Crouching in shadows is what I do best.

One could even argue that I was born for it. A smirk curls my lips as I crouch at the end of the alley, my gaze focused on a man in a sharp suit and the pale-skinned girl sucking on his neck. Weird part is, she’s not the vampire in this scenario.

Neither of them are.

It’s the teenage girl leaning against the pole not ten feet away, watching the couple kiss and flirt on an empty street while she smokes a cigarette. How annoying, vampire nobility hunting like dhampir trash.

With a grin, I grab the edge of the old brick wall, using the toes of my boots to climb up onto the roof. There are two dead bodies up here, and I’m about to add another.

Of course, I didn’t kill the first two; she did.

Pausing at the edge of the roof, I watch the teen finish her cigarette with a sigh, eyes locked on the couple as they break apart briefly and the woman taps something out on her phone. She’s probably calling a car, but there’s no way in hell the vamp girl is letting them get into it.

A quick glance around shows me nobody’s looking, so I hop off the roof and land in a totally epic crouch. Yep. Even dhampir filth have some pretty neat tricks.

“Hey.” Just that one word, resonating with power, draws the vampire’s gaze around to mine. Her eyes catch mine and she frowns. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I’m asking loudly enough that she doesn’t have much choice. The couple's already staring at us both with curious expressions, drawn to the irresistible pull in my words. If I were to amp it up a little, I could have them licking my feet.

“What do you want?” the girl snarls, getting up close and personal with my face. She’s a fuck of a lot taller than I am—most blue-blood vamps are. I’ve never met a royal shorter than six feet. Hell, I’ve never met a vamp less than five-ten, period. “I’m fucking busy.”

“Oh, you looked it,” I promise, pointing up at the roof with my left hand. The dark-haired girl with the ice-blue eyes gives me a look and a sniff, wrinkling her nose as soon as she scents the human blood flowing beneath my inked skin. Being half-vampire and half-human totally blows. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about: your two friends upstairs.”

Her smirk almost knocks my own off my face. It’s dripping with condescension and superiority. She thinks she walks on water, this chick, and she’s what? The third daughter of a low-ranking noble. Please.

If this bitch is this bad, just imagine how a member of the royal family must act. I’m barely allowed to look at upper management, let alone interact with them, but from what I can see from afar, they don’t impress me much.

“Need help finding something to eat?” the girl asks me, canting her head to one side. Her silky black hair falls over one shoulder and her breathing just...stops. She’s undead, which is fine. The cockier they are, the harder they fall. There aren’t a lot of dhampirs out there that can do what I do, but I’m a firm believer in confidence. If I trust myself to accomplish a task, I’ll find the strength no matter what.

Like killing an undead vampire royal.

No problem.

No problem at all.

Too bad I’m not a pureblooded vamp or I wouldn’t sweat so much when I lied to myself.

Behind the vampire girl, a black car pulls up, the couple gets in, and it drives away.

Uh-oh.

I flick my attention back to my new friend.

“Because I sure do,” the vamp drawls. “And dhampir blood is the fucking shit.”

She lunges at me before I have the time to figure out a game plan. Crap. Usually these upper nobility types like to talk a lot before they start murdering. It’s sort of their thing. Besides, aren’t I supposed to be the vampire hunter here?

But this woman is determined, throwing herself into me with the force of a dump truck and knocking me onto the pavement so hard that my skull cracks and I see white spots in front of my eyes. Her sharpened canines plunge into my throat, and I groan at the sudden wash of hormones. Getting bitten by vamps sort of...rocks. Like, it feels amazing—even to a dhampir.

I’ve been here, done this before though. Instead of sighing and relaxing into death’s embrace, the way nature intended, I grab Ethel—my .45 semi-auto with hollow-point ammo filled with rowan ash—and shove it into the vampire’s PINK velour sweat suit. Like, since when did the undead waltz around in Victoria’s Secret workout wear? Whatever happened to leather pants and velvet tube tops?

Oh.

That’s right.

I’m wearing them.

I pull the trigger and a bullet rips through the girl’s middle, making her scream this anguished, echoing sound that bounces around the empty streets and sets off a car alarm. Fun fact: vampires are actually distantly related to faeries, banshee in particular. While a banshee’s cries can literally kill a person, a vampire’s just hurts like a bitch.

