent command. Come here. Now. I obeyed, heels scraping the floor in my haste to reach his side. When I came close enough he shifted to block me from view, though he never took his eyes off Saskia for a second.

“Leave.”

“Let’s chat again sometime, Eleanor,” Saskia purred, unconcerned by the hostility. “You just say the word.” I jumped at her not-so-subtle insinuation. Luckily, Dublin didn’t seem to notice the petty hint.

“Get out.”

“Oh, don’t be so cruel, Dublin.” Saskia pouted, her expression full of mock hurt. “Luckily, for the sake of your manners, I have a previous engagement …”

She took her sweet time gliding past us while Dublin tracked her every movement with unwavering precision. When she finally disappeared down a hallway he waited, as if to make sure that she was really gone before he finally turned to me.

“I thought I told you to stay away from her?”

“She … I …” My voice faltered, and to my utter shame, not all of it had to do with fear.

His eyes smoldered, a frozen shade of gray that offset the paleness of his skin and two surprisingly pink lips. My gaze fell to them before I could help it, watching them move in sync as he spoke again. “Perhaps I just haven’t made myself clear enough?”

I shivered in anticipation as his fingers came to brush my collar bone, raising goosebumps. The brief contact seemed to trigger something; unwelcome images from last night flooded my brain one by one. Blood, pain, scarlet …

I couldn’t stop myself from reaching up to brush the skin along my throat in his wake, as if remembering the feel of him there. However, the act only served to draw his attention downward. For the first time that night, he seemed to realize what I was wearing. In one, long sweep, his eyes skimmed the low v-neck, before honing in on the pale flesh bared through the high slit.

“I told her to bring you the gray,” he said, no doubt referring to another gown Yulia had been meant to dress me in—but he didn’t sound angry, more resigned.

At least he wasn’t threatening to burn my clothes again. Before I could relish the indifference, he hooked his hand around the back of my head and swiftly undid the ties of my mask. I blinked as the black silk was withdrawn. Somehow, I felt more naked then than I had lying beneath him wearing nothing at all.

His eyes saw more than just my face, it seemed. They bore deep, past my fragile defenses, sensing the fear that I couldn’t even begin to hide. It was too intense. Too searching …and I was frozen in place.

Don’t look away. The thought was instinctual; the same impulse that warned you not to turn your back on a wild animal—that the moment you did, it would attack, hunt, make you its prey.

I could only try my hardest not to move an inch as Dublin stared me down. Though, in the end, I didn’t know what in my expression caused him to abruptly turn away, with my mask still clenched in his fist.

He didn’t order me to follow, not that he had to. I dutifully crept in his shadow, down another corridor and into a wide, open room. Crimson carpet covered the floor in eerie contrast to the dark, paneled walls. A glittering chandelier cast sharp bits of light, bright enough to rival the moon revealed through a bay window. A single, closed door ominously waited at one end.

There, Dublin faced me once again.

When he didn’t speak right away, I allowed myself to observe him surreptitiously from head to toe. Tonight he wore another exquisitely tailored suit, without a mask shielding those gray eyes—surprise, surprise.

This devil needed no disguise. Though if he had worn one, I had no trouble picturing what it might have been: the snarling face of a demon.

“I don’t know what Yulia’s told you,” he began in a grim tone that snapped me back to reality. “But make no mistake, Eleanor; you’re playing with fire.”

My breath caught. “Am I?”

I half-expected a scathing laugh in response. Or for him to make some taunt about how my presence really didn’t matter. I was merely another lost soul tucked into his devilish pocket, after all. But tonight he seemed …distant. We might as well have been miles apart, though we stood side by side, shoulders nearly touching.

“You have no idea.”

He turned to face me fully, gaze boring into my own.

“You don’t know how hard I tried to convince him that you were worthless. A necessary evil. That we only needed your contract long enough to—” He broke off, and seemed to change tact. “I hope you’ve gotten your bit of fun out of this, Eleanor, because trust me when I say that it’s all over.”

“This hasn’t exactly been fun for me,” I stammered, shocked by the change in his mood. In a matter of seconds he went from ice to smoldering fire. His eyes burned with an intense light that I couldn’t recall ever seeing before—not even when he’d fed.

“Oh really?”

I gulped back a hasty reply. Did he assume that I got my kicks from throwing myself into dangerous situations?

Can you blame him? My inner voice objected. What kind of sane woman signs up for virtual slavery?

Unable to think of an answer, I took a page from his book and changed the subject. “So, what happens now?”

If it was even possible, those four words seemed to irritate him further. The tension wafting from him flared in intensity, like gasoline dumped on a pile of sparking tinder.

“What happens,” he began, taking a step in my direction, “is that you finally get to play out those dramatic little fantasies I’m sure you’ve been entertaining about me—” Before I could react, he seized a wayward curl and pulled. Rather than tuck it into place, he let it hang there, wild and disgruntled while his gaze held mine for what seemed like an eternity. I swayed on my feet when he finally turned away. “You’re about to meet the real Big Bad Wolf, Eleanor Gray,” he called over his shoulder. “How fitting; you’re even wearing the right color.”

That morbid comparison echoed in my brain—though I was sure that Little Red Riding Hood had never felt quite as helpless as I did right then.

“What is it?” Dublin demanded.

I jumped at the hostility edging his tone, but it was only when I turned towards the doorway that I realized that someone else stood there in the shadows, watching us. A pair of familiar, hawkish eyes flickered over mine and my stomach twisted.

“I’m just here to let you know that the ‘party’ has begun,” the man said. His name ran across the edges of my consciousness in a whisper. Mikhail.

“How kind of you,” Dublin remarked in a tone that was anything but grateful.

“It’s the least I could do,” Mikhail replied, voice equally as cutting. “After all, we do have a guest in our midst tonight. Though, if that is the best Yulia could do with her—” He glanced over my dress and frowned. “Then, perhaps it’s time to purchase the services of another shiftspinner, Dublin. Though, to be completely honest I didn’t mind her in all that white.”

“We’ll be down.”

Mikhail shrugged, though he had the sense to finally turn on his heel. “Oh,” he called over his shoulder. “Before I forget my manners …welcome home. Though he may call himself by another name, the prodigal son has returned.”

It sounded like a riddle. Prodigal son? Another name? A milieu of questions swelled in my mind, but for once, I knew better than to push my luck by even asking.

Dublin wasn’t in the mood to humor me. He glared at Mikhail’s retreating form until he disappeared down the hall. Once again, I was left alone to face my Devil’s wrath.

“Put this on,” he growled, shoving the mask into my hand. Without another word he turned and left the room.

My fingers shook as I clumsily tied the silk strings behind my head, all the while racing after him. He made no effort to slow down, and I was forced to sprint down the hallway with my vision obscured by the narrow eye-holes of my mask.

“Eleanor.”

The sound of his voice was my only warning before he came to a sudden stop—luck seemed to be on my side, as by some miracle I was able to stop myself before completely plowing into him from behind.

We stood before another pair of closed doors. Once again, music drifted from beyond, so faint that I could only just make out a single, mystifying melody.

“Let’s refresh,” Dublin began with his back still turned to me. I flinched as his hand caught my own, fingers clenching tight—but there wasn’t any comfort in the gesture, just cold, cruel possession. “Once we pass through these doors, I am no longer ‘Dublin,’ understood? If you need to address me at all—which you shouldn’t—you are to call me only Sir, preferably Master.”

There was no mockery in his tone this time, just a grim insistence that made my toes curl in my heels.

“I-I understand.”

He didn’t acknowledge the response. Not even to shoot me one of those infamous glares. I received no words of reassurance at all, before he finally pulled open the doors …

And we entered a whole new realm.

CHAPTER 24

The Devil’s Masquerade

WHEN I FOLLOWED DUBLIN over the threshold, I felt like a trespasser in the middle of Dracula’s Halloween ball.

Priceless tapestries hung from the scarlet walls, depicting ancient scenes with a detail that made my heart seize in my chest. Shadows draped the polished, ebony floor like the finest Persian carpets. Paintings framed in gold illustrated haunting views of what seemed to be the Italian countryside and portraits of nameless figures dressed in Renaissance Era clothing.

Gray Manor might have seemed impressive to most, but this was opulence—the kind of atmosphere one would never find at my parent’s stuffy business soirées.

Hell, even the dust bunnies in the corners probably wore crowns. The ceiling was miles away, obscured by countless gleaming chandeliers that seemed to cast more darkness than light.

Much like the people gliding across the floor beneath them.

Nearly every pale face sported a mask of some kind. Many were festooned with gleaming feathers, like mine, while others sported more animalistic features: fangs, wolfish eyes, snake scales and even the odd pair of horns.

Apparently, it was the Devil’s masquerade.

Mother would have fainted. My sister, on the other hand, would have fit right in. Amongst it all, I felt as worthless as a mouse scurrying underfoot, which was a good thing, I supposed, because hidden within Dublin’s shadow, I might as well have been invisible.

Keep your head down, Ellie, I told myself as I followed in his wake. Regardless, I couldn’t resist sneaking little glimpses of the ballroom with every step. My own reflection greeted me from the surface of the gleaming marble floor, eyes wide from behind that mask.

I kept waiting for something to snap at us from the shadows, something threatening enough to bolster the tension I could sense coiled within Dublin’s shoulders—but whenever anyone did open their mouths, it was only to utter the same reverent greeting.

“Dublin.”

With my eyes on the floor, I only caught a partial glimpse of the various figures that came forward; a woman in a pair of red heels greeted him politely. Two black loafers addressed him coldly, and a figure in silver stilettos sounded fearful.

The latter reaction appeared to be the norm.

Wherever we passed, those nearby seemed to withdraw. Dublin scared even the other monsters, it seemed, and I couldn’t help recalling that phrase he loved to repeat: I am a creature, bound for hell.

What did that make everyone else?

He never returned a word anyone said to him, but with every step, his grip tightened. When we finally reached our apparent destination—a raised dais at the back of the room—he damn near broke my hand.

The surface of the dais was draped in blood-colored silk, reminiscent of a platform some Medieval King might hold court from. Only this ruler had opted for a sleek leather chaise rather than some stately throne. I knew instantly just who that was – who else but the mysterious Raphael could be the dark figure dominating the center of the platform?

I couldn’t bring myself to really look at him just yet, so I stared down at the floor, counting the seconds that passed without any circulation to my right hand as Dublin’s grip took on vice-like qualities.

“Dublin.” The music died almost on cue, allowing the speaker’s words to hit the air like their own distorted melody. “What a surprise.”

I tried and failed to picture a face to go along with that voice. It was cold—the unnerving chill that resulted from an absolute lack of emotion: no hate, nor amusement, nor fear.

Nothing at all but ice.

“Raphael,” Dublin replied and a shiver ran down my spine at the restraint in his tone.

When I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, I saw that his head was bowed in the same way one might to acknowledge a king—but something faint scorched the air. Hostility? Hatred?

Whatever it was tainted the atmosphere despite the show of respect. I figured that I was the only one who could sense the tension coiled in his muscles—by now, my poor fingers had lost all feeling.

“Surprise?” he echoed, as he returned to his full height. “Saskia made your invitation seem like one I couldn’t refuse ...”

“Well, I suppose that next time I shouldn’t send my message through Saskia,” Raphael remarked in that unnervingly lifeless tone. “Perhaps, I should deliver it myself?”

Dublin’s grip tightened, until I feared that the imprint of his fingers would be forever etched into my skin.

“Was there a reason that you requested an audience?” he asked without addressing what even I had enough sense to realize had been a threat.

“Does one require a reason to visit with an old friend?” Raphael wondered. He didn’t seem to expect an answer. “Despite your years of …solitude, I would have never thought that I would have had to resort to requesting your presence, Dublin. However, if I am to be completely honest, I also desired to meet the illustrious Eleanor Gray in person.”

I stiffened at the way his tongue seemed to linger over my name, drawing it out in one sensuous line. I could feel his gaze taking me in—peering right through me.

“Well, here she is, as per your request,” Dublin said.

“I can see that. And I must say that I am pleased to finally make her acquaintance—” There was a sudden displacement of air as a pale hand appeared outstretched beneath my nose, only the fingers were far too slender to have belonged to Dublin. “Welcome to my humble abode, Eleanor. I must say, I was expecting ... Well, you look nothing like your sister.”

I blinked. Georgie’s reputation preceded her everywhere, it seemed; even the Devil’s own soiree. I couldn’t help but think that she would have known what to do in the midst of a manor full of vampires. I could picture her flashing a charming smile and fearlessly shaking Raphael’s hand while they discussed her various exploits over wine.

I, on the other hand, could only stare.

His fingers hung in the air expectantly, daring me to take them. I wavered on what to do, but in the end Dublin made the decision for me. His grip receded, and he nudged me forward: take it!

I did. My fingers interlaced with Raphael’s and I had to resist the urge to snatch my hand back immediately. The man was glacial. So cold that Dublin’s chill seemed like an inferno in comparison. His touch lingered, and I had no choice but to finally look up.

If someone had asked me a second ago to name the most handsome man I had ever seen, the answer would have been easy: Dublin. In a way, he still was, because Raphael was simply beautiful.

Gleaming black hair fell down his shoulders to frame a pale, angular face that was striking even without a mask. A simple black shirt and pants made him appear no less regal than the robes of a king. Like Mikhail and Dublin, he too wore a silver chain visible around his neck.

The chain itself was thicker than those of the other two, considerably so, and hanging from it was the curved body of a silver serpent with ruby-red eyes, and bared fangs. A shudder ran through me as I realized how similar it was to the creature that adorned the front of every contract book.

Regardless, at first glance, Raphael himself could have been summed up with one word: angelic. He was every bit as ethereal as his biblical namesake. Only those eyes ruined the façade. They were ageless—empty. I had no idea as to what impression he had of me, if any at all, when he finally pulled back.

“Welcome, Eleanor.” He gestured to the crowd with a wave of his hand—all of whom, I realized had turned to stare in our direction. “I trust that Dublin hasn’t been too inhospitable?”

The words seemed like a question, but I knew—even before I felt that infamous grip return to my forearm in warning—not to answer him directly. I glanced at Dublin, who jerked his head once. No. The slight display of dominance did not go unnoticed by Raphael. His smile deepened as I struggled to choke out an answer.

“N-No.”

The man continued to watch me, eyes fathomless. When he finally turned away, it was only to beckon to someone lurking in the corner. A second later, Mikhail appeared on the edge of the dais.

“My lord?” His eyes were now shielded by a wolfish mask, but I didn’t miss the emotion that flickered through them as they darted over me: curiosity.

“Mikhail. Why don’t you entertain Miss Gray? Dublin and I have much to discuss.”

My heart sank to my toes. Mikhail seemed about as likely to ‘entertain me’ as a Doberman would a piece of steak. As if sensing my thoughts, the grip on my arm tightened even more.

“She could stay here.” Dublin’s voice was completely devoid of emotion, but he released me as if knowing the answer before Raphael even spoke.

“I don’t think this topic would interest her,” he replied. “It deals with some old ...friends of mine—you know the ones.” He waited until Dublin nodded; the motion was laced with tension. “Well, it seems our ‘message’ was not very clear. They appear very determined to overstep—” His gaze cut to me. “Perhaps I need to be more firm in my correspondence?”

The words fell with all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb. Whispers exploded throughout the room, and the next thing I knew I was being shoved in Mikhail’s direction.

“Go.” The order in Dublin’s tone was clear, but I couldn’t resist one last look over my shoulder.

There was something in his eyes again …

Only this time, it was easy to name what it was: fear.

Before I could fathom the reason for it, he turned to Raphael and I was shut out. I could only follow behind Mikhail, and try not to trip over the skirt of my gown as he led me across the ballroom and through a set of doors.

I shuddered to find myself inside of what seemed to be a dimly lit drawing room. The walls were the same bloody red that adorned the rest of the manor, and spread throughout, several pale figures lounged on various pieces of furniture.

“A new toy, Mikhail?” a woman in burgundy asked from a velvet chaise. She lowered her violet mask to cast me an appraising glance. “She’s a little scrawny for your taste, isn’t she?”

Mikhail didn’t even spare a glance in her direction.

Instead, he headed for a sleek sofa in the center of the room and threw himself across it. His eyes brushed over me once before settling on the wall behind my head, as if the antique wallpaper was far more interesting.

“Meet Eleanor Gray,” he announced in a dry tone—though, I figured his nonchalance was more for dramatic effect than anything else.

A hush fell over the room and I could only stand utterly still as what had to be ten pairs of eyes took me in.

“Eleanor Gray?” In a blur of black silk, another woman appeared before me, frowning from behind her ruby-red mask. “She looks nothing like I had imagined. For all the gossip one might think she looked like her sister. At least that one seems worthy of the hype—”

“Why would it matter?” someone else countered. “Raphael wanted her simply to prove a point to the Grayne. Maybe now they will learn their place.”

“Enough.” Mikhail raised his hand. “Let’s not frighten our guest.”

He sounded polite, but his tone conveyed another meaning: Shut up before you say too much. Regardless, my mind was already struggling to register the strange words. Grayne. The other one—Georgie?

“I wonder if all the rumors are true?” The woman in black mused with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “Regardless of her purpose, they say Dublin bought her contract specifically. He never buys anyone—”

“Except for that shiftspinner he’s so fond of,” another man interjected.

“Yes,” the woman agreed, “but I doubt he fucks the shiftspinner.”

My cheeks flamed at the coarse insinuation but something else distracted me from the shame—there was that strange word again. Shiftspinner. Could they be referring to Yulia?

“He certainly went out of his way to purchase her at the auction,” another voice added, snapping me from the thought. “Usually, he doesn’t even bother to show up. I heard he had to bargain for her from Raphael himself—”

“Now, now,” Mikhail scolded, wagging a pale finger. “Let’s not gossip, my friends. Engorge your blabbering mouths instead. Have some refreshments.”

He said the word so distinctly that I supposed I really shouldn’t have been surprised when, at a snap of his fingers, two women appeared in the doorway.

They were dressed in the same way Saskia’s ‘girls’ had been back at the auction: dark silk, very little of it, cut to reveal as much skin as possible. But these women also sported another ‘accessory’, one so much more horrifying than anything else I had been presented with so far.

Inflamed, round puncture wounds dotted their bodies. Their arms, legs, and even the torsos visible through their skimpy costumes had all been brutalized by the markings. It didn’t take much thought to guess what they were: bite marks, hundreds of them.

Something that Dublin had said ran across my mind in a whisper; never allow yourself to be bitten more than three times in one night.

Apparently, no one here had gotten the memo.

As I watched, Mikhail beckoned a woman closer with a wave of his hand. The moment she approached, he snatched her arm and held it flat. He observed the flesh the same way one might a picked-over buffet, appraising the few remaining options. Then, his upper lip pulled back from his teeth, revealing fangs that glinted in the light of a chandelier. I could only remain there, frozen in the center of the room as he bit down, groaning in response to the blood that flooded his mouth.

Red splattered his collar, while the woman swayed on her feet, eyes unnaturally empty …soulless.

The room blurred. I could sense the others shifting and more women entering, but nothing registered until a cold hand fell over my shoulder, accompanied by a deep voice that sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“Whose pet is this?”

“That one’s mine.”

I turned, forgetting all about the creature behind me as my eyes fell over the one standing in the doorway.

Dublin’s expression was as glacial as always, but this time there was a darkness in his eyes that seemed to make everyone in the room instinctively flinch back. Even I could sense what it was: possession.

“Eleanor.” He raised an eyebrow and that was the only warning I needed to rush over and follow him down the hall.

I held my breath with every step, unwilling to release it until he pulled me into an empty drawing room and closed the door behind us. A cream-colored chaise rested against a wall lined with elegant wallpaper and adorned by the portrait of a pale woman in a medieval gown.

“I trust you’ve been enjoying yourself,” Dublin spoke from behind me. “Have you sampled the menu? I hear they have delectable options …”

I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t want to. Instead, I merely stood there, enduring his mocking tirade as my face heated with shame. Every time I blinked, I saw those women—their empty, haunted faces.

I didn’t realize, until a cold hand fell over the small of my back, that I had been trembling. Goosebumps prickled as two of his fingers lingered there, imparting ice. The contact wasn’t reassuring—more acknowledging, as if he had had to touch me just to make sure that my response was real.

How pleased he must have been. Finally, I was playing my part by living up to his flair for the dramatic. All that was missing now were the ‘sobs and hysterics.’ I waited for him to insinuate as much, but when he finally spoke, his tone caught me off guard.

“You can choose to believe me or not …but I did not want you to see that.”

“Is that what you want me to be?” There was no need to elaborate on what I meant. Broken. Dead. A zombie.

“You signed the contract,” he replied—but the next second his hands moved to my shoulders, turning me to face him. He cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “However, I wouldn’t get any pleasure from breaking you, if that’s what you mean. You’re much too stubborn.”

The words seemed truthful, but I couldn’t—or maybe wouldn’t?—believe him.

Contract be damned. There was more to this than some slip of paper. I didn’t want to think so. It was so much easier to just believe that I was some mousy waif he’d picked up on a whim—but even Saskia had alluded to the truth.

You didn’t think he just picked you out of the crowd, did you?

“What do you want from me?”

Dublin raised a blond eyebrow and seemed to mull it over. “The truth?”

I nodded into his palm.

“I want you. You’re smart, Eleanor,” he clarified. “When put to the test, you manage to succeed, though, I have no idea how. Your loyalty could prove invaluable to me.”

“My … My loyalty?”

My mind was stuck somewhere on I want you.

“Let me ask you something.” He frowned and his hand fell down to his side. “Why did you accept my bargain?”

“It wasn’t like I had much of a choice,” I said, recalling his methods of persuasion, including that mid-morning intrusion into my bedroom.

“You’re lying.” His tone had hardened. The icy mask was back in place. My answer had irritated him—though, for once, I had no idea what I might have said wrong. “I want the truth, Eleanor. Why did you accept my bargain?”

“I-I don’t understand.” I wracked my brain for the memories of that first day when I had met him in the hospital. “I suppose it was because I needed to tell my sister in person. I want her to look after my cat when I—”

“Wrong again.” He took a step towards me and then another, swiftly backing me into a corner. My back hit the surface of the cream wallpaper with its delicate golden filigree. The color reflected in Dublin’s gaze, making his eyes smolder.

“You seem to be unwilling to admit the obvious,” he observed while stalking close enough that his breath fanned the hollow of my throat. “So shall I say it for you? You, the pathetic, dreary heiress, were nothing more than bored.”

Bored? The word ran through me on a current of shock. It was a long moment before I managed to gather enough of my senses to attempt to respond.

“P-Pardon me, Dublin, but I’d much rather read a Jane Austen novel during my downtime instead of selling my goddamned soul.”

“And I’m sure you believe that wholeheartedly,” he agreed with a nod. “I assume that, after twenty-six dull years of life, you’ve convinced yourself of a lot of things, Eleanor. I’m here to tell you that it’s all lies. Deep down in your little soul, you know that you were suffocating …and that I offered you a way out.”

A way out? Those three little words had the same effect on me as a vicious slap to the face. My head reeled back. Heat flooded my cheeks.

“Well, how gallant of you,” I choked out turning on my heel. “You don’t know anything.”

This was too much. I was done with humoring Dracula and his cohorts. It was time to go home—back to the pampered life he seemed to think I wanted an escape from.

Eager to do just that, I meant to breeze past him, nose in the air like a good, snotty socialite—and the Dublin Helos I thought I knew and loathed would have gladly let me prance away.

Only this man caught me by the wrist and dragged me back so fiercely that I stumbled into a chest made of stone.

“I offered you life, Eleanor,” he hissed into my ear. “And not in the poetic sense. You aren’t afraid of death, oh no. You welcome it. You’re not afraid of dying any more than you’re afraid of me—though, I’m sure that you’ve convinced yourself of the opposite.”

I struggled to pull away, but his grip tightened, holding me immobile. “Let me—”

“I may haunt your nightmares, Eleanor,” he said over me, “but when you wake up from those nightmares, you know that it isn’t fear making your heart pound like mad in your chest. It isn’t fear surging through your veins. You almost had me fooled …but to you, this is all nothing more than a game.”

He finally let me go and I staggered away. His disgust pierced me, right down to the bone—but shame and hurt weren’t why my body trembled like mad.

It was rage.

“A game?”

First the man terrorized me and then wanted to claim that he was the victim? Mean, bored Ellie, how dare she play along with the Devil’s game.

“Forgive me,” he said, “‘Game’ suggests the participation of both parties. To you, this is simply entertainment. What do you fancy me as, Eleanor? A dancing bear? A caged tiger? Does your stomach flip excitedly whenever I bare my fangs?”

“I-I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about—”

“Stop lying to yourself,” he snarled. “The sensible, meek woman you pretend to be would have never gotten into the car that first night. She would have called the police. She wouldn’t still be here now.”

“Oh really?” I croaked.

A part of me wanted to suffer the insults in silence, hold my chin up high and allow him to spew the tirade that, I supposed, had been building within him all this time. Any other day I most likely would have—even now, my mother’s words berated me from the grave. Decorum, Eleanor! Decorum!

But she couldn’t hold me back this time.

It took two steps to reach him and I had to crane my neck back just to see his face. His eyes were cold, glacial. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so visibly angry, not even when he dealt with Saskia.

“I find nothing ‘entertaining’ about being tormented by some ass who fancies himself the Devil,” I said, mustering every ounce of strength I had to put into my voice. I had no idea where the ice in my tone came from, or the scorn. I was channeling Margaret Gray in all her pretentious glory and I hated myself for sinking to his level. “Maybe I’m not afraid of you,” I lied, “but why would I be, when all you do is berate me for taking the choice that you offered me in the first place?”

“Oh?”

I knew right then that I had just leapt over some invisible line and there was no going back.

“I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of what I could ...would do to you, Eleanor,” Dublin began, taking a step forward to bolster the threat. “But if nothing scares you …”

He lunged.

Cold hands seized my waist, ruthlessly cinching the thin fabric of my gown as he yanked me forward. I had no warning. No chance to react. His jaw nudged mine, forcing me to tilt my head back. His mouth hovered somewhere along my lower lip imparting tendrils of ice. I gasped as the edge of one fang teased the rim of my mouth.

Then, he bit.

A burst of metallic flavor coated my tongue: salty, hot, blood. Fear exploded through my veins, but before I could even begin to struggle, he pushed me away.

I barely managed to catch myself against the wall.

“You don’t want me to be an active participant in your little game,” Dublin warned, unconcerned as I swayed on my feet. “So, I highly suggest you drop this ‘little girl lost’ routine, because if you want a real monster, Eleanor, I would be more than happy to supply you with one.”

With a casual motion, he swiped some scarlet liquid from his chin with his thumb. His fangs flashed in a flicker of ivory, streaked with red. My heart seized at the sight—but for once it wasn’t because of fear.

I hated the way warmth welled against my bottom lip.

I hated the way it stung. How the pain made me realize that it was the closest I had ever come to being kissed.

I hated him.

I doubted I even mentally processed the motion when I staggered forward. My hand flew out, seemingly disconnected from my body.

And I slapped him—hard.

He was so solid that it felt more like ramming the flat of my hand into concrete. Bones that I didn’t even know existed screamed with pain.

