I was wrenched awake by the sound of screaming. I shot up in bed, momentarily confused. The only light was a faint trickle of moonlight from the windows. I blinked, trying to gather myself. Vampires. I was in a vampire manor. A brief, stupid thought filtered through my mind, that this was probably normal. That all vampire manors were filled with middle-of-the-night screaming.

Pulled, as if in a trance, I staggered from beneath the covers to the door, pulling it open. The screams continued, not as loud as they'd felt when I'd first awoken. Still enough to make my stomach churn. To make the hairs on my arms lift.

I hesitated at the end of the hallway, then blinked, coming back to myself. This was a bad idea. Really bad. Really stupid. You didn't run towards screaming, but away. I should have been locking my door, not staggering out to find the source of it.

Another long and drawn-out sound had me rushing through the manor, barefooted, ignoring the ache in my neck. I descended to the lower levels, emerging onto the second-floor landing, overlooking the entry. A chaotic scene materialized. Bodies blurred like bees in a hive, fussing over a writhing mass on the tile floor. A person, I realized, swallowing down bile. They were near unrecognizable, more blood and gore than anything.

I'd found the source of screaming. These were the kind that couldn't be ignored. That begged for relief.

Laurent was there, calling orders. He froze, whirling in my direction. His eyes fell on me. I took a step forward, as if to offer my help. His expression hardened into granite, cold and accusing. "Go back to your room," he bit out.

My mouth opened but nothing came out. I tried to process it—couldn't stop looking at the body on the ground. They were still screaming, sending chills over every inch of my flesh, turning it clammy.

"You are nothing but a liability, Miss Shaw. Zola! Remove her from my sight."

I flinched. My throat tightened. He should have just slapped me.

"Come, darling. It is better if you do not see this." Zola was at my side, hand on my elbow.

I spotted Vittorio rushing about. And Marco, too. I'd only wanted to help. Zola seemed to read my thoughts. She shook her head, guiding me back down the hall, up another set of stairs.

"What...what was that?" I asked when the screams began to fade.

"We found Hassan."

"Hassan?"

"He went missing a few weeks ago. He's lucky to be alive, though, he has suffered a great deal."

"The...the blood dealer? The demon?"

"Dead. But it's not the dealer who is responsible for this mess. He was just a middleman."

I realized she probably wouldn't be telling me this if she thought I was a threat. Who was I kidding? After the way Laurent had just looked at me, I was more and more clear about my role here. I was nothing more than a house pet.

I pushed the thought away.

"But what happened to him?"

"Tortured, drained, mutilated." A shiver raced over me. "Do not let it trouble you, darling. Such knowledge doesn't make for restful sleep, hmm?"

With that, she stopped outside my door.

"Zola?"

"Yes, darling."

"Can...can I have a hug?" I asked through blurring vision.

"Oh, you sweet child. Here." She pulled me into her arms. I blinked back the tears clouding my eyes.

"Thank you for being nice to me," I managed.

"No tears," she scolded.

"I know," I sighed, pulling away. "I'm trying to be strong."

"I know, darling. I know. Now, go to bed. I'm needed downstairs."

She didn't wait for me to go through the door. One moment she was there, the next, she was a disappearing blur.

Sleep didn't find me for the rest of the night, even when I took two more painkillers. I tossed and turned. At the forefront of my mind was the way Laurent acted around me. Most of the time he was cold, detached, emotionless. But occasionally, there was something else. Was it only his hunger, his desire to drain me, that possessed him to be a little warmer, a little softer?

It was dangerous—I knew that—but I let myself think back to those moments when he'd given me the shirt off his back to stop my bleeding. When he'd carried me against his bare chest. The feel of my cheek against his skin. The way he'd held me, careful but possessive.

His words haunted me most.

My cheeks turned hot. What a stupid thing, to want to feel wanted. To want to feel...coveted. Worth something to someone. A single tear slipped free. I was weak. So weak. So dumb for letting myself feel a shred of desire over his greed.

One of the most powerful vampires in the world wanted me. Me. And here I was, allowing my soul to preen over the thought. The dark, damaged part of me didn't care that it was for the wrong reasons, didn't care that it was twisted. That broken part gladly accepted whatever it could get, because it was a hollowed shell never worth wanting.

