My tongue grew thick. My body ached for more blood, though the thought repulsed me. I forced myself to look away. “Who are you talking about?”

I wanted to watch her face when she answered, but the scent of her blood was too tempting. I feared what would happen if I looked again, so I fixed my gaze on the streetlights above the highway.

“Cyrus, you silly goose. Don’t you know your own sire?”

I’d known something wasn’t right when we left the club. Maybe I’d known from the moment I saw the phantom girl on the street. But instead of following my intuition, I’d followed Dahlia. Right into a trap.

“I can’t believe how stupid some of you can be,” she shouted, suddenly agitated. “Your stories are splashed all over the papers, and yet you have no clue that someone might recognize you. I don’t even know why he let you have his blood.” She let out a sigh and appeared to calm herself. “Now you’ve made me lose my temper, and that really pisses me off.”

I watched her as she slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand and muttered to herself, pacing back and forth. She stopped and faced me. Her expression was blank.

“Your little bookstore friend took care of the last one for me. But sometimes, if you want to do something right, you have to do it yourself.” She pointed at me with the knife.

Suddenly, I was so weak I couldn’t stand. I fell to my knees, wincing as I hit the dirt.

“Good girl.” She threw the knife at me. It pierced the frozen ground inches from my knee. She took another deep breath, laughing. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Do you ever have days like that, where you just feel—”

“Crazy?” I eyed the blade. It was so close. I should have been able to grab it and get to my feet before Dahlia could reach me, but my body was limp and heavy. “What do you want?”

“What do I want, what do I want?” she singsonged, scooping up the knife before I could stop her. “You sound just like the last one I took care of. You guys always try to bargain.”

She held the point of the knife to my throat. “I want to kill you.”

“Why?” It was barely a whisper. I imagined the tip of the knife puncturing my skin the way my fangs had split hers.

She leaned closer, twisting the blade against my neck but never breaking my skin. “Because you took what’s mine.”

“What? What did I take?” I wanted to swallow, but I was afraid it would kill me. “I don’t even know you.”

“You’re right. You don’t know me, bitch.” She lifted the knife and, without hesitation, plunged it into my stomach.

I gasped from the pain. I’d seen numerous stab wounds in the E.R. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined they felt like this. The burning and tearing, coupled with the invasion of an object all my muscles tensed to reject. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.