It was shortly after sunset when Veronica realized Sean wasn’t going to call.

  She hailed a taxi to Dark Sepulcher. The warm weather seemed to draw the inhabitants from their homes and out to the clubs and bars to enjoy the Minneapolis social night life. Before leaving her apartment, the weatherman predicted a slight chance of rain after midnight.

  Veronica didn’t let the meteorologist on the six o’clock news deter her invite. The short cab ride felt like hours to her, and she stared at the tiny dots of water collecting on the windows. In her head, she reviewed the different scenarios of what she was going to expect. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe Lambert personally wanted to kill her. Maybe the whole meeting was conjured up by Alexis and Remy to get her where they wanted her.

  She thought of what Sean said. Maybe going back wasn’t her best option.

  However, this opportunity gave her the chance to question her mother’s disappearance, and she accepted the risks. She took a deep breath and exhaled gently. If things didn’t go as planned, she had a backup. She patted a small wooden stake concealed in the inside pocket of her brown jacket. She wasn’t going into Dark Sepulcher without it.

  She arrived at a line of club-goers waiting along the wall to get inside. She walked past them all, grabbing the attention of some and receiving a gallant stare from others. She approached the front door and showed the bouncers her invitation.

  “Right this way.” The bouncer handed the invitation back to her. She followed him through the front door, past the black curtain, and into Dark Sepulcher. They cut through crowds of drunken people dancing to the thumping music. The bouncer forcefully pushed people out of the way to create a clear path.

  They made their way near the coat check in the back corner, and he stopped in front of a black door that slowly swung open. Alexis stood in the doorway, her arms planted firmly on her hips and with her lips extended in a wide grin.

  “She’s expected,” the bouncer said to her. He walked away, and Alexis continued to stare at him until he disappeared into the crowd.

  “Feeling better?” She flicked her long, black ponytail to her back. Her short, black mini-skirt and a small T-shirt showed off her curvaceous figure. Small scars covered her upper chest and her arms. “We haven’t been formally introduced.” She held out her hand.

  “No, we haven’t,” Veronica replied.

  Alexis paused, her handshake completely ignored. “I’m sorry about that.” Alexis sniffed around her face.

  Veronica stepped back.

  “You smell sweet.” Her eyes fluttered in response.

  She watched Alexis catch herself by stepping back.

  “Sorry. The urge to sink my teeth into your flesh is a little too strong to handle.”

  Discomposed, Veronica covered her neck. “I guess I’m nothing but just a meal with legs to you.”

  “Somewhat. You’re little miss untouchable, for now.”

  Veronica adjusted her jacket and in a quick second, Alexis sighted a circular tip of a wooden object.

  “What’s this?” Her movement was quick and she reached for her jacket, pulling out the wooden stake. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” She analyzed the sharp piece of wood before tossing it aside.

  Veronica kept note that her movements were quick, just like the Deamhan.

  “Well.” Alexis rubbed the corners of her mouth in an unhurried motion. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a little blood here and there.” Her eyes drifted to the darken balcony above. “He might, though.” She turned and began walking, disappearing into the dark hallway.

  Veronica wasn’t eager to follow her. She felt Alexis’ distaste for her, and it thickened the air around her. But she couldn’t ignore the moment and her need to take it.

  For Mom, she thought as she stepped into the shadowed hallway.

  “This way, researcher.” Alexis turned and motioned for her to follow.

  Veronica held her arms to the side, using the walls as her guide. The dark foyer gave off an odor of iron. The smooth walls rubbed against her fingertips. The little information she obtained from The Brotherhood about vampires didn’t mention anything about what to expect when a researcher finds themselves in the presence of a vampire. She knew that Deamhan relished in torture chambers and blood baths. Maybe vampires did too.

  Her eyes slowed to focus, and she was able to distinguish the outline of Alexis’ body in front of her. Ahead, a loose hanging bulb from the low ceiling flickered. The path split into two flights of stairs; one headed up to a red lit hallway, and the other down into obscurity.