Another tear fell.

I hissed, squeezing my feathered pillow with my fist. Taking a sharp breath, I swiped at my tears and forced myself to stop; I was supposed to be better than this. Then I just laid there, numb, trying to process everything, trying not to panic over the future.

Eventually, I drifted off.

Zola barged into my room at dawn, tray in hand. I staggered from bed, shocked by the sudden intrusion, then relaxed. "Ah, darling, good morning. How are you feeling?" she asked, setting the tray on the table. It was piled with bandages and medical supplies.

I eyed it warily. "A little better, I think?"

I didn't feel weak anymore. But the pain was still there. My hand went to my neck.

"Good. Sit. I'll change your bandages." I regarded her suspiciously as she took my shoulders and guided me into a chair. "Relax. I was merely caught off guard the first night I saw you. I'm not going to finish Henrietta's job."

I made a choking noise.

She set to work, hissing when she beheld the ruin of my skin. I swallowed. "That bad, huh?"

"I've seen worse."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" I squeaked, then frowned, a sudden question coming to mind. "How do vampires get away with this kind of thing without creating suspicion? How come tons of people aren't walking around with bite marks in their necks or all over their bodies?"

"We clean up after ourselves." When I gave her a confused look, she sighed. "Our saliva has healing properties, darling. We close the wounds we create."

"But—"

"Henrietta couldn't, obviously. Nor would she have."

"But then—"

"There is no one who can do this for you. One lick, one taste of your blood, even your scabbed skin, and there would be no stopping."

My mouth opened and closed several times.

"Trust me, darling. Laurent isn't leaving you like this just to prove a point." A dark laugh bubbled up from my chest. I wasn't so sure of that. "Yes, all right, I see your meaning," she added, lips pulling into a frown.

"It doesn't...bother you?" I asked.

She reached for fresh gauze. My bloodied discards were piled on the tray now.

"No. I am old. Slips of control are beneath me. Besides, we're friends, remember?"

I bit my lip, trying to keep a smile at bay. Friends. I liked the sound of that word. When I was younger, I hadn't had them. Too many of my classmates scorned me for my dirty clothes and how much I smelled. When anyone was nice to me, they scorned them too. Once my life was my own, those things changed, but I still didn't let myself get too close to anyone. Too many years had made me wary and shy. Ania had been the only person successful in breaking me out of my shell. Even that had taken months.

A knock sounded just as Zola gathered everything up. "Ah, that will be Vittorio with your breakfast. Come in," she called, lifting her voice. "We're finished."

Vittorio strode in with another tray. I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with this level of attention. The motion had Zola lifting a brow.

Vittorio set the tray before me. I took a single look and—burst into tears.

"Oh, darling!" Zola set her tray on the carpet and reached over to pat my hair. Through my tears, I saw the wide-eyed, now uncomfortable expression on Vittorio's face. "She does this a lot, Vit. Don't take it personally."

"I'm...I'm sorry," I managed, furiously swiping at my face. "It's just...he made...he made me cinnamon rolls. I didn't think..."

"Miss Shaw said she wanted cinnamon rolls," he defended, looking between us, as if my tears were evidence of some awful act he'd committed against me, and he wished to absolve himself.

"They're perfect," I said, voice watery, mastering myself. I really needed to stop this. I took a deep breath and determined never to cry again. Ha-ha-ha, yeah right. Vittorio eyed me. "Really, they are. They look amazing. And—" I looked at the rest of it. "Coffee, too? Okay, why do I want to hug you right now?"

I wasn't usually a hugger. The opposite, actually. I'd never been cuddly with the few guys I'd dated. Ania had warmed me up to it; she and I hugged a lot. She must have realized how starved of touch I was. Once she got me hooked on them, I handed her hugs whenever the occasion called for it. And now, apparently, I was doing the same with vampires when they were nice to me.

Vittorio took several quick steps backwards.

"She likes to hug," came Zola's quiet warning, to which he snorted. Because really, I didn't.

Vittorio only looked mortified.

I burst into giggles, throwing a hand over my mouth. My emotions were all over the place.

"I think almost dying has made me unstable. You should both probably go. I'm unhinged. I might even hug you to death. Haha, get it?"

Zola gave a snort, shaking her head. "That will be all, Vit. Thank you."