Thwack! The sound resonated around the room and it felt …empowering, until the realization of what I had just done sank in only a second later.

My hand stung. I didn’t recognize it. I barely recognized myself. And yet the man I’d just assaulted seemed unconcerned by the violence—pleased, even.

“There she is,” he finally said. “The real Eleanor Gray. Not that rich little bitch you pretend to be for everyone else. This is the woman who could be of use to me.”

“You’re mad.” Helplessly, I stumbled back, unwilling to turn my back on him for even a second. “Stay away from me …”

“Funny,” Dublin said, head tilted to the side. “I should be the one telling you those exact words. But I am done playing with you, Eleanor.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. The expression on his face reminded me of the snarl of a wolf right before it tore into the throat of a bleeding doe.

Merciless.

“You may have been able to convince yourself that this is just some horrible predicament that you found yourself in through no fault of your own. But you and I both know the truth: you crave danger, Eleanor. You surround yourself with creatures who only want to hurt you—” As if to emphasize that very point he eyed my shoulder, where Tinkles’ scratches had faded beneath the remarkable healing properties of his ‘cure.’ “You desire pain. Admit it, and I could give you all the danger you desire.”

His voice was heavy with innuendo. More than sex, I sensed.

Violence.

Pain.

More.

It took everything I had in me just to shake my head.

“You’re sick,” I spat. Literally, specks of spittle landed on the toe of his shoe, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

“And yet, I’m not the one who’s dying. But I’ll tell you what … Consider this an offer that you can’t refuse.”

His gaze held me captive and …God help me, I couldn’t turn away.

“You could leave right now,” he told me. “Have your seven days. Spend them wasting away in your mansion, trying your hardest to convince yourself that everything I’ve said is nothing more than lies. I’ll even send my car around to take you home. Or …”

I froze, terrified of what he might say next.

“Or, you and I make a new bargain. No more lies. No more pretending. I don’t want Ellie Gray, dowdy heiress extraordinaire. I want the woman who stripped naked before a stranger because she was too damn stubborn to take the easy way out.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” I whispered, finally desperate enough to make a break for the door.

Surprisingly, he let me go, and I knew even as I started running that he wouldn’t follow. Still, his parting words chased me over the threshold on an icy gust of air.

“You have twenty-four hours …”

CHAPTER 25

The Razor’s Edge

MY BITTEN LIP THROBBED.

The pain spurred me onward until I was running blindly through the corridors, heedless of anything but the need to escape. Shadowy figures gazed on in amusement as I staggered from room to room like a lost child, but no one tried to stop me—not that they would dare. I was Dublin’s ‘pet,’ after all.

Eventually, I found myself outside and the icy air—as startling as a slap to the face—snapped some clarity back into me. I inhaled deeply, desperate to regain my bearings.

Then I saw it.

As patiently as if this had been the plan all along, Dublin’s vehicle idled in the driveway. The driver climbed out to hold open the door to the backseat, but I didn’t waste any time contemplating the fact that he must have known all along what my answer to his little game would have been.

It didn’t matter.

I was done being stubborn, through with being brave. I was perfectly content to huddle in the backseat and face the fact that I was a foolish idiot who’d finally been put in her place. Those four little words taunted me during the entire ride; this isn’t a game.

For once, Gray manor was a beacon of safety that I couldn’t enter fast enough. I stumbled up the front step, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress. Heedless of any servants who might have lingered after hours, I wrenched the red gown over my head and threw it onto the floor. Half-naked, I raced up the staircase clothed only in my underwear and heels. My room was a chilly, empty refuge that greeted me with darkness and dull furniture; safe, boring, mine.

This is where you belong, Ellie, I told myself as I wrenched off my heels one by one and tossed them into a corner. This is who you are.

I spotted my mother’s hated nightgown resting over the edge of my bed and gratefully slipped it on over my head, fastening the buttons up to my chin.

On an impulse, I gathered up the other clothing scattered about as well—all those black garment bags from Mystic—and carried them down the hall. The first room I entered was my father’s old study, complete with its very own fireplace, where I promptly tossed the lot of fabric.

He’s wrong, you don’t crave danger, I told myself as I scavenged a package of matches from the top of the mantle and struck one.

You don’t like pain, I added as I allowed the match to fall over the topmost pale gray shift.

“I don’t want him,” I said out loud as I watched the clothing burn.

I tried not to care as every handmade garment smoldered, but when that last bit of silk finally disintegrated to ash, I didn’t feel any less unsteady than I had staring down Dublin. In fact, as I curled up in a corner, I could almost hear him laughing at my pathetic attempts to erase him.

The sound of the doorknob turning jolted me awake. As my eyes flew open, I half-expected to find a pair of mocking, gray ones peeking through the crack: Did you think it would be so easy? Guess again, silly Eleanor—you can’t escape the Devil.

But rather than Dublin, another familiar face greeted me.

“Harper?” I yawned as I pulled myself upright. “Is something wrong?”

It wasn’t like him to seek me out on his own without a specific reason; one that I figured had something to do with what he held in his hands.

“A call for you, Miss,” he said as he offered me a silver tray, on top of which rested a slim, portable phone.

Warily, I took it and pressed the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

“Eleanor, God! Finally!”

I flinched at the bubbly, yet irritated tones. “Georgie?”

“Yes,” my sister snapped. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve tried calling for at least two days!”

“I … I …”

As always, she didn’t give me the chance to speak before launching into her real concern: herself. “Oh, it doesn’t matter! I don’t mean to sound like a brat, really, Ellie, I don’t, but you did promise me that money days ago …”

The money.

Of course, she wouldn’t be calling about my welfare or wondering as to the reasons behind my two-day absence. After all, I was dutiful, dowdy Ellie; what kind of life could I have possibly led outside the family’s home?

“I’ll have it sent today,” I heard myself respond, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“Thank you.” She sighed and the sound was as heavy as a gust of wind—relieved. Could she, perhaps, be in more trouble than just lacking funds to buy the newest, pretty sundress? “I’ll be back in town on Thursday. I’ll see you then, okay?”

She hung up before I even had the chance to say goodbye. Numb, I set the phone back onto the tray while Harper watched.

“I can take care of that for you, Miss, if you would like.”

By now, of course, he knew the drill as to what any one of my sister’s rare phone calls meant.

“Thank you.” Suddenly exhausted, I sank down into a nearby chair and cradled my head in my hands. Mentally I counted the days from now until next Thursday: seven.

The coincidence had me shivering so violently that my teeth chattered.

What had Dublin told me again? Have your seven days …

“Are you all right?” Harper sounded concerned, but I brushed him off with a shrug.

“Fine. Would you mind terribly if you handled the transfer?” I knew that Mother and Father had used him to send Georgie her hush money before—but it still felt wrong, somehow. Poor Harper had already been shoved in the thick of one Gray drama too many.

But the man was dutiful to a fault.

“Of course, miss.”

Grateful, I told him the amount, but right when he turned, heading for the door, something made me call him back. “Wait! I’ve changed my mind.” A sudden thought appeared before me like a stabbing dagger; sharp, dangerous, irresistibly shiny …

Years of being ‘good, dependable Ellie,’ goaded me toward the rebellious plot like a moth to flame.

I want you, Dublin had said.

Liar. He merely wanted my checkbook; they all did. As Georgie had just reinforced, money was my only purpose. That bastard wasn’t any different, and I would prove just how true that assessment really was.

I knew the idea was stupid—even as it formed most deliciously in my mind—and that I’d most likely end up injured in the end, broken.

But it wasn’t like I had much left to lose. Nothing but my pride, life, and blood, of course ...

“I’ll do it myself.” My voice rang out, confidently clear as I tried to shake the doubts away. “In fact, I need to make a withdrawal.”

I barged through the sleek glass doors of the office building, clutching a leather handbag to my chest and holding my head high.

For the first time in days, I wasn’t wearing a flimsy shift or pretty fabrics. Instead, my outfit of choice would have done Mother proud: a brown tweed skirt and a sensible, emerald blouse. In other words, I looked like a nun on her day off, and I was damn proud of the fact—never again would I forget who or what I was: dependable, homely and safe Eleanor Gray.

Whether he claimed to be the Devil or not, Dublin Helos would never change me.

“Good morning,” the blonde receptionist chirped as I marched past, but her cheerfulness soon turned to confusion when I headed straight for the elevator doors, rather than stop at the desk.

“Miss?”

Her voice followed me up twelve stories, but unfortunately I remembered the way without any need for direction. Like the remnants of some sick, twisted nightmare, every inch of this place seemed ingrained on my sub-consciousness.

When I finally reached that infamous corner office, I wasn’t surprised to find him already there, dressed in a gray suit, intently studying a stack of paperwork. My, he certainly was dedicated to that ‘doctor’ rouse of his.

I didn’t think he even heard me come in until I slammed my bag down on his desk.

He glanced up and observed me with a pen still trapped between two fingers and a line of ink drying on a sheet of parchment. His eyes honed in on mine, a dark, stormy gray completely devoid of emotion. Contrary to how I had envisioned him while planning this little rendezvous in my head, he didn’t look shocked.

Not even when I proceeded to pull stack after stack of money from the depths of my bag and drop each one onto his desk.

“Five-hundred thousand dollars,” I announced, laying down the final amount. “More than enough to settle our debt.”

“Is that so?” Dublin sat back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head, though he barely spared the money a passing glance. “I suppose it would be, if we were talking about some cheap piece of art or a limited edition copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

There was no emotion in his voice. Those eyes perfectly displayed what he felt; uninterested, bored, un-amused.

“Even your soul has a heftier price tag,” he added, while my simple grasp on the world imploded for the umpteenth time.

“B-But—”

“If absolution could be so easily bought with paper, then where would that leave me? You’ve sold your soul to the Devil, Eleanor, and believe me …it is a long road to redemption from the pits of hell.”

Something told me that he was no longer referring to our hand-written contract.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. In the end, I could only stand there, stunned, as he lifted each stack of bills, one by one and then proceeded to toss them all into the wastebasket. In the span of five seconds, a small fortune settled in amongst balls of crumpled paper.

“S-Stop!”

I knew that I was being ridiculous, even before I lurched forward to salvage the discarded bills. Silver eyes burned the back of my neck while I foolishly placed each one back onto the desk. When I finished, I stood, smoothing out the front of my skirt with shaking fingers.

“Why can’t you just take the damn money?” I demanded in exasperation.

My own sister had no problem with using me as her personal ATM. What made him so damn different? My thoughts or feelings never mattered to anyone, just as long as I followed my usual routine.

Dependable Ellie.

Dutiful Ellie.

Stupid, predictable, Ellie.

Heaven forbid that I forget my place.

“All anyone ever wants from me is money,” I insisted, painfully aware of how naïve I sounded.

Nevertheless Dublin humored me with a shrug. “Not everyone,” he said. “Though, why should it matter? You’re still clinging to your role of dowdy spinster, and as I recall, I’ve already sent you on your merry way. You’re free.”

Free.

Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?

The word should have been my salvation—seven days was still enough time to draft a will and explain everything to Georgie. So why did it feel like my damnation instead? As I tried to imagine myself living out the rest of my days in Gray Manor, I only saw an endless, dark eternity.

“I have your contract,” he added, as an afterthought before returning to his paperwork. “Though I won’t bother enforcing it.”

“E-Enforce?”

“In other words you are no longer my concern.” He made me sound like a naughty child who’d been spanked into submission.

And suddenly, everything was crystal clear—his so called ‘new bargain’ had been a bluff; nothing more than a ploy to get me out of his hair once and for all. Apparently, even my money meant nothing to him in the long run.

“So why do any of this in the first place, if it doesn’t even matter?” I demanded, furious though I had no clue as to why. “Why even offer me a contract at all and not someone like—” Somehow, I managed to stop myself before I could utter the name Georgiana.

Regardless, those gray eyes narrowed, fathomlessly dark and I had enough sense to read the warning flashing through them. Watch yourself, Eleanor.

“As I recall, I’ve told you what I wanted,” he said in a tone that made me shiver. “You, without the charming, yet unattractive emotional baggage of a naïve, sheltered spinster. I want you to stop pretending, Eleanor. I want the woman who climaxes whenever I sink my fangs into her throat.”

My cheeks flamed. I sputtered. “How dare you—”

“Let us drop the pretense, shall we?” He stood, hands slamming down hard onto the desk, and leaned across it as if threatening to lunge for me right then and there. “Forget your Goddamned contract.”

He reached into his pocket then, giving me the feeling that he had been prepared for this ‘ambush’ of mine all along. He withdrew the folded slip of paper, which I knew in my soul to be our ‘renegotiated’ agreement, an agreement that he promptly tore in half before tossing both slips of paper into the wastebasket.

“Do you understand now?” he all but growled, eyes burning in a way that made him resemble the infamous Lucifer more than ever. “I don’t want the empty shell of Eleanor Gray that you show the world—I want you, willing and bound to me by something more than a damn piece of paper.”

“Bound?” I heard myself croak. How pathetic that it was the only thing I could think to say. “Why?”

He glowered, his handsome face all but transformed into a snarl. “Shall I put it crassly so that you can understand? I want to be able to fuck you, and take your blood, and have you bend to my will, without you once being able to fall back on that damned contract as an excuse. I want you to submit to me, and only me, because you simply want to.”

The world swam in and out of focus. Submit. Bound. Contract.

This wasn’t about blood anymore, and I couldn’t understand. Men like him didn’t desire women like me—at least, outside of the realm of possible food choices.

“Don’t mock me,” I hissed, voice shaking, convinced that this was some elaborate joke at my expense. “You could have any woman you wanted—”

“Oh, but I don’t want any other woman,” he snapped. “I want you. I’d be damned if I knew why.”

The grudging sincerity in his tone sliced into my core, forcing me to submit to the truth—but I wouldn’t, couldn’t, when this frantic little voice at the back of my mind was screaming, he’s lying! He’s lying!

“You’re being ridiculous.”

If only he didn’t look so damn serious. His eyes obsidian, without a shred of amusement glimmering within their depths.

“Am, I now?” He sat back in his chair, his demeanor dismissive once again. He even lifted a hand to wave me off; sayonara.

“Then, I suppose we’re done here. Go return to your Ms. Austen, Eleanor—”

He froze at the sound of a brass button snapping loose to bounce across the floor.

So did I.

But my hands were at the collar of my blouse, shaking as they slowly undid another button, and then another …

What the hell was I doing?

This time, real surprise crossed Dublin’s face. A greedy, childish part of me relished the way his eyes traced the growing triangle of bare flesh, wide and unnerved for once.

The reaction goaded me on. Clumsily, I continued to unhook my blouse one button at a time, never taking my eyes off his face. My hands were somewhere over my navel when he stood, eyes so fathomlessly dark they swallowed all the light like two black holes.

The temperature in the room plummeted as he surged forward like a true creature from hell. I jerked, and abruptly the two final buttons went flying. But Dublin only blew past me for the door, which he promptly slammed shut.

“Eleanor—” I had never heard him sound so rough, and I knew without even having to turn around that his eyes would be that dangerous shade of silver. Wolfish. “I’m only going to ask you this once: why are you really here? Say it.”

Don’t listen, Ellie, my conscience whispered. You could still leave. The door’s right there …

Regardless I glared at his empty chair as if it were a good enough substitute for the man himself.

“Why am I here?” I spoke while yanking my arms from the sleeves of my blouse. “I’m here because I would rather string myself up by my toes for your amusement than ever let you think that you have some kind of power over me. I am not afraid of you.”

Liar, my inner voice hissed. You’re shaking. You can barely stand up. Your heart is racing.

But, a tiny part of me wondered if that had anything at all to do with fear.

“I know—” Suddenly, he was speaking directly into my ear, body pressed against mine from behind. As I stiffened in shock, he took my blouse from my shaking hands and tossed it to the floor. “Eleanor Gray, the woman who doesn’t even fear death itself. What is a mere vampire in comparison?”

I couldn’t tell if he was taunting me. Without warning, he shoved me toward the desk and I had no choice but to grab onto the edge of it or risk falling altogether.

His palm thudded against the wood, as he came up behind me and reached across my shoulder to wrench open a drawer. From it, he withdrew what seemed to be a small, triangular object with a golden dragon embossed on the ebony casing. I gasped as he casually tapped the head of the emblem and a silver blade sprung from the tip, gleaming in the sunlight. A knife? I tensed, watching as he drew a thumb over the knife’s edge, smearing a drop of his own surprisingly bright blood on the metal.

“Bend over.”

“W-What?” My voice came out sounding tiny, weak and pathetic, but there was an edge to it that even I couldn’t deny no matter how much I may have wanted to ...

Excitement.

“Don’t question.” With a hiss of irritation, he shoved me down himself, placing one hand on the small of my back. “Don’t move.”

His voice was low with warning and I could only lay there, heart pounding as he brought the blade down, slicing through the side of my shoulder. I jerked in shock, but the pain wasn’t as sharp as I would have expected. It stung briefly—a burning, fiery line—but before agony truly had the chance to flare, an icy chill smothered the heat, caressing …

His tongue.

I knew without even having to turn around and see him there for myself, tasting me.

He swirled his tongue almost reverently around the wound once, as if to seal it, before his lips returned to my ear, imparting three, guttural words that made me tremble. “You are mine.”

He slammed the knife down in front of me and I could only gape at my own blood streaking the silver.

“There is no contract, Eleanor Gray,” Dublin growled, drawing my attention back to him. “Make no mistake: there are no more easy outs. No more games. You are mine, body and soul.”

CHAPTER 26

Surrender

MINE.

I wished I could have said that terrifying little speech was what finally made it sink in that Dublin Helos was a madman bound for hell …but he was right.

There was no way out, even if I had wanted one.

He was inescapable. His shadow loomed over me as I clung to the edges of the desk and tried to remember how to breathe.

“You are mine, Eleanor,” he insisted, stressing every single word.

I wasn’t naïve enough to take them romantically. To him, I was nothing more than property—but that fact didn’t make it any easier to take my eyes off that blood-stained knife. Nor could I ignore the liquid warmth dripping down my arm to form small puddles of crimson at my feet.

Uh, oh, I thought hysterically. You’ve done it now, Ellie. You’re playing with fire.

Or ice, I corrected, as Dublin’s fingers came to bat the curls away from my throat. A frigid thumb caressed my pulse, once, twice.

“Say it,” he said impatiently against my earlobe. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I …” When I didn’t answer fast enough, his fingers fisted in my hair, wrenching on a handful of curls.

“Answer me, Eleanor,” he warned, sounding more feral with every syllable.

The snob somewhere inside me wanted to jab my nose into the air, and deny him. I was Eleanor Gray and I belonged to no one.

But that woman lived alone.

She had no friends, family who couldn’t be bothered, and no life outside of her polished, pampered manor walls.

She was a ghost …and only now could I finally face the fact that I was tired of pretending to be her. Maybe Dublin was right. Maybe I really was just wearing the mask of who I thought everyone else wanted me to be.

But that doesn’t give him the right to do this, I thought, biting my lower lip so hard I tasted blood—cut, push, taunt and demand things from me no one ever had before.

I hated him for it.

But, a tiny voice at the back of my mind countered, you’re not running away ...

And I didn’t. As the seconds passed, I stayed there, stunned, leaning over the desk with fresh blood painting my skin. Dublin gave me a full minute’s reprieve before he pulled on another curl. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time; who do you belong to?”

Run! My conscience wailed. You don’t have to give in!

But I was too tired to move. Too tired to push him off and crawl back to Gray Manor alone. Besides, a tiny, disembodied voice whispered, you’re dying anyway. It’s not like you have long to suffer the consequences ...

When he began to seize another handful of my hair, I finally voiced the one word I would have never thought in a million years could sound so dangerous.

“You.”

I was shocked when my voice came out steady, without a hint of hesitation. No fear. No shame. Just acceptance.

Slowly, the grip on my hair loosened, allowing me to turn so that I could finally see his face. His eyes burned with unholy fire, just daring me to run. Red coated his lips, vibrant against that ivory skin. He was the devil incarnate, dressed impeccably in Armani, and I had never seen a sight more terrifying.

“Me,” he agreed in a growl, fangs glinting beneath the hood of his mouth, “and do you know what that means?”

Did I?

Without tearing his gaze from mine, his thumb teased the wound on my shoulder. The pain made my eyes water, but the tiny gasp that broke from my lips betrayed anything but fear.

I could have lied to myself—as, I supposed, I had been all along.

But when my eyes went directly to the glistening canines threatening to impale his lower lip, I couldn’t deny it any longer: I knew what this meant, all right.

The mere fact that I had come crawling back, tail in tow, proved that his assessment of me had been correct. That I liked this; I liked having him dole out pain as easily as he could pleasure.

I liked being at his mercy…

As if the thought alone was his cue, Dublin shifted, placing both hands flat against the desk on either side of me—and there was no escape.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he commanded against the nape of my neck. This time, his tone was softer, but no less frightening than a growl. “And don’t you dare spout that rubbish about some silly ring.”

What I wanted?

Words sprung to my lips even as I shied away from voicing them: you, destruction, more …all of it.

“Should I remind you?” Dublin goaded, when I didn’t respond.

My entire body stiffened as he lowered his head. I knew what he would do next, but I felt any protests die in my throat, as he teased the skin along my shoulder blade with the points of two deliciously sharp canines. Slowly, he scraped a path up to the side of my neck, hovering predatorily over the thrum of a pulse—but before he could pierce the flesh, both fangs drew back.

As if to tease me, he did it once more, applying just enough pressure to sting before withdrawing.

My eyelids fluttered. I was still bleeding, but all I could focus on was the sudden desire to have him take more. Drain every last drop.

Before I could stop, I found myself gasping out, “Just do it—”

He never even lifted his mouth. All I heard was a metallic clink, as he snatched the knife from the desk and brought the blade down in a single swipe.

The second cut was much deeper than the first.

It was a struggle to fight down the instinctive urge to run—fight—as pain and ice shattered through tendrils of pleasure.

Unconcerned, Dublin’s mouth continued its lazy descent, tongue lapping up the fresh blood as he went, with the delicacy of a connoisseur sampling wine.

I could feel my heart picking up speed with every slow, deliberate pass of his tongue. My head tilted before I could help it, offering him better access to the veins ... Soon the pain was just a bad memory, all but swept away beneath a wave of aching pleasure so heavy it hurt.

Bit by bit, I could feel my body relaxing—leaning into him rather than pulling away. His arms edged closer to my body, no longer restraining but supporting.

That unexplored, forsaken area between my legs began to throb, sharp and demanding. Mindlessly, I shifted, rubbing my thighs together just to relieve the ache. I had to consciously stop my hand from reaching down.

Without warning, Dublin withdrew from my skin, leaving a moist trail across my shoulder blades. At the same time, his cold fingers tugged at my bra, undoing the clasp and wrenching it down my arms before I could protest. The next second that same hand was beginning a slow ascent up my inner thigh ...

Every cell in my body was held in thrall by those creeping fingers.

He maliciously toyed with the rim of my panties before peeling back the cotton and sliding a finger underneath. My teeth descended into my bottom lip to trap the sound that threatened to break free as he rubbed in a single, fiery circle, alighting sparks that travelled down my spine ...

Just when I thought the teasing might drive me insane, he pressed harder, and a strangled cry broke free from my lips before I could smother it.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I could have lied to myself, told him yes …

But my answering groan seemed to give him all the encouragement he needed; in one fierce yank, my underwear slid down my legs, followed quickly by my skirt.

Both garments hit the floor and not even a second later, I found my legs being wrenched apart.

Taking a knee in one hand, he forced it onto the rim of the desk as the other leg struggled to support my weight.

The position was awkward, and it terrified me to realize that Dublin was the only thing keeping me upright. As if aware of that fact, he muscled in closer from behind, until I couldn’t tell where the hard wood of the desk ended and he began.

Then, hands harder than steel palmed my waist, guiding my hips backwards…

I knew what would happen next. Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t so naïve anymore that she couldn’t guess the intention in the wolf’s eyes.

He gave me no warning this time. No more tortuous stroking of icy fingers to urge me closer to the brink. No blunt overview of what he planned to do and how he planned on doing it …

I had nothing but the sound of a zipper being undone before I felt the length of him slide against my inner thigh, hard and solid and frozen.

I shuddered as the blunt head of him rubbed against me, brusquely seeking my entrance. Fear began to sink in with the intensity of a thousand stabbing needles, as I waited for him to push in, hard and fast without a care. Maybe …I even wanted him too …

But he used his thumb to spread me apart, before advancing so slowly that I forgot how to breathe, to think.

My nails dug into the wood of the desk as my body struggled to adjust to the invasion. With a muffled groan, he entered another inch. Then another. And another, until he was finally buried to the hilt.

He waited, ominously patient, before pulling back and thrusting again—only deeper this time, lunging so hard that he forced me flat against the desk.

And again.

Again …

God. My eyelids fluttered while my sweat-soaked fingers desperately sought purchase against the polished wood. Every sensation felt sinful. Harder. Hotter. More explosive. Frantic thoughts flooded my mind. Too much. Too much. Not enough …

From this angle he struck parts of me I hadn’t even known existed. Fire swept through my abdomen, building through my skin until I could feel my toes curl within their heels.

He was right; this wasn’t a game.

With every thrust, his tongue raked the torn skin of my shoulder, capturing each drop of blood. Whichever cut he didn’t wickedly caress with his tongue, he toyed with instead, using the sharp points of his nails to mimic biting fangs.

My head flew back, baring my throat, silently urging him to take more as I forgot for the briefest of seconds that this wasn’t just about pleasure. With every passing second that my blood flowed, common decency—or even sense—didn’t matter.

I just wanted him to stop teasing and bite. Consume. Tear me apart.

Like some sick premonition, his earlier words taunted me. I want the woman who climaxes whenever I sink my fangs into her throat. And I wanted to be her and not just for him, but for me ...

“Please,” I heard myself rasp, weak and broken. “Just …”

“What?” His voice was steady with enviable control. “Say it, and do remember your manners.”

“Dublin, please—”

He nipped, just once, as if to shut me up, and white-hot pleasure hit me like a physical blow.

Yes …

My body quivered with anticipation, excitement racing through my veins; waiting, wanting, needing.

I strained on tiptoe as he forced himself deeper, trying to remember how to form words. He was moving too quickly …not quickly enough. I needed more—less.

I needed all of him.

One cold hand gripped my waist while the other palmed the desk. Using the leverage to his advantage, he swiveled his hips, sparking a carnal friction that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

My left shoulder was a wet, sticky mess, bathed in crimson. I waited for him to clamp down—to finally drink like he had that night in the cathedral—but he still held back.

“You know the rules, Eleanor ...” His tongue grazed my shoulder, no longer teasing, as he rammed into me so hard that I tried my best to muffle my moan with my own hands. “Please what?”

I gave up, broke, shattered—whatever it was called when you lost your one last shred of pride and just didn’t give a damn. All I wanted was ....

“Tell me,” he growled against the crook of my neck. His tone was different this time—it was damn near encouraging. Obey me, and I’ll end this …

“Please, Sir,” I croaked. “I need to—” I gasped as his hand returned to my hair, using it as a handle to yank my head upright.

“You need to what, Eleanor?” That oddly gentle tone was back and my aching body latched onto it.

This time I didn’t hesitate. “I need to come.”

