order a pizza or something.”

I wondered if most guys offered to buy pizza for hookers, but that seemed unlikely. It bothered me that he was being so nice.

“No, I’m okay. But go ahead if you want one.”

He sat down on the bed. There were dead cockroaches in the air vent over his head, and the bedspread sported two gaping cigarette burns.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name,” he said.

“Eleisha.”

“Hey, listen . . .”

A knock sounded on the door. His eyebrows wrinkled. “Someone’s probably got the wrong room.” He opened the door and Maggie walked in.

“Just thought I’d check on you.” She smiled with an odd light in her dark eyes.

“What about Ben?” Gunner asked.

“I told him I wanted to show Eleisha a few things. He understood.”

Every time I looked at her it took me by surprise. It was hard to believe anything so perfect could be walking around. She obviously had the same effect on Gunner, but he’d been caught off guard by her sudden appearance. Before he could move, she ran her hands up his chest. I stood staring in rapt interest. The whole scene took on the same unreal quality as Maggie’s bedroom.

His expression went blank. Then something close to pain, but not quite, flickered through his eyes. Staring down into her beautiful face, he seemed to forget my existence. Maybe he even forgot his own. With one hand he grasped the back of her thick mane and pulled her mouth up to his. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. She’d achieved absolute control in a matter of seconds.

But she didn’t waste any time.

I’d killed hundreds of people since the nineteenth century, but until that night, I’d never actually watched one of my own kind feed. With the exception of Edward, I’d never seen one of them kill. He operated hard and fast, like a machine. I used to go to horror movies and grimace every time some supposed vampire’s face distorted into a grotesque demonic mask and his fangs grew to epic proportions. It isn’t like that. Our fangs don’t grow. Our eyes don’t turn red. We don’t hiss or spit or turn into slaughter-crazed animals.

Maggie didn’t do any of those things. She just moved her mouth down to his neck, pinned him back against the wall, and bit down until she punctured his jugular. He didn’t scream. He didn’t struggle— much. I’m not even sure he knew what was happening to him. Quiet and simple.

I just stood there, watching.

She let his body slide to the floor and knelt there, drinking for a while. Then she looked up at me. “Hurry up. His heart’s still beating.”

It’s not just blood that we take in. It’s life force. Both Maggie and I would feed on energy through his blood. Without letting myself think, I walked over and crouched down, putting my mouth on his neck. Of course none of us could drink all the blood in a grown man’s body. All those stories about us draining bodies are lies. We don’t leave neat little snake-eye puncture wounds either. No one could feed like that. Most victims die from blood loss, but more than half of it ends up on the floor. This guy’s throat was a mess. Even if we didn’t drink from him, he’d bleed to death in a matter of minutes.

I sank my teeth in and drew down . . . and then as always, while feeding, images of his life passed through my mind. This was a side effect of absorbing his life force. I’d grown accustomed to it many, many years ago.

This time, I saw a small, decaying house on a run-down street, an unshaven man—Gunner’s father—drinking from a bottle. I saw a thin woman with a sad face, and then flashing visions of different motorcycles . . . a pretty girl with long black hair, laughing in one moment and slapping him in the next. I saw a long string of bars and pool tables . . .

Maggie must have taken a lot because I held his head with one hand and drew fluid out of his throat until his heart stopped beating. It’s a cold experience to feel someone’s heart just stop like that.

“He’s dead,” I said woodenly, pulling back.

“Good,” she said from the bathroom, cleaning up. “Get his wallet, wash up, and let’s go.”

“What about the body?”

“Leave it. Nobody cares. Without his ID, he’s just another John Doe.”

“He must have given his name to the clerk.”

“I doubt it. Cash-and-carry business