Page 3

“And NIHA might have the technology to remove the distortion,” Alfred points out. “But Cassian was only around Sam briefly. There’s a chance he wouldn’t recognize his voice anyway.”

I frown at the assassin. “You’re offering yourself as a scapegoat? Why?”

“I’m loyal to my house,” he says, meeting my eyes.

I don’t think it’s a direct jab, but I wince nevertheless.

He reads through the script one more time and then asks me, “Do you want to practice, or should we make the call and hope it’s a little raw?”

My eyes stray to his neck, my fangs making themselves known. I’m so hungry. “Let’s get it over with.”

But before he can dial Cassian’s number, there’s a knock on the hotel suite door.

Alfred jerks his head to Richard, who’s been standing quietly in the corner, commanding him to answer it.

“Jameson,” I breathe when the head of House Staulington walks through the door.

Everyone tenses, no one expecting a visit from Alfred’s father. Taking advantage of their surprise, I rush to the vampire’s side, so happy to see him I could cry. “Cassian sent you to rescue me, didn’t he? Have you any idea what your son is involved in? Do you know what they’ve done to me?”

I shoot a glare at Alfred, feeling smug. Alfred narrows his eyes, saying nothing.

Jameson sets a protective hand on my shoulder and turns toward his son. “I’m aware.”

“Hello, Father,” Alfred says, not as shaken as I would expect. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you called Cassian yet?” Jameson asks.

“We were just getting ready to when you dropped by unannounced.”

“Get on with it then.” The prince returns his attention to me and strokes his hand down my arm. “Your fangs are showing, darling. Has my son been withholding blood?”

Going cold, I step away from him. “What do you mean ‘get on with it?’”

“Call Cassian,” he says.

“You’re in on it?” I whisper. “You’re working with Alfred and House Sorin?”

“No, I’m not working with them.” Jameson nods to the phone in Sam’s hand, telling him to make the call. “I’m in charge.”

1

Cinnamon toast,dinner rolls, French bread, croissants—all things I can no longer eat.

When I found out I’d entered the final stage of vampirism, I thought I’d miss cucumbers more than anything—but I was mistaken.

I miss bread. Passionately.

Don’t get me wrong, I would give my right arm for a salad. But I’d die for a donut.

My eyes linger on the fried and frosted confections as I pass the glass case that holds them, deciding the bakery is the most dangerous department in the local grocery store Noah’s family owns.

My stomach growls, protesting my new carnivore diet. I glance past the counter, into the back, where two employees chat as they work. Howell’s Grocery still bakes their bread in-house.

They’re baking it now. Right now.

Oh, help me.

“Be strong,” I murmur to myself, drawing in a deep lungful of hot, yeast-scented air as I leave the bakery and enter the deli.