Orgasm.

Climax—whatever the hell it was called. I was willing to say anything he wanted. Newly discovered nerves buried deep within my core throbbed in torment. With every thrust, I whimpered until my jaw clenched. Every vein in my body felt alive, aching to be pierced ...

I couldn’t take anymore of this.

As if to drill the point home, I felt him move against me, icy flesh against heated skin. In a slow, torturous circle his hips swiveled—hard—and I moaned in relief …

But it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the sharp, quick rhythm that a part of me – or all of me – desperately craved. My entire body rippled in tune to the pulse of his shaft, but I needed more.

So close …

“Please, Dublin!”

The brief break in character earned me a hard slap on the hip. Thwack! The pain was electrifying, and mingled with the pleasure that was encasing me from head to toe until …

My back arched, hips thrusting back, forcing him deeper and even his grip on my waist wasn’t enough to stop me. I groaned, shuddering somewhere on the precipice between fear and sweet agony as icy fingers fanned out along the back of my neck.

He was angry, furious at me for taking my own pleasure without permission. I could sense it in the way his grip tightened, applying subtle pressure—but he only used the hold for leverage as that massive body positioned fully over mine.

“Oh!” The sound tore from my lips as he lunged, striking in one, deep stroke.

And he no longer held back.

His hands were in my hair, grasping at the clumps of curls, pulling me into him, forcing my back to arch and take him deeper. Deeper, still …

I was incoherent. It was all I could do to scrape my nails against the wood and hold on as every thrust brought me closer to the brink.

God …

Yes …

One more …

I jerked, straining against him, desperate and needy – and then I was falling, crashing, breaking into a million tiny pieces.

As if from miles away, I felt Dublin stiffen and the grip on my waist became a manacle, holding me in place as he thrust deep one final time and then held himself there before collapsing hard against my back.

I was lost.

It seemed to take eons before I finally returned to my body, dizzy and dazed. After that, the seconds passed in silence and everything began to sink in.

One, I was lying beneath a man so heavy he could have crushed me beneath his pinky toe.

Two, I was naked save for my heels, slumped face down over a desk in the middle of a fully populated building.

Three …I vaguely remembered promising the proverbial Devil my body and soul, in exchange for pain and pleasure.

So I remained there, naked and breathless, as I listened to every single drop of my blood splash against the floor and waited for the rude awakening I knew was coming.

The desk creaked as Dublin pushed back with his hands and stood.

I could hear him moving behind me, grabbing the loose papers that had fallen to the floor. They ruffled as he smoothed them all into a neat stack and returned the pile to the drawer.

Then he waited, merely a few feet away, and I could feel his gaze searing the back of my neck.

“Get dressed.”

I flinched. While outright banishment wasn’t exactly a surprise, the words didn’t sting any less. I felt like one of the cheap maids my father had his not-so-secret dalliances with; the fun was over and now it was time to get dressed. Get up. Get out.

I tried to tell myself that I was more than happy to comply with all three commands—once I remembered how to move …

Everything from my hair down to the tips of my toes ached. I could only slump against the desk, wobbling on my heels, and squeeze my eyes shut. I hoped that wishful thinking might have been enough to erase everything that had just happened; all I had to do was click my heels three times and I could be back at Gray Manor, normal, boring Eleanor Gray once again.

Though not if my Devil had anything to do with it.

“I have a meeting in an hour.” The impatient tone was as bracing as a slap. I peeled my eyes open, but rather than being faced with a frowning Dublin pointing to the door, I blinked as something was tossed in my direction so quickly I didn’t have time to catch it. “Here.”

There was a muffled thump as the object landed on the desk; but instead of my emerald blouse, I found a man’s shirt lying there. One that just so happened to be in a haunting shade of black.

Utterly confused, I couldn’t resist running a hand down the silky material even as I expected for him to growl, don’t touch!

“What is this?”

When Dublin didn’t answer, I snuck a peek over my shoulder to find that he had moved to the other side of the room, and now stood in front of an open closet stocked with several crisp shirts. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised. Something told me that being splattered with blood was enough of a typical occurrence for him, that he felt the need to always be prepared.

In the space of a few seconds, he had already changed. With a flick of his wrist, he straightened the fresh, ivory collar, and just like that, he looked shiny and new again, save for a tell-tale dot of scarlet on his lower lip.

I hated him.

“I don’t have all day,” he added, sensing my gaze. He sounded irritated, as if I was wasting his precious time just by being there, by breathing.

“I …I need my clothes,” I blurted, allowing his shirt to fall back onto the desk.

He turned to face me with one blond eyebrow raised. Are you an imbecile? Without a word, he stooped to lift a bit of green fabric from the floor; my blouse. I held out my hand but, rather than offer it to me, he promptly tore the garment in half.

The sound echoed violently in my ears. Then, as casually as though it had been just another scrap piece of paper, he wadded it in a fist and tossed it into the wastebasket.

“Get dressed,” he commanded once again. Before I even had the chance to obey he came forward and snatched his own shirt from the desk. I could only stand there, as he grabbed my hand and forced it through a sleeve. He did the same to the other and then brusquely fastened the buttons one by one up to my chin.

“You have good timing,” he told me, as he bent down for the underwear. Manually, he lifted my ankles, one by one from the floor to slide my panties back into place. “I was just about to leave.”

Huh?

I didn’t know whether to be confused or insulted at my supposed ‘convenience,’ as he proceeded to yank my skirt on as well.

I waited for him to shove me to the door, or storm out himself—leaving me there to my shame. Instead, he snatched my bag from the desk, reached for my arm and I only had enough time to grab my money, before I found myself dragged after him and down the hall.

“Come on.”

Don’t panic, I tried to tell myself. Perhaps escorting me to the car himself was his strange, personal way of compounding my humiliation?

His face gave nothing away; even that usual scowl was absent.

If I hadn’t known any better, I might have described his appearance as …well, not brooding and angry for once. Calm, even? It was a terrifying thought. I almost wished he would snarl and bare his fangs. Growl at least?

One might have thought that I had just met him for tea rather than barged into his office and thrown money in his face. Speaking of which …

The bills felt unbearably heavy. They weighed me down, causing me to stagger as Dublin manhandled me into the elevator and hit the button for the lobby.

When the elevator doors split apart, there was no place left to hide as the wide-eyed receptionist noticed me beside him. Cool and in control as always, Dublin inclined his head in greeting as though nothing was out of place—I was merely his dowdy accessory with tousled hair.

“Good morning, Becky.”

“M-Morning … Mr. Helos.”

Despite her frozen smile, poor Becky looked horribly confused. Even more so when I proceeded to drop a wad of cash on her desk as Dublin hauled me past.

“Morning, Becky,” I croaked, before I found myself unceremoniously dragged out the door.

The daylight was blinding. I had to shield my eyes with my hand as Dublin took a hold of my sleeve and used it like a leash to pull me after him.

Don’t panic …

I felt dizzy with relief when I noticed Harper, standing by the car where I’d left him last. I attempted to wriggle free from Dublin’s grip, ready to duck within the dark safety of the Rolls Royce—but to my immense horror, his grip tightened like a vice.

Rather than the promise of a quick trip home to wallow in my shame, I found myself steered toward another, equally familiar black car and unceremoniously shoved into the backseat.

“Dublin?” I paled as he promptly slammed the door in my face.

Dark, sordid scenarios flooded my brain as I tugged frantically on the door handle, only to hear the click of the lock being engaged a second later.

“Sorry, Miss,” the driver replied from the front seat—but I could tell that he didn’t really give a damn; just following orders.

Horrified, I could only watch as Dublin approached Harper and said something that made the driver nod his head in response. Yes, Sir. Then, as cool as you please, Dublin proceeded to reach into his pocket for a wad of cash, which he casually counted before tucking into Harper’s hand.

Just like that, my faithful servant climbed back into the car and left me behind.

Should I panic now? I wondered. I made one last-ditch attempt at the door—but when Dublin finally turned in my direction …

For an instant, I forgot to be afraid, as heat flooded my veins at the sight of him, hair gleaming in the sunlight.

He was so beautiful.

It was easy to overlook that fact in between all of his terrorizing. Now, safe behind inches of metal, I could finally admit that the sight of him struck me dumb. A part of me almost couldn’t believe that only a moment earlier, he had been crushed against me, had been hungry for me, had wanted me.

However, when he saw me there, face practically pressed up against the glass, he frowned and the trance shattered.

I scrambled back as he wrenched open the door, even before he waved a dismissive hand for me to do so. Move.

His icy chill hit me like a slap as he sat down. I squeezed myself against the opposite door, but it wasn’t nearly far enough away from him. The moment he closed the door, the car lurched into motion and I was trapped.

It was only then that I realized I was still bleeding. Rivulets of warmth dripped down my back, pooling beneath the waistband of my skirt. As if my realization were his cue, I saw Dublin stiffen from the corner of my eye. The next second he was withdrawing something from his pocket and pressing it into my hand.

“Clean that up.”

I frowned at the sight of another pristine handkerchief. It rested on my palm, almost as pale as I was. I hated the thought of accepting his help but, with a sigh, I loosened the topmost buttons of my shirt and eased the wad of cloth underneath.

I had to grit my teeth against a gasp as I applied the tiniest amount of pressure. Ouch. The cuts stung. To make matters worse, I could sense a pair of gray eyes on the back of my neck, watching like a hawk as blood seeped through the ivory cotton.

Gingerly I dabbed at the wounds, only to draw a hiss of disgust from Dublin. Apparently, I wasn’t moving quickly enough for his liking.

“Turn around.”

I gulped at his tone, though I had enough sense not to argue. I merely obeyed, while reaching up to swipe my hair out of the way. A part of me expected for him to just play the role of uncaring doctor, like he had that night in the solar—but he reached around me instead. Then, without warning, he unhooked the front of the shirt and wrenched it down my shoulders.

I froze. Images of what had happened in the office flooded my mind, one after the other. I waited, body so tense it felt like one good bump in the road might have been enough to make me shatter into pieces. Dublin took the handkerchief from my hand, but rather than trying to staunch the bleeding, he set the cloth aside and his finger trailed the line of a cut instead.

Bit by bit it inched its way up my shoulder, ghosting the sore flesh.

“Does it hurt?” he asked after a tortuous few seconds.

I blinked. He sounded genuinely curious, but I shook my head as his icy touch trailed down to encircle my wrist.

“Really?” The dark note in his voice warned me not to lie.

“A little,” I admitted. It was the first time I realized how deep the cuts really were. Would I need stitches?

Though, if anything, his touch felt worse; the brush of those fingers disrupted my breathing. Within seconds, I was suffocating.

I tried to tell myself that this was Dublin—who had certainly touched me in much more sensitive places than my damn shoulder—but this time, the contact felt different. I was keenly aware of him, so close. My body trembled. My teeth chattered. My heart sped up. Unbidden, those four dangerous words echoed in my mind; you belong to me.

“Good,” he murmured in answer to my admission. “You’ll remember how it felt.”

Fear ran through me like a punch; something told me that he was no longer talking about the pain.

Desperate to change the subject, I glanced out of the window to find the city passing by in a blur. I had no idea where on earth we were now, or where he could have been taking me. Too uneasy to care about the danger, I decided to risk his wrath by asking.

“Where are we going?”

I hated how pathetic I sounded. My voice shook. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to find enough air. Any moment I was afraid I might scream—either out of fear or shock; whichever one became more unbearable first.

“Why should it matter?”

His voice took on a slightly harder edge and an icy finger strayed deliberately close to one of the cuts. I hissed at the resulting pain, eyes watering.

“Isn’t this the part where you send me off in ruin and add another notch on your bed post?” I asked through gritted teeth. “One more soul corrupted?”

I was surprised that the words came out sounding carefree, with all the ‘ho-hum’ attitude of a snob who didn’t give a damn. I almost felt pleased with myself.

“You’re not even halfway corrupted,” Dublin scoffed as if insulted. He cupped my chin, forcing me to face him. “Why, look …” His gaze trailed down over my chest as if seeing something there that I couldn’t. “You still have your soul. Turn around.”

He yanked on my arm, forcing me to face the window. I waited for him to pull a needle full of his mysterious “cure” from his pocket—but, he merely settled the shirt back into place, leaving me to fasten the buttons on my own.

When I finally turned to face him, the bloody handkerchief was gone and he was leaning back into the leather seats. No one could ever guess that not even ten minutes earlier, he had cut me twice before stripping me naked in the middle of his office, among other things …

The memory made my cheeks heat with shame, and I tried my best to gather the remaining shreds of my pride as I fiddled with my purse on my lap.

“So …what happens now?”

Unsurprisingly, Dublin didn’t answer. When I finally had the nerve to sneak another glance at his face, I saw that his eyes were closed. Apparently, terrorizing young damsels was a tiring affair.

I just couldn’t fathom him. Cold one minute. Intense the next ...

“You didn’t answer my question.” I copied him by sinking back into the leather cushions with a sigh. My shoulder throbbed in protest, but it was easy to overlook the pain in comparison to everything else.

It blew my mind how, despite everything that had just occurred we were once again back to our usual dynamic; a frustrated me, needling him for answers. Apparently, verbally selling my soul meant nothing—I was still pathetic, and still at his mercy.

You could always give in to Saskia and just say the pesky word, I thought, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s not like you have anything left to lose.

It was only when those glacial eyes cut sharply in my direction that I realized I had said the last sentence out loud.

“I have another business arrangement; you will accompany me.”

He made it sound so damn simple, harmless—but I felt like a mouse invited to accompany a cat on a hunt.

“Why?”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “Would ‘because I said so’ sound too melodramatic? Really, Eleanor. You did willingly pledge your soul to me; use your imagination.”

I stiffened at the reminder, but I had to admit that, once again, the words lacked the biting sting of an offensive remark. Had I had any sense of tact, I would have shut my mouth, realizing that even too tired to tear apart my pride, Dublin was not a man to be trifled with.

But I couldn’t resist; I could always blame it on the blood loss.

“A vampire ‘business arrangement?’ Or …a normal one?”

“Why should it matter?”

I bit my lip, weighing my next words carefully as the car darted over a bridge and Dublin’s eyes flashed a warning shade of silver. Careful, Ellie …

“I’ve lost quite a bit of a blood already,” I said quietly. “I’m not fond of the prospect of losing any more—”

“It concerns the land you helped me purchase the other day,” Dublin admitted, cutting over me. “I’m overseeing the development of it.”

That was fast. I counted back the few days since I had helped him win over Haswell. What kinds of real estate might a vampire desire to build in such a hurry? Another club? Another reclusive mansion in the hills?

The thought sparked a different question that I found myself blurting before I could help it. “What was that about, last night?”

Excluding my impromptu slap and his scathing assessment of me, of course. I was annoyed, but not surprised, to see that his face held no hint of a bruise to remember the broadside of my hand by, just flawless, pale skin.

“What do you mean?”

Watch yourself, Ellie girl …

“I sensed some …hostility.”

The sad part was that I didn’t even have to specify whether I was referring to Raphael or the people at the strange ball in general. Dublin certainly seemed to lack for friends; it appeared as though Yulia was the only one who didn’t hate nor loathe him—at least not outright.

“Hmmm …” He reached up to rub his chin. “And here I was thinking that I had played my part of sycophant so well.”

“You … You don’t like him?”

He made a small sound of amusement in the back of his throat. “I ‘like’ very few things in this life, Eleanor. You would be wise to remember that.”

Point taken. I backed off the topic, but was unable to resist posing another one. I knew better—though who could blame me? After all, he was the one who had accused me of liking danger in the first place.

“Last night …they said that you had bargained for my contract from him?”

“They?” Like a predator presented with fresh meat, Dublin bolted upright, expression cold as he turned to face me. “I had wondered what Mikhail and those other fools might have whispered in your ear.”

I gulped, unable to miss how he deliberately ignored my question.

“What else did ‘they’ say?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” I said a little too quickly. “Only that …you bought my contract from Raphael. As well as Yulia’s.”

Dublin didn’t seem convinced that was all there was. “It’s been a long while since I reminded Mikhail the importance of minding one’s business. Perhaps such a lesson is long overdue.”

His tone conjured images of violence, and I cringed at the thought of what such a ‘lesson’ might entail. Desperate for another distraction, I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“What’s a shiftspinner?”

Dublin held my gaze for so long that I was convinced he wouldn’t answer. Despite myself, I truly wished that he would explain; the damn word had been on my mind all night. I had pondered the meaning countless times, but I still had no clue.

“A shiftspinner is a witch,” Dublin said finally. The fact that he had answered me at all nearly made me fall off the seat in shock. “One whose power comes from the natural essence in fabrics, left behind by whatever plants or animals formed it. They have a skill to create clothing that, when worn, can bestow the wearer with different strengths: invisibility cloaks, impenetrable armor and the like …”

He sounded so matter-of-fact, the same way someone might have said ‘a burger flipper? Well, they flip burgers, of course!’

I, however, had to clench my jaw shut just to keep my mouth from falling open. First vampires, now witches?

“Yulia?” I asked, eyes wide, though I figured that a part of me already knew the answer even before he nodded.

‘Something like that,’ she had answered when I asked if she was a fashion designer. No wonder she worked for the club if her clothing was literally magical. And no wonder I had looked so decent in it.

“Can they read minds?” I asked, staring down at my pathetic tweed skirt, which looked so plain when paired with the exquisite fabric of his shirt. “Is Saskia one as well?”

“No.” Dublin sounded amused. “Though, she has ‘read’ you, I assume? I was wondering when she’d pull one of her little tricks.” He flashed a cold, mirthless smile that reminded me of a shark’s yawn—nothing but teeth. “Saskia is a succubus. She cannot actually read minds—merely the subconscious fears and desires of those around her. A trick she loves to exploit to ensnare her contracts.”

“Succubus.” The word tasted strange on my tongue. “Can she read your mind?” I wondered, oddly intrigued by the idea of someone being able to sneak past Dublin’s defenses.

“Oh, I’m sure Saskia would love to play her games on me. However, I am always one step ahead of her.” He adjusted his collar as he spoke and I caught a glimpse of that strange silver cross.

Did the talisman possess some kind of magic ability? I opened my mouth to ask, but before I could, the car came to a stop and my Devil’s demeanor shifted once again.

“Time’s up, Eleanor,” he announced. “I have humored you long enough. Make yourself decent.”

I automatically reached up to feel my hair. My curls were wild—some of them completely knotted by his pulling fingers, which served as a blunt reminder as to what had happened just a few moments earlier. My cheeks heated with shame as I clumsily adjusted my collar and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

Without bothering to wait for me, Dublin opened his door and climbed out. I scrambled after him, glancing around in confusion.

We had left the city. Now, nothing but trees loomed above in place of skyscrapers, lining a narrow road and an open field of lush green grass.

It was a lovely place, quiet, secluded.

And, as Dublin came up behind me, I had to wonder why the hell he had brought me here.

CHAPTER 27

Baubles

“WE’RE EARLY,” DUBLIN ANNOUNCED, frowning down at his watch.

A moment before he had been surveying the landscape with the same critical expression he wore whenever he looked at me—as though searching for flaws.

Early, I thought, but something told me the truth was that whoever we were waiting for was simply late.

I wondered who would dare to keep the all-powerful Dublin Helos waiting, let alone who could possibly have use for land brokered for by a vampire? A reclusive villain aiming to build a blood factory? Raphael? Another ‘Dracula’ in training? Unwilling to try my luck asking another question, I kept my mouth shut.

The seconds flew past, then minutes. All the while I had nothing to preoccupy myself with but the dark thoughts circling my mind. What kind of game was he playing at?

I didn’t have the nerve to ask what him ‘owning’ me entailed—beside the obvious physical aspects—but so far the arrangement seemed no different from our tense contract. Albeit, I had the marks on my shoulder to prove that something had changed.

And …I was here. While Dublin was certainly going out of his way to make it appear as though my presence was a burden, he had brought me along in the first place, and I was beginning to learn that men like him didn’t act on mere whims.

Curiouser and curiouser, I thought sardonically. Just be careful, Ellie …who knows where this rabbit hole may lead?

The thought taunted me until the sound of an approaching vehicle caught my attention. I turned, witnessing the moment a battered station wagon crested the hill and sputtered down the road in our direction. I didn’t know what type of figure I had expected to see emerge from it—but a haggard woman with graying hair wasn’t it.

“Mr. Helos,” she greeted, spotting Dublin. “Good afternoon. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought along a few relevant investors to help me make a decision.”

She rapped on the roof of the decrepit vehicle and, like clockwork, several tiny figures scrambled out: three small children who rushed to form a neat line, each dressed in a dark blue uniform.

I blinked, convinced that shock was the only thing that kept me from reaching up to rub my eyes just to make sure that I wasn’t hallucinating.

“Marvelous,” Dublin said. He sounded as cool and distant as always—but I couldn’t help noticing that his usually stern jaw was relaxed, and there was a softness to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. “Shall we?”

He led the way toward the field, leaving the rest of us to catch up. After a moment, he grudgingly jerked his head in my direction. “Mrs. Brandston, this is my associate, Eleanor Gray …she is the one who secured the sale of this property.”

“Ms. Gray.” Mrs. Brandston turned to face me, brown eyes warm. “On behalf of the Leyfair Orphanage, I thank you.”

My mind skidded to a thudding halt. Orphanage …

I almost choked. One of my heels caught on a patch of grass, nearly causing me to tumble to my doom—not that the benevolent Mr. Helos would’ve given a damn. He was beside me in an instant, yanking me upright without so much as a grunt of concern. The next second I found myself shoved aside and he was paces ahead, as if he had never assisted me at all.

“Are you all right?”

I glanced down, into the kind blue eyes of a young girl, whose blonde curls were barely contained by her navy headband. “You should be careful when you walk in pointy shoes,” she advised.

Like an imbecile, I could only nod while my mind raced with a million conflicting thoughts. Dublin. Orphans. Land.

Was he, perhaps, planning on opening a blood factory supplied by innocent children? Or maybe he really had drawn too much of my own blood and I was hallucinating?

But when the girl smiled at me, there was nothing insubstantial about it at all. “I’m Anna,” she said, still grinning wide enough to reveal her missing front tooth. “What’s your name?”

“Ellie,” I croaked.

She nodded studiously as if expecting that very answer. “Do you think we’ll get to have a soccer field with the new house?”

New house? I glanced around the wide, open expanse of land and only then did it finally sink in like a punch to the stomach. New house. Orphanage. Dublin’s special ‘plans’ for Haswell’s land.

“No bloody way …”

The children snickered at my outburst. Both Dublin and Mrs. Brandston’s heads whipped around in my direction—and a pair of familiar gray eyes found mine a second later, narrowed in warning.

“Shall we discuss a timeline, Mrs. Brandston?” Dublin suggested before leading the woman to another end of the field. Left behind, I found myself immediately swarmed by all three children.

Anna spearheaded the motley crew, flanked on either side by a boy, the youngest who appeared to be no more than eight years old.

“She’s pretty,” I heard him mutter into the sleeve of his blue sweatshirt.

The other, who seemed a bit older, glanced at him with a scoff. “No, she’s not.”

My cheeks flamed, though I couldn’t blame the boy—whose name I guessed was “Rory!” as Anna exclaimed it in horror—for just saying what the whole world thought. Once again, I was resigned to my status as merely the “other Gray girl.”

“Yes, she is!” The first boy shouted indignantly, surprising me. “She glows,” he added, peeking at me from underneath his eye lashes. “Like an angel.”

A wave of gratitude unlike anything I had ever felt crashed through me and I found myself sinking down to one knee. “Why, thank you!”

“I guess,” Rory grumbled, but before I could respond Anna launched into a rather dramatic retelling of a game of jacks and I was riveted.

For almost ten minutes, I allowed the children to regale me with their stories. They were fascinating little creatures. I didn’t think I had ever interacted with anyone younger than thirty outside of my own childhood, apart from Georgie and the younger servants. In my world, a ‘child’ had been more or less a mythical creature that could serve as a convenient prop for photo ops.

“See this?” Anna exclaimed, brandishing a cheap ring on her finger as though it sported the Hope Diamond. Its plastic band was painted silver and adorned with fake filigree resembling a flower. Glued to the center of it was a cracked blue bead—altogether, it was the kind of worthless bauble I would have killed for at her age.

“I love it, Anna,” I gushed with genuine admiration.

“It’s my most prized possession in the whole, wide world,” she gloated.

“I have one too!”

“Me too!”

Not to be outdone, the two boys—Lucas and Rory respectively—both launched into declarations of their own worldly passions; a mud-encrusted baseball and a chewed, partially torn trading card.

I could only stare, oddly entranced, and wonder if this was all some kind of bizarre hallucination brought on by blood loss.

It had to be a joke, some sick prank on Dublin’s part. I waited for the punch line, for the other proverbial shoe to drop. This is a new home for orphans—though, some may use the term ‘sweatshop.’ But not even five minutes later, he and Mrs. Brandston reappeared without a single sinister glance shared between them.

“Thank you, Mr. Helos,” the older woman said, voice trembling with gratitude. “The land will do perfectly. Leyfair enjoys your continued patronage.”

Continued?

“I’m glad the property satisfies you,” Dublin said, sounding way too humble for my liking. “It’s a donation, of course, though I would be more than willing to oversee the construction.”

Mrs. Brandston continued to spill her thanks, and I could only gape at the exchange like some witless imbecile. Then, without much fanfare, the woman began to wrangle her charges and usher them back to their vehicle.

Once again, my gaze drifted over to Dublin. His jaw had tightened as if he was aware of the thoughts unfolding in my head and wasn’t at all pleased with the picture they presented.

“You can wait in the car, Eleanor.”

I swayed as those gray eyes found mine, cold and unfathomable. Obediently, I turned on my heel, too confused to object—but before I could even go a full step a sudden thought took hold and I was shrugging my purse from my shoulders before I had even really processed the motion.

“Wait!” I turned to the station wagon and staggered towards it, all but shoving my bag—and the money stuffed within—into the hands of a startled Mrs. Brandston. “Take this,” I insisted. “Please. Consider it an …overdue donation from the Gray family.”

I spun back around before I could see her reaction and all but ran to Dublin’s car. My family had always made their token donations to charity, but the rush of a genuine act of goodwill affected me more strongly than I would have ever expected. I reached out, fingers scraping the handle of the car door, but before I could pull it open, a cool hand batted mine away.

Without warning, Dublin yanked me around by my wrist. I tensed, not knowing what to expect. Disapproval?

He had never looked at me this way—as if he was peering deeper beneath the same old ‘Ellie’ exterior. I felt stripped naked, exposed. The next second, he turned away and I could only slump against the car and stare as he returned to Mrs. Brandston. They exchanged a few words, before the woman entered her own vehicle smiling.

Moments later, the wagon drove off, and the sounds of the children squabbling about who should sit in the middle faded to silence. Once again, I was left alone with a man who barely seemed to acknowledge my existence.

Without a word, Dublin brushed past me and entered the car. I could only follow him, collapsing weakly on the seat.

“An orphanage?” I blurted as the car lurched into motion. “All for an orphanage?”

Ice crossed my vision as his gaze found mine and held it for so long that I felt frozen when he finally turned away.

“I have many investments,” he remarked while tilting his head to gaze from the window. “You are one of them.”

