“I need to feed, Adelie.”
“Of course.” She scurried out of the room to find me a suitable source of blood.
Nial settled into the chair, grabbing a book off the shelf. He tossed his legs over the side and started paging through. “Remember, they’re watching.”
“Remember, you’re a pain in my ass and need to just stay quiet, you prick.”
“Mmm. You didn’t think that last night.”
“Shut up, Niallan.”
I soundly ignored him and turned away, walking over to my desk. I would allow him to live—right now—because I didn’t want the overlords too pissed at me. I flopped the idiotic folder open again and stared at the human. He’d be tasty. I could do this easily. Find him, fuck him in full view of the public, and leave him to rot in the aftermath.
Humans and their fragile sexuality.
They were so shy about taking their pleasure, making sure no one else could see them.
Caught on camera, that would be enough humiliation to do him in.
So what was this? What was the catch?
I started reading through the file.
Timothy Ginter, millionaire. Entrepreneur. There were lines and lines of paperwork describing transactions that read like fraud, embezzlement, laundering. Money had become complicated. People didn’t hoard gold and gems anymore. There were some who still did, like Lord Belshazzar and Lord Pippin, but there were others who had moved along in their financial savvy and no longer held those.
I was not going to be one of the individuals who gave up her hoard, either, to this new investment style or to anyone who was looking for it.
But if this political hopeful was embezzling, why would Cato want me after him? Why specifically humiliate him? I tapped on my computer, running a search on the Internet for this man. Hundreds upon hundreds of articles appeared. Interviews, articles, more financial advice.
Cato was after him because of money. He had to be.
But what about the money? Why specifically this man?
I didn’t have much time. I knew the other overlords would want to see cunning and insight put into this. I couldn’t just go there, fuck him, and let the press handle it. I had to be smart about this.
The cell phone on my desk pinged, and I picked it up.
Adelie was ready for me.
I stood to head where I would partake of the fresh blood—and stopped. Glancing over at Nial in the chair, I reconsidered. We held humans in the dungeons as chattel—some willing, some not. We snacked on them like they were cookies and pastries. We dined on them, draining them to the point of death. We had preferred locations, necks or wrists.
Was it any wonder these vampires around us were pathetic? Where was the hunt? Where was the prize? Where was the pure sexual release in taking nourishment from the prey we had tracked and coaxed to remember nothing and to live only if we chose?
Where was the kill anymore?
I texted Adelie.Never mind. I’m going huntinglater.
I sat down to read more of the file I had, needing to tease out what was going on here.
Seconds later, the door burst open. Adelie stumbled inside. “You’re going to hunt?”
“Later. I need to—”
“Hunt what?” Nial asked, disinterested.
I snorted. “My dinner.”
He peered over his book. “Dinner, eh?”
