She thought of Midnight, out on the dark lawn. Tana, is that you?
“How did you get down here?” His nose wrinkled, and he took another look at her, at her neck. “You’re infected—you’re not supposed to—”
Tana didn’t wait for him to finish, and she didn’t try to answer. She slammed the screwdriver deep into his chest with all the force she could muster, hoping against hope that she’d be lucky enough to strike his heart. The ferocity of her attack drove him back against the wall with surprise. She ripped free the screwdriver, feeling it drag against the bones of his ribs, and then stabbed him with it again.
This time she stabbed him straight through the throat. He made a choked noise. His hands scrabbled to pull her to him, jaw working to bite the air, the light already going out of his eyes. She had him. She brought down the screwdriver like it was a dagger, over and over, until he stopped moving, until his head was at an odd angle, hanging from flesh, the bones of his throat shattered.
Blood bubbled up, the smell of it entrancing her, even through her panic. She was already operating on instinct, so she barely thought before she brought her head down. Bending over him as if to pray, she knelt and lapped at the pool of red collecting in what was left of the hollow of his throat. Tiny hairs tickled her nose as she bit down. His blood was chill and thick, sliding down her throat like honey, the taste sparking on her tongue as though she was gulping light.
Her skin felt as if it had caught fire. She’d turned into lit paper, already blistering and about to blaze up into black smoke and ash.
His blood was shady afternoons and metal filings and tears running-thrumming through the fat roots of veins to drip syrup slow, spurting across mouth, teeth, chin.
She licked his skin, bit him, ripped with her blunt teeth, and licked again.
Time passed as if in a dream, moments blurring together. When she came back to herself, the first sound she heard was a gasp from behind her. She turned toward the cage. The people within—Valentina, the dark-haired girl, and most of the others—were huddled together on the far side. Valentina took a half step toward her and then shrank back again, her courage failing.
Tana reached up a sticky hand to touch her face. It was coated with blood, making a half mask.
She must look awful. An animal-girl.
But then Valentina did come forward, walking to the bars, widening her eyes and jerking her chin. It was a subtle but clear signal. Look over there, it said.
Tana turned toward the shadows and saw the shine of eyes. She stumbled back, reaching again for the slippery handle of the screwdriver, before she saw it was Gavriel. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed. She had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, but at her astonished look he raised both eyebrows. An amused smile pulled at his lips.
“I’m a very bad host, forcing you to throw together supper for yourself,” he said, finally. He stood and stuck out a hand, as if to help her to her feet—as if she was some fancy lady who’d fallen from a coach into a mud puddle.
One of her hands reached for the guard’s keys, the other reached up for Gavriel, letting him pull her to her feet.
Her fingers were wet with blood, but he didn’t seem to notice.
She almost laughed, but she couldn’t quite. She didn’t feel enough like herself to trust that she wouldn’t start sobbing instead.
“Were you looking for me?” she asked, to fill the silence.
“I was watching the screens in one of Lucien’s video rooms. So many exits and entrances and a citadel in need of storming. And then you.” She couldn’t put her finger on what was different in his voice, but for the first time she thought that he was being deliberately obscure. His face was placid, though, showing nothing.
“Tana,” Valentina whispered, her fingers reaching out through the bars to point. “He’s—”
Looking up, Tana saw Lucien Moreau coming down the stairs. He was dressed all in cream, his jacket the color of ivory. Silver buttons ran over the front and down the cuffs. His shoes came to sharp points. He looked ageless, ancient and youthful in the same moment. His skin was pale, but his mouth was almost a vulgar red. He was beautiful the way the devil might have been, just before he fell.
She was sure he’d looked through one of his cameras as Gavriel had, that he’d overheard what she’d whispered to the girl in the basement and seen her kill yet another vampire. Her heart pounded.
“What have you done?” he demanded, sweeping his arm toward the body. He wasn’t looking at Tana, though, but rather at Gavriel. His voice was scolding in the manner of someone who discovered their dog chewing up the carpet. “What exactly happened here?”
“Oh, hello,” said Gavriel. “Don’t be angry. So she got hungry and killed someone? The city is full of humans desperate to be turned. Just choose another.”