I flinched at the not-so-subtle reminder.

“Why an orphanage, though?” I pressed. “Why not a blood factory or a torture chamber, or another club?”

All evil, dark establishments that I could easily picture someone like him owning.

“I must say that I’m getting rather annoyed with all these questions.”

My heart lurched at the threat in his tone—especially as two pale fingers came to lift up my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. Instead of anger, the only thing I found there amongst the silver was an elusive emotion I couldn’t put a name to—and I wasn’t willing to try. It terrified me, that look, even as he finally turned away.

“Here,” he grumbled, tossing something unceremoniously onto my lap.

I glanced down, not knowing what to expect—but a tiny, silver piece of plastic was not it. Confused, I shifted to trap the object in my palm.

“What is …”

I trailed off as a glimmer of sunlight caught the cheap stone that formed the centerpiece of a small, gaudy ring. My eyes widened and my throat went dry. It was Anna’s ring—apparently, her most ‘prized’ possession—and fear lanced my chest as I realized that she wouldn’t have parted with it easily.

“How did you—”

“Relax …” Dublin’s mouth twitched. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was actually insulted. “I acquired it in a fair trade.”

He deliberately tugged on the sleeve of his jacket and I noticed that only one arm was sporting an expensive, silver cufflink. Its mate was missing.

“W-Why?” I stammered as the magnitude of what he had done sank in. While he claimed he didn’t give a damn about money, trading a priceless accessory for a worthless plastic ring was not something that even the most philanthropic rich bastard would do—not without a motive.

If I wanted to believe that it was because of some sort of a sentimental, caring reason, Dublin’s frown promptly squashed that suspicion.

“I wanted you to see how foolish it was to ever desire such a thing in the first place,” he said coldly, but the fact that he had remembered my trivial confession at all negated the impact of his words. “Now tell me, Eleanor; how does it feel to have everything you’ve ever wanted?”

He was mocking me—but I couldn’t escape this sneaking little thought that there was something else hidden in his tone as well. Something hoarse that grew as I proudly slipped the ring onto my finger and brandished it like a hard-fought spoil of war.

“It feels wonderful,” I declared with an impish grin. “It’s not exactly from a gumball machine ... Regardless; I shall never take it off.”

There was a dare in my tone that I couldn’t deny. An eavesdropper might have suspected that the proclamation was done out of gratitude, but no—rather than ‘I shall wear it and remember you always,’ I meant, ‘I shall wear it stubbornly even if my finger turns gangrene and falls off.’

Oddly enough, Dublin’s eyes took on a satisfied tint.

“I will hold you to that. Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn your finger green. After all, the purity of your skin is one of your few redeeming qualities …”

I let the barb slip by unchallenged.

“Perhaps my next life goal should be a necklace?” I wondered, eyeing his throat for a glimpse of that silver chain. “One like yours?”

“No.”

Something in me tightened at his tone, but I didn’t have long to ponder why before his face fell back into its usual blank mask.

“I have another meeting,” he said, shrugging me off physically as well as verbally. “I’ll have you dropped off at your house.”

“So, I’m being dismissed then? Until …” I prompted, suddenly uneasy as to the terms of our new ‘arrangement.’

He shrugged again. “Until I have use for you, of course.”

CHAPTER 28

Hell Bound

SOME SORT OF FEELING comes over you when you’ve completely lost a hold over everything that made you the person you thought you were—only I couldn’t think of the right word for it.

Loss? Grief? Relief?

I felt drowned by the emotion, whatever it was, as I trudged up the staircase of Gray Manor after being dropped off at the doorstep like unwanted luggage. Once inside my bedroom, I undressed, leaving my skirt on a chair for a maid to retrieve, but Dublin’s shirt I hung on a hanger and tucked at the very back of my closet.

I couldn’t explain why.

Naked, I drew a bath as hot as I could stand it and climbed inside, sinking up to my neck. I sat there, unmoving, as water poured down and attempted to dissect a wave of unbearable emotions.

This isn’t right, I thought, gazing mournfully up at the ceiling.

I should have felt …worse. So, so much worse—especially considering that my wounds stung beneath the water and I couldn’t stop twirling that cheap, plastic ring around and around my finger.

I should have been about ready to duck my head underneath the water while spouting some morose poem about life and woe, prepared to follow in the footsteps of my parents.

I shouldn’t have felt … Well, in all honesty, I didn’t really know how to classify just what I was feeling. Shame wasn’t it. Neither was regret, truth be told, which confused me to the point that I frowned into the cloud of steam.

No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, there was one little word that kept appearing in my mind, something so cliché that I rolled my eyes at the mere thought of considering it. But, just as the water began to encroach on my chin, I found myself whispering it—just once—out loud.

“Free …”

It didn’t sound quite as pathetic in the open air as it had in my head, which unnerved me even more. I didn’t even receive a frantic admonition from my dead mother along the lines of, Freedom is an illusion, Eleanor. Money is freedom!

Sighing, I curled my toes against the rim of the tub, trying not to relive every second with Dublin, though the memories played through my mind regardless.

He said that I had been “pretending” that night at the masquerade. If being polite and conservative was what he mistook for pretense, then I shivered at the thought of this …

Uninhibited Ellie.

I waited for a fitting interjection from my ghostly maternal unit, but all I received was silence once again.

Confused, I lingered within the water until it turned ice cold and the skin around the cuts on my shoulder was a bright, violent red. On pruned toes, I climbed out and slipped into a robe, tying the sash around my waist.

The house was silent around me—like a tomb, enclosing someone who had no idea that she was already dead. With that melancholic thought in my head, I dragged a brush through my hair while pondering my own reflection in the mirror.

My new ring sparkled on my finger—probably the only shiny part of me. I looked ghoulish from behind a cloud of steam. Impulsively I reached out to swipe through the condensation with the pad of my finger, leaving a streak across the mirror.

My eyes gleamed against the glass, along with an angry slash of red along my collarbone. A good, decent woman would have felt shame, I supposed. Perhaps she would have torn through her wardrobe in search of a scarf to obscure the sign of her impurity?

All I did was tilt my head further to the side and observe how the cuts had already begun to scab over. I wondered if I happened to touch one …would the skin around it feel cold, impregnated with an icy chill? My fingers trembled with the thought and I had to brace both hands against the mirror’s surface just to keep from testing out that theory.

Instead, I traced meaningless patterns against the glass and eventually found myself forming a single sentence in clumsy, blocky letters. Eleanor Gray is …

What? I wondered.

Stupid?

Foolish?

A whore?

My index finger hovered inches from the glass hesitating for only a moment before I sighed and reluctantly added those three little words my Devil was so fond of tossing about as his mantra: Bound for Hell.

The words taunted me. Was the fiery pit what truly awaited this new Ellie?

Should I have been terrified?

Dublin certainly seemed to think that was his ultimate destination: the Devil, who would eventually dwell in Hell. It was a fitting comparison.

Dublin Helos is bound for hell ...and seems determined to drag poor, naïve Ellie Gray right on down with him.

Moving to an untouched sheet of steam, I carefully sketched the letters: DUBLIN HELOS.

Even the sight of the name was intimidating—or maybe it was just thoughts of the man himself—but something about the eleven letters conjured an old memory of Georgiana and me as children.

We had often loved to challenge each other with word scrambles; puzzles formed of letters that, once unscrambled, revealed a single, coherent word. Rayg became Gray. Rgoegie for Georgie. Lorenae for Eleanor.

I had especially relished the challenge of tackling the most difficult, innocuous ones. What meaning might a pile of gibberish actually have buried underneath?

I tried to tell myself that I was being foolish now. After all, what mystery could possibly lurk within a name as seemingly random as Dublin? Regardless, I found myself dissecting it against the glass. An H, two l’s and an E …

The tedium resurrected the old, methodical part of me that relished a riddle and eventually, three words emerged. Three words all formed from the letters of his name …and they chilled me right to the bone: IS HELL BOUND.

It was an eerie coincidence. I am bound for hell, Eleanor, he liked to insist time and time again. Was he so sure of his own damnation that he liked to remind himself of it, even in the spelling of his own name?

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.

The thought would have been too jarring; Devils simply weren’t allowed to possess self-reflection.

I banished the words with a swipe of my hand and took a step back from the mirror. I was shivering when I finally turned away and settled my damp curls over my shoulders. The specter of Dublin haunted me as I padded into the bedroom, intending to slip beneath my bed covers and disappear into a world of nightmares, most likely starring one infamous vampire …

Only, in an instant, the prospect was shattered.

There was a man standing in my room, rummaging through my nightstand.

With his back turned to me, he rifled through the drawers and tossed knick knacks and loose bits of paper to the floor. Obviously, he was looking for something. Jewels? Money?

His filthy, mud-stained leather jacket made me highly suspect that he wasn’t a servant or in my employ.

I figured I should have screamed or reacted like any normal, sensible woman would, but Dublin had obliterated all my sense of normality and all I could do was linger over the threshold, dripping water onto the floor.

“Can … Can I help you?”

He turned. Matted brown hair tumbled down his shoulders, matching an equally unkempt beard that hung from his chin. He looked like the dangerous, wild sort who might break into young ladies’ bedrooms, intent on robbing and murdering, but before I could truly feel afraid, I saw his eyes—they were the same piercing green as mine.

I blinked as recognition hit me like a punch.

“Uncle Orwell?”

His was a face I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years—not since my father last had him sent away under the pretense of him being unwell, which, of course, was just Gray code for ‘flipping nuts.’ I warily braced one hand against my temple, wondering if the day’s blood loss was truly making me hallucinate this time.

He certainly didn’t look as though those years in an asylum had done him any good. His eyes were wild, slightly crazed, though they narrowed when they landed on me.

“Eleanor. So you’re still alive.”

I flinched at the gruffness in his tone. Alive?

“Am … Am I not supposed to be?” I wondered if he had heard of my failing health.

He shrugged. “Bet you know that better than I do.”

I blinked, stumbling closer before my mind chose to register the fact that—despite the blood connection—I knew nothing about this man. Nor, I might add, why the hell he had broken into my room.

“Why would I be dead?” I asked, conveniently overlooking the facts that I knew proved the fallacy of that question: Because I had sold my proverbial soul to a vampire; because I had a fatal blood condition; because I was a fool, or more importantly, because of Dublin.

Rather than mutter some confused nonsense about bunnies—or whatever it was crazy people raved about these days—Orwell reached into his jacket and tossed something flat and square at my feet. It was a newspaper, I saw as I bent down; one of those trashy tabloids that Georgie tended to star in whenever she returned to the city.

Only now, another Gray’s picture rested beneath a blazing headline: Reclusive Heiress Steps Out With New Man. The so called ‘new man’ needed no introduction; I’d have recognized that gleaming blond hair anywhere, but it took a few more moments of blinking before I realized that the pale woman standing beside him was …

Me.

Someone had caught the moment a few days ago when he had dragged me to the Cafe Claret. I recognized Yulia’s crisp outfit. Dublin’s hand was on my arm, and to any ignorant observer the assumption might have been that we were lovers.

The irony was so bitter that I found myself laughing out loud.

Good heavens! I wondered if Dublin would be upset at having been publicly linked to me. Absolutely gleeful at the prospect, I stooped for the paper. It was only when I had it tucked under my arm and stood that I realized Orwell most likely hadn’t presented it out of concern for my nonexistent love life.

He looked uneasy, for one, and disgusted. He eyed that silly magazine as though it was my head on a platter—only I was just too stupid to realize it.

“They got to you,” he said in a tone that made my skin crawl. “Where is your sister? Where is Georgiana?”

He pushed his way past me for the bedroom door and peered into the hallway as if expecting Georgie to come strolling down it. “Georgiana?”

“She’s not here,” I said, puzzled as he whirled on me with a grim frown. “She won’t be back until Thursday. Would you like me to give her a message?”

I politely refrained from voicing my doubts that the posh and sophisticated Georgie—who couldn’t even take the private jet home to see her dying sister—would want to chat with our estranged uncle, freshly released from the mental hospital.

“She probably already knows,” Orwell said with a crazed light shining in those green eyes. “I reckon they did this—” He jabbed a grimy finger at the tabloid still tucked underneath my arm. “Just for her.”

I doubted that Georgie would care that I had been photographed with a man—other than the obvious shock that I had left the manor at all—but something in Orwell’s voice …

It made the little hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end.

“Know what?” I found myself asking, though I was pretty sure that it wasn’t exactly a good idea to feed into a madman’s delusions. “Who’s …‘gotten’ to me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes darted to my shoulder and narrowed, as if sensing the blood that I could feel seeping, once again, from the cuts there.

“They have,” he growled, stressing ‘they’ as if it were obvious who he meant.

I felt my heart sink to the pit of my stomach, despite the logical part of me trying to rationalize that he couldn’t possibly mean who I thought …

“I’ll call someone,” I stammered, blindly stumbling for my nightstand. I didn’t know who; Harper? The police? The mental institution?

I had barely gone halfway before a harsh grip on my shoulder yanked me back.

“No!”

Unprepared for the assault, I went flying, landing hard against a surface that I assumed was the wall—at least until I heard it splinter beneath my weight.

In a daze, I could only stare at the shards of glass littering the floor and the slightly off balance frame of my full-length mirror. Shock ran through me like a lance, even before I felt the pain.

Oh God. Fiery agony danced up and down my arm. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, the crisp, white sleeve of my robe was scarlet.

“I need to regroup,” I heard Orwell mutter, oblivious to my injury. “I need to contact Georgiana. They would only retaliate if she’d gone too far …”

I barely registered the words. I was too busy trying to stay upright. Large blotches of crimson were seeping through the thick terrycloth of my robe. Frantic, I tried to count back the days since my last dose of Dublin’s mystic cure, but I came up blank.

Oh dear.

A normal person, I supposed, might have gone to the hospital—something that was out of the question for me. After all I assumed they would wonder why I was no longer dying, or question the cause of those two, nasty wounds on my shoulder.

I even considered phoning the private, family doctor that my mother had kept on a retainer all these years, but I couldn’t remember his name or where Harper filed the important numbers. It was late, I saw, glancing at the clock on my wall. Even Harper needed to sleep and—hemorrhaging to death or not—I didn’t want to bother him for something as silly as a few, little scrapes.

Deep, jagged, little scrapes I saw as I peeled off the terrycloth to get a better look.

I hissed at the sight of my forearm. Profuse amounts of red liquid seeped out of a lovely hodge-podge of cuts. If I looked close enough, I swore that I would find tiny bits of glass still glinting within them.

Tearing my gaze away, I focused on sucking in air.

Orwell was gone. I didn’t know where, but his stench lingered on the air—a stale, bitter musk. I tried to tell myself that he wasn’t dangerous, but his words kept running through my mind: you’re still alive. They got to you.

I quickly tore through my options; there were none, at least none that wouldn’t cause more trouble than they were worth.

Except …

I mulled it over as I hauled myself upright and staggered to my wardrobe.

With one hand, I managed to wrap myself partially in a black blouse and pull on a skirt. Blood stained both garments within seconds, but I tried to ignore the vibrant color dotting my floor as I yanked my coat from a hanger and stumbled out into the hall.

The short descent down the staircase felt like an eternity. Every step seemed to take more concentration than usual. My trembling fingers struggled to grip the banister.

You’re being ridiculous! I tried to tell myself, gritting my teeth in disgust. It’s just a scratch …

A ‘scratch’ that burned like hell as I stumbled over the bottom step and made my way to the door. It was only when I stood on the threshold, hand gripping the doorknob that I realized there would be no mysterious black vehicle awaiting me. No Harper with the Rolls Royce.

Call a cab? I wondered. But I wouldn’t even know where to begin. My knowledge of any sort of public transportation came only from television—though I doubted that many taxi drivers wouldn’t be curious as to why their customer was losing an alarming amount of blood.

I didn’t quite know when I got the idea in my head to turn down the opposite end of the hall and drift in the direction of the servant headquarters; those offices near the back where I rarely ventured.

This time of night, nothing but shadows and silence greeted me as I pushed open the door to the lounge where I knew the staff spent their breaks—and where I knew Harper kept the keys to the family vehicles.

Plenty of admonishments ran through my mind as I ruffled through the drawers and scanned the surface of a desk. I hadn’t driven in nearly ten years—not since Harper had first taught me in secret on the house grounds. According to Mother’s philosophy, women like me didn’t need to know how to operate a car when we paid people to do it for us.

If Mother could see me now, fishing a pair of silver keys from a hook on the wall, she’d probably drop dead again.

It took me ages to stumble to the garage. By then my arm had grown numb and every part of me tingled with an icy chill I couldn’t escape. My teeth chattered, fingers shaking so badly that the keys jingled like bells.

When I finally found the Rolls Royce, parked within a shadowy corner, I could barely fit the key in the door. The black machine with its tinted windows seemed about as imposing as a snarling beast waiting to swallow me whole. How did one even start a car anyway? Was there some sort of button?

Idiot! A disembodied voice hissed—only this time, it didn’t belong to my mother. It was Dublin. Fool, he snarled. A man breaks into your bedroom, mortally wounds you, and your main concern is if the gas pedal is on the left or the right?

My eyes narrowed at the thought and somehow I managed to wrench open the door and climb onto the driver’s seat.

I didn’t stop to consider that I had no idea how to leave the property let alone navigate the city, or that I was staining priceless leather with my blood. Driven by determination I was able to get the key into the ignition and jerkily maneuver the car to the garage’s entrance.

Ten minutes later I was creeping down a side road at a pace more befitting a snail, thankful that the roads were mostly empty this time of night. My trembling hands could barely grip the steering wheel and I strained to see over it in search of a certain, imposing steeple.

Call it luck—or fate—but after a random turn, I glanced up to find the shadowy silhouette of the church of St. Jude the Apostle, and I figured that I was the only person in the world relieved to have found the gate to their own personal hell.

CHAPTER 29

Bleed

THE DOOR OPENED BEFORE I could even knock. I supposed he’d heard me clamoring up the stairs anyway, far too dizzy to aim for stealth.

Or, perhaps he’d merely smelled the blood.

I reeked of it. Puddles of crimson formed a morbid trail behind me, staining the ancient stone floors with every step. The sound beat against my eardrums as Dublin pulled the door open wider, blond hair gleaming, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Eleanor—”

I staggered forward before he had the chance to utter any intimidating remarks: Have you come basted and tenderized for the slaughter?

Instead, I shoved my arm in his face, spraying drops of scarlet all over the front of his gray shirt. “I need …help.”

Pain stabbed down my spine, intense and all-consuming. I barely saw his expression darken, nostrils flaring with the scent of my blood.

“What in the hell—”

“I fell.”

I tried taking a shaky step over the threshold, and the next thing I knew, I was lying flat on a solid surface with Dublin hovering above. His mouth was moving—but only snatches of what he said actually registered.

“Blood … Listen to me, what happened?”

I didn’t even have the chance to respond before he was tugging my jacket off by the collar.

It hit the floor with a damp plop as he threw it aside and went to work on my blouse, icy fingers undoing the buttons too quickly for me to follow. All the while, the pain grew into an unbearable ache.

Don’t think on it, I told myself as my gaze drifted up to the unfamiliar ceiling. Focus on something else instead.

I guessed that we were in one of those strange bedrooms. The walls were dark, and the surface beneath me felt way too soft to have been the floor. I tried to pull myself upright— get a better look—only to be shoved right back down.

“Don’t move.”

I shivered as he yanked at the sleeve of my blouse next. A whine broke loose from my lips before I could help it. Dublin frowned, and tore the sleeve at the seams instead.

Once my arm was fully bare, he recoiled, eyes so bright they almost glowed. “Damn.”

I glanced down to observe the damage and immediately wished I hadn’t. So much red ...

The cuts were deeper than I’d realized. Dublin’s alarmed hiss just reinforced the severity. I swore I even saw the grotesque collage of wounds pulsing in rhythm to my heart beat.

“Did you run into a wall of knives?” he demanded.

“Broken glass.” My voice sounded so high-pitched and breathy that I barely recognized it. “Will I need stitches?”

He didn’t answer.

I felt so light-headed. It was a struggle just to focus on the pale planes of his face. I wanted to sleep instead—sink into darkness and forget the pain and the blood and the fact that his frigid chill felt more comforting than any ounce of warmth ever had.

“Don’t,” he warned before my eyes could even begin to drift shut. His jaw was clenched, eyes darker than steel. “Fall unconscious and you’ll suffer for it.”

Without another word, he slid his arm beneath my shoulders, hauling me upright, and settled on the mattress beside me. The pain made my mind roil, but he was there, edging closer before I could collapse again.

I should have resisted. I shouldn’t have felt grateful. He was evil, and I was ...

So tired.

Idiot, a part of me scolded as my head came to rest on his shoulder. A funny realization crossed my mind just then; I didn’t think I’d ever been so close to him while fully clothed.

“You are going to tell me what happened,” Dublin promised. The stern tone left no room for argument—but rather than demand any answers now, he seemed more intent on fishing something from his pocket.

I watched, intrigued, as he withdrew a familiar black object. My stomach twisted into knots as his thumb glided over the distinct shape of a golden dragon and a strip of metal slid from a narrow opening with a metallic hiss. Once freed, the gleaming blade taunted me.

“Have I not lost enough blood already?” I heard myself croak.

Rather than answer me, Dublin brought the knife closer ...and then surprised me completely by placing the blade against his own throat. His hand jerked. There was a sound like that of metal being dragged through skin. The next second, he took hold of my shoulders and pulled me into his chest. Before I could question, one of his hands latched onto the back of my skull and guided me into the curve of his neck.

“Drink,” he grunted.

The feel of his throat was like ice, so cold it burned, and I instinctively withdrew. Or at least, I tried to, considering I felt too weak to even keep my eyes open.

“What are you—”

“Shut up.” His fingers curled into my hair, forcing my mouth against the crook of his shoulder. Deliberately, he pressed until my protests were muffled against his skin. “Drink!”

All at once, my exhausted brain finally connected the dots and I knew what he wanted.

Apparently, the situation was dire enough to skip the injected dose altogether. He wanted me to take his blood in the same way he took mine; straight from the vein.

What would mother say, were she here to see me, mouth at the base of a vampire’s throat? Though, to be fair, I figured she would have passed out the moment I’d successfully parked the car.

“Drink,” Dublin growled when I hesitated. His grip was iron, leaving no room to escape. I cringed as a cool liquid pooled against my bottom lip. My stomach churned, expecting the taste of death and decay, but when I hesitantly sought out a single drop with my tongue, words couldn’t begin to describe it …

My mind tried. Mustering all the words in my meager vocabulary, I struggled to name the sensation flooding my senses: Yummy. Rich. Decadent.

There were no salty or metallic undertones. No sickeningly sweet aftertaste. Where I figured human blood was akin to wine, his was the purest Belgian chocolate. My tongue darted out greedily, seeking more—and with every swallow the pain faded away, bit by bit, into nothing.

It was a thought that I would regret, but I couldn’t deny it. Dublin tasted …good. Better than good, exquisite even. I wanted more.

More.

His grip loosened now that I wasn’t fighting. In fact my own hands, as weak as they were, clutched his shoulders and I struggled to get even closer, parting my mouth against his marble skin.

The man was decadent sin. I was drowning in him—and I wanted to drown. I wanted to utterly lose myself in all that was Dublin Helos and never be merely ‘Ellie Gray’ ever again.

But he didn’t bleed like I did. His was merely a slow, stingy trickle. I felt like a straggler, dying of dehydration in a desert, forced to drink the sweetest, coolest water from a narrow straw. Instinctively, my teeth caught his flesh, bearing down to make the blood flow faster.

As if from light years away, I could feel his hands tighten. When my tongue raked over the cut, ruthlessly seeking more, he stiffened.

“Eleanor …”

Something in his tone made me withdraw, tilting my head back to see his face, even as my tongue slid along my lower lip to capture every bead of scarlet.

“Am I hurting you?” I slurred like a drunken fool.

I didn’t know why it mattered if I was, why the thought of causing him pain had me frowning even as a longing for more of him swept through my belly in a greedy wave. God, I wanted to swallow him whole.

“No ...” His jaw clenched and his eyes flashed molten silver. I couldn’t name the expression on his face—but whatever it was terrified me worse than his usual scowls. “You need more.”

He didn’t have to force me this time. I was back at his throat in an instant—unease forgotten—prodding the wound without an ounce of remorse. I wasn’t aware of the blood on my skin—or my own body for that matter. The loss of fear made me feel as light as air, weightless. Then, I was drifting, losing myself in the sensation of him.

And nothing had felt more right than giving in.

“Give me some sign that you’re alive.”

The cold voice cut into my dreamless sleep like a knife. I groaned and rolled over in a futile attempt to escape it. However, the reaction seemed to placate my rude awakener.

“About damn time.”

My eyes flew open. The owner of the voice needed no introduction. Like a gleaming angel of death, Dublin stood at the foot of what I assumed to be a massive bed. I was lying on the center of it, tucked beneath a crisp, white sheet—but I was naked underneath. And that wasn’t all ...

I felt different; renewed, refreshed. It was as if someone had taken me apart, piece by piece, then sewn me back together with all new parts.

“What did you do to me?” I demanded, voice rough with sleep. Though, in all honesty, I wasn’t exactly complaining. I had never felt so good—not even after one of his ‘cures.’ “I feel …”

“Eat.”

I blinked to find a breakfast tray unceremoniously dropped onto the mattress beside me. Without waiting for me to haul myself upright, Dublin snatched a piece of toast from it and promptly broke it in half.

“Eat,” he commanded, shoving the slice underneath my nose.

I started to reach for it, but his impatient hiss gave me no choice but to take a bite right from his hand. My stomach fluttered, churning as I swallowed. His eyes bore into mine—though, he held my gaze for merely a second before turning his full attention to my shoulder.

“You’ve healed,” he grunted, eyes raking down my skin. “Finally.”

I glanced down as well. From the hazy memories of last night, I didn’t know what to expect—but the flesh of my shoulder was pale and unblemished. The images in my mind could have just been one dizzying nightmare …

If it weren’t for the crimson blotches staining the white sheets.

Slowly, I sat up, clutching the top sheet to my chest. I recognized the same windowless room I’d woken up in the day after he had fed from me. A single light fixture on the wall illuminated the sparse furniture as well as Dublin, standing beside the bed.

“Stand,” he ordered with all the tact of a drill sergeant.

With a sigh, I bundled the thin sheet closer to my body and shuffled to the edge of the bed.

“Is this necessary?” I demanded, though, surprisingly, I felt no weakness as I braced both feet on the floor and stood.

My muscles hummed. I felt this desperate urge to move—run, which was strange, considering that my usual daily exercise consisted of climbing up and down the stairs.

Dublin watched me, eyes catching every flicker of motion I made. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” If I didn’t know any better, I might have suspected that he cared. Bitterly I added, “Your investment is still intact.”

He flinched—so imperceptibly that I nearly missed it—but a second later his expression was blank. Like ice, those eyes held me captive, and every part of me stiffened in anticipation beneath my bed sheet.

“What happened?” His voice was too controlled, too robotic. Something told me that he knew damn well what had taken place. He simply wanted to hear me say it.

“Do not lie to me.”

“N-Nothing,” I stammered, picturing Orwell. While insane, he was still my uncle—and obviously, something had upset him. Correction,I remembered on a shiver, seeing me with Dublin had upset him.