"Yes, Madame. Good day. Good day, Miss Shaw."

When I next blinked, he was gone, and Zola was lifting her tray of my discarded gross things.

"I'll be back in a bit. If you're feeling up for it, I'll give you a tour of the house. I'd take you shopping but, well, that bandage is a bit frightening."

"That...that's okay. Actually I think I'll have a bath after breakfast. I'm feeling gross."

"Of course, darling. I'll be back afterward."

I waited for her to go before cutting into my cinnamon roll. The frosting oozed into the swirled layers. I placed the first bite on my tongue, then closed my eyes, sighing. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

My eyes flew open.

Had near death made everything seem better? No, I didn't think so. Vittorio was an excellent chef. Excessive carbs were something I usually avoided, especially during swim season. But, well, that was over now.

I added cream and a teaspoon of sugar to my coffee, then sighed. See? My teenage self whispered. When was the last time you were ever this spoiled?

I scoffed, pushing the thought away. Instead, I pretended this was just a fancy vacation. Something I'd enjoy for a few days, before figuring out what I really needed to do. I couldn't remain captive here. It went against everything inside me.

People didn't just...accept something like that. Besides, I'd spent the first eighteen years of my life a captive to the foster care system. I refused to do it again. I'd made a promise to myself on my eighteenth birthday. I would never again be subjected to others' control.

After devouring my gooey roll, I finished off my coffee and traipsed into the bathroom. The tub began to fill, and I added some salts to the water. A quick rummage through the cabinets revealed everything I needed. Then I shed my clothes and submerged up to my shoulders, careful to keep the bandage dry.

It was tricky, but I managed to clean myself up and wash my hair. I was obsessive about my cleaning rituals. Growing up, some of my foster homes were better than others. The bad ones, where I hadn't been allowed to bathe, had treated me no better than an animal, sometimes even worse than. Those homes were the ones that made me this way. For the first few afterward, I'd sometimes take three showers a day. Even still, I often found myself taking two.

Zola's voice jerked me awake. "Well, now. Aren't you relaxed?" I squealed, then covered my private parts, sloshing lukewarm water everywhere. "Oh darling, we have the same anatomy, and I can assure you, I've seen plenty. Your shyness is a waste. Come, the water is already cold."

She held a towel. I eyed it, thinking of how absurd this was. Then—to hell with it—I stood.

Zola helped me step from the bath then wrapped me up in it. It was comical really, that a woman who looked young enough to be my age, was fussing over me the way I imagined a mother might. None of my mothers had cared overmuch about me, beyond ensuring they got their government check each month.

"What's that look for, hm? Chin up. I put some clothes there. I'll be in the other room."

She disappeared, leaving me alone. I quickly changed, glad to feel cleaner. The salts were scented, so now I carried a pleasing citrus smell on my skin. Would that make me more enticing?

Something low in my belly curled. I thought of Laurent—my traitorous mind—looking at me with pure hunger and desire. Thought of him unable to stop himself as he pulled me against him, like he'd done when he kidnapped me, running his nose up and down my neck—

I shut those thoughts down immediately.

Several calming breaths later, I emerged barefooted to find Zola staring out the window. She turned and smiled. "There, now. Let's have our tour."

I followed her as she pointed out various rooms, who they belonged to. The only names I recognized were the vampires I'd already met. These were on the third floor. I asked her how Hassan was doing, when she pointed out his room. "He'll live," was all she said, and I didn't feel comfortable prying.

We moved on to the second floor where she led me past more rooms, like the drawing room I'd seen before. Laurent's study. Marco's study. A couple of sitting rooms. An art room with half-finished easels. "Astrid is the only one who really uses this one," she explained.

We moved to the first floor. After a few minutes, it became my favorite. A conservatory filled with plants like rare orchids, a medium sized ball room, a dining room with a huge table, and a library.

"You like books, then?" Zola asked, eyeing me. I could only nod, my jaw hanging loose. "Well, then, follow me."

She led me through the room. The walls were two stories high and shelved floor to ceiling with books. Halfway up, a rod iron balcony spanned the circumference of the room. Giant windows broke up the space, letting in tons of daylight. There were two fireplaces, a cozy couch arrangement, and a large conference style table in the center.

