A bouquet of roses, lying upon a mahogany coffin, hides the stench of death. Tall, misshapen candles decorate every corner of the room. I stare at their flames, white and blue, while the vampire rummages through an old chest of drawers.

She turns to lock her crimson eyes with mine. “Don’t move yet, darling,” she says.

“I won’t.” My voice is listless. Entranced. Her red eyes give her the ability to twist a human’s will however she pleases. When she first saw me at the party downstairs and caught my scent, she wasted no time in making me follow her, as though she was in a rush. As though she won’t live forever.

Her room’s décor is the opposite of the downstairs club’s. Dame Danger is an industrial mess, all pipes and neon lights. But here the room has thick velvet curtains, a red Persian rug over a wooden floor. She doesn’t hide her vanity: Framed portraits of herself fill every wall. Her striking features, chestnut hair, and thick red lips, unchanged through centuries, appear on each canvas. “Ah!” she says. “Finally.” She draws out a dagger. A golden blade with a crystal hilt embedded with flowers. “Now we can begin.”

I stare at the weapon, my heart pounding.

“Begin what?” I whisper.

My back is pressed against the wall. I stand exactly where she told me to—­ in the very same spot, I imagine, as all her past victims. She closes the distance between us and places the cold crystal in my hands, drawing my fingers tight around the hilt. Then she leans down, presses her nose into the crook of my neck, and inhales. “Delicious,” she whispers.

My blood, Type-­S, is extremely rare, only one in ten thousand humans are said to have it. And with its scent alone, it can make a satiated vampire thirsty again.

My fingers tremble around the dagger. I know what comes next. I know what happened to her previous victims. She leans back just enough for her red eyes to meet mine again, and they glow bright before she commands: “Slit your throat.”