“Nothing?” the vampire in question echoed. The soft, dangerous tone had my heart galloping loudly in my chest. “Funny. Your bedroom was in shambles.”

He made it sound so harmless; the sun was shining.

I wasn’t fooled.

“I f-fell,” I countered, shocked that he had gone to Gray Manor when I damn well shouldn’t have been. “I tripped into my mirror—”

“And rifled through your drawers while you were at it?”

Damn. I had forgotten the mess Orwell had made of my bedroom. A million excuses raced through my mind and I blurted one at random. “I was looking for something.”

“What?”

“A … Um ... I—”

“Was this before or after you picked the locks to your own home?”

“You … Why should it matter what happened?” I settled on indignantly.

“Why should it matter?” I had no chance to react before he snagged both of my wrists in one hand and yanked them down to my belly. The motion tore the bed sheet from my grip and it fluttered to the floor, leaving me naked.

Sheer, fragile pride was the only thing that kept me from shying away from his sight. I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as I felt every inch of my skin flush crimson. The seconds passed like hours, and all the while Dublin watched me with an expression that I couldn’t name.

“I’ll tell you why it should ‘matter,’ Eleanor,” he said finally. “You are mine.” He took a step closer, invading my personal space without care, while his hand encircled my wrists like a manacle. “My property.” Icy breath ghosted my shoulder and I could feel every muscle in my body tense as his gaze swept along the slope of my throat the same way it had Haswell’s land. “My investment.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” I countered.

“Oh?” His fingers tightened their hold over me—and I felt as alarmed as if he’d just branded his name on my skin. “Guess again, Eleanor; how soon you forget your own bargain.”

My shoulder burned in the same spot where I knew his cuts had been—his mark. You are mine ...

“Anyone who touches you, touches me,” he went on in a tone of steel. “Anyone who harms you, harms me. Now, Eleanor, do I really have to drag the truth from you?”

“It was nothing,” I insisted. “Just …”

With a sigh, I admitted my ‘sick’ uncle’s sudden reappearance.

“He’s harmless,” I added in a rush as Dublin’s eyes narrowed into slits. “He just saw some silly tabloid and over-reacted. He was looking for my sister. I haven’t even seen him in years. His name is—”

“Orwell.”

I was shocked more by his harsh tone than the fact that he knew my uncle’s name at all. “D-do you know him?”

His eyes narrowed even more, recovering some of their detached coldness, but I could sense that his veneer had slipped—if only for a second, I had caught him off guard.

“Despite your rather non-existent relationship with the media, Eleanor, your family is well known. You only have one uncle.”

The explanation was plausible—but some part of me wasn’t buying it. I couldn’t forget the way he had said his name; Orwell, full of recognition. For a rare, brief moment I had glimpsed a real emotion on that face besides anger; hate.

“What did he say to you?” He sounded nonchalant, but the look in his eye was anything but.

“He just …asked for my sister.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes,” I said, exasperated. “I know that he’s not ‘well,’ but I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

Abruptly, Dublin released me and turned away. “Eat.” He gestured at the tray on the bed.

It was only then that I remembered I was naked.

With a gulp, I stooped for the bed sheet and draped it over my body like a cloak, holding it closed tightly over my front. Then I sat on the edge of the mattress and blindly lifted a fork from the tray. It was stacked with eggs and two crisp pieces of bacon.

I couldn’t remember whether or not I had seen a kitchen somewhere within the maze of rooms—but the fact that he had bothered to get me something to eat at all left my head spinning.

As if aware of my thoughts, Dublin’s shoulders tensed and I hastily stabbed at a piece of fried egg.

“What now?” I asked before popping the morsel onto my tongue.

He glanced over his shoulder and there was a frosty gleam in his gaze that I didn’t like.

“Now? Well, I suppose now we discuss the terms of repayment.”

I choked, sputtering yellow egg across the bed sheets. “R-Repayment?”

He raised a single eyebrow. “Yes. Repayment. My blood doesn’t come cheaply.”

I frowned, an argument poised on my lips. Well, it wasn’t exactly like I asked to drink it …

Directly from the vein, I might’ve added. At the memory my heart quickened. Tiny, erratic sparks came to life beneath my skin as I remembered the taste of him…so damn heady that I could feel my mouth water.

“You took triple your usual dose,” Dublin added. “You’ve been out for two days—it’s a miracle that you woke up at all.”

Days? Horror washed over me for one completely vain reason. In the hospital, my stint of unconsciousness had been monitored by medical professionals honor-bound to preserve my dignity by taking care of any uncontrolled …bodily functions.

Dublin Helos offered me no such guarantee. But I felt clean, and there were no unsavory smells wafting from the bed sheets.

“Why did you keep me here?” I asked while surveying the room, rather than voice the dangerous question that my decent state presented. “You could have taken me home.”

“I could have.”

Warily, I kicked my feet against the floor, staring down at my bare toes. “Why do you live here, anyway?”

The question came out of nowhere before common sense could reel it back.

“I mean—”

“Why wouldn’t I live here?” he countered in a voice so low it could have been whispered inside my thoughts rather than out loud. “Would you prefer a cave? A castle?”

“No,” I said, thinking of Raphael’s imposing manor—that dwelling was close enough to the Dracula legends, thank you very much. In comparison, the Cathedral was almost a relief. Despite the ancient walls and stone façade, there was a sense of quiet serenity about the place.

And Dublin, with those haunting, chilling eyes, just didn’t …fit.

“Were you a Christian in your past life?”

“In my past life?” he murmured, reaching up to scratch his chin. “What makes you think that I’m not pious now? For all you know …I could all but live inside of a church.”

The lack of a smile tempered the joke—but the echo of it was still there, lingering in the air between us.

“Is that a yes then?” I couldn’t understand why I was so curious. Something in me jumped at the chance at sneaking even a glimmer of information about him—even if it was potentially damaging to my health.

“Would you dare to mistake me for a Holy man?” Two fangs glinted beneath the roof of his mouth as he spoke. “I’m genuinely curious.”

An involuntary gulp contracted my throat. “Well,” I croaked, “you do seem to love wearing the color black.”

Today was no exception. He wore another ebony shirt, collar crisp, paired with a dark pair of pants—but even clothed in the color of shadow, the man still glowed.

“Ah …but do I inspire hope in you, Eleanor? Serenity? Piety?” Suddenly, he was much closer than before, leaning down so that his breath caressed my neck, raising goosebumps. “Do I possess a priestly aura that makes you want to confess your secrets, lest you be damned?”

I couldn’t ignore the genuine note of curiosity in his tone—as if I, Eleanor the bumbling Gray, actually had secrets worth sharing; secrets that someone like Dublin Helos would actually be curious enough to learn.

I scoffed. “Sorry, Father, but I have not sinned.”

In fact, my life had been so boring that no God in existence would bother ‘damning’ me to anything.

“Fair enough.” Dublin pulled back, returning to his full height. Silently, he observed me for almost a full minute—long enough to spark a nervous bead of sweat that dribbled down behind my ear. “But I don’t believe that’s entirely true. Even you must have done something to put a single strike against your name in the Book of Reckoning. What was it?” He tilted his head. “Have you stolen a cookie? Worn your skirt two inches shorter than school regulations?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. At least not until …”

“What?”

“Until I met you.”

God, I could feel my ears prickling with shame. How many twenty-six year old women could truthfully admit that they had done nothing relatively ‘naughty,’ in the majority of their lives?

No sneaking from windows to meet unacceptable boyfriends.

No kisses stolen under the moonlight.

No sips of alcohol snuck from the liquor cabinet.

My life may well have been one blank page, whose only redeeming quality was the glaring coffee stain that was Dublin Helos. I flinched at the thought and wrapped my sheet tighter around myself.

“I corrupted you,” he announced—as if this were an ‘Ah-ha!’ moment and he had just now realized how pathetic I was without the threat of his cure hanging over my head.

“In a sense,” I choked out. “How pleased you must be. What am I, the millionth soul you’ve corrupted?”

If I had expected any sense of guilt in response I was sorely mistaken.

“Pleased? I’m disappointed,” he said with a shake of his head. “You call this—” He gestured toward my body with a disapproving wave of his hand. “Corruption? Dear God, Eleanor …I haven’t even begun.”

Before I could react—before I could even begin to process his words—he was in front of me, eyes boring deep into my own, piercing parts of me I had never known existed until that very moment.

“I have decided how you may repay your newest debt,” he began in a guttural tone that made my breath stop. “But, let’s make this interesting …as well as give you the chance to earn your true corruption.”

I waited a heartbeat and then cautiously voiced a single word. “What?”

“A bet, Eleanor,” he said. “I’ll make you an offer you cannot refuse.”

“And what is that?”

Horror! A part of me that sounded suspiciously like my mother shrieked. Something bad! Improper! Indecent! Run away!

Dublin only smiled, revealing two fully elongated fangs, before turning to the door. “A taste of control, Eleanor,” he murmured, “a mere taste of control …”

CHAPTER 30

Control

DUBLIN’S LAST WORDS—A mere taste of control—were still ringing in my ears by the time he finally returned. “For now, the sheet will do,” he said from the doorway. “Come.”

Reluctantly, I crept after him, wrapped tight within my sheet and increasingly aware of just how little space separated us.

Only a few lamps were lit throughout the rest of his lair, casting small pools of orange light. As we passed the entryway, a glance out of the windows revealed that the sky was still an inky shade of black. It could have been late at night or just very early in the morning. Dublin turned down another hallway before I had the chance to ask. When he eventually came to a stop before an open doorway, I peeked inside and felt my heart sink to my toes.

“What … What is this?”

The room beyond was large with marble floors and gleaming fixtures: a bathroom. I vaguely recognized it as the same one where Yulia had helped me dress for the masquerade ball. But now—with words like ‘control’ and ‘corruption’ floating around—the huge, claw-foot bathtub seemed to take on a more sinister purpose.

I shivered at a sudden image of Dublin using it as a giant goblet while he ‘exacted’ as much blood from me as I had taken from him as ‘payment.’

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffed as if reading my mind. “You are covered in blood. Stale, dried blood …”

Oh. From the way he sniffed, I figured the smell was about as appealing to him as rotting food was to me.

Obediently, I shuffled toward the sink and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. Sure enough, streaks of scarlet painted my cheeks. My hands …

On top of it all was a strange taste in my mouth that I hadn’t noticed until then: salty, metallic, rich.

Trembling, I turned the faucet on full blast and viciously scrubbed at my hands. A burst of cold air tickled my flesh, and I glanced up to find Dublin standing at my shoulder, as silent as a shadow. In one hand he held a white cloth, which he quietly damped beneath the faucet.

Our gazes met in the mirror for a second—long enough to send a chill lancing through my body. Then, without asking for an invitation, he dragged the damp cloth along what little of my throat wasn’t shrouded by my blanket. Nerves prickled to life as cool water sank through the sheet, gluing it to my skin. When he tried to move lower, my traitorous body reacted, tightening …heating ...

“Let go,” he said, eyes on the way my fingers clutched at the sheet.

When I didn’t budge, he snagged a corner and tugged—but I held on even tighter. I knew that resisting him was like giving a dog a bone, but I couldn’t fight the instinctive urge that had me digging my nails in regardless. This was different. This time, there was no bed or chains or threat of fangs. Just silence, and running water, and his hands separated from my body by a thin piece of cloth.

“Let go, Eleanor.”

Something in his tone made my fingers finally loosen their grip. Silently, the sheet drifted down to the floor, and the wet cloth continued to travel unhindered, guided by ice-cold fingers …down around my shoulders, my arms. When finished, he stood back without granting me permission to cover myself, and I could practically feel those silver eyes raking over my body from head to toe.

The scrutiny was more unbearable than any physical touch. Seconds passed. The water was still running and the sound of my racing heartbeat had grown into a deafening hum.

Then …

“You can leave.”

“What?” I turned to face him, too shocked to care that my thin little covering was still pooled at my feet.

“I’ll even have my car brought around so that you don’t have to risk killing yourself behind the wheel of that Rolls Royce,” Dublin added. “Something tells me that driving lessons weren’t a main priority at that boarding school of yours.”

I shrugged, too ashamed to even take offense. It was a wonder I hadn’t killed myself by crashing into a telephone pole.

“At least I got here in one piece—”

“You parked in a fire zone,” he countered.

“Well, it was an emergency after all.” I smirked, oddly proud of my joke, but rather than respond with more cutting banter, Dublin’s expression hardened.

“Do you ever think through the consequences of your actions?”

I flinched at his tone. It was lethally soft, dangerous. “I …”

“Or better yet,” he continued, cutting over me, “do you have any idea that coming to me was the worst mistake that you could have made?”

The cold, menacing edge to his voice made me shudder. He wasn’t joking, or teasing, or trying to scare me just for the hell of it.

He was serious.

“Why?”

“There are rules,” he said tightly, nothing else.

“Should I have gone to the hospital?” I managed to choke out.

Some dark emotion raced through those silver eyes, disappearing before I could name it.

“No.” Without elaborating on why, he crossed over to me and picked up my sheet from the floor. I stood still as he draped the fabric over my shoulders, drawing it closed over my front. Then he turned and headed for the doorway, once again leaving me to catch up.

This time, he simply headed into the next room; a plain one adorned with only a black leather chaise and a large, imposing window that overlooked the back of the church where the moon hovered in the sky, lonely and pale.

“Sit,” Dublin told me as he moved to stand before the window.

As still as a statue, he stared out into the night. When he turned back to face me, he looked the same—but something wasn’t right.

For the first time I noticed the little nuances in his posture that I had missed before. How his shoulders were set in a firm, stony line, the way his jaw had been clenched, the faint, ominous tilt to his mouth. All of it added up to one startling conclusion; he was angry—perhaps angrier than I had ever seen him.

Only I had no idea why.

“There is a reason why I’ve never had you drink from the vein,” he began, “did you assume that the injections were merely out of convenience?”

To be honest, I had never questioned it. Only now did I realize that, up until two nights ago, I had never actually tasted his blood. Never before had I noticed the liquid in those vials.

“Why not?” I rasped, though I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know the answer.

“The substance running through your veins merely sustains life. My blood is life.” As he spoke, his eyes bore into my own, daring me to look away, flinch. “Plenty of mortals would kill for the chance to consume even a drop.”

“So I keep hearing …”

“So you keep hearing,” Dublin repeated In the blink of an eye he was closer. I had to crane my neck just to maintain eye contact. “And yet, you still don’t seem to understand. If you had any idea of what I’ve given you—”

He broke off, but I got the sense that I had witnessed another tiny crack in his façade; he had said too much.

“How long do you think that we’ve been doing this, Eleanor?” he asked, abruptly changing the topic. “My kind, dolling out blood to humans desperate to stay alive for even a second longer?”

I swallowed. Not for the first time I wondered just how many contracts he really owned. Hundreds? Thousands?

“I don’t know—”

“Take a guess.”

“A hundred years?” It sounded like a decent amount of time to me, but Dublin merely laughed.

“Longer than your country has existed,” he declared, fangs flashing. “Longer, even, than your ancestors have lived on this land. Try again.”

“Three hundred—”

“Five hundred. I’ve been gathering contracts for nearly five hundred years.” He almost sounded monotone. “I couldn’t tell you how many souls pledged their lives away for a single drop of the substance that you, yourself, seemed to so thoroughly enjoy.”

I hated myself for the fact that my mouth watered at the mere mention of his blood. The taste of him was like some hazy fantasy too fantastical to have been real. Before I could help it, a single thought raced through my mind. I want more …

“This country was built on the blood of my kind,” he added, snapping me from the longing. “Don’t tell me that you really believed an army of farmers and aristocrats alone could have beaten what once was the most powerful empire in the world?”

“I don’t remember the history books mentioning anything about George Washington consuming vampire blood in between battles,” I replied, but my mind was reeling. Colonial vampires? Ancient contracts?

“They wouldn’t, would they?” He took a step closer and I could feel his chill in my bones. “Old George wouldn’t want anyone to know the real price for his ‘independence.’ Though, he wasn’t one of my contracts specifically.” He sounded so casual. It was as if we were merely discussing what he’d eaten for lunch rather than the fate of one of the most important men in American history. “He was given the same choice that you were—that every unfortunate soul to cross our path is given.”

“B-But he died,” I said. “If your cure is so wonderful, why didn’t it last?”

Dublin didn’t speak for the longest time. It felt as though the temperature in the room had descended into negative temperatures by the time he finally gave me an answer.

“Because mortals have the luxury of changing their minds …” He spoke so softly that I barely heard him. “When he realized the true price of immortality, even someone as grandiose as George Washington understood that more time wasn’t worth the stain on your soul.”

I remembered reading something about his death years ago in school. “He died after catching a cold.”

But, no …

On second thought there was more to it. In a trembling whisper I forced myself to say it. “He died from being bled by his physicians.” Considering that a vampire stood before me, that morbid little fact seemed too chilling to be mere coincidence. “But bloodletting was a common practice of the time,” I stammered, trying to rationalize it, regardless. “Normal.”

“Oh?” Dublin merely raised an eyebrow. “Old George stopped drinking the blood—but even that alone does not negate its effects entirely. So he tried to drain the ‘tainted’ blood from his body. The preceding illness was merely an invented detail to pacify historians. Really, Eleanor. How common do you think it was to live to the age of sixty seven in the eighteenth century?”

George Washington had consumed vampire blood. A part of me wanted to accuse him of lying, but …

I couldn’t help but wonder, with a frown, just how many of our admired historical figures might have tried to cheat death by signing a contract. Even more chilling; what exactly had they done in order to fulfill them?

“What was George Washington’s price?”

I expected for Dublin to cross his arms and refuse to tell me, citing some mysterious vampire code. In fact, a part of me almost wished that he would.

Instead, he surprised me with a direct answer.

“For him, merely to continue forging ahead with his rebellion.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “The old world with its entrenched religion and filth had grown …unappealing. We wished for somewhere new to roam.”

Apparently when vampires got bored, they decided to form new countries. Good to know.

“Why did he change his mind?” I found myself asking, incredulously. “You gave him everything. He was the father of an entire nation. What made him—”

“The price,” Dublin snapped. “You mortals, so compliant in your history, never thinking through the lasting implications of the decisions you make until it’s too late. Use that brain of yours, Eleanor. Why would a vampire take interest in a new country? An untamed land teeming with virtually ungoverned mortals ripe for …”

All at once, the answer hit me like a physical blow. “Feeding.” Just saying the word out loud made me sick—but I knew even before I saw Dublin’s grim expression that it was the truth. Without even trying, I had hit the nail right on its proverbial head. “George Washington allowed you to feed on colonists.”

He nodded again.

“But wouldn’t people …notice?” I could barely get the words out. This was a version of history not mentioned in any history book I could recall.

“There is a reason that slavery was implemented into the foundation of this country,” Dublin said, arousing all kinds of dark suspicions that I could never bring myself to consider on my own. “The founding fathers believed that it would serve as an enticing buffer to protect the ‘higher’ members of society.”

Suddenly not even my flimsy sheet seemed like a good enough buffer against the cold, hard truth, though I wrapped it tighter around myself regardless.

“Eventually Washington decided that he couldn’t live with his choice,” Dublin added.

I wasn’t sure if I could either. I wished more than anything that the smiling figure on the dollar bill could have remained as such. Some things just weren’t worth knowing.

“That’s a rather grim outlook,” I said haltingly. “I guess I should be relieved that all you seemed to have wanted from me was the use of my name—”

“No.” That simple word shattered everything like a piano note played out of tune. “Things have changed, Eleanor. Should I tell you what it is that I desire from you now?”

My breath caught on that dangerous word. Desire.

“N-Nothing?”

“Perhaps ‘desire’ isn’t the right word,” he continued as if I’d never spoken. “Crave. Should I tell you what it is that I crave from you, Eleanor Gray?”

Suddenly he was in front of me. Icy fingers brushed my shoulder before skimming the cropped length of my hair, where he seized a curl and twisted it around his thumb.

“Fear,” he said simply before I had the chance to respond. “I want to know what terrifies you, and when I win our wager, you will tell me.”

“W-Wager?”

“Do try to keep up, Eleanor,” he scolded with a firm tug on my hair. “You owe me. Remember?”

“But it’s obvious.” I gulped. “You terrify me.”

“No.” His voice was flat, annoyed. “No, I do not. You may tell yourself that, but deep down … I merely amuse you.” His words echoed in my ears, even as he let me go and turned away.

He amused me? It was the same accusation he had made that night at the ball. A part of me flinched from the memory and I grasped for a change of subject.

“What do you mean by wager?” I wasn’t sure that I truly wanted to know the answer; a sinister voice inside my head was whispering tons of possible suggestions.

“What do you think?” Deliberately—as if making sure that I couldn’t help but notice—he reached into his pocket and withdrew something slender and black, like string.

A solid minute passed before I realized what it was; a length of black ribbon, only in his hand it might as well have been a metal chain.

“You claimed to be corrupted, but do you even know what true corruption is?” He wound the ribbon slowly between his fingers. “It’s total submission. No questions. No resistance. You relinquish everything in exchange for nothing more than …an escape.”

“But I’ve already given you everything—”

“No you haven’t.” Every word was as cold and hard as his expression. “Not everything.”

I didn’t know what was more confusing, the thought that I hadn’t already given him my body, blood, and soul? Or that he still wanted more?

“What else is there?”

“It is simple.” His breath ghosted my shoulder. I hadn’t even seen him move, but now he stood behind me. The moon taunted me through the window glass as he reached over my shoulder and threaded an end of the ribbon over the delicate bones of my wrist, as innocently as a makeshift bracelet.

Or a shackle.

Or a shackle.

“Control, Eleanor,” he said finally, lips brushing my earlobe. “I want you …to lose control.”

My mind was spinning. Every molecule of air in my chest congealed as I watched ebony silk rasp over my skin. Once. Twice. Again.

“Deny me nothing.”

He seized my other hand and looped a length of ribbon around it. Then he pulled, ensnaring both wrists together as effectively as those handcuffs had all those days ago.

“Give in to me.”

A considerable length of spare ribbon had pooled in my lap. Another hand reached down to trap it between a pale thumb and forefinger. He yanked and the ribbon was torn in two, with the second half dangling between his fingertips.

“Surrender yourself completely; all of you …”

He released my bound hands, and held the second ribbon taut before my eyes—perhaps so that I could guess what he was going to do next. I could only stare, oddly entranced as, in the space of a heartbeat, my eyes were covered, icy fingers brushing my ears as he tied the ends of the ribbon tight.

“Then,” he breathed, “you will have given me everything.”

And just like that I was at his mercy.

“Can you hear me, Eleanor?”

I nodded.

I could hear him all right, though I almost preferred to have heard my mother instead. Eleanor Gray, you get out of there this instant! He’s dangerous.

The only sound above the frantic hammering of my pulse was his voice.

Nothing else.

“Good.”

I jumped as a tendril of ice brushed the nape of my neck. His thumb? He traced the line of my shoulder before drifting down to graze my spine with a frigid nail.

“Stand up.”

I lurched obediently to my feet. It was disorienting trying to maintain my balance while blind and bound. I swayed, fearful that I might trip over my own two feet.

“Why did you cover my eyes?”

Bad Ellie! I knew that I was breaking his little rules by not playing along. To my shock, he sounded eerily calm when he spoke again.

“Maybe I simply like seeing you this way.”

Hog tied and helpless? Strangely, I wouldn’t have been surprised if that were the case.

“Why?”

“I think I should have covered your mouth as well as your eyes.” His tone remained level, but a stern warning laced every word. Do not question, Eleanor. Just obey. Be a good damsel now and allow me to play my devious little mind games unchallenged.

“Do you think that darkness scares me?”

“Does it?” He sounded even closer. I could imagine him standing over my shoulder, relishing my unease.

“I thought we already established that you scare me.”

A burst of cool air was my only warning before two cold hands caught my waist, yanking me backwards. Gone was the detached, clinical care he’d used to clean me up. This was different.

His nails grazed my flesh, scraped.

“Do I really?”

“Yes …”

“Then you, Eleanor Gray, have never been truly afraid. True terror,” he added, cold breath fanning against my shoulder, “is nothing like the games we play.”

My heart sputtered as he let me go. There was a horrible second of anticipation before I finally felt his fingers encircle my throat, leaving just enough space to allow me to breathe.

“Your heart is racing,” he acknowledged. “But is your pulse surging so violently that you can almost taste your own blood, right there on the tip of your tongue?”

I wanted to run, just shove away from him, turn on my heel and bolt from the room. I could have. My hands were bound, but not so tightly that one good yank wouldn’t be enough to break free. In fact …

I had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what he wanted me to do.

“I’m not hearing an answer, Eleanor,” he taunted when I didn’t respond.

“If being asked a million questions is what it means to be corrupted then I’d rather not, thank you.”

I’d barely finished speaking before he leaned closer. The only warning was a creeping, icy sensation over my flesh—but I could almost hear the slide of his fangs descending from beneath his upper lip, ready to pierce, to tear.

“Corruption is pain,” he explained while cresting my hip with the tip of a nail. “It’s relishing in it, savoring the violence. It is feeling your own defenses shatter and knowing that you are helpless against the onslaught. Even worse, while deep down you know that you should run from the pain, fear it even, instead …you crave it.”

I could only tremble, hands held out awkwardly as his heavy footsteps circled where I stood. My teeth chattered—but why did I feel a suffocating wave of heat that only intensified the lower his finger drifted? After tracing a path down to my navel he pulled away.

“Shall I continue your education on corruption and fear? Let’s start with a simple question to gauge how well you’ve been paying attention: Why do you seem to throw yourself into danger at every single turn?”

I frowned. “I don’t—”

“Careful now, Eleanor ...”

The pad of his finger slowly crept back up my torso, skirting the globe of one breast, before tracing the curve of my rib cage. I hated myself for the heat that flared to life despite his glacial chill—only his tone kept me from just giving in to the urge to arch into his hand and damn shame to hell.

“Do not lie,” he warned. “Even when mortally wounded, you came to me. Me.” He made it sound synonymous with ‘gouged out your own eyes.’ “Why?”

“There … There was no one else.”

“You could have gone anywhere,” he countered.

I supposed I could have. Just like I could have stood on a street corner and loudly proclaimed the fact that I was dying and consorted with vampires.

“You and your silly rules made it so that I could only come to you,” I explained once I found my voice again. “After all, do you know anyone else with magic blood?”

“Is that the only reason you came to me?” His tone had me frowning before I could help it. Gone was the mocking bravado of the Devil I knew.

Left behind was a cold, eerie curiosity that made me shiver.

I had a horrible suspicion that George Washington’s secrets wouldn’t be the only thing exposed tonight. A storm was brewing and I felt trapped in the midst of the oncoming destruction.

“Why else would I come to you?” I wondered, just as confused as he seemed to be.

He didn’t answer. I could sense him there, lurking just beyond reach as if waiting for me to put the pieces of some puzzle together on my own.

Tick, tock Ellie. Time’s running out.

“It’s not as if I come over regularly for titillating conversation,” I added, only the words fell flat.

These past few days I had spent more time around him than I had anyone else. Two weeks of near constant contact surpassed the scattered handfuls of time I’d spent with my parents over a lifetime.

