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“What does that tell you, Janna?” He waited, face like a blank sheet of paper. Not even blinking.

Oh, dear God, what was he?

The way he’d torn into the girl’s throat in the alley. I had seen his teeth.

No. Fangs.

And he had torn her up, yes, my brain didn’t want to go back to the memory of that moment, but it was there.

It had happened.

He had torn her throat out and spat out her flesh, and her blood had flowed and spattered on the ground. And her head had swung from his hand.

No. I was imagining it. Didn’t I already decide I was imagining it? That somebody had slipped me a drug? But when could that have happened? I took my drink into the bathroom. Something through the vents, something airborne? It would explain why I had an anxiety attack.

But that didn’t ring true, either, because I wasn’t there anymore. Would the effects linger that long? They had to, because the alternative was unthinkable.

Unthinkable wasn’t the same as impossible.

“You’re not human. You can’t be.” That would explain the eyes, too, and the weird way of speaking, like he came from another time.

For the second time in maybe four minutes, I couldn’t breathe. I was sure a hand was squeezing my heart. Or an elephant was sitting on my chest. Either one.

“You’re right. I’m not.” His shoulders moved ever so slightly. Like he tried to shrug.

“Just like that? You’re going to tell me just like that? Whoops, sorry, I’m not human.”

“I didn’t say I was sorry. That’s where you’re wrong. I only said I wasn’t human.”

“What are you, then?”

“You don’t know? You spend enough time among them. They fascinate you, don’t they? Did you wonder why?”

I sputtered. “I—I draw them.”

“Some people draw flowers. Dogs. Landscapes.” He took a step toward me. Then, another.

I scrambled backward, away from him. Anything to get away from him. My back hit the foot of the bed, and I fought my way to my feet, even though my legs were rubbery. I couldn’t rely on them to hold me up, so I crawled backward to the headboard and curled up against it.

“Think, Janna. Why do you think you chose a bunch of vampires and witches to use as your subjects?”

“They’re—they’re not, really,” I stammered.

My heart thudded like a bass drum, and my thoughts spun out of control. Did I have any weapons? Knives, but they were across the room. Not a lot of help. I could’ve kicked myself for not keeping something close to the bed, maybe under the pillows.

He watched me think things through, and the look on his face told me he knew I was thinking things through and that was the most terrifying of all. He had me pinned and was watching me squirm, and I was pretty sure he liked it.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak above a whisper. “There’s no such thing as actual vampires.”

“Are you sure? Are you very sure?” He loomed over me, like he had somehow magically gained several inches.

I told myself my eyes were playing tricks on me when his canines seemed to lengthen and sharpen into dangerous points.

His eyes went from that eerie gray-ringed-in-red to completely red, blood red, like some special effect out of a horror movie.

Except I was looking at it in real life.

“No. Stop this.” I turned my face away and crossed my arms in front like that would stop him from hurting me if he really wanted to.