Shoving the girl off, I send her rolling off the curb and then do my best to find my feet. It’s not easy, with all those pheromones poisoning my blood and whispering beautiful nonsense in my veins. I lift Ethel up and point it at the vamp, but in a flash, she’s gone, reappearing at my side and grabbing a handful of my hair. She throws me down hard enough that my knees crack, and I know with an awful sinking feeling I’ll be out late hunting healing supplies. And by healing supplies I mean sex and blood.

Dhampirs heal unnaturally quick, but it’ll take longer than I can afford to be back at full strength. Sex and blood, however, can speed up the healing process immensely. The sinking feeling in my stomach is because I doubt I’ll get any sleep in the next twenty-four hours. Vamps do business at night, party in the morning, and sleep in the bright light of day. I don’t have much choice but to live with their rules. Technically, I’m due back to the Family House at noon to get my orders from the human servants and give my report on tonight.

Using my right hand, I spin the gun to the side and pull the trigger again, shooting the girl in the thigh. Vampires are tough motherfuckers, but that often puts them at a disadvantage when fighting me. They expect hand-to-hand combat and magical brawls. But hey, I’m half-human and my mom grew up in Texas so...I’m totally cool with a .45 in hand, something these arrogant undead assholes never expect.

The girl shrieks again and stumbles back, her face that of a teenager. But, since she’s dead, who knows how old she really is? Have you ever noticed how vampires in books and movies are always like two hundred years old? I bet that’s how old this shithead is—a nice, round, clichéd two hundred.

Blood spatters the pavement behind her as I yank my blonde waves from her grip, hitting the ground with one palm and the knuckles of my other hand as I grip Ethel for dear life. Rowan ash keeps vampire wounds from healing without blood or sex to fuel the process. It won’t kill this girl, but all I’m trying to do is slow her down enough to get out my sword.

Yeaaaaah, I carry a sword around.

I’m all sorts of special.

Using the brick wall of the nearest building, I haul myself up and turn around in time to fire off another shot into the vamp’s chest. Red and pink spray catches the streetlights overhead as she stumbles, and I step nimbly out of the way. Turning casually, I fire off four more shots into her back and watch without sympathy as she crashes to the pavement.

If I let her, she’d drain me dry and dispose of my body along with the two humans on the roof. Did I mention that vampires don’t need to kill to eat? In fact, most of the Family Houses provide willing participants to all but their lowest subjects—like their dhampirs, for example.

The vampire groans and rolls over, bleeding everywhere. The red liquid drains down the sidewalk and over the curb, into the street in a ruby wave.

“On sixteen counts of broken House Verenim covenants, I sentence you, Lenora of House Sullivan, to death.” I fire another shot into the woman’s head as she snarls at me, dropping her limp and lifeless to the pavement. Unsheathing the falchion blade from my back—this one’s name is Ricky Ricardo because I’m not a particularly inventive person—I set about the gruesome task of beheading a royal vampire.

Welcome to a night in the life of Cameron Darke, dhampir, vampire hunter, and in desperate need of a drink.

The Dragonfly is this seedy little bar not two blocks from my place, this shithole apartment above a Chinese restaurant called Dog Town. It’s surprising how many customers that place has considering the questionable use of the word ‘dog’ in their name, and the even more questionable state of their meat.

I waltz into The Dragonfly at half-past eight, having disposed of the PINK-wearing vampire noble and her kills at the cemetery that’s two blocks in the opposite direction of my place. Yeah, I live a charmed life—Chinese food, crappy twenty-four bars, and cemeteries all within walking distance!

“Hey, Harry,” I say, slumping onto a stool and feeling confident in the knowledge that this is the sort of disgusting, underhanded joint where you can walk in with bloodstains on your clothes and nobody gives a fuck.

“Morning, Cam,” the bartender, Harry, says, setting this bright green mixed drink in front of me with a grin. “I was waiting for you. Taste this one—I call it the Chameleon.” I wrinkle my nose. Harry fancies himself a mixologist, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that first off, his mixed drinks suck. Or second, that this dump is never going to be the sort of place where somebody orders a twelve-dollar drink called the Chameleon. “Watch this,” he continues, swirling the straw and turning the liquid from green to purple.

Oh.

That’s nice.

