Naia checked her reflection in the grungy backstage mirror, waiting for her time slot. Five of the ten bulbs that lined the mirror were burned out, but the remaining light softly illuminated her skin. Ignoring the harsh crack down the middle of the glass, she applied one last layer of lip gloss and sat back, satisfied.

She practically vibrated with anticipation. It was the same before every performance, but it wasn’t from nerves. Excitement surfed her bloodstream. She felt alive on stage. It was home to her; her voice stoking and guiding the mood of the audience lit her up like nothing else ever did.

Unlike the other ladies getting ready for their turn on stage, her clothes would remain on. Her talent was in singing, not stripping, though she’d been told she’d make bank doing both. Many of the girls teased that she was wasting the goods, and that she could clean up, but they never really pushed her to join the ranks. Truth be told, they didn’t want the added competition. Goldie had told her once, “With that sick voice and rad bod, you’d put the rest of us out of commission.”

Just then, Goldie stumbled into the dressing room on three-inch-high platforms that sparkled like diamonds with each step, even in this dim light—well, cubic zirconia.

Judging by the wads of bills sticking out of her bejeweled thong, the room must be packed now. As soon as the sun even hinted at setting, patrons began meandering in. Each night was the same. Naia could almost set her watch to it. It was as if men clocked out of work and beelined it to the nearest dive. Many of them wore wedding rings—or a telltale tan line around their ring fingers. Scum. If Naia had a partner waiting for her at home, she certainly wouldn’t spend her time at a broken-down place like Dante’s. But then, men were stupid.

Two vanities down, Tiffany applied a generous amount of mascara to her fake lashes. “Nice haul,” she said to Goldie. “I hope you left some for the rest of us.”

Goldie turned the money into a fan. “Ooh, suckers are just begging to hand over their cash tonight. Though they’re awfully rowdy. One guy grabbed my ankle and wouldn’t let go. Finally Landon noticed and came over to pry the guy off me. Bastard took his time, though.”

Landon was one of the bouncers. Nice guy for the most part, but he definitely had his favorites. Naia and Goldie weren’t among them. But then, they’d never given him any favors.

Naia said, “You should have kicked him in the balls with those bejeweled clodhoppers you’re wearing.”

“Who, the client or Landon?”

“Either. Both.”

Goldie lifted her leg forty-five degrees and twirled her ankle. “And scuff these beautiful babies? Besides, I could see Dante’s response now. Oh, wait, no I can’t, because I’d be dead.” Goldie plopped down in the seat next to Naia, counting her bills. “Maybe you could sing something soft to calm them down a bit, Sapphire.”

Naia contemplated that, already coming up with a list of songs that would do the trick.

“Boss don’t want ‘em calm,” Boomer scoffed from the doorway. Skeevy letch that he was, he always liked to linger there when the girls were changing. “Boss wants ‘em good and loose. Especially their pockets.”

Naia never liked to engage Boomer in conversation—or eye contact, for that matter, but sometimes she didn’t have a choice. There was something about him that gave her the willies, which surprisingly had nothing to do with his grotesque potbelly, perpetually stained shirts, greasy hair, or the green tint to the few teeth his gums managed to cling to, though none of that worked in his favor. Without all that, the guy would still be a walking sleezeball. But she had to play nice if she wanted to remain on the evening schedule. Piss Boomer off and you might never work nights again. Some of the girls would cuddle up to him for the best time slots. Ew. Gag. And ew again.

“Hi Boomer, baby,” Goldie beamed. She shared Naia’s view of the man, but a girl’s gotta work.

Naia forced an easy smile. “I can loosen them up all right. Just give me that mic and they’ll be as loose as you want.”

“Not too loose, honey. We don’t want ‘em falling asleep out there.” He tossed something at her feet. “Why don’t you wear these instead of that top you got on?”

Naia glanced at the old tattered pasties that could have been living in his pocket for the better part of a year.

Hold back the dry heave.

She turned her lips down into a pout. “You know that’s Crystal’s signature look. Wouldn’t want the other girls to think I’m encroaching on their style. Could cause discontent among the staff.”

