“Look, August, you’re right to distrust the undead. You said it yourself the first time we met—you’re our food.” Coming from a vampire, it’s an unsettling statement. “But vampires aren’t some hive-minded monolith. Our brains work the same way yours do.”

“That’s because they’re our brains,” I point out, arms akimbo. “And I’m not falling for this reverse psychology bullshit—where you tell me why I shouldn’t trust you, and it makes me trust you more.”

“No psychology.” He lifts his hands, palms out. Nothing up this sleeve! “What I’m getting at is that the decision of the Syndicate to publicly reject the Corrupter as a myth is a … complex issue. Not all vampires feel the same way about it.”

“Right. Some of you believe in it a hundred percent. And just in case the stories are real, you want to make sure I’m locked up tight in a Syndicate holding cell, where you and your buddies can use me like a private vending machine for ‘true immortality.’”

Jude’s brow creases in irritation. “Just for a second, would you listen and stop letting the Brotherhood speak for you? Not all vampires actually want ‘true immortality.’ Some of us would be overjoyed to prove that the Corrupter is a fantasy, and put this whole thing to rest once and for all.”

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line, and when it doesn’t come I laugh anyway. “Oh, okay, sure. The most powerful organization of undead creatures on the planet sent a special emissary to my shitty hometown to spy on me and seduce me, but you’re totally not interested in day-walking.”

“I am not trying to seduce you!” he protests with a frustrated laugh. “Flirting and seduction are two different things, all right? I’m a four-hundred-year-old pansexual vampire, and I can certainly find willing partners without having to lure them into it!”

“That’s your argument?” I toss my hands out, indignant. “There was a massacre here thanks to a bunch of day-walking wannabes, okay? I know what you’re after. You vampires are obsessed with your almost-immortality!” Then, struggling so hard not to look at where his dick is that I totally look at where his dick is, I mutter, “And, you know, your … reproductive parts.”

“Vampires can’t reproduce sexually,” he retorts with a feline smile. “But my parts are productive.”

My face warms because, damn it, in spite of everything, Jude Marlowe is incredibly hot, and now I’m thinking about him naked. “Stop trying to distract me!”