“Okay, this is now officially my favorite of your creations,” I say with a grin to match his. Lifting the drink up, I toast the air and then slip the thin red straw into my mouth. The issue with all of Harry’s drinks is that they basically taste like gin and tequila mixed...ugh. Okay, yup. This is the same as all the rest. I force myself to swallow, reminding my sore body that booze is booze and as a dhampir, I have to drink a fuck of a lot of it to get buzzed. “Yum,” I choke out and Harry slams his palm on the counter top with a whoop of triumph.

I’m probably being a crap friend by not telling him the truth, but despite the ragged burn scars on his face and the permanent angry scowl plastered to his mouth because of them, Harry is not as tough as he looks.

“Rough night?” he asks, frowning at a spatter of blood on my tattooed right arm. I glance over and noticed some gore stuck to my ghost girl tattoo, the one with the blank eyes and the tiger mask on her forehead.

“You could say that,” I hedge, grabbing a cocktail napkin as Harry fetches me a glass of water. I dip the corner in and then dab my skin clean. “Low-ranking noble with bad manners and a taste for dhampir blood.”

I point at the bandage on my neck, but don’t touch it. If I do, it’ll release another wave of vamp pheromones and I’ll end up on my back on the dirty floor mid-orgasm. Yuck. It feels so violating, to come from an unwanted vampire bite. I hate it.

Now, a willing vampire bite? With my partner fucking me at the same time? Ugh, heaven. Pure heaven. If I had to choose a way to die, that’d be it for sure.

“Looks like she gave you some trouble.” Harry gestures to my head and I reach up, cursing when my fingertips come away stained with blood.

“Just a bit,” I scowl, wiping my fingers off on the napkin. I have a cracked skull and a massive migraine, a random assortment of bruises and scratches, and two fucked-up kneecaps. I need blood—preferably vampire blood—and sex. Maybe I can get both from the same person? Harry serves vamp blood on tap, but holy shit it’s expensive, and I’ve been poor since birth.

My mother did the best she could, but I’ve never had a goddamn cent to my name. The only reason I’m here drinking at all is because Harry gives booze to me for free. Five years ago, right after my mother was murdered and just before I started working for the Verenim Family House, I literally stumbled on Harry getting his throat torn out by another dhampir.

I saved his life and got free alcohol for the rest of mine.

Pretty sweet deal.

Also, Harry’s half-ogre and half-human, so I’m fairly certain he’ll outlive me. Not because ogres generally live longer than vampires, but just because they’re peaceful, hardy, and stay out of trouble. Vamps...they stir shitstorms up for fun.

“Any prospective fucks in here tonight?” I ask and Harry laughs, straightening his white t-shirt and casting a look over my shoulder that says he’s totally scoping out a girl to take home when his co-owner and best friend takes over bar tending duties at noon. We’re on opposite schedules, Harry and me. He ends work at noon and I start it. I like that since it means he’s always around to give me my free drinks.

“There’s a beautiful ogre girl I wouldn’t mind taking home,” he grumbles, and I do my best not to cringe. Ogre girls never want to go home with Harry. Since he’s a half-breed, he’s also about half the size. Half the size. And that includes below the belt, apparently. I’ve never seen for myself, but I have heard from a few disgruntled ogre women. If he would just switch his focus to non-ogre women, they’d be pleasantly surprised instead of bitterly disappointed. “But for you...” He shrugs and shakes his head.

With a sigh, I turn around and survey the room. It’s slim pickins in here this morning. Usually there are a handful of vamps, maybe even a dhampir or two, some humans stupid enough to stumble into a supernatural bar despite the wards sweeping over them and making them feel sick and uncomfortable. It’s supposed to be a deterrent, but eh...sometimes humans are too dense for it to work.

They’re usually left alone unless they cause trouble or if they see something they’re not supposed to see...

“Fuck,” I curse, rolling my eyes and wondering which of the horrid vamp bars I’ll have to drop in on to find a partner. There are dozens in the city, and they’re all equally horrid. Dark, dangerous, reeking of blood. And the cover charge? Holy shit, the cover charge for dhampirs is like so astronomical I’m surprised the Houses haven’t passed a unanimous law to cap them. “Why don’t you give—” I start, about to order a pint of royal vamp blood when the door swings open and a tsunami of power washes over me.