  “This way.” Alexis ascended the stairs. “Our private rooms are down those stairs.”

  “Private rooms or torture chambers?” she asked as she followed.

  Alexis turned and snickered inauspiciously. “Private rooms.”

  They reached the top steps. A red incandescent light now brightened the hallway. A long red carpet covered the floor. Along the walls, painted pictures of landscapes and people hung in perfect symmetry. Veronica looked at small, circular red sofas positioned in the middle of the hallway. The faint thumping of music vibrated the walls. Again, Alexis motioned her to follow. The area had an elegant vibe compared to the chaos happening below. Apparently, Lambert was a sophisticated vamp.

  “Where are we going?” Now feeling undaunted, she questioned their route.

  “Here.” Alexis approached a thick brown door decorated in carved circular etchings resembling ancient calligraphy. She knocked then turned the knob slowly. She pushed the door open and stood aside, allowing Veronica to enter.

  The flames of white candles stationed on wooden ledges throughout the room gave the space a disenchanted glow. The air smelled of Indian incense. An immense glass window towered over the dance floor with a thick red curtain draped over its edges. A glass bowl filled with grapes sat on a glass table arranged between two black leather couches covered in red and blue velvet pillows. A black curtain blocked the far wall of the room. Veronica awed at the room’s splendor. It was absolutely beautiful and not what she expected of a vampire.

  It was far from stereotypical. She expected to see filth and remains of dead or dying victims scattered throughout. She’d prepared herself for the smell of blood and decomposing flesh covered in pure orifices of human decadence. There was none of that. Unlike a Deamhan, Lambert valued luxury over secrecy. Her curiosity surrounding him grew.

  “Would you like a drink?” Alexis walked over to the bar near the black curtain.

  “No.”

  She grabbed a glass from the counter and pulled back on the tassel. The curtain drifted to the left, revealing an unsettling image.

  Veronica gasped, covering her mouth. Two wooden beams in the form of a cross held a woman who looked to be near death. Metal bracelets covered both her wrists and ankles, keeping her stationed on the cross with only a small, wooden platform for her bound feet. Totally naked, bite marks, welts, and other bruises peppered her skin. Bloodied thread sewn her lips shut. Her eyes remained closed with her head tilted to the side.

  She watched Alexis press a white button located on the wall. The woman’s body jerked. Her mouth opened slightly, and she let out a muted scream. The metal bracelets constricted and blood seeped from a tiny hole in them, dripping to another opening located on the bottom platform, beneath the woman’s feet. She pressed the button again and the woman wailed. The flow of blood continued, and Alexis placed her cup beneath the window near the floor, under a small spout where it emptied. She stopped pressing the button and gently sipped the blood from her cup.

  “Ah.” She snickered at Veronica’s horrified response.

  Underneath the bruises and dried blood, the woman looked oddly familiar. She’d seen her before in Dark Sepulcher.

  The curtain whisked back into place, hiding the malicious view. Suddenly the environment didn’t seem as luxurious as Veronica believed it to be. It masked the dark side of Dark Sepulcher and it gave a fooled sense of contentment to its victims before they were devoured. Just like the human woman behind the curtain. This was the Dark Sepulcher Sean warned her about.

  Alexis walked past her and toward the door.

  “Is this what I came here for?” Veronica’s question did little in aggravating the devious vamp.

  “Who? Her?” There was no remorse in Alexis’ voice. Still grasping the cup in her hand, she licked her lips. “She’s just another bipedal on the food chain. Like you.” She closed the door behind her.

  Veronica walked to the couch, slowing sliding into the cushioned seats. She buried her head in her hands to rid the image of the woman from her mind. She thought of the pain of sharp incisions on her wrists and ankles every time that button was pressed, her wounds kept open and being kept alive for as long as Alexis wished.

  Being a witness to another human’s suffering tampered with Veronica’s reason in accepting her invite. Feeling powerless to stop the woman’s pain and suffering—was this going to be the norm? She mentally prepared herself for this but still the woman’s plight haunted her.

