Clarence brought my evening meal, a still-warm carafe of blood accompanied by a selection of fresh fruit, the B-movie version of a continental breakfast. I tried to make some cheerful conversation, but he only provided the minimum requirement of polite response. I eventually gave up and finished my meal in silence.

When I ventured from my room, I found the Fangs were out in full force. Curiosity brought me to the ballroom, where a new row of bikes testified that more vampires had arrived. I expected some trouble from them, but nothing happened. On the contrary, the thugs saluted me with a fearful courtesy. I fully expected them to start bowing and genuflecting when they saw me.

The only person who seemed to want interaction with me was Dahlia. I discovered her lounging on one of the deserted sofas in the foyer, reading a magazine. She made a noise as I passed, presumably to get my attention. When I ignored her, she swept her hair back from her shoulder, revealing a fresh bite mark. She yawned loudly and stretched. “I am just so tired. But why shouldn’t I be? I was up all day.” She giggled and crossed her legs. Her already short skirt rode up, flashing a generous portion of white thigh. Fang marks scored her ample flesh there, as well.

“Do you think you’re making me jealous?” I asked. For some insane reason I was, but I’d eat raw cactus before I admitted it to her.

She shrugged. “No. I just feel sorry for you. Your first day here and he sends for someone else to spend his time with. It’s sad, really.”

“I can think of sadder things.” I dropped onto the sofa beside her and picked up a magazine from the stack at her side. “Ooh, hot spring beauty trends.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her raise her hand.

I clucked my tongue condescendingly. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He’d kill you if you harmed me.”

She snorted derisively. “Whatever. He thinks you’re pathetic.”

Though I doubted the validity of her statement, it called to mind Cyrus’s earlier angry slur. I dropped the magazine and shifted to face her. “More pathetic than a vampire groupie hanging on to her last scrap of hope?”

Dahlia didn’t rise to the bait this time. “If I were you, I would seriously avoid pissing him off. He owns you. He can make your life hell.”

“I don’t think I can avoid pissing him off.” Quieter, I added, “Not if it means being like him.”

With a sigh of obvious contempt, she tore her attention away from a page detailing the best cut of jeans for different body types. “Yeah, and what is he like?”

“What do you mean?” The realization we were having an actual conversation struck me as odd, but Dahlia seemed unperturbed by it.

“What is he like?” she repeated. “I mean, since you’ve taken the time to get to know him and all.”