Tiffany snatched them up and tossed them back at Boomer who managed to catch only one of them against his big belly while the other flopped to the ground. “Go on, you dirty old man.” She said playfully. “Stop teasing our little Sapphire. And you know you’re not supposed to be back here during work hours.”

“The club never closes,” he said. “All hours are work hours.”

Tiffany countered, “Then it’s a wonder you’re always back here. You’re going to have to start coughing up some dough for all the peep shows you get.”

He chuckled and scratched his gut. Then with a lingering look at all of them he backed out of the door.

“What a dickhead,” Goldie muttered when he was gone.

“He’s just a horny old fart,” Tiffany lightly defended.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to work the day shifts like me and Sapphire here usually do.”

Tiffany shrugged haughtily. “Give him a little slap and tickle, and you might get better time slots.”

Naia shuddered. “No thank you. I’d rather swan dive into concrete.”

Goldie folded her cash over and secured it with a rubber band. “That’s only because you don’t rely on randy fellows throwing dollar bills at your crotch while you’re taking off your clothes so that you can afford to buy the clothes that you’ll later be taking off.”

“True,” she allowed. As a waitress, she worked for salary and tips. It wasn’t much, but, in her book, it beat the alternative. And she got a cool fifty every night she got to sing. Bonus!

Double bonus, actually, considering, were it to come down to it, she would sing for free. Nobody needed to know that, however.

She was lucky. With the economy in the bucket, times were rough. Many would grapple to slip into Goldie’s glinting plastic shoes for a night. And not just women. On Wednesdays, Dante hosted an all-male revue. He’d gotten the idea from an Ever Nights’ flyer, though he would never admit that.

Most of the town’s income came from entertainment facilities such as Dante’s Pit. But it was Ever Nights that brought the crowds. Tourists flocked there since it was also a hotel.

“But I also don’t get paid the big bucks like you and the other girls.” Naia applied a final layer of powder to her face. “I get a flat fee per performance, and my money is strictly for food and shelter.” And paying off my brother’s debt, she didn’t add. “New clothes are a luxury.” Once more, she admired the borrowed boots climbing up her calves.

As if reminded, Goldie pointed to the boots “Scuff my shit, and I’m going to have to kill you before I snatch them off your cold, rotting corpse.”

Naia lovingly petted the smooth leather. “Don’t let her scare you, babies, you can stay with me as long as you like.”

“Oh, god. You’re getting attached. I knew this was going to happen. Not a shoe person my ass!”

Tiffany pointed out, “If you want a pair of your own, you could probably have Boomer add you to the roster tonight. That is if he’s feeling generous. A little skin goes a long way, sugar.” She winked. “A lot gets you everything.”

Goldie moaned, “Ew, Tiff, really? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” She turned to Naia. “Don’t listen to her. If I had a voice like yours, I might sing for my bread, too, rather than shaking my ass for it.”

“You sure about that?” Tiffany reached out and snatched Goldie’s cash, then hopped back and fanned herself with the pilfered loot.

Goldie leapt up and ripped the wad back from Tiffany’s clutches. Shoving it in her purse, she chirped, “The key word was might. I do have expensive taste after all.”

Tiffany laughed and turned back to her mirror.

Through the scratchy backstage speakers, Naia heard her introduction. “You just enjoyed the beautiful and talented Goldie,” the announcer said, “and now for the girl with the golden voice, let’s hear it for the sexy Sapphire!”

“Good luck,” Tiffany called after her as she hurried to the stage.

“You’re supposed to say break a leg,” Goldie chided then added something else but Naia didn’t catch it.

As the steady beat of music started, she pasted on a smile and sauntered to the microphone at the center of the stage. Typical, she was greeted by a barrage of hoots and hollers.

Some of the men in the crowd sidled up to the edge of the stage with dollars in hand, looking as though they thought she was another stripper. Most of the regulars knew her as filler entertainment, intermission while they refreshed their drinks and did a little gambling in the back rooms.