How utterly pathetic did that make me?

“I don’t …enjoy being around you,” I insisted stubbornly, mainly for my own benefit.

What sane woman would go out of her way to spend time with a man who brutalized and teased her and had an unhealthy propensity for drinking her blood?

But when have you ever been ‘sane,’ Eleanor Gray? A part of me whispered.

“I don’t …”

“I gave you every chance to walk away.” His tone was scathing. “And yet here you are, ready for more. I think a change of course in this discussion is in order. I know. Let’s start with Saskia.”

My entire body stiffened at the mention of her as I wondered if she had told him of our little wager.

“Tell me, Eleanor, what do you think is the reason behind her contract?”

I blinked. “I don’t. I …”

“What do you think a woman such as Saskia would desire? Eternal youth or beauty? Power?” His tone had changed. No longer was it teasing, but as sharp as a freshly honed blade. Cutting. “Come now, Eleanor. I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions.”

“I don’t know.”

Saskia might have been cruel, but I doubted that even she would have sold her soul for such superficial reasons. As if to echo that suspicion, her words chose that minute to creep beneath my skin. ‘Nothing is sacred to them. There is no part of your life they wouldn’t hesitate to destroy if only to meet their end goal. You would do best to remember that. To him, you are a pawn, nothing more.’

“Love,” Dublin said suddenly. “There is no limit to what a person would do for love. Would you like to hear the tale of how I used her emotions against her, Eleanor?”

His voice took on a sadistic edge that churned my stomach, and I imagined that his eyes were a cold, distant shade of silver. I felt like a child on the playground, having a bully stick a worm in her face, just to hear her scream.

“No,” I croaked.

He forged ahead as if I’d never spoken. “Being a succubus, Saskia would have proven an invaluable asset. They are rare to come by, you know…Raphael suspected that her ‘talents’ would be useful to us, and I was sent to secure her services with little more fanfare than when we obtained George Washington’s soul—but she was different back then, Saskia. She claimed to be a good, ‘God-fearing’ woman despite selling her body for money on the filth-ridden streets of London. She knew of my kind, and yet she refused to forsake her soul ...not for any price. Unfortunately for her, I am not one to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

His tone dripped derision and scorn but it was almost too much; an actor playing the role of the villain in an over-the-top play.

“You have declared me to be a monster on several occasions and yet here you are, at my mercy. To you, I must seem no more menacing than someone like Mikhail, but if you only knew the real monster that dwells deep within ...What Mikhail does with his toys now is nothing compared to what I oversaw when I controlled the Den. Saskia would know better than most just what I am capable of …”

I didn’t want to hear anymore. The picture he painted was of a man recklessly desperate to tell the world I am the Devil bound for hell, hear me roar, just like that unscrambled message in his name proclaimed.

I wanted to beg him to stop now—surrender for once—but I couldn’t deny the part of me that needed to know.

“W-What did you do?”

He allowed the question to linger for merely a second.

“I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I knew a man who, with the prompting of a few coins, sought her out under the guise of purchasing her usual ‘wares.’ Unbeknownst to her, he also possessed an illness which, in that time, was all but a death sentence.”

My heart sped up with every word. I had a horrible, sinking suspicion that whatever he was about to say was something that I would never be able to erase from my mind.

“This man went to Saskia, but she turned him away. However, he decided to slake his lust with someone else—it was a whore house after all. How was he supposed to have known they wouldn’t all be willing …”

He trailed off, and somehow the chilling anticipation of where this tale would lead was even worse than the story itself.

“What happened?” I rasped. Every bone in my body was tense with dread. I couldn’t escape the mental image of a pre-contract Saskia, desperately trying to keep her soul from the Devil’s clutches.

Dublin seemed to hesitate, and for the first time his words came slowly, labored, reluctant. I could almost picture him wincing with every uttered syllable.

“Saskia had a child that she kept hidden away in her chambers ... The girl was fifteen.”

Horror washed over me like a bucket of ice-water being dumped over my head. I couldn’t breathe. Think. He couldn’t be implying that …

“In the end, I still received my contract, and that is all that mattered to me, Eleanor. It’s all that still matters—”

“You’re lying.”

I had no idea where the protest came from, but my heart was pounding with a sense of disgust I had never felt.

“Oh really?” Dublin countered. “Do tell; did I forget to include enough details to frighten even you? I’m sure she screamed—”

“Stop it!”

I felt sick to my stomach, but I couldn’t decide if it was his actual words that sparked such a reaction or just the way he said them; cold, callous. As if that girl, or me or nothing mattered, but once again, he seemed too careless, too harsh.

“This is who I am, Eleanor,” he insisted with all the intensity of a lion’s roar. “I am the Devil, remember?”

“The Devil doesn’t brag,” I retorted. “He doesn’t feel the need to run around stating ‘I am the Devil’ over and over again. Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself …”

Even my slap didn’t earn the same reaction from him. The world went dead silent. With my vision obscured by the ribbon it was almost too easy to imagine for a moment that I was dead: Dublin Helos had killed me quicker than it took for me to blink.

Then …

“I wouldn’t have to repeat it,” he began in a voice quieter than a whisper, “If only you would see it.”

“What do you mean?”

I could sense him standing in front of me now, mere feet away.

“I walk into a room of vampires and it doesn’t take much to have even their cold, undead hearts pumping with fear. A glance. A word. Such is the power of a fearsome reputation, Eleanor.” I briefly recalled the reactions of the vampires at that ball, and had no doubt he wasn’t exaggerating. “But you … I look at you the same way and I can almost sense you yawning, un-amused, unimpressed. I can chain you, bite you, slice into your skin and yet you only come back for more.”

“Well, aren’t you the one who claimed that I like pain?”

The accusation was out before I could help it, and I wanted so badly to take it back. Fighting with him was like sticking my finger in an electrical socket just for kicks—I’d always wind up burned.

“I did.” His tone warned me to shut up. Be a good little captive and cower—better yet, run away—but I couldn’t. All of a sudden, I had an irrational urge to knock him off balance as badly as he seemed determined to unnerve me.

“Perhaps you’re the one who likes being in pain?” I spat in his general direction. “Or maybe just feeling irritated? Why else would you keep me around?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Why else?”

The breath caught in my chest. If a voice alone could kill …

I would have been six feet under, in the family crypt, by now. Every instinct in my body warned me to pull back. Let him take control again.

The walls he’d crafted between us were falling, shattering into pieces and the carnage would swallow me whole.

Shut up, Ellie. Shut up—

“Because,” I went on stupidly, “despite all of your bravado you can’t control me.”

It was such a silly thing to say—especially considering that I was pretty much at his mercy now—but when he didn’t laugh or scoff in response my stomach dropped right through the soles of my feet.

“Do continue,” he said instead. I swore that I could hear the swish of his fangs, piercing the air as he spoke. “This is quite enlightening.”

“You want to, but …”

“But what?”

Suddenly, he was too close. His body jarred mine, knocking me off balance until I was forced to take a step backwards or fall.

“Go on,” he goaded.

“I don’t know—”

“I could kill you, Eleanor Gray.” He might as well have casually stated what day it was. “It would be easy. Don’t think I haven’t considered it before.”

But I had. Countless times, and that was the terrifying part.

“Then do it.” I barely recognized the sound of my own voice. “Kill me. Hurt me. After all, agony is what I crave, right? If you truly are the devil you claim, then it should be as easy as taking candy from a—”

“Shut up.”

My jaw snapped closed. His tone was too soft; I had pushed him too far.

“So now you want pain, Eleanor?” he questioned. “That can be arranged.”

There was a sharp hiss, almost like the sound of metal scraping metal. A second later, the icy touch was back. Only it was a second before I realized that the point grazing my skin was way too sharp to have been a fingernail.

“Shall we forge a new wager?”

The point gently scraped along my flesh, teasing. I could picture the culprit; a weapon with a black hilt dominated by a roaring dragon, probably held expertly between two fingers—the same knife he’d used to draw his own blood. Unease crept down my spine as the blade tickled a path along the exposed skin of my hip.

Pull back, Ellie, a voice in my head urged. You’ve gone too far, way too far …

As if echoing the thought, Dublin wondered out loud, “How far will the innocent mortal push the vampire?”

He waited and the seconds ticked by like eons. Fear surged through my veins. Logic warned me to give in, that the creature standing before me was dangerous. I didn’t recognize this Dublin. And yet, a part of me was more afraid to walk away.

“It seems that you aren’t so foolish after all,” Dublin remarked after nearly five minutes had passed. Before I had the chance to respond, he applied just enough pressure on the blade to sting, making me lurch on the balls of my feet. “Now display an ounce of common sense for once and beg me to stop.”

I could only grit my teeth as the knife returned, cutting deep to form a short line and then another, nearly parallel to the first.

“When will you learn?” Dublin wondered coldly. “Not everything is a game.”

Only he was wrong. This was a game, one of his, and I knew that the moment I pulled away—cried out—would be automatic surrender …and I refused to let him win, no matter the detriment to my own soul.

Another fierce jab sent agony shooting down my spine, and I couldn’t smother the groan that broke free. Warm, wet drops of liquid dribbled down my thigh, chased by his next words. “You claim to fear me? Well I can give you plenty to fear ...”

He sliced two more lines in quick succession, nearly superficial but deep enough to sting, bleed. I struggled to keep breathing, gulping at air.

“Tell me to stop, Eleanor. I need you to say it.”

My silence earned me three more nicks, one right after the other.

God, it hurt. Involuntary tears sprang from my eyes, sinking into the black silk before they could fall.

It was nearly a full minute before the sharp tip of the knife returned, quivering against another strip of untouched skin—and it was only then that I realized every single mark had been deliberate. He was carving something into my skin. Letters.

My mind worked to assemble every aching slash as if it was some bizarre, twisted word scramble. The first four had been close together, connected. An M?

The second had been a single, solid upright line. An L? Or maybe an I?

The last four were trickier. Three of them felt connected, but the last line was farther away. An N.

I struggled to piece the letters together as Dublin’s voice entered my ear, hitching over three, final words. “Tell me to stop.”

Before I could even speak, he sliced three more lines, completing four letters that felt as though they had been carved into my soul rather than my skin.

Mine.

Seconds passed in near silence as my own blood steadily dripped. The only other sound was a sharp, metallic clink of something falling to the floor. Whatever it was, it brushed my toe as it slid past and I shied back, feeling my heart pulse in my throat.

Run. The urge was too strong to ignore this time.

“Untie me.” Trembling, I jerked my bound hands in his direction. “Now!”

He caught my wrists. One sharp tug and the ribbon came undone. Fingers shaking, I reached up and tore off the blindfold myself.

I didn’t want to look at him—I wouldn’t—but with a traitorous impulse my eyes drifted over in his direction anyway.

He stood barely three feet away, as perfect and impeccable as always—except, there was something in his eyes that had never been so clear before now. Fear.

Blood dripped from his fingers and they twitched as if it took every ounce of control he had just to keep from bringing his hand to his mouth.

“Eleanor—”

“Let me go.” He hadn’t even tried to touch me, but as if my words were his cue he reached for my arm.

My entire side throbbed with the pain of twelve little cuts as I jerked back out of reach. Mine. Mine. MINE! They screamed possession with each torturous ache, and I scanned the shadows, desperate for a way out.

“Eleanor—”

His hand cinched my forearm before I’d even taken a step towards the doorway. I tore away from him, lunging for the opposite side of the room. My heel caught a warm, wet patch of blood and the next second I was barreling toward the window. In terrifying slow motion I approached the sheet of glass and I knew with a horrible sense of certainty that I would hit it, and go through.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel the pain of a million shards of glass skewering my skin. Instead …

I only felt ice as something cinched my waist, yanking me backwards into a solid surface.

Fear held me immobile as everything slowly lurched back into motion. My heart started to beat again. I could breathe. Finally, I gathered the nerve to open my eyes—but the sight of a pale arm wrapped tight around me was more frightening than the prospect of plunging twelve stories.

“Are you hurt?”

I couldn’t speak.

No … Yes …

A million conflicting answers to his question darted around my mind.

“I don’t know,” I said finally, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. “But you should be thrilled, you’ve won your wager. Then again, the Devil never really loses, does he?” I added before he could pull away. Lose control, he’d told me. An impossible request, considering that I had never had it. “Should I give you my answer now?”

He moved slowly, withdrawing just enough for me to crane my neck back and see his face. His eyes were dark, guarded, but I could easily see through the tiny cracks in the mask he had tried so desperately to hide behind.

Perhaps I had been as well.

Something was draining from me almost as quickly as my blood was—the truth. Those dangerous emotions I supposed I’d been trying to suppress ever since the first day he strolled into my bedroom and disrupted my neat, perfect life with blood and contracts.

I was so used to having people leave me once they had taken what they wanted—but he was always there and I still had no clue what he sought to gain.

“You scare me,” I admitted, nearly choking on the words, “but not because you’re the Devil. If you really want the truth… I just don’t know how I should feel around you.”

No matter how hard I tried—no matter how every bone in my body warned me to—I couldn’t be afraid of him, even with my blood on his hands. His nearness made me feel dizzy, and off balance, and insane, because I felt no awkward need to pretend the same way I had to around anyone else.

And that was the pathetic part; I felt more comfortable within my own skin around a man inclined to carve into it, than I ever had.

“I know I should be afraid of you … Deep down, I probably am. But …”

“What?” His voice sounded deeper than ever before.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I just can’t make myself believe I should be afraid ...”

It was such an insane concept that I wanted more than anything for him to push me away—through the window maybe? Or laugh. Scoff.

Anything.

He just stood there for the longest time, face unreadable, eyes so dark they nearly touched on black. For once there was no harsh taunt designed to throw my own flaws back in my face. As crazy as it seemed, I had caught him off guard.

No, Eleanor! Stop! My mother’s voice screamed through my head. But it wasn’t enough to overtake the compulsion that darted down my spine. I was sick of being controlled, sick of pretending.

‘I want the real Eleanor Gray,’ he had told me once. Well, here she was in all of her insane, complicated glory.

It seemed to take years before I gathered the nerve to reach up, trailing my fingertips along his jaw. He felt cool to the touch and hard like stone—but when my thumb accidentally brushed the corner of his mouth he jerked.

I expected him to push me away. Not …lean closer, icy breath ghosting my cheek. His eyes were a glazed, confused shade of silver, so bright that I could almost see my reflection in them: enormous green eyes and frizzy brown hair.

I shifted against him, rising up on the tip of my toes as his hands slid down to the small of my back in response. His grip was stiff. It felt like being in the embrace of a statue, and yet …

I was on fire.

The heat surged through my body, racing from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Pulsing ...urging me on, daring me to let go.

Go Back, Eleanor, this is insanity, a frantic voice inside of me whispered as my hands firmly cupped his jaw. Only, I knew that there would be no going back, not if I followed through with the impulse that had me lurching forward on the balls of my feet, because I had no doubt in my mind that Dublin Helos would throw me from this window.

Regardless, I couldn’t bring myself to stop until my lips finally met his.

CHAPTER 31

Glass

HE DIDN’T THROW ME from the window.

Cold fingers tangled in my hair instead, yanking me forward. Our lips met so fiercely it hurt before he lunged, pinning me against the glass with the weight of his body.

I should have bitten him, pulled back.

I shouldn’t have slanted my mouth against his, allowing his tongue to slip inside.

Just like that, I knew instantly what true corruption felt like. It was this; surrender, Dublin Helos claiming me in a way that no one else ever had—more intimately than sex.

And this time I couldn’t blame a contract.

His tongue dominated mine, clashing and demanding submission. Boldly, his hand slid between us, stroking a tortuous path to my inner thigh.

God.

He caressed, dragging his thumb up and down …around. My eyes fluttered, threatening to roll back into my skull as a million, hazy sensations rollicked through me all at once—and this time, I didn’t fight them.

He felt good.

Rough and wrong, but so …damn …good.

Heat flared, washing any shred of hesitation away. I shifted, rubbing myself against him like a wanton whore—and I didn’t care. My nails raked the skin beneath his shirt as I clutched fistfuls of it for stability.

He teased, brushing his fingers along the length of me, before grazing that bundle of nerves that had my body jerking on the tips of my toes. Then, as if knowing instinctively what I needed, his thumb surged upright, striking right there. I was breathless when he finally pulled away—but it was only to swiftly tug at the fastenings of his pants, still keeping hold on my wrist.

I watched, almost dazed as he undid the zipper one-handed with speedy precision. Within the blink of an eye, his pants were on the floor.

I swallowed hard as I took him in. Every inch of him was chiseled, perfect. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to brush a finger along the length of his hip.

He wore nothing underneath. No boxers. No briefs.

I bit back a hysterical urge to laugh. Dublin Helos was an enigma that somehow managed to avoid answering that age old question. ‘Boxers or briefs?’

His fingers seized mine, wrenching them up to pin my arm against the glass. His hips rocked into me and I could feel the cold, hard length of him pressing against my inner thigh. My legs drifted apart before he could even begin to issue a command.

There was no slow teasing, no gentleness. He entered me so fiercely my vision exploded into shards of white.

As if from far away, I heard myself cry out as nerves deep within me came to life, exploded. Ice and fire swelled inside my body until I could have screamed from the intensity of it—but before the sound could even build in my throat, his mouth was on mine.

He devoured me, fangs nipping my lower lip, drawing beads of blood for his tongue to lap away. I tasted a metallic flavor but I wasn’t disgusted. I relished the taste of my essence mixed with his.

The fingers in my hair became ruthless, tugging—pulling—forcing me to respond to him. Move. I lifted my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke, until I couldn’t breathe, think.

The ominous sound of the window protesting against our weight barely registered above the thud of my own heartbeat. At some point, a part of me realized that he might send us both crashing through the glass.

And I didn’t care.

Ecstasy built like wildfire, coiling in my belly and crawling through the rest of my body. My hands broke free from his grasp and clutched his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, not caring if I hurt him. In fact …I almost wanted to draw blood—to mark him the same way he’d marked me.

Mine.

He lunged, thrusting so deeply I knew my hips would bruise. His mouth was at my throat, and a burst of cool air was the only warning before his fangs sank deep and pleasure exploded through my body, so intense I could taste it.

The world fell away.

And the last thing I was aware of was drowning in ice.

I woke up to silence.

It wasn’t like the suffocating emptiness of Gray Manor, where the servants crept around like mice, trying to avoid notice on purpose. This was more …still. As if I were the only living soul left in the world.

With a sigh, I peeled my eyes open to a concave ceiling and attempted to get my bearings. For one, I was naked. My entire body ached—my hip in particular throbbed with every breath I took—but that wasn’t all ...

I was lying on a bed. Someone had draped me beneath a single, white sheet, and even before I rolled over to face the vacant sliver of mattress beside me, I knew that Dublin was gone …and I was alone.

In his place sat a neat pile of clothing, and a folded strip of paper.

It took me ages to gather up the nerve to open it. My fingers shook as they pried the pages apart to reveal the message written in elegant script.

The car is out front to take you home, read the first line. Wait for me there.

And then …scribbled hastily across the bottom of the page as if he had hesitated before adding them were four, simple words.

We need to talk.

Anxiety coiled in my stomach, mingling with the throbbing pain in my hip. Talk? The Dublin Helos I knew only communicated with commands and cryptic messages hidden within words or carved into skin.

Talking was blunt. Talking was …terrifying.

Nearly ten minutes had passed before I managed gather up the nerve to crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. After finding a clean cloth, I washed myself robotically, trying to ignore the reddish liquid that circled the drain—and those four words echoing in my brain.

We need to talk.

I focused on running my fingers through my hair until I no longer resembled something my cat might have thrown up. The clothing he’d left for me was oddly simple: a plain white blouse and a brown, tweed skirt—but it wasn’t until I was fully dressed, staring at my reflection, that I realized they were both mine, taken directly from my wardrobe.

The realization sent an ominous chill running down my spine. We need to talk. I tried to ignore it as I returned to the main hall.

My shoes and purse were there waiting for me. The only objects that seemed to be missing were the keys to the car. Go figure. Something told me that the trusty Rolls Royce was already safely returned to the garage.

I tried to tell myself that was a good thing as I descended the stairs to the main level of the church. The fact that Dublin had effortlessly tied up the loose ends meant nothing. His ‘talk’ was most likely another renegotiation in disguise.

Right?

I wasn’t fully convinced by the time I crept into the main Cathedral.

A few pious souls had already started to fill the pews, but they didn’t even look up as I headed for the door. Regardless, I felt like an outsider—an unholy soul who didn’t deserve to set foot inside of such a sacred place. I could almost imagine the statues of Saints set in the walls glaring down at me as I scuttled out into the daylight. Sinner! Sinner!

Outside, bright sunlight filtered down through a smattering of clouds. It was overcast, but the weak sun still seemed blinding. I felt like a prisoner, seeing freedom for the first time after years of imprisonment …but I almost wished the sky was an endless black instead. The thought haunted me as I wandered down the path that led from the church where, as promised, a familiar car was there waiting.

Now what? I wondered as I crept forward, feeling uneasy for reasons I couldn’t explain. The last bit of Dublin’s message still reverberated in my skull.

“Morning, Miss.”

With a stern expression, the driver pulled open the door to the backseat and hardly looked in my direction as I settled inside—and my unease only grew. What did he know?

You’re being paranoid, Ellie. I told myself as I wrung my fingers together over my lap. You’re not thinking rationally.

Ironically, once the door closed behind me, and the tinted windows shut out most of the sunlight, I could finally seem to focus—namely on two rather important developments.

I had kissed Dublin Helos.

He had kissed me in return.

It felt unnatural thinking on those two statements, one right after the other. As insane as ‘I died’ and ‘I’m alive’ uttered at once—though, when dealing with vampires I supposed the normal rules no longer applied.

When the car finally came to a stop, I was prepared to begin the long journey up the winding staircase to my bedroom where I could panic in private. However, the building waiting beyond the car’s window was not Gray Manor. In fact it wasn’t a ‘house’ at all. What seemed to be a restaurant sat on the corner of an innocuous city road. A line of red paint across the darkened window-front read, Sanguis.

It was a name that would have had little meaning to someone not inducted into the shadowy world of vampires—or, at least who hadn’t been forced to suffer through two years of Latin instruction.

Sanguis was the word for blood, and I had a sinking suspicion that only one type of creature would think to name a restaurant so ‘creatively.’

Alarmed, I turned to the front seat.

“Weren’t you supposed to take me home?”

“This is the stop, Miss,” the driver replied, staring dead ahead.

Perhaps Dublin had changed his mind and decided to spring for another intimidating lunch. Confused, I reached for the handle of the door, only to be distracted by the destination once again.

I didn’t even recognize this part of the city. There was no one else on the street. As I warily climbed onto the curb, a voice in my head sounded a warning. Run, Ellie! Something isn’t right …

“Are you sure?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Dublin told you to bring me here?”

In the rearview mirror, a pair of dark eyes finally met mine, but they were guarded, furtive.

“Yes,” he said, but then after a second’s hesitation he added, “I’m sorry—”

“Eleanor Gray.” The familiar, husky voice came from behind me and my entire body went rigid. “Right on time.”

Before I had the chance to react, a warm hand snaked over my wrist, wrenching me around to face a grinning Saskia. She was dressed to kill—and something told me that, in her case, that wasn’t just a figurative expression. Scarlet hair tumbled down her shoulders in thick, heavy ringlets, and the black dress she wore was undeniably elegant.

“Come along,” she told me, flashing a crimson smile. Without another word she reached across me to close the car door. Then she turned, pulling me after her.

Frantic questions tumbled out of me, one after the other. “Where are we? What are you doing here?”

My heart raced with every step closer I came to the intimidating front of Sanguis. It looked normal on the surface …

But underneath I could sense the same foreboding aura that had permeated the air of Raphael’s Manor—that instinctive knowledge that predators lurked within. The feeling only intensified as Saskia grasped the handle of a blood red door and pulled it open.

It was dark inside.

The faint scent of food hit my nose, but there was a musky undertone as if nothing edible had been prepared within these walls in a long while. It was quiet but as the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, I knew we weren’t alone.

“This way,” Saskia chirped before pulling me down an unseen hallway.

Faint light emanated from a doorway up ahead, a dining room.

It was large and sparsely furnished; only a few paintings, framed in gold, decorated the dark red walls. Regardless, I could tell in a single glance that it made even the most elegant room in Gray Manor look like a worn down shanty in comparison.

In the center of the room, at a table draped in a pristine, white tablecloth, sat a man so pale his skin reflected the light of the chandelier that dangled overhead. Long, ebony hair framed an angular face, crowned by two black eyes that cut through me with more precision than any blade.

I had only seen him once before, but recognition struck me instantly.

“Eleanor Gray,” Raphael greeted, his voice as chilling as ice. “So glad that you could join me.”

CHAPTER 32

Serpent

I WANTED TO RUN but Saskia’s grip tightened until I had no choice but to stumble inside the room after her. She pulled me over to the elegantly set table and then stood back, leaving me alone in Raphael’s line of sight.

He took me in slowly, starting with the top of my head before his obsidian gaze roved all the way down to my heels. His expression never changed, but I felt stripped bare, exposed.

Similar, I supposed, to how a gazelle might feel while a lion sized it up.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Can I get you anything? Water? Wine?”

“N-No.” I shook my head as I perched on the very edge of the chair. Pure instinct kept me from turning on my heel and trying to bolt.

Keep your mouth shut, Dublin’s voice hissed in my mind, rather than my mother’s for once. Say nothing.

I glanced around, half expecting to find him brooding in one of the corners. Even though a part of me already knew the answer, I couldn’t resist asking, “Is … Is Dublin here?”

From her position against the wall, Saskia scoffed, but Raphael’s face remained expressionless.

“No,” he said. “I thought that I should arrange a time for us to meet. Alone.”

His words sent a shiver racing down my spine, and I knew instantly that the driver’s little detour had come on his orders.

“Why …would you want to meet me?”

Raphael smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. “Why wouldn’t I? There seems to be no end to the gossip circling Dublin’s newest ‘friend.’”

His deliberate pause made me guess that he’d intended to say another word instead: Pet.

“I’m glad that we finally have the chance to speak. Bread?” I flinched as he gestured to a basket full of steaming rolls in the center of the table.

“N-No thank you.”

Raphael shrugged. “I’ve scoured the menu.” He picked up a sliver of crisp, cream-colored paper from the table and held it out to me. “What would you like? A tazza with lamb or linguine?”

I vaguely recognized the dishes. Italian?

“No thank you.”

“Well.” The menu slid back to the table. “I suppose we could just make do with a little conversation.”

He paused expectantly as if that was my cue to speak.

The seconds crawled past as I remained silent. Instead, I scanned the polished wooden floors, the rich red walls, the ceiling—anywhere but in the direction of those soulless eyes.

The restaurant was grand, more elegant than the Café Claret.

I felt underdressed. Saskia would have been a more fitting companion to dine with Raphael, who still managed to look regal in a black shirt and dark pants. Before I could help it, my eyes caught something glinting against his chest: that long, silver chain, so much like Dublin’s.