A man walks in, dressed in tall black buckled boots and leather pants covered in pockets. He’s smoking a cigarette with his tattooed hands, a heavy trench coat slung over his broad shoulders. His hair is a layered nightmare of turquoise, blue, and purple, spiked up and styled into a messy faux hawk. And his eyes? Blood-red pools of secrets and pain.

I want to dive into them and drown.

“Holy shit, Harry, cancel that order, my morning entertainment just walked in.”

I turn back to my friend with a grin, chuck the tiny red straw from my drink and down the rest of it with a clinking of ice cubes.

“Him?” Harry asks, giving the vampire a distrustful sort of look. “I’ve never seen him in before.”

“So?” I ask, feeling goose bumps prickle my skin. There’s so much magic surrounding this guy that I can feel it inside of me, hot and bright as the sun. He smells incredible, like sour candy and blood (hey, I’m a dhamp and that metallic shimmer in my nostrils totally gets me off) and the way he moves speaks to me on a primal level.

Old, cocky, living vampire.

I can tell by his scent that he’s not undead—the state of a born vampire after they die for the first time—and yet he’s clearly ancient if he’s that goddamn powerful.

My nipples pebble beneath my barely-there burgundy tube top and I suck in a sharp breath, this feeling of need taking hold low in my belly and tightening the muscles between my legs.

“It was getting stale around here anyway,” I say with raised blonde brows. “Send him a pint of my blood.”

“Pulling out the big guns for this one?” Harry asks with a sigh, using the tap on the far right, the one that’s filled with my blood. Hey, he pays good money for it and I’m eternally broke as shit, so I donate on occasion. “I still say he’s bad news,” he murmurs, but he snaps his fingers and the only waitress in the bar, some quarter-ogre chick that Harry treats like total crap, scampers over and takes the pint glass. “Take it to that vamp in the corner and tell him it’s on Cameron.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking big gray eyes at Harry before flicking her gaze over to me. “He’s a little out of her league though, isn’t he?”

I narrow my eyes and tap my fingers on the scratched wooden surface of the counter.

“Thanks, Miri,” I quip as I purse my lips and Harry gives me an I told you so sort of look. “Just take it over there and watch my blood work its magic, okay?” I’ve never once been turned down by a vamp who’s tasted my blood. As PINK tracksuit lady said, dhampir blood is the shit.

I stay facing forward for a while, but it doesn’t matter because I can feel his blood-red eyes on my back, searing into me. Just when I’m about to saunter over there, hips swaying seductively, the vampire hottie is right by my side, sliding onto the stool next to mine with fluid, predatory grace.

“What’s a shithole like this doing serving royal blood?” he purrs, and all the hair on my body stands on end. Hot, wet heat floods my cunt, and I suck in another sharp breath. Flicking my eyes to the left, I find the guy staring at me with such vigorous intent that blood rushes to my cheeks in a blush.

“That’s not royal blood,” I whisper, and he cants his head to one side, long lashes fanning as he blinks. He doesn’t have to do that, blink. A lot of the old ones forget, but not this guy. “It’s mine.”

“I can tell it’s yours,” he replies, leaning in and sniffing the side of my neck. I shiver involuntarily and curl my hands into fists. Luckily, Harry is there with three fingers of Scotch and a deep frown etched into his face. “But you smell and taste like a royal.” Hottie Vampire Dude pauses and exhales, hot breath fanning against my throat.

Jesus fuck.

“No, not like a royal,” he corrects after a moment, “like royalty.”

I laugh. Sorry, can’t help myself, not even in the face of male perfection. I knock back the Scotch and turn to face the guy, our knees bumping together as I do. I arrange my legs with his so that one of his knees is pointing at my crotch and vice versa. Oh God, we’re so close...

“I’m about as far from royalty as a dhamp can get,” I say with a loose shrug. “My dad’s some deadbeat loser vamp who tried to sell me for drug money, and my mother’s a Southern belle that got knocked up in high school and fled home.”

The guy smiles at me, a slow, easy sort of smile that slides across his face like a whispered breath.

“I see.” That’s all I get, just those two words. He sits back up and grabs his pint, giving it another sniff before he takes a slow, languorous sip, flicking his tongue against the edge of the glass and flashing two sharp, white canines. “Definitely some royal in your lineage—if not crown blood.”

I cock a brow.

In vamp speak, a ‘crown’ would be any member of a House’s ruling class. Basically, if they’d wear a crown, they are a crown: queen, king, princess, prince. And there’s no way in hell I’m related to anyone like that. According to vamp hierarchy, I’m barely fit to scrub their toilets.

