Page 11 of Craved

Gods, I’d been an idiot.

I slapped the lid back on the chocolate box.

I’d thought Zoe was interested in me, Rafe Kral—but she’d just wanted a walk on the wild side.

* * *

Monday afternoon found me back in Old Montreal. This time, the print shop was open, but the crablike, gray-haired man who presided over its dusty interior refused to forge me an invitation to the Crimson Ball, even when I offered him a stupid-high sum.

I sighed. I didn’t want to waste magic on compulsion, but I dug deep and let my vampire into my eyes. “Youwillmake me an invitation.”

A half hour later, I left, invitation in hand, after first wiping his mind of any memory of my visit.

My next stop was an exclusive men’s shop to buy a tuxedo and shoes for the ball. When I exited the shop, I was smiling, a dark excitement seething in my blood.

Ready or not, Princess. Here I come.

A shocked look from a woman in a business suit told me I’d let my glamour waver.

Hell. Stress and hunger were making me sloppy.

I amped up the glamour and ducked into an entrance to the metro. I joined the crowd of commuters riding the escalator down to the Underground City, a large, brightly lit warren of shops and restaurants connected by subways and underground passages to the city above.

You had to hand it to Victorine. The Underground City was a vampire’s idea of paradise. Humans might believe they’d designed this city below the city, but to me, it was proof of how deep the Tremblay Prima had sunk her scarlet claws into Montreal. In how many other large metropolitan areas could you go to work, watch a movie, buy a beer or a baguette, attend a concert or even go skating—and never go above ground?

I elbowed my way onto a metro car and stood with my back to a window, the garment bag over one shoulder, the bag with my new dress shoes in my other hand.

The car lurched into motion. I was surrounded by humans, warmed by the summer sun. Their salty-sweet scent filled my head. Some of the women wore summer dresses or tiny, throat-baring tops. Hell, as blood-hungry as I was, even the men in tank tops were tempting.

I stared over their heads, trying not to see all that smooth, bare flesh.

Five days I’d gone without blood. I didn’t even dare buy blood-wine for fear of drawing the Tremblay Syndicate’s attention. Instead, I’d made do with rare meat.

And each time I used vampire magic, I grew weaker. Powering a glamour, traveling in the shadow dimension, compelling information from humans—they all took energy.

If I didn’t feed soon, my magic could fail at a crucial moment. But I couldn’t risk it; vampires have a sixth sense about these things. Even if I lured a human back to my rented apartment, there was a chance that aTremblay vampire would sniff her out and realize a stranger had fed from her.

My stomach growled. I swallowed, tried to ignore it.

The blood craving raised its seductive head.

Feed.Just a taste…

The metro stopped. A few people got off, but even more shoved their way on. A young woman in a red tank top and capris sank into the seat in front of me.

My mouth watered. I zeroed in on the side of her neck and the blood I heard pulsing through her carotid.

It would be so easy to cut her from the herd, lure her into one of the Underground City’s convenient dark nooks.

I wrenched my gaze away.

Get control of yourself, damn it.

I could almost see my father’s lieutenant, Tomas Mraz, shaking his square blond head. Mraz never let me and my brothers forget we were dhampir, that we were weaker physically, with less control over our magic. That to compete in the vampire world, we had to work our asses off.

The metro jolted back into motion. I braced my feet apart and tried not to stare at the pretty human, but her scent wafted around me, warm and so, so sweet.

My nostrils twitched.Feed.

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