  “Focus, Veronica,” she whispered to herself.

  Her hands tottered slightly and she grabbed a grape from the glass bowl. The urge to run out of the room to the nearest police station flew from her thoughts. They wouldn’t believe her anyway.

  She popped the grape in her mouth and took another from the bowl. She placed her hands underneath her legs to control her shaking. Her eyes scanned the room’s decorations: a huge flat screen television, cordless phones, a DVD player, computers, printers, a microwave, massive stereo equipment—all overshadowed by artifacts littering the walls.

  An ancient double battle mace weapon, complete with two mace heads covered in long spikes laid next to a desktop computer. Near the flat screen television she saw a chain mail armor suspended above a long table covered in a red silk table cover. A warrior’s helmet sat in the middle, surrounded by small knives and miniature candle holders.

  Hanging above the computer was an old oil painting of a man in chain mail armor and a helmet. His deep, dark brown eyes beamed at her. His brown hair fell gracefully over his shoulders. He sat in a chair decorated with jewels and small carved statues of dragons. She stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to the glass window. Below, the club seemed alive with movement. The thick and insulated glass kept out the music, yet it thumped to every sound of bass.

  “Veronica Austin.” A voice called out behind her.

  She turned around facing the man behind the voice. He shifted his fingers through his thick brown hair. He wore a black turtleneck shirt with black pants. The candlelight tricked her eyes, and she observed his irises changing from brown to hazel. His prominent jaw line and his pointed nose completed his smooth and seemingly ageless face. Her eyes shifted to the portrait, then back to him. It was him but from a different time period. The picture didn’t do his guise any justice.

  “It’s a one-way mirror,” the male announced. “Don’t worry. No one can see you up here.”

  She looked back at the mirror. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “Depends,” the male replied. “I’m Lambert.” He bowed his head slightly. In his hand, he held a chalice similar to Alexis’. “That picture is of my other life. Not the best portrait of me, but I prize it nonetheless.” He walked over to the couch. “Are the grapes good?”

  “They’re good. Thanks.”

  “Well, I thought about getting more for my human guests.” He studied her stiff and rigid posture. He lowered himself on the couch. “I still remember what good grapes tasted like.” He sniffed the bowl. “Not that it’d do me any good anyway, right?”

  She pulled out the invitation from her pocket. “Is this a trick?” She tossed it to him.

  “No.” He caught the note and placed it in his pocket. “I sent it to you for a reason.”

  “I’m here.” She walked over to the couch.

  His face crinkled, and a wide smile appeared. “That you are.”

  “So, you’re a vampire.”

  “Yes.” He crossed his legs. “I thought you were aware of this.”

  “Alexis’ actions confirmed it for me.”

  “Ahh, Alexis.” Lambert tilted his head to the ceiling. “My little darling. My soul mate. You know, she was my minion before I turned her. You do know what a minion is?”

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  She nodded, aware of the generic term. “Minions are human servants who are owned by a Deamhan. But you’re not a Deamhan, you’re a vampire.”

  “True, but I couldn’t pass up the need for a minion of my own.”

  What The Brotherhood knew of minions Sean passed onto Veronica. She knew them to be extremely dangerous but very useful to the Deamhan. Like servants, they did whatever their Deamhan owners wanted them to do. They ran errands, watched other minions, and kept tabs on researchers in the city. Some went as far as killing for their owners with the promise of being sired after years of loyal service. Their numbers increased in recent years due to the overwhelming popularization of the vampire in American culture. They jumped at the chance at becoming immortal, even if it meant killing other humans.

  “I think their Dictum prohibited human servants unless it was necessary for the survival of their species.”

  “I’m a vampire. I don’t care for their Dictum.” He waved at her reply. “And apparently, they don’t either. Please sit.”

  She hesitantly lowered herself on the couch across from him.