“You’re delusional,” I say, drawing a chuckle from the mystery man’s throat. “But I like your delusions.” Reaching up for my bandage, I yank it off and give him a good look at the twin punctures, still bleeding and aching like my swollen lady bits. “Care to go somewhere private and lick my wounds?”

The vampire’s pupils dilate enough to cover his brilliant irises, a total solar eclipse.

“Such a tempting offer,” he growls, and I bite my lower lip, my fangs piercing my skin just enough to make me bleed. Such a tempting offer means I’d like to, but I can’t. I won’t accept that. Leaning in, I press my mouth to his. The guy’s a vamp. If he wanted to stop me, he had plenty of opportunity to do it.

Instead, he lets me swirl my blood in his mouth, tease his tongue with my own as my left hand slides up the thigh of his leather pants. Slowly, carefully, he curls his fingers around my wrist and stops me from reaching the hard bulge in his crotch.

“You’re an intriguing little dhamp,” he purrs against my mouth. I sense a but coming, and I don’t mean his beautiful butt in my bed. Harry snickers on his side of the bar and I remind myself to spit in his drink on the way out. “But I’ve got business to attend to.” The vamp whisks a card into his fingers, pulling it out of his trench faster than I can see. “Name’s Vyce. Call me sometime.”

Surprised as all fuck off, I take the card from his fingers and stare at his name: Vyce Stiltz. Just those glossy silver words with a number beneath them, situated on a matte black card that’s blank on the other side,

“Stiltz?” I ask, a small chill chasing up my spine. “What exactly do you do, Vyce?”

This is too weird of a coincidence.

The vamp just grins maniacally at me, flashing fangs.

“Yes, Stiltz,” he growls, lifting my hand to his lips and running his tongue across a cut on my palm I hadn’t even noticed until now. The fact that it hasn’t healed yet only serves to emphasize how bad my other injuries are. I mean, fuck yes, my knees and head hurt but I guess I hadn’t realized the extent of the damage. “And let’s just say...I’m in the business of tying up loose ends.”

Oh dear.

If I hadn’t already known what a Stiltz kin did, I’d have been able to guess based on that statement alone. This guy killed people. Oh, and also, he dealt in rare magics for obscene favors. Like, for example, the one my mother had made to escape the tyranny of an awful vampire king.

To Rumpel Stiltz himself, she promised her firstborn child.

And then she ran like hell.

Shit, I’ve been running my whole life, just because some psycho crown took my grandfather’s crazy rants seriously. I’d never met my grandpa, but according to Mom, he was a hardass and a braggart. After Mom got pregnant in high school, he started running his mouth, spreading all sorts of bullshit—talking about how my mom could literally spin straw into gold. The king kidnapped her, locked her up, and told her she’d better get the job done or he’d cut off her fucking head.

Enter Rumpel Stiltz.

He gave my mom the magic to do just that, to spin gold—at a hefty, hefty price.

This Vyce guy might not know it, but I was well-acquainted with Rumpel Stiltz and his kin.

“Interesting,” I say, putting the card on the bar top. “Loose ends, huh? I guess a vamp as old as you is bound to work an interesting gig.”

“Old?” he asks, cocking a black brow at me. “We can’t be more than a decade apart, at most.”

“What?!” I blurt out with another laugh. “Dude, how old do you think I am?”

He taps his fingers on the table, a bemused smile tracing his lips.

“I could ask you the same question.” He lifts the bloody glass to his mouth again and sips slowly, throat working, tongue tracing the rim and then sliding across his lower lip. I can’t look away. “What are you? Mid-twenties?” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile.

“Twenty-five. And you...three hundred? Four hundred?”

Vyce chuckles, this low, sensual purr that makes my throat feel tight.

“Try thirty-two.”

I cross my arms over my chest and enjoy the way Vyce’s eyes trace the ink on my right arm. I’ve got quite a bit of it—almost a full sleeve from shoulder to wrist, plus a blue swallow above my right breast. Vyce’s gaze catches there...before dropping a bit lower.

“Thirty-two? Puh-lease. Sorry, but I don’t buy it for a second.” Vyce just shrugs and slides off the stool, just before another wave of wild energy sweeps into the bar. Two gazes latch onto my back. I know; I can fucking feel them.