That didn’t mean they could keep their eyes off her. She wondered if some of them ever realized how often their gazes strayed to her, many having to squint through latticework that walled off the gambling tables while the dealers claimed their winnings. Were they ever curious why they just had to look at her while she sang?

Though her performance didn’t call for her to disrobe, she had moves. Her routine was provocative. Yet a little pop of her hips and sway of her body wasn’t the reason they found it difficult to tear their eyes away.

It was the siren in her blood. In her voice.

Several years ago, she learned she descended from an ancient line of sirens; the kind from mythology said to lure seafarers to their deaths. Everyone believed she had worked tirelessly to perfect her voice, but it was a talent she’d been born with. A natural ability. A natural curse.

No one but Cole knew what she was. She spotted him behind the bar serving drinks. She gave him a wave. Some of the other men thought it was for them and waved back.

She’d managed to get Cole this job a couple months ago, just after she’d been hired. Good thing too, because they would need all the money they could get if they were to pay down his gambling debts.

The Boyle twins, hard-ass bookies, had been circling him like sharks for the last month. It was either pay them off, or run for their lives. And without a decent amount of cash, neither option was feasible.

Cole responded with a double thumbs up accompanied by a funny face with his tongue sticking out to one side. She smiled, but it didn’t trip her up in the least. She was used to his fun-loving, sometimes childish, personality. He almost seemed too innocent for a place like this, though she knew better. He was only a few years younger than her, and just as hardened.

She hated that he had to work here. However, he was having the time of his life. He got propositioned daily by many of the female patrons looking for a little fun—as well as some of the working girls—because he was, according to what people told her, a hottie. Blech. If she had to think about that too much, she’d give herself a headache. To her, he was just her little brother; the kid who used to whine to their mother about an ouchy on his finger or a tiny scrape on his knee.

Yet, at some point, when she wasn’t paying attention, he’d gone and turned into a man. Since their mother’s disappearance ten years ago, she’d done her best protecting him, raising him, and he’d done his best keeping them both in the black with his talent at counting cards. That is until his luck had run out six months ago. A string of bad games had them fifteen grand in the hole. He’d never lost so badly in his entire life, even when he was wet behind the ears.

Part of her suspected those games had been rigged, but you don’t go around accusing gangsters of cheating unless you’re prepared to get shot in the face for your trouble.

When they decided he should step away from gambling for a while, supporting them had fallen on her shoulders.

Before this gig had come along, she would sing outside busy establishments while Cole manned a bag for donations. But as much as people loved to stand around and enjoy her voice, getting money from them was like pulling teeth. Everyone was hurting for funds these days thanks to the human/vampire wars that had ripped through the country over the last century. The world couldn’t seem to pick itself back up.

A lot of people believed the fighting wasn’t over, that some factions were still recruiting for the next assault. Naia wasn’t even sure what they were fighting over. Money? Power? Territory? Guess what, bitches. We all lost. Time to give it up.

Her grandmother used to spin tales of a nation that had been united by a strong government. Of opulence and excess. If you wanted something, you just ordered it over the Internet and wham bam it was yours. Naia couldn’t even imagine that kind of world.

Must have been nice.

The Internet still existed, but most people couldn’t afford it, and from what she understood, it was mostly used for porn anyway.

On the same token, very rich people had cell phones, and could call other very rich people and talk about very rich things.

Dante’s Pit had a general landline. It rarely ever rang.

In some parts of the world, she’d heard folks had gone as far as rejecting paper money all together, returning to the barter system. But no matter where you were, commodities were always preferred; jewelry, stones, precious metals.

When she had offered to pawn her mother’s locket, Cole had vehemently objected.

Accelerating her tempo, she drowned out her thoughts and let her song carry her mind away. Her enthrallment tonight was just a light dusting over the room, drawing energy from those who were caught in her snare, as she liked to call it.

She often wondered if her ancestors ever hated what they’d been compelled to do. If Naia didn’t sing, over time she would weaken, eventually growing ill. She’d been just a teen when her siren nature emerged. Her mother warned she could even die if she resisted the need too long.