  “I love the term ‘minion.’ I wouldn’t call her that to her face; she’d stake me.” He smiled devilishly. “But enough about my darling; what about you, researcher?”

  “I’m not a researcher. I’ve attempted to make that clear.”

  “Not everyone thinks so. You successfully hid your thoughts from Remy. No human affiliated with The Brotherhood is able to do that. And you came here armed with a stake.”

  “It was for my own protection.”

  “What if you miss the heart of a Deamhan? Do you trust your aim researcher?”

  “You know I don’t have to aim for their heart to incapacitate them but as for a vampire . . .”

  He stared at her and tilted his head slightly. “Something you learned from that obstructive organization you claim you aren’t a part of?” He pushed the bowl of grapes toward her. “Did they teach you how to lie as well?”

  “I’m not lying,” she replied in a raised voice. He pushed her into a position that she didn’t want to be in. Instead of interviewing him, he was interrogating her.

  “Yet you know things that most humans don’t know.” He stood to his feet and walked over to the black curtain.

  Before he pulled the tassel back, Veronica said in a shaky voice, “P-please. . .”

  He smiled innocently. “Please?”

  “Do you have to do that now?”

  “Do what?”

  “Eat.”

  He dropped the tassel. “No, I guess not.” He paced back to the couch. “I’m sorry about Alexis. Dealing with the Deamhan daily is making her cranky.” He sat on the couch. “As you know, they’re a rough bunch.”

  “Like vampires.”

  “Yes, like vampires.” He huffed and smiled. “I own Dark Sepulcher. I cater to the Deamhan and vampires alike. It makes my venue more—how can I say—appreciated? I don’t discriminate. Everyone’s money is green to me, even yours.”

  Veronica gazed into his empty and soulless eyes. “But I didn’t come here for that.”

  “So why did you come here in the first place?”

  She opened her mouth, but she found herself speechless. This is it, she thought. Now or never. She didn’t lose sight of him and she watched him rub his hands together, feeling his rugged stare while he waited for her explanation.

  “Curious about our kind?” he suggested.

  “No, not even close.”

  “You were probing my venue,” he affirmed.

  “I wasn’t.” She paused. Yes, I was, she thought briefly, before relaxing her thoughts then suddenly realized there was no need to hide them. Vampires were incapable of reading minds, but they were good at deciphering body language.

  She continued. “This is the only place in Minneapolis that vampires and Deamhan socialize.”

  “And the only place in Minneapolis that has two for ones for only a dollar and fifty cents.” His gaze didn’t quiver. “Oh c’mon, researcher, you have to do better than that.”

  “Like I’ve said before, I’m not a researcher.”

  “Then why are you here?” His voice rose, and he leaned forward. “And who sent you here?” His voice shook her and she slightly jumped back.

  She gathered her wits. “I have a couple of questions to ask you, Lambert.”

  “I ask the questions, researcher.”

  “Would you stop calling me that? I’m not a researcher.” Her voice screeched. No way would she tell him about Sean and her father. They were irrelevant. But she was curious about how much he really knew about her.

  He was losing his patience. His eyes narrowed and she caught a glimpse of his fangs that had now dropped.

  Veronica took a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone important to me.”

  “Well.” He leaned back. “That’s all you had to say.”

  “I’m looking for my mother. Her name is Caroline Austin.”

  “Are you?” He placed his arms on the back of the couch.

  “My mother and my father worked for The Brotherhood, and the Minnesota Chapter that disbanded right after she disappeared.” She waited for his response, but he remained quiet. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to her.”

  “Your parents were researchers?”

  Veronica nodded.

  “And you’re not.” He slowed his speech, emphasizing each word that came from his mouth.

  “I was raised in The Brotherhood because of my parents,” she said slowly. “But I didn’t follow in their footsteps. I’m here on my own.”

  He smiled. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, my curious sleuth.” He clapped his hands, and she jumped at his odd behavior. “You’re here to find your researcher mother.”

  She sighed in relief. She could move on from defending herself to learning about her mother’s disappearance, or so she thought.

