Shit. Do vampires even use wallpaper?
“Stupid question,” I mutter to myself. “Not relevant, Mikka.”
The auction house contrasts strikingly with the rough tunnel outside. The ceiling is so high that it fades away into the shadows as chandeliers plunge low over the crowd. Grand pillars and expensive chairs dot the marble floor. Every wall is a patchwork of intricately carved molding and ancient tapestries, with the occasional heavy oak door breaking up the pattern.
On the stage are twelve pedestals. People—humans—stand on eight of them.
A woman strikes a sensual pose, putting her neck on display. Another one stands stiffly, staring off unblinkingly at a shadowy part of the ceiling. I figure the first woman watches too many movies and the second one has too many gambling debts. I write them both off as idiots and do my damnedest to mimic the energy of the sultry woman.
A female vampire stands at the foot of the stage. I make a beeline toward her, and when she sees me coming, she holds out her hand to me with a smile.
“Welcome,” she purrs. “Such a lovely tribute. Choose your pedestal, darling, and put on a show. It’s a great honor to be chosen.”
“I know,” I breathe, pitching my voice a little higher and softer than usual. “Thank you so, so much.”
Ugh. Fuck.
Suppress the shudder, Mikka.
I keep the awestruck expression firmly in place on my features all the way to the pedestal, subtly turning my head this way and that to get a closer look at the others as I walk. I’m surprised at how many tears I see on more than a few faces. It can’t be that hard to avoid this place, can it? How are there so many people—men and women alike—who have ended up here against their will?
I shove the question out of my mind before the potential answers can make my blood boil. That path leads to exposure. I have to embody the fangirl, exude the fangirl, be one with the fangirl.
A particularly ugly vampire in the crowd catches my attention as I step onto my pedestal and smooth down my dress’s heavy skirt. He’s got a scarred, pock-marked face, but I force myself to wink at him and stroke my throat, shoving my disgust deep into the recesses of my mind.
Maybe I shove the disgust down a little too far, because when I cut my gaze away from the scar-faced vamp, the next man I look at actually looks attractive.
No, scratch that.
He looks fucking gorgeous.
He’s standing by the door near the back of the crowd, watching everything play out before him. His broad shoulders and tan skin, thick brown hair, intense dark eyes make him look like the kind of vampire all the fangirls fantasize about—the kind with otherworldly beauty, the kind who can’t possibly be human because no human could look that fucking sexy. A nose ring glitters on his face, and he’s got his thick arms crossed over his chest, his features set into a stoic scowl.
I must stare at him for too long, taken aback by his appearance, because he turns his head suddenly, catching my gaze. Our eyes meet, and his brows draw inward a little. His scowl softens.
My heart does a strange thud-thud in my chest, as if it tried to fit in an extra beat out of nowhere.
What the hell?
Adrenaline surges through me, panic not far after it, and it takes all my self-control not to react with a physical jerk.
Keep it together, Mikka. Maintain eye contact, maintain goopy expression, and analyze.
There are plenty of possible reasons for my strange reaction to this man.
I’m in a dangerous place surrounded by vampires with no way out, for one thing. That’s extremely fucking stressful. I’ve been doing nothing but fight and hunt for the last month… maybe two.
When was the last time I even got laid?
I can’t remember, and that’s a bad thing. I learned a long time ago that the best way to keep a clear head and manage the stress that comes with this job is to have sex at least twice a month, preferably more. But I’ve been too busy hunting bloodsuckers recently to be in the mood to hunt down a good lay.
And the man standing by the wall is objectively attractive. He was human, once upon a probably very long time ago. And if he were still human, he’s the kind of guy who would be very much my type.
That’s all it is. Simple physical attraction.
Now that I’m sure I’m not being subtly seduced by this surreal environment or some kind of vampire pheromone or something, I relax into my role a little bit more. I flirt with the vampires nearest to me and show off my neck, letting my earrings caress my skin as I tilt my head. The moves are familiar and come easily to me. It’s not the first time I’ve teased a vampire, although it is the first time I’ve done it without the intention of immediately killing the damned thing.
After a few moments, a vampire in a sleek, deep red tux jumps gracefully onto the stage with a microphone in his hand.
“Good evening, everyone,” he purrs. “We have a lovely selection for you tonight. A stunning array of tributes just dying to be chosen.”
His word choice sends a ripple of chuckles through the crowd. Gross. With his microphone still held loosely in his hand, he turns and scans the stage behind him. To my horror, his eyes land on me immediately. A grin spreads across his face, and he walks over, stalking toward me like the predator he is.
“Hello, my succulent little friend. Let’s tell our audience about you, shall we? What’s your name?”
“Darcy,” I say, putting a flirty lilt into my voice. There’s no fucking way I’m telling him my
