As Bee and I kneel next to the bed, Daisy’s eyes flutter open. “He’s coming back soon,” she whispers. “Coming back to finish.”

We help her up, her arm hooked around Bee’s shoulders. A muffled voice down the hall, and a shadow moving closer.

“Go on,” I whisper. “Get her out of here.”

Bee’s eyes flash in the dark. “And what about you?”

I squeeze Bee’s hand. “I’ll be right behind you.”

They disappear through the patio door, just as the shadow devours the whole room.

Dracula. He regards me, nothing about him looking the least bit surprised to see me.

“Good evening.” He strolls nearer, a crust of red in the corner of his mouth. “Did you have a nice rest in the attic?”

“Of course,” I say, and give him a smile as if I don’t hate every last inch of him. “Aren’t you disappointed it’s only me here?”

“Disappointed to see you?” He snaps his tongue. “Never, my Lucy.”

He’s standing right before me now, his scent like roses and earth as overwhelming as ever. I try to edge toward the patio door, toward freedom, but he cuts me off first.

“You’re looking a little peaked tonight,” he says, already sensing my hunger.

“I’m fine,” I say, but he knows I’m lying. My bloodlust is like a beacon to him.

“I can help you with that,” he says, flicking open the buttons on his shirt, one by one. I watch him, enjoying it more than I should.

His bare skin glistening in the moonlight, he presses a long fingernail across his chest, and in an instant, the blood’s flowing from him like the sweetest merlot. Like a cure I never asked for. I drift toward him. That’s the problem—he knows me well enough to know I can’t help myself. He made me this way, and now he gets to enjoy it.

I’m close enough to drink now, but I start to pull away, grimacing.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, and threads his fingers through my hair, pressing softly on the back of my neck, forcing me toward him. Toward what he knows I want. My eyes sting with tears, but I part my lips, ready to get this over with.

Then all at once, a scream seeps through the broken door.

“Lucy?” Bee calls out, and the sound of her voice jolts me back.

I shove Dracula away, my hand slick with his blood. He crashes into the flimsy paneling, the wall bowing against his weight. Then he exhales a braying laugh.

“You could have just told me no, Lucy.”

Outside, they’ve already surrounded Daisy and Bee. Rochester, along with the girls from Daisy’s house, their expressions blank as fresh paper. Still under Dracula’s thrall, they don’t know what they’re doing. They never asked for this. None of us ever do.