“It’s science. Sacrifice. They are casualties serving a grander purpose.” He wrenched the spike back out, and the yank of iron scraping against my shoulder bone, the tear of flesh, the vicious bite of pain, made me thrash in the chains for a moment. My fangs extended as far as they would go; sweat gathered on the back of my neck.

I tried to remind myself what Mom would do in a tough situation like this, how she’d fight her way free, how she’d survive—but I couldn’t think at all. There was just pain, like fire nibbling at every part of me, consuming, burning, eating away as if I were made of paper.

When the rattle of the links quieted again, the Host guard was grinning at me over Frankenstein’s shoulder. He handed his dagger to the scientist. “Here, use mine.”

Frankenstein circled me once slowly. The dagger darted in and out, stabbing under my other shoulder blade, over my kidney, under my ear. He circled back to the front, slashing shallow cuts on my chest, my neck, my arms, even my palms. I hissed, jerking violently at each slice. I tried to picture Lucy’s face, tried to imagine the exact way she smiled at me.

It helped a little.

I’d used Lucy as a talisman to pull me through the worst of my bloodchange, and I’d do the same now. And all I had back then were mostly memories of her punching me in the nose.

The dagger jabbed into me, and Frankenstein turned it as if it were a key and I the lock.

The way Lucy smelled like cherry bubble gum and pepper.

Blood dripped into the foul trench in the ground. It seeped from leaching strength and healing. I struggled, feeling every drop as it trickled down my body.

The way Lucy giggled when she thought no one could hear her.

Even my pupils dilated painfully when he swung a UV bulb liberated from a tanning bed into my eyes. It seared into my brain, left me feeling weak as if it were noon.

Lucy playing her guitar.

Frankenstein reached for a beaker of clear liquid and dipped the spike in. “Holy water,” he said, almost conversationally.

Lucy and I stretched out on the grass watching the northern lights.

He flicked drops into my cuts, inspecting them curiously as they blistered and peeled. I choked on a yell, gagged, fought.

The way Lucy’s mouth moved under mine, the way her body fit against mine, the way she whispered my name.

He dipped the spike in the holy water and dragged it lightly over the wound, enough to make my eyes roll back in my head, but not enough to cause the kind of lasting damage that might take me out of the game.

Lucy and I sitting in the secret tree fort, listening to music.

Shallow cuts over my heart. More blood, more pain.

Lucy …

Chapter 22

Solange

Tuesday, 3:00 a.m.

I didn’t know what to do with myself.

The walkie-talkie Dad gave me was wedged in my pocket. I itched to use it. I could call Mom to apologize, or Lucy to help me figure out why I kept insisting on ripping my life apart like I was looking for the caramel in the middle of a chocolate candy. I could call Kieran.

I fisted my fingers together before I could give in. This was no time to crawl back home. There was too much that needed figuring out. Too many questions, too many secrets.

Constantine passed me a wine glass of blood-doctored wine. The others were talking quietly, shooting me curious glances. Candle flames flickered inside the lanterns, casting patterns of light on the rugs and the tree trunks, like fireflies. It was getting colder, snow sticking to the grass and branches.

“What just happened?” I asked, drinking the wine.

“Destiny.” Constantine sat back comfortably, his leg pressed against mine. “No one said it would be comfortable.”

He’s right. It’s our time now. My time.

Everyone else probably thought I was throwing a tantrum, but he understood there was something else burning under my skin. I just had to figure it out. Sometimes, I didn’t even feel like myself anymore. And I wasn’t sure how to figure out who I was if I wasn’t Solange, rare vampire daughter, Drake princess, baby sister.

“My brothers were nearly staked.” I still felt a little shell-shocked about that.

“An accident,” Constantine said, his hand tickling my lower back, as if I were a wild cat that needed soothing. I did feel a little bit like purring. It was like there were two of me: the Solange who knew better and the Solange who didn’t care. “It won’t happen again,” he assured me. “You have my word.”

I wasn’t worried about it happening again, not with my pheromone compulsion. I was just worried that it had happened at all. It dulled the shine of being on my own.

On my own.

I could make decisions for myself now. Like the one to save Constantine from an unjust execution. I felt good about that. I just had to hold onto that for the moment. It had to be enough.

But I couldn’t help but wonder what Madame Veronique was doing right now.

I shivered. “What do we do when the sun rises?”

“I have a spot, love. Not to worry.”

“So what are we going to do about these disappearances?” Elijah asked. “How do we find Ianthe?”

“We’ve tried tracking her,” Jude said, frustrated. “But aside from her scarf, we found nothing.”

“How many are missing?” I asked.

“At least seven that we know of.”

“Even with the Chandramaa?”

Marigold snorted, stretching her legs out onto the table. There was glitter on her toes. “Chandramaa care about the encampment and the queen, nothing else.”