"If you think this is impressive, you should see the real library, at House Sarkas."

"House Sarkas is an actual...house?" I frowned.

"Oh, of course. It's a house and it's a house. The actual house—a fortress, really—is the heart of our large family. It's in Flouril. Laurent only spends time there during the season. Otherwise, he prefers it here."

It was hard to believe there was a place grander than this.

"It's a real castle," she explained. "And the library is a true library, with rows and rows of gilded stacks that put this to shame." I could only blink, taking everything in. "Okay, just here," she said, grabbing my wrist, pulling me over to a section of books. "Reading material has vastly improved over the past few decades. Every male in this house gives me shit for my tastes but, hey, a girl has needs, am I right?"

I beheld the section she pointed out. It only took a moment before—

"Oh, my God!" I nearly squealed. "You've got the entire Orcs of Troth series?" My eyes fixed fondly on the set of seventeen hardcover books. OoT had gotten me through my semester of linear algebra and differential equations few years back. "Have you read them all?"

"Of course, darling. Who is your favorite?"

I didn't even have to think about it. "Iarvosh! Like, is that even a question?"

She laughed. "I did like him. But I was partial to Getram. The way he uses his tongue...hmm..." She wagged her eyebrows and I blushed, turning away to take in the rest of the books on display. There were hundreds—upon hundreds. "This whole area is my section, obviously. I wouldn't bother with the others. Well, maybe Astrid's, though she's more into crime thriller, which I don't much care for. But definitely not Laurent's. The stuff in his would bore you to tears."

I snorted, as if that surprised me. "And where would that be—so that I avoid it, I mean." Obviously. She pointed upstairs. I glanced that way, only briefly, not curious at all. Not even a little bit. Why would I care what that asshole like to read?

I cleared my throat. "I...you don't mind if I borrow a few of yours?"

"Darling, they're yours. Just...care for them kindly—and don't you dare dog-ear the pages—and I'll happily share."

I let out a mock gasp. "I would never!"

"Good." She eyed me a moment longer, before turning to the display before us. It stretched all the way to the balcony, halfway up the wall. She moved away momentarily, grabbed a rolling ladder—a rolling ladder!—then climbed up several feet.

"Here," she said, bringing a book down to me. "This one's new. Got it from the author two weeks ago. Devoured it in half a day. It's not set to release for another three months."

A screech, the most unflattering sound I could have made, wrenched from my chest. "You got an advanced copy of Nikalia Cohen's new book?!"

I wasn't going to lose it. I was not going to lose it. Okay, I was losing it. My body was already starting to hyperventilate.

"How?" I demanded.

"We're..." She cleared her throat. "Friends, darling."

"Friends?! You're serious? Nikalia Cohen? Really? She's like, the highest selling romance author of like...all time."

"Dead serious." Her eyes twinkled. "Now, shall I leave you in here, or would you like to see the rest of the house?"

"There's...more?" More importantly, after discovering the motherlode of all books, did I care?

"Just the basement. You might want to see it."

"Oh...okay." I hugged the book to my chest as she led me out of the library, downstairs. The basement was lit with artificial lighting. It was a massive, open space.

All right. I could admit that it was worth seeing.

"Obviously this doesn't span the whole house. There are other parts accessed elsewhere that—well, I doubt Laurent would appreciate me showing you. But here, you're welcome to this whenever you'd like."

It was a massive game and activities room, and it had literally everything. Televisions, a wet bar, three pool tables, foosball, air hockey, and a plethora of other games and card tables. "Are those bowling lanes?!"

"You're gaping, darling."

"Oh. Right." I snapped my mouth closed.

Zola froze, cocked her head, then said, "I'm needed upstairs. You have free range of the manor. Go where you wish. If the door is locked, it is locked for good reason. But everything else..." She waved a hand.

"What about...outside?"

She lifted a shoulder. "If you're brave enough." Then she leaned in and kissed both of my cheeks, making a muah sound as she did it. "I'll find you later, maybe. Enjoy the book."

I was left standing alone, clutching it to my chest, trying to understand how something like this mansion could even exist. Literally everything in it surpassed my wildest dreams. Suddenly, that distant teenage voice, the one from the girl who'd dreamed of a life like this, grew just a smidge more compelling.