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SOPHIA

“I don’t like this,” I declare to the people I used to call my friends.

I’m jumpy, tired from getting absolutely no sleep, and hungry.

They’ve taken my phone, and now they’re withholding blood.

On top of all that, I haven’t had my medicine for days.

This must be what a drug addict feels like.

I keep twitching, and my fangs ache. Everyone in the hotel suite is starting to look appetizing, including Larissa’s corgi. Which is extremely concerning.

The last few days have me rethinking all my life choices.

“Think of people like Richard,” Larissa says patiently. “He would be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

I twist my hands in my lap and stare at the aquamarine ocean outside the balcony window, knowing she’s right. If Cassian becomes archduke, it’s going to become even harder to save people than it already is.

“I’ve helped so many…” I muse.

Larissa nods, lounging in a white chair.

The hotel suite is decorated in a modern, coastal color scheme, with an emphasis on pale blue and tan accents.

The wall of windows might not make the suite the best choice for vampire lodging, but at least there are drapes to pull when the sun shines directly into the room in the morning.

“Maybe it’s time I retire?” I finish.

My friend/kidnapper stops nodding. Her scarlet lips frown, and she sighs like I’m difficult. It’s an expression I know well.

“Sophia,” she sighs.

“My pardon will mean nothing if I’m caught spreading the virus after the date Cassian signed it,” I remind her. “I’ve been given a golden ticket—why would I light it on fire?”

“If you want to quit, then quit.” Larissa’s tone is a touch too calm, making me suspect she’s holding back her frustration. “But don’t block the way for others to help people like you have.”

“I’m not blocking anything. I’m merely stepping aside and letting things play out as they will.” Feeling like a petulant child even though I’m well over a hundred years old, I cross my arms. “I don’t want to do this.”

“The last person we want on the throne is a vampire who hates what he is.” Alfred lowers his yachting magazine as he joins the conversation. “Cassian wants to exterminate our kind.”

“He doesn’t want to exterminate us,” I say, exasperated.

“No, but he wants to eliminate the virus,” Larissa points out.

I could argue that a vampire who truly wanted to eliminate Vampiria B wouldn’t have infected his friend, but there’s no point. We’ve been over this half a dozen times.

“Just do this one thing,” Alfred says soothingly, in that lazy-yet-patronizing tone he’s perfected over the years. “And we won’t ask anything else of you.”

“And if I agree, will you give me back my phone?”

“I told you,” he says with mock patience. “I didn’t take your phone.”

“Sophia, would you stop with the phone thing already?” Larissa rolls her eyes. “You probably left it on a shelf while we were looking at bedding.”

“It wasn’t a cup of coffee,” I insist. “I didn’t just set it down .”

“I don’t have your phone,” Alfred snaps. “Will you make the blasted call already?”

Ah, now he’s showing his true colors.

“Maybe I would be more willing to help my kidnappers if they treated me better,” I say waspishly.

Larissa closes her eyes. “We didn’t kidnap you.”

“You didn’t give me a choice. It was just, ‘Get in the car, Sophia! Now! We’ll talk about it later!’ And the next thing I know, I’m on a plane, heading for the stickiest, hottest state in the continental US. If that’s not kidnapping, what is it?”

Alfred snaps the magazine closed, growing really irked. “You want to play prisoner? I can make this a little less comfortable.”

“Alfred,” Larissa barks. “Knock it off.”

Alfred raises his eyebrows, smirking, but not in a nice way—not like Cassian smirks.

Why Alfred is so keen to help House Sorin, I don’t know, except it will elevate Larissa’s status. That, and he’s a gutless flip-flopper who will gladly float from house to house, aiding whomever he deems the most powerful at the moment.

And right now, that appears to be House Sorin. Which is, no doubt, partially thanks to me, even if my hand in it was unintentional.

You knew, my inner voice reprimands me.

All right. Yes. Fine . Maybe it wasn’t completely unintentional. Perhaps a part of me—the jaded, scorned part—knew exactly what she was doing when she made the deal with Gerald. Maybe I wanted to drag Cassian off his high and mighty pedestal. Hurt him a little. Make his life uncomfortable.

And perhaps I feel a little guilty about that now and don’t want to be a part of it anymore. Maybe I’m tired of this slimy knot in my stomach.

More often than not, I have trouble looking at my reflection in the mirror.

But it’s too late for regrets. I’m deeply entrenched in this mess. And now, I’m not sure I even have a choice.

“This is pointless,” I say. “Cassian doesn’t want the throne anyway.”

“Word has it he’s wavering.” Alfred narrows his eyes like I might have had something to do with that. And maybe I said a few things to my ex-fiancé that didn’t help House Sorin’s cause, back when I thought I was going to be free of all this.

“This is merely insurance to ensure he doesn’t change his mind,” Larissa adds, her tone controlled once more.

Frustrated, I cross my arms. “Even if he’s thinking about it, what makes you believe he’ll step down because of me?”

Larissa and Alfred share a look.

“Do this, and we can go eat,” Alfred finally says. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I don’t need food; I need blood ,” I hiss, hating how crass I sound.

“The restaurant has local blood.” He smiles. “Shark. Alligator. Florida panther.”

“Aren’t Florida panthers endangered?” I demand.

He merely shrugs like he couldn’t care less.

“Sophia only consumes animals on the ‘Least Concern’ list,” Larissa reminds him.

Her boyfriend suppresses an eye roll. “Cow then. I don’t care. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” I agree, telling myself this subterfuge won’t make any difference. My ex-fiancé is going to do whatever he wants, regardless of my part in it. Just like he always has. “Call Cassian.”

Alfred nods, satisfied, and sends a text on his phone. A minute later, Sam walks into the suite. He’s handsome in a deadly sort of way, with thick brown hair and arms covered in tattoos.

He’s of the Sorin line, one of Larissa’s few progenies. He’s also supposed to be in prison.

“Make the call,” Alfred commands, settling back in his chair and resting his arms on the armrests like he fancies himself some sort of king.

Larissa hands Sam the script she wrote for him earlier. The assassin reads it over, nodding when he’s finished.

“You’re going to distort my voice so Cassian won’t recognize it, right?” he asks.

“We already have it set up.”

“If you’re going to change his voice, why can’t Alfred make the call?” I ask.

“Cassian might recognize Alfred’s speaking patterns, even if his voice is distorted,” Larissa answers.

“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.”