Male vampires of all ages stand at the glass like a bunch of zoo-goers at the gorilla exhibit, talking among themselves and pointing to various parts of the room below.
The moment I step inside, something stirs in my gut—an instinct that pulls my attention toward the glass with them.
It’s unsettling as hell.
And it doesn’t matter what the women down there look like; they’re all innocent pawns in a rich vampire game.
“It’s a one-way mirror,” my uncle updates as he guides me toward the viewing glass. “The women down below can’t see us. This is an important part of the selection process that allows us the opportunity to see them acting naturally. As I’m sure you could guess, a lot of them have preconceived notions about how they need to be—what look they need to present—and, when they’re among us, turn into something of a different personality entirely.”
Overwhelming discomfort pricks at each and every one of my senses as we step up to the massive viewing window and peer down into the room full of extravagantly dressed women.
They talk among themselves and laugh and drink, upturning their faces toward us just enough that my stomach flips over.
“If they can’t see, why are they looking up here?” I ask, hating myself but needing the information if I’m even going to have a shot in hell at dismantling this place from the inside out.
Lucian smiles. “Keen observation, Calloway.”
I don’t accept the compliment, but he doesn’t care. He takes the inquisition as a personal victory, leaning in even more closely and lowering his voice as he explains.
“For their part, there’s a montage of previously bonded couples playing via a projector on the wall above them,” he answers. “It’s comforting for them to see the happiness on the faces of their predecessors and ancestors, and for our part, it gives us a chance to see their faces more clearly.”
Forcing myself to scan the faces of the innocent women below, I log them into my memory and vow internally to set them free from the chains of a fate they cannot and should not have to foresee.
What these men here intend to do with them is both self-serving and morally compromised in every way it can be.
I know there may be a couple among this group of vampires who don’t fully understand the implications of buying a woman to use for their own consumption and enrichment of power—or, I don’t know, maybe I’m just hoping there are for the sake of my sanity—but the practice is archaic and repulsive, and I can’t, in good conscience or moral heart, allow it to go on for another year.
This one will be the end. This one will—
Everything inside me freezes as a face peeks through the crowd below, upturned in something much, much different than a smile.
Her pale-yellow dress further highlights the sick pallor of her skin as she watches the supposed movie rolodex of couples who came before her, and a grimace turns down the corners of her perfectly pink mouth.
She looks…wrong here.
My body leans toward the glass before I even realize I’ve moved, and a strange pressure spreads through my chest, tightening with every second my eyes stay locked on her.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her name, but the thought slams to a halt as something hits me with the force of a fist to the gut.
The room fades.
The noise disappears.
All that exists isher.
And the terrifying certainty blooming inside my chest.
This is it, I think, as wonder and regret and something dangerously close to grief twist at every nerve-ending inside my body.This is the feeling my brothers both had. This is the change. Immediate. All-consuming.Irreversible.
She—whoever she is—is my fated mate.
I know it as well as I know that Calloway Slater is my own name.
Suddenly, the pull to the glass makes perfect sense.
But it also means everything about this situation just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
Romy
