feeding.” She waggles her eyebrows smugly.
Demi gasps. “Oh my god, did he feed on you last night?” she asks in a whisper.
Gretchen grins. “A lady never kisses and tells.” She waits a beat, just long enough for Demi’s face to fall in disappointment, then adds, “But I’m not a lady. Hell yeah, he fed on me. It was hot as hell too. God, I love the way he does it. Trust me, girls, you’ll find your favorites.”
Jessica is pushing her food around her plate, not eating any of it. That worries me, but the direction this conversation is going worries me more.
“Sure, he’s good looking enough,” Winona says dismissively. “But honestly, the bad boy type never gets anywhere in life. Neither do goody-two-shoes like Connor. He’s sweet and all, but the other vampires will walk all over him for all eternity. Now, Bastian—”
“We know, we know, he has all the power,” Chelsea says, rolling her eyes.
Winona purses her lips. “What I was going to say is that if you’re looking for the hottest man in the room whose attractiveness isn’t dampened by a personality handicap, Bastian wins, hands down.”
“Guess that depends on what you mean by a personality handicap,” a girl I haven’t met yet says. “I think refusing to bond is a pretty big handicap. Why fantasize about someone you can never have?”
“That’s your problem, Ji-yoo,” Winona shoots back. “You see ‘impossible’ as a fact. I, however, see it as a challenge. You can bet your ass that when the bonding ceremony rolls around, I’ll be the one lying across Bastian’s lap. You’ll be lucky if a vampire busboy chooses to bond with you.”
Ji-yoo pretends to cuss her out in Korean. I’ve picked up just enough of the language to recognize a grocery list when I hear it, and I hide my grin behind my hand. Winona obviously doesn’t have a clue what Ji-yoo is saying, and she flushes bright red, her eyes flashing murderously. I’m waiting for her to launch herself across the table at the dark-haired woman—and honestly, I kind of want to see Ji-yoo take her—but she just sniffs instead.
“You could at least pretend to have some manners,” she says. “Unless you really want to lower your standards that much.”
Ji-yoo rolls her eyes. I shoot an amused glance at Jessica, but she’s still shoving things around on her plate. I don’t think she even heard the exchange.
“So, Winona, who fed on you?” Elise asks with a wicked grin. She doesn’t talk a lot, but this girl’s got an edge to her. I like it. She’s just my kind of bitch.
“Oh.” Winona shrugs, turning her nose up. “Nobody important. But the important ones will come.”
“Guess so. You can’t go anywhere but up.” Elise smirks.
Winona’s red face darkens a few extra shades and she busies herself with her food instead of responding.
Gretchen glances at Ji-yoo. “How ’bout you?”
Ji-yoo grins, tossing her sleek black hair over her shoulder. “Connor and Bastian.”
“Ooh, a twofer,” Demi says excitedly. “I got Frederick and Gabriel, which wasn’t too bad.”
“Gabriel’s a sweetheart.” Gretchen smiles almost fondly, making my stomach turn a little.
“I can’t remember any of their names,” Chelsea says, her voice a bit too bright. There’s a strain in it, but she’s trying to hid it. “But they all gave me desserts after.”
“All?” Winona asks sharply. “How many?”
“Um… four? No, five. I was really dizzy by the end of the night.” She laughs quietly, looking down at the table. “But it was probably just all the sugar.”
Sure it was. Keep telling yourself that, kid.
Jessica still hasn’t said anything. She hasn’t eaten anything either. I frown and touch her shoulder. She jumps hard enough for her knees to hit the table.
“Hey.” I hold up my hands, alarmed. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but her hands are shaking. I drop my voice as the conversation continues around us, voices blending together. “Did someone feed from you last night?”
Jessica nods again, trembling harder. I narrow my eyes. She was plenty scared and freaked out the last time I saw her yesterday, but it wasn’t like this. Now she looks… traumatized.
“Who?” I demand. “Who was it?”
She doesn’t answer me, but her eyes slide sideways as a hulking shadow falls over our table. She turns even paler, her hands clenching into fists around the tablecloth. I look up to see a broad-shouldered man with bad posture and a shaved head glaring down over the table with unnaturally blue eyes. His features alone—high cheekbones, full lips, and regal nose—should make