  “You say you’re not from The Brotherhood, you’re not a researcher, and we all know you’re not a minion. This just makes you a nosy human who knows too much.”

  “Look.” She slammed her hands on the glass table. She immediately regretted her outburst, and she lifted her hands and stepped back. For the first time, she wished vampires could read her thoughts. “Do you know anything about my mother?”

  “Sassy.” He grinned. “I like it. Have another grape, my dear.” He pushed the bowl of grapes to her.

  Her body grew stiff, and her hands were tightly curled into fists. “Do you know her?”

  His eyes scanned her, again making her feel uncomfortable. “Your heartbeat is fast. I can smell your sweat. Are you angry?”

  “What?” Dumbfounded, Veronica shook her head.

  “Alexis was right. You smell so sweet, like cotton candy.” He smiled and this time his fangs showed. “Please, eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she replied. “Please, do you know anything?”

  He exhaled. “As you might already know, The Brotherhood hasn’t been in Minneapolis for decades, so I doubt your mother is lurking around. If she was, it would’ve made vampire headlines a while ago.”

  There was something unique about him, which she couldn’t figure out. His face held a smirk only noticeable when she looked into his eyes. His witty and quick comments. He was a thinker, and from the prosperity of Dark Sepulcher, she surmised that he was also a good businessman. She couldn’t believe he didn’t know anything about her mother. The Deamhan and vampires knew all researchers in their cities. She suppressed her doubts and began to explain.

  “I’m not here to interrupt your lifestyle. I don’t like coming to Dark Sepulcher as much as your customers don’t like seeing me here. I know this place was here when The Brotherhood was here. I also know that you’re the type of person who knows everything that occurs in Minneapolis.”

  “Never heard of her.” He smirked. “But I do remember when the researchers left.” He placed his right elbow on the edge of the couch, in a comfortable position to think. “You come here in need of answers . . . why don’t you ask The Brotherhood?”

  His attack made her a little hesitant to reply.

  “They didn’t tell you, or they couldn’t tell you?” He moved his head to the left and rubbed his chin.

  Veronica lowered her eyes to the floor. “They wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Interesting.” Lambert nodded. “And your father?”

  “We aren’t on speaking terms.”

  “Your father is still a member?”

  “This is not about my father. This is about my mother.”

  “Answer the damn question!” Lambert jumped to his feet at breakneck speed. He loomed over her, his eyes dilated and his mouth opened. Veronica couldn’t help notice that his sharp canines extended further than even the Ramanga twins.

  She gripped the side of the couch, taken back. The couch’s springs dug into her rear. “Yes, yes, he’s still a member.”

  He stepped back and closed his mouth. His fangs retreated and he straightened his shirt. “Excuse me. Sometimes I do get carried away. But a daughter at odds with her father. How cliché.” He drummed his fingers together. “And what would your father think of his daughter associating with vampires?”

  “I think I made a mistake coming here.” She disregarded his question. “It’s obvious you don’t know anything about my mother.” She stood up from the couch and turned to walk to the door when Lambert opened his mouth to speak.

  “Your father is the president of the Midwest Division.”

  His words stopped her in her tracks. She turned and watched him stand. She expected him to lash out, to bite her and suck every ounce of blood from her body just in time for Alexis to appear at the door and finish her off. Instead he stood, watching her. This revealed piece of information turned his smirk into a defined smile, and she felt a need to defend herself.

  “I know how it sounds.”

  He raised his hand to interrupt. “I do admire your courage to waltz into my venue and start digging for info, but I suggest you question your father about such matters.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I suggest you find a way.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if there was another way.”

  “There is always another way.” He approached her. “You don’t know the resources your father has at his disposal.” He threw his head back in an earsplitting laughter, which caught her off guard. “My dear, you really don’t know much, do you.”

  Veronica folded her arms in displeasure. “Apparently I don’t,” she said in a monotone voice, “so why don’t you tell me?”

