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CHAPTER THREE

Renie

I must have slept after that; the next thing I knew Roux was shaking me awake.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Are you going to snooze all day?" she singsonged.

I sat up, scrubbing sleep from my eyes. The room took shape around me but its beauty left me cold.

"What time is it?" I mumbled.

Roux checked her new silver watch, courtesy of Belle Morte. "Quarter to ten."

"Seriously?" It felt like 5 a.m.

Roux shrugged. "It's the Belle Morte way—late nights and late mornings."

Apart from the watch, Roux wore only a fluffy red towel that matched our bedcovers. "The shower's awesome, but if you want to try it you need to hurry, or you'll miss breakfast," she said.

All donors ate meals together, so I wouldn't need to look for June—she'd be there at the breakfast table. That jolted me out of bed.

The bathroom was as fancy as the bedroom, with floor and walls of smooth cream tiles, a porcelain claw-foot tub standing close to a shower big enough for two, and a heated towel rack. Hanging on the farthest wall was a full-length mirror edged with wrought silver, and a toilet and basin stood in the opposite corner. Like the bedroom, the bathroom carried the faint fragrance of roses.

Roux was right; the shower was awesome, the heated spray pulsing out with enough force to feel like a massage on my whole body, but I was in only long enough to wash. I wasn't here to enjoy myself.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I went back into the bedroom. Roux was dressed now, in skintight jeans and a black lace T-shirt, with ankle boots that added another three inches to her height. She towered over me.

"Nice outfit," I remarked.

"I know." She twirled and blew me a kiss.

I rifled through the wardrobe, grabbing the first pair of trousers and the first shirt in my size. The trousers were soft, gray leather, the shirt delicate as tissue paper. I'd never owned anything so beautiful, and for the briefest moment I forgot they'd been provided by vampires.

My contract said I had to look presentable, so I slicked on mascara and lip gloss, ran a brush through my hair, then scrutinized my own reflection. Not bad.

"Ready?" Roux asked.

"Let's go and meet the other donors."

***

We made our way down the stairs to the first floor and turned right, heading for the dining hall. Just beyond the vestibule was a parlor, the corners softened with padded velvet seats and sofas, and one wall occupied by a door that opened into a small room.

Roux faltered, and I stopped with her.

Inside the room, a boy roughly our age sat in a wingback chair, his head tilted to one side. A vampire stood over him, her mouth clamped to his neck, her long hair mingling with his. The boy's eyes were closed, his mouth slack with bliss, but the vampire briefly lifted her head and looked at us, and her eyes shone red, the way all vampires' did when they were hungry.

Heat crawled along my cheeks. I'd never seen a vampire feed; it was like glimpsing something private.

"Don't worry, you get used to it," said a voice behind us, and we both turned. A girl stood there, a knowing smile playing around her lips. "I'm Melissa."

I knew the names of every donor in this House, same as I knew the names of every vampire, but Melissa's face was especially familiar to me. Two days before June had stopped writing, Belle Morte had hosted an art display, attended by everyone in the house as well as a select group of outside guests, and one of the photos from that night had been of June and Melissa, laughing together as they posed in front of a huge metal sculpture.

In the weeks following June's possible disappearance, I had spent hours studying that photo, looking for any clue that something was wrong.

"I'm Roux and this is Renie," Roux said, moving away from the open door so we didn't disturb either vampire or donor.

"Renie?" Melissa repeated, her expression wobbling.

"That's right," I said. "June's probably mentioned me?"

"June?" Roux said, frowning.

"My older sister. She's a donor here."

"I thought family members couldn't be donors at the same time."

That wasn't a rule I'd heard about, and my chest tightened with unease.

"But you do know June?" I pushed, watching Melissa's carefully schooled expression.

She looked away. "We should get to breakfast."

I needed to tread carefully here—Melissa knew something, and I didn't want to scare her away.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Nearly seven months."

Roux whistled in admiration. Theoretically, donors could stay in the mansion for years if the vampires wanted them to, but they rarely stayed more than a few months. I guess there were too many other necks for the vampires to taste.

