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Taking a seat behind the desk, Sarah nods. “Exactly. I have to say, I always forget how sheltered you legacies are. Growing up surrounded by vampire lore and culture and having older relatives in active feeder contracts, it never seems to occur to you what it’s like for outsiders. I wish everyone could have your experience, Adam.”

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t, but I can’t say that. “It’s practically a whole new world for me,” I say instead—completely truthfully. “One more question?”

She laughs. “As many as you like. This is literally my job, and I could talk about it all day.”

“Ha ha, I bet. The whole nightclub feeding thing—isn’t that dangerous?”

Her smile slips away. “Yes. For both humans and vampires. But there are too many vampires without feeders, and we can’t expect them to starve.”

“No, of course not,” I murmur, sinking into a chair beside Cat.

“Now, Pierce sent me a copy of your contract. Have you seen it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s his first contract, obviously,” Cat adds. “Would you mind going through all the clauses with him?”

Sarah beams. “I’d be delighted to. We can read through it together. I do need you to do some other paperwork first, though. Pierce said you were starting your contract tonight, which means we’ve got a lot to cram into today if we’re going to get you registered.”

She really means it. We start with basic information—my name, date of birth, parents’ names, contact details—then move on to medical history, a mental health survey, and a bunch of other stuff that all blurs together. She takes me downstairs to a room that’s set up like the kind of lab I’ve seen on crime TV shows and introduces me to the on-staff pathologist. An actual pathologist, not a phlebotomist or a nurse. He takes some blood and urine samples and does a whole bunch of rapid tests for I don’t even ask what, then goes through my medical history with me before taking me across the hall and introducing me to Rowan, the staff psychologist. I spend an hour there, mostly chatting casually, though I’m pretty sure Rowan is getting more out of it than just chat.

Finally, Sarah comes to get me and takes me back upstairs to her office. “Thanks so much for your patience,” she says. “If we’d known ahead of time that you’d be in today, we would have planned better.”

“Totally my fault.” Planned what better?

“At least we can issue you an interim registration before your first feeding with Tristan,” she declares with an air of relief. “There are a couple of pathology tests that need forty-eight hours to run, but everything else is set to go. Rowan was very pleased—he thinks you’re going to be an excellent long-term feeder, and god knows we need more of those.”

This is veering into territory I don’t know much about, and Cat’s long gone—I told her not to hang around, since there was nothing for her to do. So I smile and nod sympathetically but say nothing.

Sarah puts a tablet on the desk between us. “Okay, let’s go over this contract. First contracts are usually A.R.F. boilerplate ones, but Tristan’s never been one to adhere to minimum standards. The last two feeders we sent him had interesting contracts.”

I don’t know if I should be happy about that or not. “Interesting how?”

She shrugs. “I can’t discuss anyone else’s contract with you, but let’s see what he’s put in this one.”

Reading a legal document that gives someone the right to literally suck the blood from my veins? Sounds like a fun way to spend the afternoon. “Sure.”

The first few pages are boring as fuck, basically saying that I’ll live in Tristan’s house, that he’s obligated to provide me with at least one room and a bathroom for my private use, that those rooms will be cleaned regularly and otherwise maintained at a standard fit for human occupation, that I’ll be provided with a minimum of three nutritious meals per day, that I’m obliged to eat said meals and to maintain a baseline level of health, and that if I contract an illness—any illness ranging from the common cold to cancer, with everything in between—it’s my responsibility to report my change in health to Tristan and to seek medical attention immediately, blah, blah, blah…

I’m free to come and go from the house as I choose, as long as I make myself available twice per day for feeding at an agreed upon time. Tristan will provide a car and driver-slash-bodyguard for my use, and should I choose not to make use of said driver-slash-bodyguard, I accept that I might be at risk of kidnapping or other bodily harm.

I make a mental note to ask Cat about that. It’s come up twice now—who the fuck is Tristan, that someone might kidnap me to get to him? Mega wealthy or mega dickhead? Or both?

“Wow,” Sarah says, interrupting herself midsentence. “You must have made quite an impression on him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. You probably know that currently starting contracts are for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars per year.” She glances up at me, and I’m already nodding. “Tristan is known for being generous, and even with new feeders, he usually offers a little more.” She quirks a brow. “This is quite a bit more.”

Fuck yeah! “How much?”

“Three hundred thousand. But, if after the first year you both agree to the two-year extension, that goes up to four fifty per year.”

That’s one point two million dollars for three years, with no living expenses. Tristan really is generous.

Is it pessimistic of me to wonder what the catch is?

Chapter 10