“Hi!” she said, her face brightening. “I’m pledged to you. As a bloodslave.”

I looked around to make sure no one else in the complex could hear. “I don’t need you,” I harshly whispered. “And I don’t want you.”

Her face crumpled. She was very gothy, long black hair with straight bangs and oval ice-blue eyes, like a cat’s. She’d been in some sort of dress last night, but today she was in black leggings, clunky boots, and a low-cut black t-shirt so tight I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. A small backpack was slung over her shoulders. “I only have a few hours left.”

I pulled my door shut behind me and locked it, ignoring her.

“I just need you to say yes,” she went on, following me out to my truck, making me regret the distance to it in the parking lot. “Please. I have to serve someone. I can’t be unowned.”

I unlocked the door to the truck and sat inside, closing it resolutely on her.

“What’re you going to do when he wakes up, huh?” she shouted at my window. How did she know about Paco? Had Maya told her?

She ran around to stand in front of the truck. “Don’t make me go back to Maya—please.”

“Get the hell out of the way,” I said, knowing that even with my windows up she could see my lips and read the look on my face.

“You’re going to have to drive over me!” She put both hands on the hood, flashing her cleavage as her chest heaved with intent. “I’m dead if I go back to her.” I revved the engine and she started to shout over it. “Bloodslaves can only be free for twenty-four hours! I’ve only got five hours left to find a new Master to claim me, and we both know if you were going to kill me you would’ve done it already!”

I wrung the steering wheel. At least it was dark out. An unknown to me neighbor walked by, neck craning back at our scene. I tried to keep a low profile on principle, and hoped that anyone else seeing this would write it off as LARPing or kinky roleplay. And I hoped to hell Zach wasn’t looking out of his window, I didn’t need anything else to explain to him.

“Come on!” she shouted at full volume, lunging into the car hard enough to make it shake. I leaned over and unlocked the passenger door.

“Get in.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, settling herself beside me, swinging her backpack beneath the dashboard.

“Who’s to say I’m not taking you out to the desert to snack on?”

“Rosalie promised me you weren’t like that, last night.” When Rosalie had sent her over here to tell me Paco was in danger. Maya and I had murdered our Mistress, and now we were free. 

“Yeah, well, Rosalie’s dead,” I said, gruffly. The girl looked down and put her hands between her knees. “Sorry?” I guessed. I wasn’t, really, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“I know why you had to do it. Not that that makes it okay.”

“She started things, if it makes you feel better,” I said. “Where should I take you?”

“What?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

“I’m not in the market for a bloodslave.”

“But—you should be. You need one. All vampires do.”

“I’ve been fine so far.” I shrugged a shoulder. I’d only found out about the existence of bloodslaves recently—when I’d run from Rosalie after my making, I’d had to find my own paths to blood and sex. Luckily, I lived in Las Vegas. If I played my cards right, I could practically get both delivered.

“But!” she sputtered.

“Yeah, so—here?” I ignored her. “Downtown?” I gestured at the strip malls we passed by.

She turned to face me fully, eyes expressive. “But if you don’t claim me, then Maya will.” Her eyeliner was perfect, winged out wide. “Would you want to serve Maya?”

“Not particularly. But I also don’t want to own a slave. Apart from the ethical considerations, it seems like a lot of responsibility.”

She wriggled in her chair. Certain parts of me suddenly woke to watch her—just as other parts of me were annoyed at them for waking. I’d feasted last night on sex with Zach and Nikki both—why couldn’t my hunger just leave me be? “Maybe—you could just pretend you own me?” she asked.

I’d been driving to Dark Ink Tattoo out of habit. I couldn’t drive past it—I needed to get myself together, to pull my Jack Stone tattoo-artist-extraordinaire and vampire-businessman persona on. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“I know. But—you wouldn’t want to know what Maya would do to me—she hates me.”

“That’s not my problem,” I growled.