It wasn't hard to see why they wanted Melissa to stay. With an Afro like a dandelion puff haloing flawless deep-brown skin, big eyes, and feathery lashes, she was one of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen—she could have been mistaken for a vampire herself if she hadn't been blinking and breathing, her hands moving with the little gestures that are familiar to humans but lost on vampires.

"Is that really something you get used to?" I asked, glancing back at the room.

Melissa shrugged. "You don't have a choice. You're here to feed vampires, so you either get used to it or your stay here will really suck."

"No pun intended," Roux murmured.

"Amit's one of Catherine's favorites," Melissa said.

Although I knew that vampires had particular tastes, it hadn't occurred to me that they might develop attachments to specific donors. It should have made me feel better, reminded me that vampires didn't just see us as walking blood bags. It didn't.

Melissa lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They'll be separated soon. Every donor is closely monitored to make sure they're not giving too much blood, and no vampire is supposed to favor a particular donor for too long."

Grudgingly, I had to admit the vampires seemed to be making sure their donors were happy and healthy, but why had Melissa reacted weirdly to June's name?

We walked into the dining hall. It was a large, rectangular room with the same parquet floor as the vestibule, and walls paneled with polished oak. The huge windows were sealed behind wooden shutters, carved all over with fruit and other food, and the only light came from a pair of chandeliers fashioned from beaten iron and little glass globes. A trestle table covered with a white cloth occupied the floor, and donors sat around it, talking, laughing, eating.

My eyes raced over them. There was no sign of June. There were still empty seats around the table; she probably hadn't come down yet, but my heartbeat sped up.

Stay calm.

I shoved down my fear and joined Roux where she was waiting for me at a smaller table piled high with food. Glass bowls filled with glistening berries stood alongside pots of organic yogurt and china racks of whole wheat toast. Platters of salmon studded with crisp lemon wedges jostled for position with a vat of creamy porridge. Glass jugs stood at each end of the table, one filled with orange juice, the other with a thick, pinkish smoothie.

My stomach ached; I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten.

I filled a bowl with porridge and poured a glass of juice before following Roux to the trestle table. The other donors called out introductions, but the only ones I didn't already know were the ones I'd arrived with last night—Ranesh, Craig, and Tamara, apparently. I could barely absorb anything. I managed a wan smile for Jason, but everyone else's faces blurred together, and I hunched over my breakfast, hoping no one would talk to me.

Luckily, Roux talked enough for both of us, chattering about the lavish bedroom, the awesome shower, and the incredible clothes. I focused on the dining hall entryway, searching each new face as more donors trickled in, looking for the one I loved the most.

Roux nudged me. "Look at his neck," she whispered, subtly nodding at Amit, sitting farther down the table. I looked. Amit was talking to Tamara; he laughed, tossing his head back, and the collar of his blazer slipped to one side, exposing his neck.

Red puncture marks and tiny silvery scars pocked his skin, making him look like he'd been stabbed with dozens of needles. Fang marks.

Three girls around the table had long hair hiding their necks, and one boy wore a silk scarf, but I couldn't see marks on anyone else.

"I thought vampires didn't leave marks," I whispered.

Roux touched her throat. "I hope we won't end up looking like that."

Why some donors were marked and others weren't was a mystery I didn't have time for. Roux would have to find those answers herself.

I ate another spoonful of porridge, washing the milky oats down with cold, crisp orange juice. The food was delicious but I'd have enjoyed it more if I didn't know that it was all to improve the taste of our blood. We were just food being prepped for eating. My appetite withered and I put down my spoon.

"So which one's your sister?" Roux asked.

I looked around the table again, and an icy wave of fear washed over me.

June wasn't here.

Belle Morte never had more than thirty donors at a time, enough for the twenty vampires who lived here—the six of us who'd arrived yesterday were replacements for donors who'd come to the end of their contracts—and all thirty were at the table. I counted, then counted again, looking in vain for June's laughing eyes and hair a shade darker than mine.

But she wasn't here.

Something black and hollow stretched inside me. For weeks I'd told myself that June was too busy to write, that her letters had got lost in the post, that she'd breached some vampire rule and they weren't letting her write home as a consequence, that once I got here I'd see for myself that she was fine.

Now my worst fears were coming true.

One of the girls at this table had replaced my sister, but June had never left Belle Morte. So what the hell had happened to her?

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