  He reached out his hand to touch her cheek and she moved back. “Humans are so cocky, so authoritative these days.” He lowered his hand. “And so clueless.” His eyes attenuated themselves on her. “You’d make a great vampire. I can see you committing many talented atrocities.”

  “I don’t have a desire to become a vampire.”

  “A moment alone with me and I’ll have you begging me to be your maker.”

  “No thank you.” She held her ground, refusing to show any signs of fear. Vampires craved it. So did Deamhan.

  “Are you just gonna’ keep on trying to scare me?” she asked. “Or are you going to tell me what you know?”

  Lambert’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “Sure.” He sighed, releasing the last of his laughter. “Have you heard of a Deamhan by the name of Lucius?”

  The name didn’t sound familiar to her.

  “He was the oldest living Lugat in Minneapolis during the time your parents were in the city. He kept order and made sure that all Deamhan followed the Dictum. He disappeared around the time the Chapter left. Most Deamhan believe he was murdered by his offspring, Kei.” His eyes began to dance in excitement while he continued the story. “And many Deamhan believe The Brotherhood was involved. His offspring is now the most hated and dangerous Lugat in the city.”

  Sean didn’t mention anything about Lucius and Kei to her and the documents he provided her didn’t mention him at all. Her eyes lit up to the new information, but she didn’t know what they meant in regards to her mother’s disappearance.

  “How do I know you’re just not making this up?” She questioned Lambert.

  “You don’t.” He held out his hands in front of him as if he waited for her to embrace him. “But if I’m lying, strike me down.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Is this Kei person still in Minneapolis?”

  “That bastard has never left.” He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Can’t blame him. Can you imagine your reputation if you killed your all powerful sire? Lucius wasn’t any Deamhan; he’s one of the oldest on this continent. He was an Ancient. He was respected.”

  An Ancient? Ancients didn’t live in Minneapolis. Why would they? She continued her questioning. “Why would they believe The Brotherhood had anything to do with it?”

  Lambert gave her a look of suspicion. “Are you defending them?”

  She quickly replied no. She couldn’t defend an organization that didn’t explain why they left the city without her mother, an organization that claimed to know nothing. Now she knew why things became unstable when they left. It didn’t match the story her father told her and what Sean was telling her. They didn’t leave because the Deamhan were out of control. They left because they had involved themselves in the Deamhan’s personal affairs.

  “Lucius was no ordinary Deamhan. He ruled the Lugat in the city with an iron fist. He kept other Deamhan in line. No Deamhan and vampire were strong enough to take him out.” Lambert paused. “But a Deamhan with the backing of The Brotherhood . . .”

  “So you’re telling me that my father worked with Kei to kill Lucius?”

  “Your father’s organization placed that lunatic on a pedestal.” He sneered. “Why? No one knows. Now Kei summons his Gatherings for the riff raff who slither from their dens. He kills any Deamhan, vampire, or human who stands in his way. He burns sanctuaries for his own pleasure. He’s violent and uncontrollable.” He paused. “Don’t get me wrong, I like a little violence in my life, but they’re creating unwanted attention and that’s the last thing we vampires and Deamhan need from the humans.”

  Veronica found his descriptions of Kei antipathetic and full of distaste. He hated him more than he hated her being inside Dark Sepulcher. “What kind of benefit would The Brotherhood get for helping Kei?”

  He shrugged. “Again, that’s a question you should ask your father. What I do know is that Lucius is gone and Kei rules in his place.”

  She didn’t know if Lucius or Kei had anything to do with her mother’s disappearance, but it had to be of some importance if Lambert was telling her. What he told her didn’t seem far from the truth and if what he said was true (and she trusted him as much as she trusted her father), it exposed a level of The Brotherhood her father purposely hid from her.

  She whispered, “So where can I find Kei?”

  “You don’t want to find Kei,” Lambert said. “Believe me, human. You don’t.”