Two more vampires, just as powerful as the one in front of me.

“You might not believe it, but it’s true.” He tosses me one last smile and gestures at the business card with his chin. “Give me a call sometime...” Vyce trails off, and I can tell he’s fishing for my name. I don’t give a shit if he knows it; Mom changed our names about two dozen times over my life. But this name—Cameron Darke—is the one I picked for myself as an adult, after she died.

“Cam,” I tell him with a sharp nod, twirling a pale finger in a small circle. “And I’m a morning regular here. Stop by if you’re interested in a little fun.” I wink at him and slap the bandage back on my neck before turning to glance at his two companions...

What. The. Fuck?!

The first man I’d laid eyes on was godlike...and there are two more on his level?!

Not possible.

I blink a few times as Harry mutters something under his breath like, “You’ll never learn, will ya?” He thinks I’m going to hit on the two newcomers, too. Shit, I just might. One of them has light blond hair, almost white, with a red streak in the front, his eyes the same ice-blue color as my left one. The other guy has gray eyes—like my right one because yes, my eyes are mismatched just like my blood—and short, black hair that’s longer on top and super short on the sides.

Just like the first guy, they move with fluid, liquid grace, drifting across the floor in near silence. When they reach Vyce, they all pause for a moment to talk before three sets of eyes find mine. I wave and the guy with the dark hair scowls. The white-blond dude with the red streak eyes me up and down in a way that says he’s clearly interested.

But he doesn’t walk over to me, turning and heading for the table in the back corner instead. All three of them sit down around it and order...three more pints of my blood from Miri.

“Tell ‘em we’re out,” Harry grumbles at the waitress as I snap my gaze over to him.

“Are you serious or are you dicking around because you don’t want me to sleep with one or all of them?”

Harry crosses his massive, muscular arms. His skin is tinted gray-green from his ogre heritage, but with his very human button nose and big blue eyes, the monstrous effect is limited.

“We’re out of blood because our supplier keeps getting bit by goddamn vamps and ruining all that pretty ruby red with fang pheromones.” I sigh and tap two fingers against my neck absently, moaning and feeling my pussy clench tight in response.

“I have an idea,” I say, hopping down from the stool as Harry curses and mumbles behind me. Pretty sure he calls me a fang fucker, but whatever. He’s right. I totally am. Sleeping with pure-blooded vampires is...fucking intense. I can’t get enough of the high. Besides, combine their blood with some hot, sweaty sex? And my wounds’ll be healed before you can say climax.

I turn and saunter over to the table. Clearly the guys know I’m coming long before I ever get there, pausing in their conversation to look over at me.

“Cam,” Vyce says, testing the single syllable of my nickname out on his tongue before leaning back and folding his arms casually behind his head. I get the idea that he’s barely leashed, a violent storm raging inside of him that could break through at any moment...if only he’d just let it. “Allow me to introduce you to Wolfe and Sorrow.” He gestures first at the dark-haired man and then over at the blond one with the red streak.

Wolfe glares at me, his mouth in a tight, narrow frown while Sorrow—what a totally weird and seriously fucking awesome name—lifts a hand and gives me a friendly wave. When he grins, shadows darken up some of that sunny exterior, and I shiver. But in a good way. I like a little darkness in my casual partners.

“I was hoping you’d come over,” Sorrow says, his voice dangerously playful, lending a false sense of security that should never be there in the first place. He’s a fucking vamp, a seriously goddamn powerful vamp. And vampires just can’t be trusted in general; they’re worse than humans, and humans, admittedly, are some of the worst. “It’s not fair that the prettiest dhampir I ever did see should make Vyce’s acquaintance and not mine.” He stands and offers his hand.

After a brief pause, I reach out and take it, electrical impulses shooting up my fingers and into my chest, sending my heart racing frantically. God. The amount of magic in this guy is crushing, so intense that it steals my breath away. I yank my hand back and stare into the frigid depths of his eyes. His power chases across my skin, and I feel my body’s natural resistances kick into high gear. Vampires can roll people with a direct gaze if they’re powerful enough.

But they can’t roll a dhampir. Hah. Joke’s on them: their greatest disappointment and shame—their half-breeds—have resistances that few other species share.

