The Countess's lace-gloved fingers traced my cheeks as she promised to whisk me away to her castle for a life of luxury.

Anna, the self-proclaimed "queen" of the orphanage, shoved me aside.


She nearly knocked me into a mud puddle before positioning herself in front of the black carriage, chest thrust forward. "Choose me instead, Madam! I'm healthier, prettier—far more suitable!"

Her eyes locked onto the carriage's gold trim and the massive ruby gleaming at the Countess's throat.

But she missed what mattered.


As Anna leaned forward, exposing her pale neck, the Countess's elegant dark eyes contracted, flashing with an eerie crimson glow.

The unmistakable excitement of a predator spotting prey—raw, primal hunger.


From the carriage depths came the faint sound of grinding teeth—a noise that sent shivers down my spine.

I quietly retreated, retrieving the dry bread she'd trampled into the mud.

Anna had already hitched up her skirt and bounded into the carriage, practically glowing with triumph.

She poked her head through the window, looking down at me like I was something stuck to her shoe:

"Enjoy your long life in the gutter, sister. Trash like you deserves nothing better."

I smiled back, biting into the dusty bread. "I wish you a long life too, sister."

In a world crawling with vampires, wishing a long life to a renewable food source is the cruelest curse imaginable.

The orphanage's iron gate clanged shut in the cold morning air.

Dust from the departing carriage settled on my face.

Anna's laughter faded with the receding hoofbeats. Around me, small orphans watched with envious, red-rimmed eyes. Only the old headmaster stood in the bitter draft, sighing as he crossed himself.

"Don't blame her, Eileen." The headmaster brushed dust from my shoulder. "That's her fate. This is yours."

"I don't blame her." I swallowed the last bite, the rough bran scraping my throat raw. "I'm actually grateful."

If she hadn't pushed her way in, I'd be the one in that carriage right now.

Everyone around here knows Countess Bathory's reputation.

Every three years, she visits the orphanage to "adopt" a girl.

Rumors claim these girls all marry nobility and live draped in silk and jewels.

No one questions why the letters eventually stop coming, or why the Countess hasn't aged a day in thirty years.

Anna had prepared a full year for this opportunity.

She'd washed her face with ice water daily to tighten her pores, stolen milk to bathe her hands—all to make her skin soft and supple.

She'd succeeded.

"Soft and delicate skin."

I murmured the words, fingers unconsciously tracing the hard object in my pocket. "Must taste quite good."

On a vampire's menu, that phrase typically describes premium-grade sashimi.

The way the Countess had examined Anna wasn't a mother's loving gaze, but a butcher appraising meat.

That moment when her nail traced Anna's carotid artery? She was checking the fullness of the vessel beneath.

In that moment, the silver cross in my pocket had burned white-hot against my thigh.