“Can you two hug this out later? I am literally about to freeze to death!” I wrap my arms as tightly around myself as I can, and, wordlessly, both vampires bite into the flesh of their wrists, offering me their blood. I take a step back, instinctively repulsed—but I catch myself before I can say no.

That afternoon in the parking lot, when Jude cut open his finger and urged me to drink, I became aware of my surroundings on a level I hadn’t known possible, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw something I still can’t explain. I don’t know if it was a power that came from the Corrupter, or if it had to do with vampire blood, or if maybe it was both. What I do know is that if this clairvoyance thing is legit, it’s one of the few advantages I might have in this situation.

Plus, I’m cold as fuck out here.

I choose Gunnar, because he’s the greatest mystery right now, and because I want to see if whatever magic that keeps me from sensing him will break when I know what he tastes like. Gingerly, I take hold of his arm and bring the wound to my lips. He can control his pulse, push out as much as he wants to; when I close my mouth on his wrist, his blood oozes freely over my tongue.

My scalp prickles, and that caffeinated feeling crashes through me, nerve endings I’d forgotten about waking up one by one. Everything jolts into focus, shadows fading as my eyes tune to the darkness. Closing them, I listen, and I hear where Gunnar and Jude are standing—the wind whispering as it passes around them. I listen harder and pick up voices from the crowd on the opposite side of the building, people and vampires waiting to enter.

“… think she’ll be here tonight? She told me…”

“… not a fucking blood orgy, you prejudiced asshole…”

“… weird if I’m only into boys when they’re undead? Is that a thing?”

The wind shifts again, and a scent catches my attention—something distant, but familiar: unwashed flesh, old blood, soiled clothes. I see him in my mind: wide, golden eyes, wild hair, and then—

“Auggie?” Gunnar’s voice brings me back, and my lids snap open. He’s watching me, his brows furrowed, as he gently withdraws his arm. “Did that help?”

“I’m not cold anymore,” I murmur, although it might be more accurate to say that the cold doesn’t bother me. But my attention is focused on him, on the darkness at the center of his eyes—on the resistance I feel there. But after only a few heartbeats, I break through, falling into a maelstrom of images that flicker and unfurl.