The menacing serpent-shaped pendant enthralled me. Its ruby eyes seemed to glow almost with the intelligence of a living creature, and I found myself gazing at it longer than I meant to. I swore that I could almost hear its hiss inside my head quelling my urge to flee. Stay …

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Raphael murmured, reaching up to brush a finger along the silver chain. “I have lived a long time, Eleanor, and yet the creativity of other beings still surprises even me.”

The words were wistful though his voice was still unnervingly flat and emotionless.

“It’s lovely,” I croaked. Inside I was morbidly curious as to why he, Dublin and Mikhail all sported similar pieces of jewelry. Were ancient necklaces passed out among their organization like friendship bracelets at a summer camp?

“As are you,” Raphael said. The compliment caught me off guard, but there was no warmth in it. His tone was as dry as someone pointing out that the gum on the sole of their shoe was rather pink. “Though …I must say that you are not the type of woman Dublin usually surrounds himself with.”

It was with those simple words that the false, elegant façade of this ‘meeting’ was ripped away. Suddenly the air in the room felt a million degrees colder. The back of my neck prickled. I couldn’t seem to sit still, and my fingers fidgeted against the tablecloth.

“He’s gone through beautiful women like a connoisseur through wine. Exquisite women,” Raphael added, as if only to drill home the fact that I didn’t fit the mold. “And yet his interest in them waxes and wanes—” He waved a hand dismissively. “Not to mention that he’s been a bit of a recluse, these days. Rarely venturing out from the shadows … Tell me, Eleanor, what do you know of our world?”

The question seemed simple enough, but I wasn’t fooled.

“Dublin doesn’t tell me much of anything,” I said as innocently as I could manage.

The corner of that ageless mouth quirked. Liar.

“It is a simple existence we have,” he replied rather than prod me for more answers, “those of us in this shadow world. We keep to ourselves. Most mortals never know we exist.”

Except those unlucky enough to forge a contract, of course. I thought of George Washington and shuddered.

“Do not believe the common rumors about my kind,” Raphael warned as if reading my mind. “We are not all monsters or fiends. In fact, we’ve had a rather peaceful co-existence with mortals. Even your own family …” He paused, watching my reaction. “What do you know about the history of the Grays, Eleanor?”

I shrugged. “Just that we have ties in this region that go back decades—”

“Centuries, even,” Raphael corrected, cutting over me. His eyes glimmered. Was that amusement I saw in them? “Your family has ties in the foundation of this very country, Eleanor. I even knew your ancestor, James, personally ...”

I didn’t know why the statement shocked me so much.

James Gray had lived nearly three hundred years ago, but Dublin claimed to have lived nearly five hundred. According to my father, our ancestor had been a nut who’d abandoned his comfortable home in England and journeyed to the New World out of some misplaced sense of adventure. Everyone knew that our money came from his brother William and his descendants who had wisely cultivated their fortune.

“You must have lived a very long life,” I said, choosing the least threatening words I could think of.

“An unnaturally long life, yes,” Raphael agreed, “but does that make me evil?”

It was a dangerous question, so I licked my lips rather than answer.

Raphael’s mouth twitched into the shadow of something that could have been interpreted as a smile on a different person.

“Our world may seem complex to you—brutal even—but it is how we survive. Do you know why I had Dublin offer you a contract, Eleanor?”

If Dublin had asked me that question, a mocking quip would have sprung right to my lips. Why for my family name, of course.

But with Raphael, I didn’t dare. The walls themselves seemed to warn me to be on guard.

“No.”

He smiled again—but it was a terrifying imitation of the real thing.

“Not surprisingly,” he murmured. “I suppose that he wouldn’t. Especially not when he seems to have grown so very fond of you …”

“What do you mean?” I sat straighter, feeling every muscle in my body tense. ‘Fond’ and ‘Dublin’ were two words that should never be linked so closely in a sentence—especially one referring to me.

Some shadowy emotion flickered across those ageless eyes but was gone in the blink of an eye.

“That is not important,” he said finally. “Do you know what he paid for you, Eleanor?”

“No.” I shook my head, even as Yulia’s words haunted me. Money is meaningless among our kind.

So much for my guess of five dollars—and something told me that I was much better off not knowing the real answer.

“I know that Saskia offered to enlighten you,” Raphael stated in a tone as dangerously soft as a snake’s hiss. “What did she want in exchange?”

My gaze darted to the succubus in question who leaned against the wall, admiring a pale hand topped by blood-red nails. She didn’t look in my direction, but I knew that she listened to every single word.

“She wanted to me to say something,” I managed to croak, turning back around. “To Dublin. A word.”

Raphael shifted in his chair, and the motion reminded me of a lion impatiently batting its tail as it waited for the antelope to skip closer in range.

“What was it, if I may ask?”

I swallowed and it took everything I had to keep from asking for a glass of water after all, if only to keep myself from having to speak any further.

“Cael.”

Even without Dublin in sight, my stomach flipped. That name tingled on the tip of my tongue, forbidden. For the longest time, Raphael just watched me as if noticing every uneasy tremor that slipped down my spine.

“Cael was the name of a friend of mine,” he said finally. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Saskia had gone rigid. “A very old friend …”

His tone slithered against my ear drums and I frowned. Why would Saskia want me to mention the name of Raphael’s ‘friend’ around Dublin? Was there some kind of bad blood between them?

Saskia’s face was turned away from me, and Raphael’s was as blank as a sheet of ancient parchment.

“Why do you think we broker contracts, Eleanor?” he asked, catching me off guard.

“For favors?” I remembered Yulia’s ‘hypothetical’ story that I now suspected had been more factual than anything else.

He laughed, but I’d heard the wind howl with more emotion. “We share our …gifts and require simple things in return. That is all.”

He made it sound like a harmless transaction, but I could still remember those empty women Mikhail and his cohorts had dined from like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

There had been nothing simple about it.

“Dublin used to understand this,” he added, only his tone wasn’t quite so flat anymore. There was an edge to it that made me shudder as those black eyes scanned my face. “In a way, you could say that he designed this system we live by. But ...rarely has he purchased a contract for his own—at least not without a clear reason. So, as you can see, I am rather curious as to why he bought yours.”

“He had no choice,” I blurted, cringing at the thought of that fateful auction and the fool I’d made of myself. “No one else wanted me—”

“Dear God!” A sharp bark of laughter had me turning to where Saskia clung to the wall as if for dear life. “Did he really tell you that?” Her eyes blazed as they found mine. “While you may be dowdy and dull and unattractive, Eleanor, make no mistake, Yulia is not a fool. She knew damn well what she was doing by having you prance around like a virginal little innocent. You,” she snarled, “were the most requested morsel of the evening. What?” she added at my expression. “You don’t believe me? Even your precious Dublin couldn’t resist you. He all but begged—groveled—for me to let him have you over anyone else. Personally, I was more inclined to let you go to Mikhail—”

“Saskia.” With a word, Raphael had her silent. Her spine stiffened, eyes downcast.

“Milord.”

With little more than a wave of his hand, Raphael sent her out of the room, leaving us alone.

A million thoughts raced through my mind and I fought to keep my face from revealing them. Dublin. The auction. Mikhail. Cael.

Saskia was lying—she had to be.

Any other possible explanation was far too lethal to consider.

“I will make you a wager, Eleanor,” Raphael began, cutting through the tumble of thoughts crashing through my mind. “I will tell you what Dublin bartered for you—in fact, I will give it to you. As long as you help me discover something that he might value more. I think that’s a fairer transaction than your arrangement with Saskia.”

No, Ellie! Say no! Run away!

“What would I have to do?” My palms were slick with sweat. I could barely get the words out. Those black eyes held me captive, boring deep to scrape my soul.

Suddenly, Raphael sat back.

“Nothing at all.” I shivered as his hand reached across the table for mine, as quickly as a striking cobra. “I already have my suspicions.”

He was so cold—shockingly, abnormally so. I could tolerate Dublin’s glacial touch, but Raphael was a different matter entirely. It felt as if death itself had taken hold of me.

“All you would be required to do is help me prove it to be true or false. Then, I shall uphold my end of our bargain. Simple enough?”

A frigid thumb traced the back of my hand. Every instinct in my body warned me to pull away, to push back from the table and run. However, as if drawn by an invisible force, my eyes drifted back down to the serpent pendant. Its red gaze seemed to mesmerize me once again, and I could only sit there as Raphael continued to stroke my hand.

Then, almost casually, he brought it to his mouth as if he meant to kiss the back of it like some gallant, old-fashioned gentleman.

“A simple suspicion,” he repeated in a burst of breath so cold that I half expected frost to crystallize right there on my skin.

Then he lowered his head, bared his fangs …

And before I even had the chance to scream, he bit.

CHAPTER 33

A New Wager

THE INITIAL STING WAS no worse than the jab of a needle, just a slight little pinch.

It was almost as if he was taking care to pierce only the first few layers of skin—steal a taste of my blood—and nothing more. A second later, he withdrew his fangs and released my wrist, allowing me to jerk my hand back.

“There,” Raphael said, settling back into his seat. It was as if he’d shaken my hand rather than bitten me. “Let’s see what course of action he takes now …”

Who? I wanted to ask, but my lips felt numb. A strange icy chill had drifted up my entire body, sinking into my muscles. Shock?

Dazed, I could only gaze down at the two marks piercing the back of my hand.

Bite marks, I told myself sternly like a student trying to reinforce the use of a new vocabulary. Tiny beads of ruby blood had bubbled forth, oozing down my wrist.

For the first time in my life I was oddly aware of every breath I took—every pull of air entering and leaving my chest. It was almost as if my body was waiting for me to realize something that my brain hadn’t fully registered.

Then I felt it.

It was just a sharp jolt of pain at first, stabbing through my wrist, my arm, my shoulder. With every second the pinch became a throbbing, then an aching. Burning. Within only a minute, my entire arm was engulfed in invisible flames, consuming every cell, every pore.

I tried to speak, but the words stuck to the back of my throat.

Across from me Raphael merely stared—but his face was different. As I watched, those dark, Roman features morphed into the face of a snarling demon, laughing as I tried to stand. Almost in slow motion, my chair tipped backwards, pitching me into oblivion. The ceiling loomed above, miles away, and I was floating ...

Falling.

The table disintegrated into ash. Pieces of silverware turned into blindingly bright stars that whizzed past my head as the world spun.

My mouth was open. I knew that I was screaming, but the only words I heard weren’t spoken by me.

Let’s see if he comes …

Comes.

Comes.

Comes.

The voices ricocheted while the interior of the dining room morphed into a torrent of blood that pooled at my feet. In seconds it was a churning river, sweeping me away. A pair of haunting, amber eyes chased me as the agony threatened to swallow me up.

“I’ve called him.” The husky feminine purr seemed to come from a million directions all at once, splintering like broken glass. “He hasn’t shown his face here in years, but something tells me he’ll come now.”

It was as if I was hearing everything from under water, drowning beneath pain so heavy it crushed. My body was gone, consumed by the agony.

You’re dying, Ellie, a part of me cried—but if it meant escaping the pain, I would have gladly given up.

I wanted to die.

“Eleanor—”

All at once, the fire turned to ice. The world stopped spinning, and clarity started to return in stingy snatches.

I was lying on the floor, curled on my side with my right hand clutched to my chest. Someone stood nearby, casting a shadow that fell over me like a blanket.

“I can’t believe you actually came.” I vaguely recognized Saskia’s voice. She sounded light-years away and yet close enough to have been whispering in my ear at the same time. “After decades of pretending to be above it all, the great and terrible Cael comes dashing to the rescue—”

“Eleanor,” a man said, cutting over her. Something cool brushed my cheek. A finger? “Can you hear me?”

I couldn’t speak. My throat felt raw. Every breath ached. I wanted to sleep. Just sink into oblivion and be washed away …

“Look at me.” I knew that tone, that voice.

It was a long moment before I realized that my eyes were already open. My vision was a blurry mess, but somehow I managed to focus on a pale blob that hovered above.

Dublin.

“You know this is just what he wants,” Saskia continued, though I couldn’t see her. Nothing registered but Dublin’s face as it slowly came into focus: a pale jaw, that crown of golden hair, and two gray eyes that were so wide they could have sucked me in whole.

“You just gave him the very thing he needs to get you right back under his thumb; a weakness. You were so close to your precious freedom—everyone knew you only had a few years left. And yet you just threw it all away—”

“Say something,” Dublin growled, low enough only for me to hear.

I felt too weak to even suck air into my chest, but the command in his tone was inescapable.

“Hurts …”

Though, the pain had actually started to recede—I could think again at least. However, when I tried to take a breath something heavy weighed on my chest. A piece of silverware from the table?

I looked down, shocked to find a slender strip of metal disappearing beneath the collar of my blouse. A necklace?

“At least everything makes sense now,” Saskia went on smugly. “Without that amulet around your neck to hide behind, I finally understand. Who would have guessed that after all this time …some pathetic mortal would be the one to finally bring the great Cael to his knees?”

The hand against my cheek stiffened. I could sense Saskia prowling nearby; a ruthless lioness ready to pounce.

“Tell me, how does it feel?” she wondered. “She suffers because of your sins. Raphael will use her to ensure that you can never escape …and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

Dublin didn’t respond to her. Instead, his eyes bore into mine as everything but him slowly began to fade to black.

“If you die, Eleanor,” he growled as his face drifted in and out of focus, “I will personally follow you to the gates of hell …and my resurrection services do not come cheaply.”

When the world finally stopped spinning, I knew where I was—or mainly, who sat beside me, emanating a chill so potent that I could taste ice on my tongue.

“Say something,” Dublin demanded as I started to shift.

He held my hand.

Somehow, I knew that even before I peeled my eyes open to find his fingers laced within my own.

I was lying on a bed, draped in ivory sheets and he sat on the end of the mattress with his back to me. The dark walls of the bedroom were familiar, but it was a solid minute before I realized that we were in his lair.

“He bit me,” I croaked, still marveling at the fact that my fingers were actually entwined with his. I tried to sit upright only to wince as a sharp pain shot down the length of my arm. Still, the words kept tumbling out. “Oh God. Raphael. He bit me—”

Dublin’s grip tightened.

“It’s all right.”

The fact that I could still feel pain was the only thing that convinced me I wasn’t dreaming. Even a hint of comfort from him shocked me to the point that I laid back down, observing the way my pink hand contrasted with his icy one. It throbbed, but the pain was barely noticeable once a few minutes had passed, allowing me to focus on the rest of my body.

I was still fully dressed, wearing the clothes that he had left for me—but my skirt was crooked. Three buttons on my blouse had come undone and tiny streaks of red smeared the front of it. Not to mention that something heavy had been draped around my neck, weighing on my chest like an iron manacle. Confused, I glanced down to find a long, coiled chain pooled on the mattress beside me. Had he resorted to something a little stronger than ribbons this time?

Whatever it was sparkled against the white sheets and formed one long, complete loop. Dangling from the end of it was a simple cross. Tentatively I reached out, brushing the line of it with the pad of my finger.

Only then did it sink in; this was his. I glanced up, shocked to find that the infamous silver chain he usually wore was gone. When I tried to grasp the charm hanging from my throat and observe it more closely, his free hand was there, dragging it further out of reach.

“Eleanor,” he began without looking at me. “What did he say to you?”

Raphael’s words still circled my mind. Help prove my suspicion about what he might value more ....

I tried to relay them but, in the end, all that came out instead was a tired croak. “What did you pay for me?”

He let go of my hand.

It was strange how I felt even colder without him there as he pulled away and stood. For a moment, he paced—but when he finally turned back to face me, his expression could have been chiseled from stone.

“Why don’t you ask your good friend Saskia?”

I flinched. His tone was icy. Venom laced every word and I wondered just what the hell had happened in Sanguis.

Raphael had bitten me, I remembered that much. But the rest was a hazy blur punctuated only by a few disconnected words.

Bargain.

Cael.

Contract.

“She offered to tell me,” I admitted. “That day we met her at Anemia. As long as I played one of her little games …”

“And what was that?”

I swallowed. For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze directly so I stared down at his oddly bare throat instead. “Who was Cael?”

He flinched. The motion was so imperceptible that I probably wouldn’t have noticed had I not been watching him so carefully. My eyes darted up to see a pure, raw hatred flash through those silver eyes—only this time, it didn’t fade.

It lingered, directed solely at me.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“Saskia. Who was he?”

An old friend, Raphael had said—but something told me that there was more to it than that.

“Cael?” Dublin’s eyes narrowed into slits. “He was a fool who sold his soul for five hundred years for nothing more than power. Much like you, Eleanor, he had no qualms in staining his soul. He was a monster, a fool. He killed. He relished the destruction of lives. In fact,” he added coldly, “you would have loved him.”

“Why would she want me to say that name?” I managed to ask in a whisper. “Was he one of your contracts?”

No, Ellie, a part of me whispered. Don’t be so naïve.

“I don’t know,” Dublin spat, but he wasn’t looking at me. He glared at the wall above my head. If looks could kill, the centuries-old stone would have crumbled to dust. “What else has Saskia told you?”

I hesitated. “She told me about the auction. That …”

I couldn’t even repeat the rest; apparently I had been the most ‘requested morsel of the evening.’

It was a lie. It had to be.

I stared at Dublin, waiting for him to laugh and prove my suspicions wrong—but he didn’t. Those eyes took on a frosty hue and any resemblance to the human he might have been was gone.

“Say it,” the vampire hissed. “Use your words, Eleanor.”

“You didn’t have to buy me,” I croaked. Mikhail had been a willing buyer, according to Saskia. “Right? I thought, I-I mean, isn’t that what you wanted, to auction me off?”

“What I wanted …” His mouth curved into a terrible smile that sucked all of the air from the room. “Eleanor Gray, you don’t know a damn thing about what I want.” He flung the words at me like the snap of a whip. “You should have been the easiest contract I’ve ever brokered, nothing more than some dowdy little heiress who should have jumped at the chance at more time. So simple, that I decided to handle it myself rather than turn the job over to Saskia. Simple …but nothing ever is with you, Eleanor. Is it?”

I couldn’t speak. This wasn’t Dublin. Gone was the mocking persona and the cutting insults. In its place, raw anger leaked from him in waves, searing my skin.

“You weren’t offered a contract at random. Oh no, Eleanor,” he said. “I was ordered to ensure that you made one. Do you remember the ‘therapist’ your doctor recommended to you that day in the hospital?”

As if his words were the trigger, I recalled the day Dr. Wallis had given me his diagnosis—my death sentence. I at least suggest some form of counseling, he had recommended. A colleague of mine is one of the leading psychiatrists in the country ...

“Yes.”

“That was me,” Dublin said. “Dear old Doctor Wallis wasn’t a very willing accomplice, but his job was simple. I was waiting in his office when he delivered his diagnosis. All you had to do—the woman who’d been given a death sentence—was sit there and cry like so many others have before. Accept me and my offer. But you …left. You refused.” He took a step closer, feet pounding against the floor. “That was the first time you denied me. Even in the hallway, you knew instantly what I was, and you denied me again. Did you ever stop to think how odd it was that I had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at just the right moment?”

I couldn’t speak. I could still picture him, a virtual Angel of Death in that white coat. He had been waiting for me.

“Congratulations, Eleanor,” he continued, “I’ve been gathering contracts for centuries and yet you are the first person to react to their impending demise without even batting an eyelash.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered. My head was spinning. Dr. Wallis. Therapist. Him.

“There is no illness by the name of hemohemorrahgia.”

He might as well have punched me.

“W-What?”

“It was a clever ruse to explain away a medical condition that most mortals aren’t even aware of.” He reached down to snatch my hand from the mattress, gazing down at the two angry red marks that pierced the skin. His thumb swept over them in a burst of pain.

“Do you want to know why a single bite from Raphael nearly killed you? Don’t you think there’s a better question?” he added before I could answer, eyes so dark they touched on ebony. “Why you can tolerate my bites so very exquisitely? Why you don’t even shiver when I touch you?”

He brushed a curl behind my ear as if to prove it.

“Use that clever brain of yours, Eleanor. Let’s see if you can think back to our very first ‘lessons.’ What did I tell you about being bitten?”

The words marched across my mind as suddenly as if he’d whispered them into my ear.

“No more than three times a night by a single vampire.”

“And do you know why that is?”

I swallowed, painfully aware of just how close he was. His tone was mocking, loathing.

“No—”

“Mortals have adapted to my kind without even knowing it. Once a vampire’s venom is introduced into the bloodstream, it changes it—more powerfully than any human drug. Too much venom from one particular vampire, and over time the blood grows to suit that particular brand of venom. The human subconsciously becomes addicted to it. Their body ceases to function without a daily dose, and the withdrawal effects can be …violent.”

Withdrawal effects.

In Dr. Wallis’ crisp tones, a list of symptoms marched across my brain. Headaches, dizziness, uncontrollable bleeding.

“You’ve been unknowingly consuming my venom for months, Eleanor,” Dublin said. “I’ve had it slipped into your drinks, your meals.”

He said it so calculatingly. As if it was completely irrelevant that he had poisoned me for months only to ensure that I would have no choice but to sign a contract.

“How?” I rasped.

Dublin raised an eyebrow. “How else? Do you really think that you’re the only soul on Gray property to have a contract? Your friend Harper was particularly useful.”

The words had the effect of a knife stabbing deep into my chest. Harper—the only man I figured I’d ever really trusted. My throat contracted. I tried wrenching my hand from Dublin’s, but he held tight, nails nearly piercing my skin.

“You were dying from two months of venom withdrawal, Eleanor,” he repeated, as if to help it sink in. “That’s why your body subconsciously craves even a drop of mine. Your blood is linked to me and only me. There is no cure. Without my blood in your system, you would have died.”

Somehow, a mythical blood disorder had been easier to swallow.

It had been almost too easy to face Dr. Wallis and accept that I would die without shedding a single tear. But this was different—horrifying. The man standing before me had deliberately made sure that I had no choice …

And he didn’t even seem to care.

“Tell me why you bought my contract at the auction,” I croaked. Was it a game? A joke? A way for him to take my virginity and just inflict more pain? “Why? Why?”

His cold expression faltered, revealing a flash of real emotion underneath. I had caught him off guard, but I was too confused to even relish in the victory.

“Tell me,” I said, not even recognizing the sound of my own voice; an old woman had to be speaking, not me.

Finally …his jaw unclenched and the words came like blows.

“My methods were too effective, Eleanor. Your blood accepts only my venom. I knew it the first night I bit you. Had someone else fed from you, you would have died. Raphael knew this as well, but you were too stubborn to take the easy route. Once you were signed to the club, you had to be auctioned …and I was forced to save your life yet again.”

Again.

“You said Raphael’s bite nearly killed me.” I sounded weak, faint; a ghost barely clinging to reality. “How did you save me? Did you give me your blood—”

“No.” His eyes were a stormy gray, flashing with hints of silver but his tone was softer. “Even that wouldn’t have been enough this time.”

“Then how …”

Like a punch to the chest, the truth became clear. The necklace.

Without thinking, I reached down to clutch the chain with my fingers. It felt strange; cold and yet hot at the same time. Alive.

“It’s enchanted,” Dublin explained. “The magic inside it is the only thing keeping you alive.”

I was too exhausted to question it. One day I needed his blood to live, and now his necklace apparently.

“And if I remove it?”

He didn’t have to respond—a part of me already knew the answer before he did.

“You’ll die.”

Forget the weight of the contract; I would have almost preferred to have to drink his blood every day for an eternity than—literally—have my entire life hanging from a thread. The shape of the cross haunted me from the surface of the bed.

“Why did you even go into that damn restaurant?” Dublin demanded suddenly. “Do you have no ounce of self preservation? I told you to go home. Nothing else should have convinced you otherwise. Nothing.”

Something in his tone triggered a horrible thought.

“The driver …”

“He’s dead,” he said without a shred of remorse. “Technically Raphael owned his contract, but I killed him for betraying me none the less. Another body to add to your growing list of casualties.”

The driver’s stern face flashed through my mind. Dead.

“Why?”

He turned away from me again.

“And why would Raphael want to kill me if he ordered you to secure my contract in the first place? Why me?” My voice trembled as I finally voiced the questions I supposed I should have the moment he’d declared our ‘contract’ null and void.

His hands were clenched at his sides, shoulders set in rigid lines. Anger had settled into a cold, icy crust that encased him from head to toe.

“I’ve told you all along that you don’t understand the game you’ve so stubbornly decided to play,” he began in a tone so flat and emotionless that it resonated down my spine like a physical blow. “Well now you’re a pawn in it. Raphael sees you only as a tool to obtain whatever it is that he wants. The fact that you’re still alive means he’s succeeded.”

“What does he want?” I forced a dry swallow. “Money?”

God, I didn’t know why it hurt me so much just to say it out loud.

Rather than agree, Dublin …stood there.

“You and your damn money,” he spat. For a moment, I feared he actually might strike me, tear me apart with his bare hands, just like he’d threatened the other night.

“Do you have any idea what some people would give for a day of freedom? A year? Ten? You may have no trouble with throwing your life away, Eleanor, but not all of us have that luxury.”

He advanced, step by step until he stood by my side of the bed. He was too close, too loud—even though his voice was little more than a whisper.

“Maybe I should have just put you out of your misery the first day I saw you?”

“You’re scaring me.” My voice was monotone, dead.

“Good,” he countered, though he pulled back, “because you scare me. You dance on the edge of the proverbial cliff, ignoring everyone who screams at you to back away. Death welcomes you and you welcome it. It’s living that scares you, Ellie. Not me.”

Without another word he turned, heading for the door.

“If this wasn’t about money, then why?” I croaked after him. “Why get my contract in the first place?”

“Why else?” He paused to glare at me from over his shoulder, words echoing like the aftershocks of a slap. “To get to the only Gray that matters.”

A second later, he was gone and the sound of a slamming door cemented the ache I felt in the pit of my stomach.

My face was wet, and I reached up almost surprised to find warm beads of moisture sliding down my cheeks. Tears? Blood?

Whatever they were …they wouldn’t stop falling.

CHAPTER 34

The Other Gray

THIS TIME, DUBLIN HADN’T bothered to take off my shoes. My purse was even waiting for me on the floor beside the bed. All I had to do was make it to the door, climb down those countless stairs and run.

Go home.

Go back.

Die.

I had tasted my little bit of freedom and I had choked on it.

I shifted off the bed and took a step toward the door. But the next thing I knew, I was on my knees. I couldn’t breathe—the air refused to enter my lungs. My vision blurred into one colorless mess as those damn tears continued to fall.

Pull yourself together! I scolded. I would have given anything to have heard my mother’s voice just then, harsh and judgmental. Grays do not cry, Eleanor!

But all I heard was Dublin’s growl on a loop.

The only Gray that matters …

With the grace of an old woman, I turned and felt along the floor for my purse. My phone was inside, fully charged though I didn’t have the strength of mind to consider who would have taken the care to charge it.

What was I even doing? I had no idea, even as I robotically flipped through the notifications that flashed across the screen. There was one missed call, left only hours before the time listed on the phone.

I didn’t recognize the number, but I played the message anyway and my heart turned to stone as a familiar voice came from the receiver.

“Ellie Bellie! Sorry I couldn’t make it into town tonight. My plane touched down only for a bit and something came up. I promise to make it up to you! Smooches!”

Somehow, the sound of my sister’s voice made the tears fall faster. I couldn’t stop. My shoulders shook. I had to grasp the end of the bed just to keep from lying flat against the floor, utterly drained.