But she hated having to suck energy from the unsuspecting. It made her feel like a leech. A freak. Unnatural.

Wrong.

At sixteen, she’d tried to go cold turkey. She could still remember the extreme exhaustion that dogged her. But she had persisted, hoping to change what she was, push past it. Be like everyone else.

But that turned out disastrous.

One terrible night, something dark had taken her over. She had awoken in the middle of the street that fronted their home, singing her lungs raw with no recollection of having left her bed in the dead of night. She’d decided later she must have sleepwalked.

Terrifying, yes, but that wasn’t what still sent shivers through her bones to this very day.

Barefoot and frightened, she’d spotted several males from the neighborhood coming for her with lust in their eyes, some half-dressed. Some not dressed at all…

Horrified, she had sprinted back inside to her mother’s room as deranged men started banging on the doors and windows. Without even packing, her mother had snuck them out the back.

They’d never returned.

Her mother warned her later that she could literally have driven men to insanity with her voice. She’d claimed that was what happened to sailors eons ago. Ships would pass by islands inhabited by Sirens who’d been trapped by the ocean, alone and mindless with starvation, never dying courtesy of their pureblood. They could not control their hunger, and the poor men, unable to resist the Siren’s song, would hurl themselves into the ocean, drowning as they battled waves to reach that beautiful sound.

Mindless with starvation, she thought. Yup, that was what it had felt like. Ever since then, she strived never to get to that uncontrollable point again. If she felt as though she was getting close, she would amp up her wattage ever so slightly—like tonight.

However, lately it didn’t seem to be enough. Last week, that same starved urge had unexpectedly come over her. This time it had jerked her awake at dawn, her vocal cords already hard at work.

Her instinct had been to run—what if the neighbors had heard? Cole was immune, but even still, he’d already left for work. There’d been no one to help her keep a lid on it. And the lid had been about to explode. If she let it, they’d have to move yet again, something neither of them could afford.

Dressed in nothing but her nightgown, hand slapped over her mouth, she had tripped through the living room on her way to the back door. Their building complex was nestled against woodland foothills—the whole reason why they’d rented the ground-floor apartment.

She’d raced into the surrounding woods, down the familiar path she and Cole had carved for just such an occasion. The plan was like a fire drill. She was to seek complete isolation in the foothills and let her voice free till the danger passed. Then, when she was more in control, she could feed freely without zombifying anyone. That was the theory. Except, in all their planning, Cole was meant to be there to help.

After what felt like half an hour of hiking the rocky hills, her vocal cords fighting every inch of the way, she finally unleashed her voice—

—and had immediately started to feed.

A hunter’s tent, hidden in the darkness, was several yards from her. But she couldn’t bottle it back up. It was too late to stop…

Two men had emerged wearing fatigues. They appeared dazed at first, but quickly focused on her as if she were their next prey, burgeoning madness in their eyes.

There was no churning ocean to stand bastion between them. A few terrifying seconds more and she would have discovered what happens when an ensnared male catches his Siren.

But before they reached her, they had turned on each other like wolves, grappling and clawing each other like savage dogs. Fighting for the sole right to claim her?

She hadn’t stuck around to find out. Able to finally cage her voice, she’d slipped away, racing back down the mountain.

After slamming the apartment door closed and engaging the lock and chain, she had hunched by the back window, puffing out harsh breaths and watching for her doom to stalk out of the forest.

The two hunters didn’t seem to have followed her. Perhaps they had killed each other. If so, their blood was on her hands.

That same morning, she had confessed everything to Cole.

He’d been a ball of positivity, reassuring her that he would protect her, that everything would be fine, that they just have to figure out how to keep it from happening again. Then he had instructed her to feed a little more than she had been. Even joking with her. Don’t forget, you’re a growing mythical creature. Got to make sure you eat your veggies. Though his voice had been teasing, she could tell he was worried more than he was letting on—

She gasped, her voice stuttering to a halt as she completely froze up on stage.

One of those hunters was sitting at the corner booth! And he was staring straight at her!