Camila dragged herself up the stairs one clumsy step at a time, her new keycard clutched tightly in her hand. After hours spent stressed out in a tiny cell, she'd wanted to stretch her legs and move. Now, halfway up seven flights of stairs, she regretted that decision.

As a tentative ally of the Vindicators, Camila had been awarded her own room, although it wasn't as if she was free to go. Zora had spent an hour casting some kind of spell on every exit—doors, windows, vents, and plumbing included—so that she'd know when and how Camila left. Even going to get her key had been a hassle.

The witch had insisted on casting a protection and tracking spell over her. The enchantment had involved her chanting and scattering a mixture of baking soda, ground orchids, and orangutan saliva over Camila's forehead.

She was half-convinced the whole thing was Zora's idea of a joke.

She'd asked to see Alex earlier, but Zora had frowned.

"He's- not good right now. Wait until tomorrow."

Camila had set her jaw, ready to argue the point, but Zora shook her head. "It's Declan's orders."

And that was that.

Her room was a copy of the one she'd shared with Declan: floor-to-ceiling windows, a massive bed, and a small kitchen. She let the door shut behind her.

There was an excited bark.

Like an orange and white tornado, Spoon whizzed out of the kitchen and slammed her furry body into Camila's shins, panting happily. Camila buried a hand in her dog's soft fur and laughed.

"I guess you did miss me, huh?"

Spoon yipped in agreement and flipped onto her back, wagging her tail wildly. Camila obligingly rubbed the dog's belly.

After almost thirty minutes of sitting on the floor with Spoon, Camila pulled herself to her feet. A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost two in the morning.

Her eyelids drifted close and she snapped them open. She tugged her shoes off, not bothering to remove her socks, and collapsed on the soft, plush mattress.

When she woke the next morning, Spoon was curled up beside her, one ear flopped inside out, her head resting on Camila's stomach. Her dog let out a soft whimper when Camila got up.

"Sorry," she whispered quietly. Spoon snuggled deeper into the blankets, her eyes shut.

Camila found a brand new toothbrush waiting for her in the bathroom, plus a small tube of toothpaste. She showered.

There was no hairbrush, so she combed her fingers through her hair as best she could. To her surprise, it looked okay, falling down her back in straight, neat lines. Zora had loaned her an outfit—bra included, thank Goddess—and it felt rejuvenating to wear something different for the first time since the ball.

Someone knocked on the hotel door.

"One second!" Camila called out, running a quick hand through her hair and checking for any last minute tangles.

Spoon was still curled up on the bed, blissfully sleeping away. Camila pulled open the door.

"Hey." Zora stepped inside. "Cute outfit."

"Whoever picked it out must have a fantastic fashion sense." Camila smiled.

Peering past her, she caught sight of twelve men standing in the hallway. They were crammed together like sardines in a can. At the very back of the crowd she got a glimpse of Alex's blond hair.

Declan shoved his way through. He froze when he saw, like a deer caught in headlights. He opened his mouth as if to say something.

Camila braced a hand against the door.

And then he was walking past her, striding into the open room like he hadn't a care in the world.

She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Before she could decide, someone had thrust a meaty hand in front of her.

"Finn. What's up?"

"Well-" Nothing much? The sky? I'm no longer kidnapped?

Before Camila could decide on a reply, he'd grabbed her hand, shook it, and had moved past her.

"Anders. Don't mind Finn, he can't hold a conversation to save his life." Anders, a tall man missing the bottom half of his right ear, flashed her a quick smile and clapped her on the shoulder.

Before she could respond, he'd stepped past her.

The men filed in a flood of grudging introductions. Whenever Camila tried to introduce herself, they always cut her off.

"Trust me, we know who you are," Peter—a gangly long-haired teenager—had snapped, quickly moving past her to slump down on the floor, as far away from the rest of the group as he could get.

When a man with an open face introduced himself as Ernie, Camila had tried to form a connection.

"It's good to meet you! How long have you been with the Vindicators?" she'd asked, smiling politely.

"None of your fucking business," he'd growled over his shoulder as he sat down with the group.

With the way the introductions had gone, she felt a surge of sympathy for Zora. No wonder the poor girl was excited to have a friend; except for maybe Anders and Declan, every Vindicator seemed to see the world with an undiscriminating hatred.

Or perhaps it was her royal blood they didn't like. 

"Yeah, I think I've already forgotten all of their names." The voice was a smooth baritone, soft and familiar. Camila looked up.

She stifled a gasp.

His left eye was swollen shut. Mottled blues and purples spread across his cheekbone and eyelid. There was a deep gash on his lip, bruises—fingerprints, Camila realized, with a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of her stomach—spotted across his neck, and the skin of his forearms looked more violet than white. He was deathly pale.

"It's not as bad as it looks." Alex looked like he was trying to smile. The wound in his lip cracked and a thin trail of blood dribbled down his chin.

"Alex- Oh my- Goddess." She could barely speak. Camila glanced into the room. The Vindicators were talking and laughing around the TV.

Declan was sitting on the bed, his hands—the knuckles scraped and bruised—clasped, his knee bouncing up and down. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

Camila stepped into the hallway, the door sliding shut behind her. She wanted to touch Alex, to make sure he was okay, and she reached out a hand only to freeze halfway to the broken skin of his cheek.

What if she hurt him even more? She didn't want to aggravate his injuries.

"Really, it's not that bad."

"Alex-" Her voice broke. A lump swelled in her throat. She tried to swallow. "I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's not your fault."

"Why are you so calm about this?" Camila hissed. "Did- Did Declan-"

He nodded. "I don't think he likes me very much." Alex sighed. "Really, Camila, it's not a big deal. A bit of blood and I'll be fine."

Camila dropped her gaze to her feet. Every time she looked at him, it hit her like a bullet: this happened because of her. Because she tried to escape Declan. And Alex had already lost so much-

It wasn't right.

She closed her eyes, rubbing her fingers against her eyelids, trying to think. She'd have to talk to Declan, make sure this never happened again. But first, she needed to help Alex.

"Did you, um, bring some blood with you?" she asked.

Alex shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. "It's gone," he said.

"....What happened?"

"You can ask that guy in there if you want. I'll be okay, though, I can drink from some human, it'll be fine."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Well-" An idea hit her. She twisted her lip, trying to decide how to phrase it. "You could always- I mean, I have blood. And you wouldn't need a lot, right? I mean- this is simpler?"

It was like her tongue had forgotten how to move. Camila knew blood held a lot of significance in vampire culture. It was a food source, but a willing exchange of shared blood was something different, private, generally reserved for only close friends, family on occasions, and lovers.

Close friends. They counted, right?

Alex stared at her. "You know that's kind of..." He paused, trying to find the word. "...personal?"

"That's fine. We're friends, right? We can handle personal."

His left eye was practically swollen shut, only a thin slice of blue iris visible. His other eye stayed fixed on her. Like he couldn't look away.

"Okay," he said finally. "That would be a lot easier. Thank you."

Camila nodded jerkily. Her hands felt awkward at her sides, aimless, and she tried to find a place for them. It wasn't a big deal. He was a friend she was helping out, nothing more. She cleared her throat and gestured to the door.

"I guess we should-"

"The meeting, we should probably-"

They spoke at the same time. Camila laughed. She opened the door for him, trying to ignore the way he moved: slowly, careful to avoid ripping his skin even more.

"After you," she said, with as much cheer as she could manage.

So... that happened! 

Question: Are you a dog or a cat person? 

Thank you for reading! If you tap the star, Spoon will get an extra treat!

-Harley