But not this time. I pounce at her, and we tumble together toward the sidewalk, both our hands wrapped tight around the urn. The clay’s still as hot as ever, maybe even hotter. He’s searing off our flesh, yet neither one of us will let him go. This is what he does to women. It’s exactly the way he likes it.

As Bellflower tries to pin me down, Rowan and Vervain are right there next to us. They’re crowded around me, but nobody stops to ask what’s wrong. The three of them look like they’ve got it covered. Like they’re helping a friend, some girl on a bad trip. Which in a way, I suppose that’s exactly what I am.

I’ve still got hold of the urn, but so does Bellflower, and she’s starting to yank it away from me. But I won’t let her. With one quick twist of my hips, I wrestle Bellflower beneath me, pressing my knee into her chest, my fingers wrapped around her throat, feeling the gentle throb of her heart. So eager, so enticing.

All at once, the buzz of the crowd falls away, and Dracula’s in me again, those familiar words echoing in my bones.

Take what belongs to you, Lucy.

The urn falls away from both of us, as I lean closer, her eyes slowly turning dark and vacant.

Rowan backs away. “I want to go home,” she murmurs, but no one hears her. Vervain is too busy trying to pull me off, but she’s barely a gnat, barely worth noticing. My hand tightens around Bellflower’s throat as she squirms beneath me, her body already starting to go limp at my touch.

This isn’t my fault. She did this to herself. She tried to steal what was mine, a monster that could unravel the world. As my teeth elongate, my skin humming, I tell myself I have no other choice. In a way, this is only self-defense.

“Lucy?” A voice calls out in the distance. It’s Bee. From across the park, she sees me here, and instantly she knows what I’m about to do. The mistake I’m about to make.

With the girls’ sweet heartbeats still ringing in my ears, my head lolls back. I won’t do this. It’s the one thing, the only thing, that separates me from Dracula.

My jaw set, I wrench away from Bellflower, falling back against the pavement, and she convulses for a moment, desperate to catch her breath. My vision blurs again, my hunger curdling in me, even worse than before, and I reach out for the urn, for something to steady me. But it’s gone.

Already halfway across the street, Vervain’s got it, and she wraps it up in the hem of her dress, the fabric smoldering against the heat of the urn.