“Come along, friends,” Morgana says. And with a fang poking over her lip, she grins at me, and the sourness evaporates. “The show is about to begin.”
Chapter 8
Darius
Howmuchhaveyoutold them?
I know that’s on Amber’s mind right this second. I sense it as much as I can sense her heartbeat—as can every other predator in the room. Life can’t resume unless I display commitment to my study. It’ll just be a quick prick and we’ll get back on with the usual fodder.
Morgana can be so goddamn theatrical sometimes.
As it stands, I know I can’t deny her influence. She’s from the Draconias Clan, an ancestry stretching back to the damn bat caves. Proud creatures they are of their heritage and highly convincing for any supernatural creature. Showmanship is her lifeforce.
It’s why she feeds on celebrities.
While she tends to the audience, Drake creates a space, a sort of stage for my feeding. Amber looks utterly lost in herself. She’s already checked out. That’ll certainly damage the data.
Though if I’m being honest, that’s already something I’ve accounted for. An audience will surely have an observer effect.
Drake procures a notepad from his robes. Bless him for wanting to keep things analog. “She’s going to ruin the test. Just do your best.”
Shebeing Morgana, of course.
I offer him a rare smile. It’s small, unobtrusive. “The first test never counts, my friend.”
Soft murmurs circulate the ballroom. How strange we must appear to outsiders, our fashions a blend of old and new. Truly, I’ve never cared much for more modern spins, but they’re growing on me. I’m fond of it all. I adore the way we mesh them together, creating new visual worlds to enjoy. It’s partly Amber’s fault too. She’s successfully blended things I didn’t think could be blended.
The feeling culminates inside me. I gaze at Amber, extending my hand and, along with it, that fascination. I’m curious to see what she picks up, if anything.
She licks her lips, eyes downcast, throat bobbing from repeated swallowing. When she steps forward, she takes my hand, her free hand clutching the bosom of her gown. Those little digits are going to rip out those darling ribbons. She must have spent ages on them.
Why should I care?
Oh, but that’s part of the test as well, isn’t it? Understandingherreaction tomyfeelings is as much a variable to be measured. Whatever is happening already has Drake in a tizzy, his pencil scraping the page as if carving the word of an interdimensional traveler on stone.
The tips of her fingers drift over my digits, sliding like a skeleton key into a lock as her palm joins mine. I clasp her hand, pull her toward me, gently cock her head. She’s in some sort of trance, absorbed by the sight of my costume, eyelids completely relaxed.
Another round of whispers drifts through the room. It’s like the roar of white noise coming from the ocean, a steady hum of ancient to modern energy crackling the air. A group of bloodbags from the far corner observes. I sense their hearts unifying as I expose my fangs.
That’s one universal reaction we understand deeply—bloodbagsdesireto be fed upon. Once bonded with their fangs, they have an insatiable need to provide. Whoever developed such a thing, whether Gosd or alien or energetic material, did so with the greatest precision.
We never had to hunt our prey. They came to us willingly. So long as we bonded.
My fangs pierce her flesh. She sucks air between her teeth, lungs expanding with the first pull, then practically melts like wax under a hot lamp.
It’s like always.
Save for the tickle in the back of my mind.
I’m aware of those around me. I can monitor Amber’s vitals easily from this vantage point, and I carefully draw back my fangs, leaving only the wounds to feed me. I’ve had enough this evening. I don’t need much more.
The feeding lasts no more than a few minutes. I don’t see the point in agitating my bloodbag further—especially with her heart pumping more than necessary into my mouth. Silence echoes through the ballroom as I dab my lips with a napkin.
I raise my hand. “Thank you for your patronage, friends. Enjoy yourselves. Feed freely. Be merry.”
Morgana snorts. “Unlike you.”
Drake squints up from his pad, pupils dilating and contracting excessively as he studies Amber. His tongue pokes between his lips. His concentration creases his brows and forces his nostrils to flare.