  A rush of unwanted adrenaline pumped through her, increasing with anger toward her father. She wanted Lambert to tell her more. “I’m not leaving Minneapolis until I know what happened to my mother and if I have to find Kei to get answers, then I have to look for him.”

  Lambert shook his head. “Stubborn, human.” His eyes drifted from amusement to annoyance. “You wouldn’t survive another week looking for Kei. Your protection status won’t help you.”

  Protected. It was the second time she’d heard that word. She didn’t know exactly what it meant.

  She heard a loud grumble echo from his stomach.

  He walked over to the table grabbing his cup, and he continued to the window. He glared at the crowd below. “Go and don’t come back.”

  “What?”

  “Go and don’t come back,” he repeated. “Your protection can only take you so far.”

  She approached him. “I keep hearing that I’m protected. What does that mean?”

  “It means exactly what it means.” He patted his toned stomach. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m hungry.”

  She gulped loud enough for the noise to echo. She knew the vampires became extremely unpredictable when it came down to a good, easy meal. If he attacked her, she’d know how to deal with it, but there wasn’t any sunlight around nor any sharp objects. She missed her stake.

  He grabbed a bottle of bourbon from behind the desk. He poured himself a shot and he quickly downed it. Like Deamhan, vampires were capable of consuming liquids and digesting human food, opting for regurgitating it later. Alcoholic beverages proved necessary for the vamps who liked being in a drunken state, even if the effect was not as potent as it would be in humans.

  “Relax,” Lambert said in an impatient voice. “You’re not dinner.” He looked at the black curtain.

  “Is it because I’m protected and that you can’t hurt me?” she questioned again.

  “You wouldn’t be protected if you didn’t belong to anyone.” He slightly turned his head over his shoulder. “Someone, a Deamhan, has claimed you as their own.”

  “But I don’t belong to anybody—”

  He raised his hand to interrupt her. “Be careful where you tread, my dear.” He slowly lowered his hand. “It would be wise to belong to somebody in this city, especially if you place yourself in their world. And even so, being protected doesn’t mean much.” He walked over to the curtain. “If Kei wanted to, he’d have his followers kill you.” His voice was deafening to her ears. With every step he took, his voice grew louder and filled with anger. “He kills without remorse. He bathes in tubs of blood and flesh.” He stopped for a moment, in thought. “That sounds pleasing: a bloody bubble bath.” He quickly returned to his statement. “He’ll kill you on sight or maybe make you his bitch.” He stopped in his tracks; his eyes had widened, and he balled his fists, breathing deeply. “Now, what kind of morals would I have if I just told you where you can find him? It’s like signing your death warrant.” His voice seemed cold as ice.

  “Morals? Vampires don’t have morals.”

  He wrapped his hand around the tassel. “We like to believe we do.” He pulled back and pushed the white button. She looked toward the door, seeing Alexis standing in the doorway. She heard the victim whimper and moan. The horrid contraption went to work again, and the grips tightened. Blood flowed from the spout and into his cup.

  He walked over to Veronica, holding the blood filled cup. He closed his eyes and sniffed the liquid, reopening them while he drank it.

  She heard the door open behind her and she turned to watch Alexis walk into the room and slowly approach Lambert. She placed her arms around his waist and licked his neck until he finished his meal. He gently rubbed the side of her head in euphoria. They were completely engulfed in their diminutive blood ritual.

  Alexis turned her sight on Veronica. “Can we kill her now?”

  He wiped the blood from the corners of her mouth. “No, Alexis. We can’t.” He placed the empty cup on the counter. “I’m sure you know the way out, Veronica.”

  She didn’t wait and hurried out of the room and down the hallway, repeatedly looking back. She watched Lambert grip Alexis in a kiss of extreme passion. He embedded his fingernails into her back and slowly began to scratch, drawing blood. She moaned, letting her head drop back freely. He brought his nails up to his mouth, sucking the thick, rich blood from them. He locked eyes with Veronica as she glanced back from the hallway. He grasped Alexis again; biting into her neck with such force that her legs became flaccid and he became her only support to stand.