“Lovely to meet you,” I say, turning to the last guy, Wolfe, and watching as he curls the corner of his lip in disgust. Standing this close to him, my senses can finally see through the veil of magic surrounding the guy, down to the core of his true being underneath.

Turned vampire, not born.

Meaning this guy, Wolfe, was once human. No wonder he’s such a prick.

“Not so lovely to meet you?” I say, almost like it’s a question. What is this guy’s problem with me? Usually, I get along better with turned vamps. They know what it’s like to get shit on by royals; we have too much in common to fight, the pariahs of our race.

“We’re working right now; we don’t have time for some horny dhampir that wants to use us to heal whatever ridiculous wounds she’s nursing. Fuck off.”

“Wolfe,” Vyce chastises as Sorrow raises a brow and glances over at his companion. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

“Lady, gentleman, fucking pixie, I don’t care. Why don’t you go down the street to Velvet Tempers and find yourself a fuck-buddy there? Plenty of vamps who are addicted to dhampir blood. Make a whore’s bargain with one of them.”

“Screw you!” I snap, baring my teeth on instinct. “You don’t know shit about me or why I came over here.” I lift my wrist to my face and tear into it, making myself bleed. All three vampires go completely stiff and horrifically still. They’re all still living vamps, so they can’t control the frantic flickers of their pulses, but they all stop moving, stop talking, stop breathing. “I was going to offer up some of that blood on tap you were so curious about.”

Holding my wrist over the table, I let it drip onto the surface in fat, red drops.

“True, I have ulterior motives for coming over, but who doesn’t? Every interaction is a transaction in some form or another. Instead of love and attention in exchange for sex like most relationships, I’m asking for blood and a good time. But if you’re not interested, you’re not interested.”

I spin on my heel and head for the door, tossing Harry a wave as I go. He looks ridiculously relieved to see me abandoning my quest for a tumble with one—or more—hot vampire assholes.

Whatever.

It’s probably for the best anyway.

The morning sunshine falls over my skin and makes me shiver. If I spend too much time in it, I’ll do more than just redden up with an itchy sunburn. No, my skin will start to bubble with blisters that pop and ooze blood, and my vision will get blurry and splotchy. I’ll start to feel dizzy and lightheaded until eventually, I pass out. And then, if I spend long enough in the sun, I’ll die and I’ll come back as something awful, an unnatural scourge with no self-control and a penchant for destruction.

Vampires can die and come back stronger, more powerful, and completely in control. Dhampirs...can’t. When we die, our human half stays dead, leaving us in a terrifying state of purgatory. I’ve seen a few strigoi and they are not pretty. Cut my head off, please, if I ever turn into one of those.

But a few minutes or hell, even a few hours in the sunshine isn’t a big deal. Even for a pureblood vamp, some stray rays of sun aren’t going to light them up like the Fourth of July. They won’t spend a significant amount of time in it, and they sure as shit won’t ever go spend a day at the beach, but it doesn’t kill them outright.

I start down the block and hate myself a little for actually heading in the direction of Velvet Tempers, the stupidly overpriced vamp bar that Wolfe snidely suggested. Just go home, Cam, I tell myself, but if I don’t heal these wounds and wind up on some other crazy mission tomorrow, it’ll be me getting dumped in the cemetery for the ghouls to eat.

My heeled boots are loud against the pavement, the early morning sounds of humans getting up and preparing for work a backdrop that’s as insignificant to me as the songs of birds are to them. We all live in the same world, but clearly there’s one species that rules the other. Humans might not know it, but the vamps control everything: business, religion, politics, war. It’s all a game for them. There are few species that can even compete: a few types of powerful fae, angels, demons, dragons and...uh. Yeah, no, that’s basically it. Even then, the power struggle is currently tipped in the vampires’ favor. Our Family Houses—the vamp versions of governments and countries—are so well organized and coordinated in their efforts that nobody stands against them.

The biggest threat to vampires is...other vampires.

I hear the set of double footsteps behind me before my pursuers realize I do. Shit, they probably think they’re moving on silent wings. Vampires always underestimate dhamps, for fuck’s sake.

In the blink of an eye, I take off across the road and run up the side of a building, grabbing onto the roof with my fingers and throwing my body over. I roll for a split-second, but manage to get myself up in a flash, sprinting over to the edge of the roof and vaulting onto the next. I manage to stay ahead for about three buildings’ worth before a body tackles mine and sends us both crashing across the graveled surface and into a brick chimney.

