My stomach curdles as the vampire laps at the pulse in her throat, then sinks his teeth into her. Her hard gaze softens a little, her hand reaching up to caress the back of his neck as he drinks from her. My skin prickles from nape to toes.
I expected her to remain stiff and disinterested throughout the feed, but she touches him like a lover.
Snatching up my fork, I turn away from the sight. I already got inexplicably turned on once tonight watching a vampire feed, and if it happens again, I think I might actually lose my fucking mind.
I’m still keeping half an eye on Nathan as I eat a few bites of the food in front of me. Nobody approaches him, though a lot of vampires—male and female alike—have taken other tributes from his table to drink from. He looks about as disinterested in his meal as I am. Or just as stubborn.
Actually, come to think of it, he hasn’t been here that long. It’s entirely possible that he still has meth coursing through his veins, killing his appetite. Hell, the vampires might even be supplying it for him. I can’t imagine they would want to deal with a tribute going through withdrawals.
But would they want to drink from him if he’s still got drugs in his system? Maybe some would, but I bet there are purist vampires who like to “keep their temple clean” or whatever shit they say. So if he is still getting the remnants of it all out of his system, maybe that will keep him safe for a little while.
“We haven’t met.”
A voice at my right shoulder draws my attention, reminding me to focus on my own survival as much as Nathan’s. I tense, fighting the instinct to tear the vampire to pieces, but when I glance at him, I realize he isn’t talking to me. Chelsea looks up from her salad, her eyes wide and frightened.
“I’m Armand,” the vampire says smoothly, reaching his hand out to her. “And you are?”
“Ch-Chelsea,” she stutters, glancing at her half-finished salad with a look of regret.
He chuckles softly. “Don’t worry, love. I’m not too proud to be seen sitting at the tribute table. Enjoy your meal—while I enjoy mine.”
My eyes flare wide before I can stop them. Oh God. He isn’t going to—?
Yes. Yes, he is. He sits in the empty chair beside her, leaning close and running his hands and tongue all over her neck. She’s still holding her fork, but if he thinks she’s actually going to be able to eat while he feeds on her, he’s more batshit crazy or psychotic than most of these bloodsuckers. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Ignoring her salad completely now, she stares at the ceiling, as if trying to escape to another place entirely in her mind. But when he finally leans in closer, setting his fangs into her neck as he bites her, she sucks in a breath and then moans.
I tell myself she’s moaning in pain, but good fucking god, she sounds almost as aroused as the girl who came on Bastian’s lap. This is her first time being bitten, and she looked nervous as hell a moment ago, but now her eyelids are fluttering, her jaw hanging open a little as her body undulates softly as if seeking something to rub against.
Forcing myself not to react to any of it, I sit stiffly, arms down at my sides, trying to look as bland and unappetizing as possible. It seems like it’s working. The predator beside me doesn’t even seem to be aware that I exist.
The courses keep coming, each more enticing than the last, but after a few bites of each, I lose my appetite—mainly because with every new course, another girl is pulled from the table. The music is light and festive, a celebration of death and dying, and with every passing moment the smell of blood and lust gets stronger. I get passed over again and again, but I still feel eyes on me.
Someone is watching me.
It’s not Nathan anymore, thank fuck. His gaze is locked in curious horror on the slender female vampire straddling one of his table mates, her face buried deep in his neck.
But still, the agonizing, relentless pressure of someone’s focus sits on my shoulders, making my skin prickle.
Reluctantly, I glance up at the high table. As soon as I do, all the food I ate turns to cement in my stomach.
Dammit. Of course the prince is still looking at me. He suspects something, I just know it.
But even as I lock eyes with Bastian, the prickling sensation on my skin doesn’t go away. Someone else is looking at me, not just the prince. I turn my head the other way, peering past the pale but happy-looking Chelsea, and meet the gaze of the glowering bouncer punk I spotted at the auction.
I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the darkness of the auction house, but beneath the glittering chandeliers, I can see that his irises are a deep, dark blue, almost black. His gaze burns like fire, and he doesn’t look away when he sees me looking at him. His expression doesn’t change at all, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. I wish I could read his mind, but I think I know what’s on it.
Dinner à la me.
I tear my attention away from him, anxious to break the too-intense staring contest, but there’s nothing to look at in this entire room but vampires