A mysterious horde of vampires had poisoned me in order to get to my sister, and she couldn’t be bothered with me. Not even for a moment.

The irony had me laughing hysterically between sobs. The sound ricocheted off the walls in a distorted, morbid melody.

I was insane. Dublin Helos had shattered me into pieces …

His damn necklace was a lead ball around my throat. I reached up, prepared to rip it off—but a sudden sound made me freeze.

A creak.

It was a footstep. Several in fact, I realized as my sobbing trailed off. They were soft and deliberate, as if the figure in question were trying their hardest to go unnoticed.

Not Dublin, something warned me.

My cell phone was still clenched in my fist, and I stood, trying not to make a sound as I crept to the doorway and peered out.

Only a few lamps were lit, leaving swaths of shadow large enough for a trespasser to lurk in. There seemed to be no one in this part of the lair, but the intruder was close. The footsteps had receded and I could imagine whoever they were, sneaking into Dublin’s study. Raphael? Saskia? Yulia?

Cautiously, I slipped into the hallway and headed for the main entryway.

I supposed I should have felt some kind of fear, trepidation, anything.

But I only felt numb as I followed the wall until I reached the doorway of the study.

A horde of Dublins could have been standing there, waiting to snap my neck and I doubted it would have made a difference. ‘It’s living that scares you, Ellie. Not me.’ Those words haunted me, cutting deeper than I thought the sound of my own self-imposed nickname ever could. There was nothing left to harm. He had made sure of it.

But, rather than a murderous vampire, a woman stood at the desk, and I could tell from the tan hue of her skin that she was human.

Her back was turned to me. Long blonde hair spilled down to her waist, obscuring her simple, dark outfit: jeans, sturdy boots and a long sleeved shirt. Something was clenched in her fist, a long object with a triangular point; a dagger?

With a sigh, she jabbed the blade into the surface of the desk.

Then she turned, circling around to observe the books lining one of the bookshelves. Her finger traced the spine of Moby Dick before she drifted back behind the desk.

I tensed, waiting for her to see me there, lurking in the shadows, but she was too intent on searching through drawers and rustling papers. She was looking for something.

A contract? I wondered. Was she another woman from the club too impatient to bide her time?

I watched her—but as my gaze fell over her face something hit me like a punch and I knew that I had to be dreaming. Dublin and his cruel tirade had traumatized me to the point of unconsciousness, insanity.

His voice echoed through my shattered mind once again, ‘The only Gray that matters.’

No.

The phone was still in my hand. In a daze, I reached down and redialed the last number that had called.

Impossible, some frantic part of me whispered.

It couldn’t be.

I would have known those blue eyes anywhere, but it wasn’t possible.

A vampire admits to poisoning you for months and yet you still harbor doubts of anything, Ellie?

The phone rang and the flat melody echoed, muted through the speaker.

Suddenly, a different sound pierced the silence—the default, monotone ringtone installed on most cell phones. The blonde woman frowned, reaching down to pull something from her pocket.

No …

Every shred of sanity I had left was tied to the futile hope that this was some horrible coincidence. She would answer the cell phone she held in her hand—only mine would keep ringing, ignored by the sister who was most likely on another plane with some random lover. Not here, not now, right in the middle of my own living nightmare.

For what seemed like eons, she stared down at the screen while the phone in my hand still rang, so loudly that it was a wonder she didn’t seem to hear it. Every note cracked like a gunshot.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then …

With a sigh, she brought the receiver to her ear.

“Ellie Bellie?”

Her voice blared from the speaker of my phone as it slipped from my grasp. I barely registered the sound of it smashing against the wood a second later.

I only saw Georgiana as she finally glanced up and noticed me there. Her face paled with recognition, and it was a long, cold minute before I could breathe again.

“Ellie …” Georgie’s voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes took me in, settling on the blood that streaked my wrinkled blouse. “No. No. Not you … He got to you …”

She took a step forward and I staggered back, hands held out in front of me as if that alone might have been able to make her disappear. The sight of her there made everything come crashing down. I didn’t remember making a sound, but a wordless noise ricocheted off the walls that I instinctively knew had come from me.

Dublin was right. This was not a game—and yet, I was still the pawn.

“Eleanor!”

“No!”

It didn’t matter why she was there, or how, or even why she’d lied to me.

I needed to get away. Run.

I turned on my heel and raced for the door to the stairs like a mad woman. In the darkness, I took them two at a time, nearly tripping over my own feet.

The church was empty. The sound of my frantic footsteps echoed as I headed for the door and raced out into the night.

Then I—the woman who had been chauffeured to and fro her entire life—ran all the way home.

CHAPTER 35

Haunted

IT WAS EERIE HOW quiet a mansion could seem when you’ve fired all the other inhabitants or how small and enclosed a room really was …once you locked the doors and barricaded the windows.

I hid inside my bedroom like a refugee in the midst of a war—one where the entire world was the enemy. From the corner, Tinkles hissed, hating being trapped with me almost as much as I hated myself.

Idiot, a voice in my head hissed, but for once, it wasn’t my long-dead mother. Did you really think I wanted you? Dublin scoffed. Please, Eleanor. You were just a means to an end.

The words shouldn’t have hurt me as badly as they did, but they cut, piercing through my chest, tearing.

The night I had run from his lair—and whatever dark truths it might have hid—I had made sure to take off his necklace. It was somewhere in the foyer I thought, I couldn’t be sure. The damn thing haunted my nightmares, twisting around my body and threatening to swallow me whole.

I knew that it had saved my life from Raphael’s bite and, for whatever reason, Dublin hadn’t taken it back. I tried not to think of him, I tried, but the man dominated my thoughts. My mind was a prison, with him as the jailer taunting me with the keys.

And there was no escape.

Raphael had ordered Dublin to procure my contract for some reason, and he had poisoned me to the brink of death to ensure that I couldn’t refuse.

And? A part of me prompted when the thoughts became almost too painful to contemplate.

It had been all to ensnare Georgiana; the only Gray who mattered to anyone, even the Devil himself. Always Georgie.

And yet ...

He had bought my contract to keep me from being bitten by anyone else. He had come to the restaurant when I had been in danger—and something told me that I had been the bait to lure him there in the first place.

Raphael had set a trap for him, but why?

I almost wished that Dublin had stayed committed to his role as Dracula: an evil vampire who’d nearly killed me for reasons unknown.

I could understand that creature—but not the man who claimed to have saved my life, who kissed me so violently that my bottom lip still stung in places where his fangs had nipped …

I almost wanted him to come barging into my room, as boldly as always, with Georgiana in tow—if only to give me a reason.

Perhaps he loved her?

The thought pinched something inside of me and I clutched the blankets so tightly my nails dug into the cotton.

Maybe Dublin was right after all? I had to enjoy pain, because the cruel thoughts kept coming.

Was he just another one of Georgie’s scorned paramours? One who loved her so obsessively that he’d poisoned her dowdy sister out of spite?

Or was the truth behind everything more sinister?

My Uncle’s words chose that moment to strike me like blows. This is for her. They did this to get her.

Whatever the reasons, I had only been a means to an end.

In his own way, I supposed Dublin had tried to warn me.

So, why in the hell did I feel so betrayed?

By him most of all …

It only took a day for me to die—or at least become so weak that my blankets felt like slabs of steel weighing me down to a concrete mattress.

It was as if all of the combined strength of Dublin’s ‘cures’ had faded overnight. I felt drained. Breathing didn’t seem worth the effort it took to suck air into my lungs. I may not have been a vampire, but a heavy, undeniable stench of demise clung to my skin like perfume.

And I was glad, impatient even.

Dublin had said that I welcomed death. Well, here I was with open arms. The only soul to witness my departure from the world of the living would be my cat—not that Tinkles was shedding any tears.

The silence felt heavy, oppressive.

Other than the occasional plaintive meow from the corner, there was only the rushing sound of my own heartbeat. I supposed it should have hurt that no one had come after me.

Not Georgiana, the sister I had caught sneaking through a vampire’s lair. Or even the vampire in question.

To be fair, I had left only one guard on the grounds with strict instructions to keep everyone out.

But still …I had no one. Not even Harper, who had all but killed me and yet I still missed his reassuring presence.

Shut up, Ellie I thought as my breath rattled in and out of my chest. Just focus on dying.

But even dying turned out to be much more boring than I had ever anticipated. I drifted, at the mercy of my own relentless thoughts—at least until I heard the voices.

“Hello, Eleanor.” I vaguely recognized the lilting accent and I stirred, struggling to lift my head from the pillow.

“Y-Yulia?” It hurt to speak. My lips were so chapped that when my tongue shot out to dampen them the dried skin scraped like glass.

“Yes.” I had no idea if she was really there—an elegant dark blur perched on the end of my bed—or just a figment of my imagination. “I thought I should explain …”

There was a heavy note in her voice. Explain. There was only one thing—or person—she could have been referring to.

“I don’t want to hear—”

“I used you, Eleanor,” she said, ignoring the fact that I’d spoken at all. “I am not proud of that, but …you seemed to be the only one who could reach him.”

Even the mere mention of him had the power to make my entire body recoil. A broken cough rattled from my chest.

“You made him see you,” she went on before I had the chance to get a word in edgewise. “But I made sure that he couldn’t ignore you. He can be stubborn, Dublin, but the moment he brought you into the club, I knew that you were different. I merely …helped things along.”

As she spoke, several things seemed to click magically into place.

The different wardrobe.

The hair cut.

The constant rebellion against Dublin’s wishes; she had done it all for a reason.

“Why?” I rasped, straining to see her expression. Had she wanted to push his temper to the brink in the hopes that he’d kill me?

“Not for the reasons you might be thinking,” she murmured, eyes on the wall. “We tend to do crazy things to protect the ones that we love, even from themselves. Sometimes all it takes is giving them something to live for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said softly. “You’re a mortal. You can’t possibly understand living through so many centuries that even a day passes like an eternity. You humans glamorize immortality, but it is a curse—especially if the time you live isn’t even your own. Imagine being chained to a life you no longer wanted …”

I could barely follow her. The words buzzed around my brain and it was too exhausting to try and make sense of them—not that Yulia seemed to mind. Something told me that she spoke more to soothe her own conscience than anything else.

Suddenly, she turned to face me.

“You should have seen him after the auction. After you danced, he nearly struck me. I thought he might kill me.” She spoke without a shred of fear or anger. “‘Why would you make her so appealing? Why? Does her life mean anything to you?’ I don’t think he believed me at first, when I told him the same thing I’m telling you now; dressing you, Eleanor, was a challenge for me because I did not use a single bit of my magic.”

She paused, allowing the words to sink in.

“Every garment I made for you was no more powerful than the rest of the clothing in your closet. I want you to know that before he comes. I want you to know …he would have come anyway.”

She stood, heading for the door. “He will always come.”

“Wait!” I croaked, reaching out weakly as if to pull her back. “Wait …”

But she was already gone and the silence swallowed me up again.

Hours passed it seemed, though it could have been minutes before someone else appeared at my bedside.

“Ellie? God, Ellie, can you hear me?”

My eyelids felt too heavy to lift them fully, so I took in the beautiful woman through slits.

Was she an Angel? Blonde curls formed a halo around her flawless face, gleaming so brightly my eyes watered.

Gently, she took my hand from where it clutched at my blanket and I didn’t have the strength to pull it back. Her warmth was a shock. I was freezing.

“Ellie, I don’t have a lot of time,” she said quickly and something clicked like a light bulb switching on. I knew who she was.

Georgiana was wearing black again. The plain tank top showed off her tan arms—but it was subdued compared to the brilliant, pastel-clad image of her I had always had in my head.

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” she continued in a rush. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. If I had known, I would have never—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand everything—there’s no way, really, that you can. Just …keep in mind that every family has their dark secrets. It just so happens that ours is darker than others.”

She spoke almost too quickly for me to follow, but there was a desperation in her words that I couldn’t ignore. For the first time in her life, my silly, flighty sister was …serious.

“I can’t tell you everything,” she repeated. “There isn’t enough time. But, I screwed up. You should have never been a part of this, Ellie. I’m sorry ...”

She stood back, finally revealing the figure that stood behind her, someone so pale they shone even brighter than the pendant they held, dangling from two ivory fingers.

Yulia’s words echoed in my mind as he came closer, haunting me as my vision faded to black.

I want you to know …he would have come anyway …

CHAPTER 36

Cross To Bear

WHEN I FINALLY REGAINED consciousness someone held my hand once again, but they were warm.

That realization had me frowning as I peeled my eyes open one by one.

Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows. I had to blink several times just to make out the person who sat on a chair at my bedside.

“Ellie …”

Georgiana looked so much older. There was a maturity shaping her beautiful features that I couldn’t remember having been there before—though, to be fair, I hadn’t seen her in nearly four months.

And who knew? Sneaking around a vampire’s lair could have aged anyone a few years.

“Belize treated you well,” I croaked, but my voice was too weak for the insult to come across.

“I know you’re confused, angry even,” she said, squeezing my fingers as if anticipating the moment I’d try and pull away. But I felt too drained.

Dublin had already shattered me to pieces. I supposed it was her turn as well to hammer home just how much of a fool I was.

“Ellie, I wasn’t in Belize for fun.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “I was there for business …a mission.”

I raised an eyebrow. Business?

“Is this your way of telling me that you’re involved in criminal activity?” I wondered. It was just so much easier if I just ignored the vampire aspect and focused on the typical Georgiana drama. “What is it? Drugs? How much money will you need this time—”

“Ellie, you have no idea,” her tone caught me off guard. For the first time I realized that she wasn’t speaking in her usual high-pitched cadence. Her voice was low and level instead—a stranger’s. “Every family has their dark secrets, remember?” She frowned, picking an invisible piece of lint off her jeans. Shocked, I realized that her nails were unpainted, and a few were even chipped. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I just will …”

I waited as she sucked in a breath. I could sense her fingers trembling. Every muscle in her slender body seemed tense like a coil ready to spring.

“Our family is nuts, Ellie,” she blurted on a shaky laugh. “Even more than you realize. Mother … Father… I don’t think they even knew the full truth. But somehow I think even they understood that our family was cursed.”

Something in her tone gave me the strength I needed to ask that one, burning question that seared at the back of my brain.

“Why were you in the church?”

“Research,” she said tightly. It was a good minute before I realized that she wouldn’t say any more than, “I was looking for something.”

“You know who lives there?” I couldn’t even say his name. Regardless, Georgie’s expression hardened with recognition, and I don’t know why I was so shocked by the fact. Georgiana knew everyone—she was the only Gray that mattered after all …

“Eleanor, of course I know him.” She raised a blonde eyebrow. “He’s one of the most feared monsters in history, second only to one …”

A feral scowl shaped her mouth—an expression that would have never crossed the face of the carefree Georgie I thought I knew.

“Dublin.”

“Huh?”

I swallowed. “He calls himself …Dublin.” Though I had a feeling that his real name was something else entirely.

“Ellie,” Georgie began before I even hoped to put the suspicions running through my head into a coherent sentence. “While we Grays have our fortune, there’s another side to the estate that isn’t exactly public knowledge.”

“Like what?” My stomach churned as I considered the usual skeletons a rich family might have in their proverbial closet.

A secret family living in the attic?

A widespread criminal organization?

Actual skeletons?

But nothing could have prepared me for what Georgie said instead.

“We hunt vampires.” She might as well have said we vacation in Spain, her tone was that casual—but her eyes told a different story. “From every generation, one Gray gets inducted ...”

“Into what?”

She wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes swept the floor instead. “It’s an old society that dates back to the colonial period, started by our ancestor—”

A name came to mind and I blurted it before she had the chance. “James.”

Raphael’s ominous statement drifted through my mind; I knew your ancestor …

“Yes.” Georgie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question how I had settled on that particular long-dead Gray. “James. It was founded by him solely to track vampires and combat their hold on society. He called it ‘The Grayne,’ and from every generation of Grays, a new member is chosen—must be chosen. Uncle Orwell was inducted from his and father’s line, and me from ours.”

“Inducted?” My head was spinning. Our family being a cold collection of individuals bound only by money I could understand—but this?

“Only one Gray from every generation is chosen ...usually at the discretion of a member from the last generation,” she said. “Orwell pulled me into the fold when I was only fifteen. My ‘boarding school’ days were really spent in Rome training with the other inductees.”

“But I don’t understand …” I thought back to the night Orwell had assaulted me—mainly his reaction to seeing me linked with Dublin.

No wonder he’d shoved me into a wall of glass.

“Did mother know?” I croaked. “Father?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s forbidden to tell anyone outside of the Grayne—barring any ‘extenuating’ circumstances of course,” she added softly.

Such as finding your older sister in a vampire’s lair.

“This … This doesn’t make any sense—you’re Georgiana Gray.” I said the name as if it were a title: Duchess. Empress. Queen.

“We all have different faces,” she explained with a shrug. “The air-headed socialite act gave me an excuse to travel the world and throw off suspicion. After all, no one suspects the rich, blonde bimbo of packing an extendable stake in her back pocket.”

I glanced down at her dark jeans, wondering if she had such a thing in her pocket now. The Georgie I thought I’d known couldn’t even hold a butter knife properly. Though the fact that she wore pants at all was more than enough proof that her ‘air-headed socialite’ ruse had been real. My sister, a real life Buffy.

Only why did it hurt so much to know that she had merely ‘acted’ around me for most of our lives?

The pretty, confident and somewhat morally scrupulous sister I’d known and tolerated was dead. Left in her place was someone I barely recognized.

“What about the phone calls?” I thought back to the past few weeks. I couldn’t remember her mentioning anything about hunting creatures of the night.

“No one can know about The Grayne, Ellie,” she said softly. Her eyes met mine warily. “Not even you.”

“But what about Belize? What about the man you were with?”

“His name is Gregor,” she said, “he’s an associate of mine. Sometimes he comes in handy.”

She cracked a faint smile that made something inside my chest ache.

“What about the money?”

“That …is complicated,” she sighed. “My world isn’t like it’s portrayed on television. It’s more political. Bargains and favors. Getting important information sometimes requires very big favors. One contact in particular is fond of Italian-made sports cars.”

Hence the massive transfer. Everything that had happened over these past two weeks was slowly clicking into place, though I didn’t like the picture the pieces made.

“So what were you doing there? Why couldn’t you come back?”

She’d resisted coming home to an extent that made me positive that she was hiding more from me.

“I was doing …more research,” she said finally. “I can’t tell you everything—I can’t. But there was something in Belize I needed to find. Answers.”

“Answers? About what?”

Considering everything I’d already discovered in the past few days, I was sure that there was nothing she could possibly say that would surprise me anymore.

“It’s more like …who. I was trying to gain background on a vampire called Raphael,” she blurted, proving me wrong. “I have a feeling that you’ve already learned about the way contracts work.”

I could only nod.

“They all belong to him. Everyone connected to that world has a contract either directly or indirectly owned by Raphael. Everyone. He controls it all—but even then there are still rules. If the holder of a contract dies, then ownership of it passes on to their killer.”

She paused as if waiting for me to put the pieces of some puzzle together on my own. Then, she continued, “If you want to take out the entire world of the vampires and their cohorts, then you take out the man who holds them all by the leash.”

I don’t know what was more shocking? Hearing my sister—who, until two days ago I had believed knew nothing about the world outside of a magazine—talk casually about a secret world of vampires, or the fact that I understood almost every word she said?

“You wanted to kill Raphael.” I pictured the haunting gaze of the man in question and I had to suppress the urge to shiver.

“Yes,” Georgie said without pause. “But I overstepped. While The Grayne make it our mission to destroy the contract system, there are still rules we have to follow, treaties we have to respect. By going into the heart of Raphael’s territory …I provoked him.”

Her voice was throaty. She wouldn’t look at me.

“Ellie …if I had known that he would go after you … I never thought that—” She broke off, and I could see that her shoulders were shaking in the way that meant she was trying her hardest not to cry. Her teeth would be clenched, eyes a dark shade of navy.

Was it sad that I was relieved that not all of her had been a façade? At least some things remained the same.

“It’s all right.” I reached out with my free hand, brushing her shoulder.

It was then, as I shifted, that I finally noticed the feel of cool metal beneath the collar of my nightgown, and the weight of a distinctly shaped object resting ominously against my stomach.

“It was the only way,” Georgie said softly. Her gaze drifted towards the amulet in question, tracing every contour of the silver chain.

A sudden thought occurred to me as a fuzzy image drifted on the edge of my consciousness; her and a shadowy figure standing at my bedside. Only one reason could explain it.

“You made a contract.”

She didn’t deny it. Her fingers clenched mine so tightly I could feel her pulse throbbing beneath her skin.

“He said it was the only way.” It was as if every single word was being ripped from her throat against her will. “I had no choice, Ellie. I couldn’t just let you die …”

“What did you bargain?” My blood ran cold at the thought of her making the same deal I had, and I glanced up, scouring her tan throat for bite marks.

“I only had to promise to drop the trail I’d been hunting in Belize and allow his ‘business’ to relocate without retaliation,” she sounded as surprised by that fact as I was. “I thought it was some kind of sick joke, but when he put that necklace on you, it—”

“Who?” A part of me didn’t even want to consider the possible answer lurking at the back of my mind.

Raphael? I wondered almost hopefully. It would have been easier to believe that my sister had made a deal with the Devil, rather than …

“Dublin,” she said. “He said that it was the only way to save your life—he told me what he did to you Ellie. He poisoned you.”

She broke off, eyes narrowed with so much hatred that I almost didn’t recognize her as my sister.

“You begged him to save me?”

How he must have enjoyed that, the pretty Georgie on her hands and knees begging for my life…

“No.” She slowly shook her head. “He came to me.”

“I don’t understand ...”

Georgie lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t really care what his reasons were. You’re alive and that’s all that matters to me.”

Before I could blink, her hand was in mine again, holding on so tightly that I could feel her warmth leech into my skin.

“We’re family, Ellie.”

I marveled over those words. Family.

It was a rare phrase to throw around the Gray household. After all, how could you love anyone who only revealed a sliver of who they really were?

I guess father hadn’t been lying when he claimed that money was everything.

But …I doubted that father had ever come across someone like Dublin Helos, who could throw thousands of dollars into the trash without batting an eyelash and make someone like me feel …

I don’t know, alive, even for a second.

I clenched Georgie’s fingers just as tightly, staring down at the chain draped around my neck, as heavy as iron.

“Family.”

CHAPTER 37

Debts

One month later…

EVERY FAMILY HAS THEIR secrets, my mother used to say. Every woman has her mysteries.

I wondered if she had known of our family’s little secret, or of the darkness that had driven Orwell insane and forced Georgiana to live a double life. I wondered if she had known much of anything apart from the carefully crafted world she’d created for herself. To her credit, denial and secrecy seemed to be an inherited trait among us Grays.

Georgie, once shrouded in silly mystery had become an enigma. She still wouldn’t tell me the whole truth; the only clues she had let slip free were snippets about Raphael and contracts and …

It all made my head hurt, which was a figurative pain, of course, because with Dublin’s chain around my neck, I felt absolutely nothing. Things that would have normally tired me no longer did. It was as if the magic infused in it enhanced everything to an exquisite degree—but it was merely an illusion; a temporary fix.

The damage wrought by Dublin’s venom couldn’t be undone by any cure. The moment I took it off, my body would begin to deteriorate again.

I wondered if he was limited without it. If he couldn’t go out in the sun or whatever it was the magic seemed to enable him to do? I tried not to care. I tried … But so many things had gotten out of my control lately that it was laughable to think that I could. Almost as laughable as the fact that I sat in a town car, staring up at the boarded-up building that only I knew had once been a club for vampires.

Under the guise of needing “fresh air” I had taken off in a hired cab rather than risk driving the Rolls Royce by myself—we still hadn’t found someone to replace Harper.

My instructions were clear, but when we had reached the skeleton of Anemia, I still had to double check the name on a nearby street sign.

Apparently, Dublin had wasted no time in putting Georgie’s contractual promise of allowing him to ‘relocate in peace’ to the test. Yulia’s shop had been emptied as well, and the warehouse door had been sealed with a rusty chain.

“Ma’am?” I blinked as the driver spoke from the front seat. “Sorry, but the meter’s still running ...”

I glanced up to find him watching me in the rearview mirror with a puzzled expression.

Nut, I could imagine him thinking in disgust.

“That’s all right,” I said softly, folding my hands in my lap.

I sighed, sparing one last glance at the remains of Anemia. What would the building become now? An office? A store?

Would the new tenants ever have any clue about the creatures who had once wandered through the walls? Or the use of those mysterious rooms at the back?

“Miss?”

“We can go now.”

I started to tear my gaze from the window, only to jump as a hand appeared to rap against the glass. A man stood on the curb. His expression was stern, but something in the way he was dressed—in a dark, crisp suit—made me warily hit the button to lower the glass.

“For you, Miss,” he said, before slipping something through the gap so that it landed on my lap. My eyes fell to the object and I barely noticed as the stranger stood back, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared.

It was a small parcel. My name was written across the front in elegant, unfamiliar script; an unusual occurrence in more ways than one. I rarely received personal mail these days—not to mention that very few people would send a messenger to approach me on the street.

My fingers trembled as I tore off the brown wrappings to reveal the object inside: a small, flat leather-bound book. It was so old that the bindings had started to come apart. In the center of the dilapidated cover, ironically in near pristine condition, was the symbol of that familiar serpent with ruby-red eyes. As I let the binder fall onto my lap, a single, square sheet of paper slid out.

Thank you, Miss Gray, our arrangement has worked out quite well, the first line read. As promised, I have upheld my end of the bargain.

-Raphael

My throat jerked around a gulp. I had to pinch myself just once before I slowly peeled the book apart, unsurprised to discover that it was a contract, much like my own.

The lettering was barely visible—I could only discern a few words. Five hundred years. Bound.

Across the bottom however, in a bright shade of ink, so fresh it could have been written days ago, someone had added: With the addendum of ten more additional years in exchange for the contract of E.L.G.

I knew what those initials stood for; my name.

I also knew of a man supposedly bound for five hundred years. A man who called himself something that I now knew was nothing but an unspoken mantra, intended to reinforce those words he repeated so often: is hell bound.

But the knowledge didn’t make the words written on the contract any easier to stomach.

On the line specifying the contractor was only one name. Cael.

And below that was the name of the beholder. Eleanor Gray.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LANA SKY IS A reclusive writer in the United States who spends most of her time daydreaming about complex male characters and legless cats. She writes mostly paranormal romance, in between watching reruns of Ab Fab and drinking iced tea. Only iced tea.

Connect with Lana online...

Website

Facebook

Tumblr

MALICE AUTHORS

A group of authors coming together to connect with the reading community.

Check out the MALICE Facebook page for updates on the works of Lana Sky, as well as other MALICE authors: www.facebook.com/MALICEAUTHOR

You can also find out more on the MALICE AUTHORS website.

DRAIN ME

By Lana Sky

Copyright © 2014 by Lana Sky

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover photo © Khorzhevska

Cover & Interior Ornaments © Marielle Kokosidou

Cover design by Imogenary Designs

Edited by Gemma Fisk

eBook Production & Design by VMC Art & Design, LLC

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

About The Author

MALICE AUTHORS

Copyright