still held loosely in his hand, he turns and scans the stage behind him. To my horror, his eyes land on me immediately. A grin spreads across his face, and he walks over, stalking toward me like the predator he is.
“Hello, my succulent little friend. Let’s tell our audience about you, shall we? What’s your name?”
“Darcy,” I say, putting a flirty lilt into my voice. There’s no fucking way I’m telling him my real name. I knew a girl in high school named Darcy, and I never really liked her. I think she ended up working as a stripper at a club on the outskirts of Baltimore, actually.
“Darcy.” He rolls the word around on his tongue like he’s tasting it, and goose bumps prickle over my skin. “That’s a lovely name. Tell me, Darcy, what’s your favorite food?”
Refusing to think too hard about how a lot of the occupants of this room would answer that question, I pretend to consider my answer.
“Well, I love fruit,” I say with a little purr. “And red wine.”
“Fruit and wine. We have ourselves a fine dessert here, gentlemen.” He turns to grin at the crowd as if they’re sharing an inside joke, then refocuses his attention on me. “You have a lovely physique, if you don’t mind me saying so. How do you stay so fit and trim, Darcy?”
“Gymnastics.” I give what I hope is a mysterious, sultry smile, drawing in a deep enough breath to make my breasts strain a little against the semi-transparent fabric of my top. “And I dance a lot.”
“A dancer and a gymnast.” His eyebrows rise a little, and now he’s looking at me with real interest, not just the type meant to hype up the crowd. That’s a good thing, but it still makes my skin crawl. “My, my, my, you’re two dessert courses in one,” he purrs. “Tell us a bit about why you’re here, little one. Why do you want to become a blood tribute?”
Even though I’ve been expecting the question and have prepared a lie in advance, my jaw momentarily locks up, refusing to let me answer. I bite my lip, dragging it through my teeth and hoping that will be enough to cover up my internal struggle. Then I arch my back just a bit more, give him a sultry look up and down, and let my anger flutter like excitement in my pulse.
“I’ve dreamed of being a consort to a vampire for years,” I say breathlessly. “You’re all so strong and powerful. My greatest wish and desire is to be penetrated by your magnificent fangs and give myself to you. Any of you… all of you… I’m strong enough to take it.”
A few murmurs and appreciative whistles break out in the crowd, turning my stomach. They’re clearly buying it, which was the point. So why do I hate myself so much right now? I feel dirty, and the excited nods of agreement from a few of the girls onstage is making it so much worse. The fact that anyone honestly feels that way disturbs me.
The vampire in the red tux gives me one last slow perusal with his gaze, as if he’s considering claiming me for himself. Then affixes the dazzling, charming smile to his face again and turns to address the crowd.
“Well, there you have it, ladies and gents. Darcy, the most willing little morsel you’ll ever trifle with.” He steps toward the woman on my right, sweeping an arm out in a gesture that encompasses her full form. “Next, a very curvaceous blonde beauty. What’s your name, girl?”
She opens her mouth to answer his question, but I tune out the words, everything disappearing under the rush of blood in my ears.
I did it. I kept up the charade and managed to keep from blurting something I shouldn’t.
Now I just have to hope I’m chosen.
Chapter Four
My heart doesn’t stop racing as the auctioneer makes the rounds to the rest of the human women stationed on pedestals around me. Some of them gush and flirt with him, some seem too awed to do more than stare, and one or two are crying too hard to really answer any of his questions. Not that it matters. Their obvious fear and discomfort is in no way disqualifying—in fact, it’s probably considered a plus for some of the vamps in this room.
Once all of the women have been introduced, bids are placed. Since every single vampire here belongs to the Vampire Clan of Baltimore, they’re not