“Whoa, cool it, Cam,” Sorrow whispers, straddling me and pinning my arms above my head. “How did you know we were following you?”

I smirk up at him, at the slight roundness of his face, just enough to trick an onlooker into thinking he’s harmless. But then those full, luscious lips curve back over shiny white fangs and the whole illusion is shattered to pieces.

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” I quip, using a technique I learned over the years. It’s a special secret called...kick ‘em right in the nuts. Slamming my knee up and into Sorrow’s crotch, I make him groan, but for once, it actually doesn’t get a guy to let me go. Instead, he pushes me down even harder against the roof’s surface, grinding my skin into the gravel. He settles his hips down, too, until our pelvises are pressed together and I have no way to kick him again. “What do you want anyway?” I ask as he curses under his breath and scowls at me.

“We came to take you up on your offer,” Vyce says, surprising me. I’d known he was following me, but I hadn’t heard him join Sorrow and me on this particular roof. Turning my head slightly, I spot him sitting on the small retaining wall with one knee propped up, arms wrapped around it as he watches us with a curious expression. “For sex and blood.”

“Is that so?” I ask as Sorrow releases me and backs up, his tight white tee stretched over pale skin, his red leather motorcycle jacket hanging over his broad shoulders. I sit up and rub at the back of my head. It already hurts like hell, so getting tackled into a hard gravel roof wasn’t exactly helpful. “Changed your minds, huh?”

“Well, you managed to piss Wolfe off so badly that he stormed off.” Vyce shrugs. “Sorrow and I now have the rest of the morning free.” He hooks a sharp smile at me, sunlight catching on the myriad blues, greens, and purples in his hair.

“Both of you, huh?” I ask as Sorrow holds out his pale hand, and I take it, admiring the red and black striped paint on his nails. He’s got this...shall I say Final Fantasy VII look to him that I quite like. Reminds me of my childhood. Video games gave me an escape into another world, a gateway to something better than the constant fear and horror of the life we led.

And all because of a grandfather I’d never met and an asshole vampire named Rumpel Stiltz. Yet, here I was, about to sleep with at least one Stiltz kin. There’re dozens of them, all taken from bogus bargains that stole away firstborn children. None of them are actually related, just raised by Rumpel and trained in magic, politics...and certain other skills. And by skills, I mean murdering people. They’re all trained assassins.

“Are you a Stiltz brother, too?” I ask and Sorrow raises two pale brows at me before glancing over at Vyce.

“I gave her my card,” he says with a loose shrug of his shoulders, eyes gleaming. “She looked like she might need it.” I frown at that because I can’t decide if he’s insinuating I’d come to him for sex in the future...or if he’s actually implying I might be a potential client. Huh. “And yes, this is my...‘brother’, Sorrow.” Vyce makes little quotes with his fingers and then smirks, before rising to his feet like a shadow stretched out by the sun.

Hmm.

Two of Rumpel Stiltz’ kin?

If Mom were still alive, she would totally kill me. She’d tell me to stay as far away from these men as possible. But one quick tumble in bed shouldn’t hurt, right? I mean, Vyce drank my blood and he clearly has no idea that I’m quite literally the one that got away, the one Stiltz bargain never paid in full.

“You want to take us home?” Sorrow asks, wiggling his brows at me and then flashing another dangerous grin.

I have to think for a second, and the boys exchange a look. It’s clear they’re not often—if ever—turned down.

“I live in a shitty apartment above a Chinese food restaurant,” I say, gesturing with my chin in the direction of Dog Town. “It perpetually smells like fried rice and sweet and sour chicken.” I pause and frown. “Which honestly, could be sweet and sour Chihuahua for all I know. The owner is always out in the back alley trying to catch stray dogs.”

“Sounds appealing,” Sorrow says, tossing an arm over my shoulders, the scent of vampire wafting over me and making me shudder. Shit, I think I’m addicted to it. It reminds me of all the things I’m not and...maybe secretly wish I could be?

Ugh, Mom would be fucking disappointed in me.

If she hadn’t been executed in cold blood, maybe I’d get to find out.

“Follow me, boys,” I say, refusing to admit that bringing back two Stiltz boys to my apartment is a bad idea. If I get caught, if Rumpel gets a hold of me...I’ll be his forever.