Jay winces, cocking his head. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“Nope. Just…processing. A lot of processing going on here. Um, I guess my next question is where do you get your blood supply?” I cringe, afraid of the answer. “Please say stolen blood bags.”

“We do sometimes conduct fake blood drives,” he says. “But that blood only works for us if it’s super fresh, drawn within the past two or three hours. Beyond that, we can’t use it. Makes us sick. So live donors work best.” He stares at the surface of the coffee table, tracing the whorls of the wood. “That’s what the parties are for.”

A chill races over my skin. “You and Cody drink from your guests.”

“Cody and I aren’t the only vampires in town.”

“You’re not?” I swallow hard. The puzzle pieces are shifting in my mind, notching together.

“We offer a service, you see. Immunity against disease, superior healing, youth and beauty, for as long as it lasts—which, considering the rate of our cell regeneration, is probably going to be a very long time.”

“Your insurance policies,” I murmur. “You’re selling vampirism. Turning people into vampires in exchange for money. That’s how you got all of this.” I bark a laugh, gesturing to the elegant room around us and the entire house beyond. “You must charge quite a lot per customer.” Then I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god—Jordan. You turned her, didn’t you?”

“I offered her protection. A safety net. She’s a daredevil, Daisy. You and I both know she’d have gotten herself killed eventually. Now she has extra strength and speed, plus incredible healing abilities. You saw how fast I healed. Myrtle punctured part of my heart with that bullet, and it repaired itself within a few minutes. Jordan is a vampire, which means she’s safe. She can keep doing what she loves, without worrying the people who care about her.”

“And how much did you make her pay?” My cheeks are burning, my heart swelling with anger.

“Not a thing. She’s your friend, so she got the friends and family discount.” He smiles hopefully at me, but the expression fades when I give him a thunderous frown.

“So she drinks from people now? At your parties? How does that work? Why aren’t there guests running around shrieking about vampires?”

“Some of our clients have loved ones who provide them with blood. Those who don’t are taught how to carefully choose their donors, people who won’t be missed for a few hours. We dose the potential donors with sleep medication and take them to private rooms on the second or third floors. Each vampire only drinks enough blood to top off the tank, so to speak—not enough to hurt anyone. And they’re under strict orders not to touch the donors beyond what’s necessary for taking the blood.”

Wait a second. Wait a fucking second. “That’s what happened to Nick! He was drugged and someone drank from him. Cody, that rat bastard. I’ll kill him.”

“The first time, Cody drank from Nick without his knowledge, yes. But they have an arrangement now.”

“Oh my god. So Nick knows.”

“He does.”

“You told him before you told me.”

“Cody wanted to tell him, and it wasn’t my business to interfere. I waited to tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I kind of figured it would be something like this. The anger, the questions…” He sighs and musses his hair with his fingers.

“So sorry to inconvenience you with my questions,” I snap. “And just because Nick is cool with it now doesn’t change the fact that there was a major consent issue the first time.”

“There’s also a survival issue,” Jay retorts. “I told you, we can’t use the stale stuff from blood bags. It doesn’t have the same potency. And we can’t explain the vampire thing to all our donors. There aren’t enough of us yet for that kind of exposure. We wouldn’t be safe.”

“Have you thought about what will happen if you keep turning people? Eventually everyone will be vampires and there won’t be a large enough blood supply.”

He sighs. “You sound like Wolfsheim. He’s always fussing at Cody and me for turning people.”

“It’s a legitimate concern. You do realize your fountain of youth has a flaw, right? If you let too many people drink from it, eventually they will all die.”

“That’s why we’re making people pay dearly for the privilege.”

I can hardly keep from screaming at him, from slapping him again. “How could you? You and I know what it’s like to be poor, Jay. To have less than everyone else, and to hurt because of it. What’s wrong with you, selling eternal life to the rich? It’s disgusting.”

“I’ve given it away, too,” he says stiffly. “To medical professionals, law enforcement, and some terminally ill people—those at high risk of disease or death. But as you say, not everyone can become one of us, and setting a premium price is the easiest way to control the demand. Why is it so hard to explain this to you? I’m trying to do a good thing here.”

“And you’re just a few generations away from a global vampire takeover and blood farms packed with human slaves.”

“Do you really think I’d allow something like that?” His brown eyes practically spark with anger. “I have a plan, Daisy. I have teams working on ways to preserve the potency of drawn blood, to create blood substitutes, to fabricate viable cloned blood cells. We’ve started requiring candidates to spend some time as blood suppliers before they get transformation approval. That’s what Cody and I did. He drank from me for years before he changed me.”

The idea of Cody with his lips pressed to Jay’s skin turns me hot and jealous. But now is not the time for hormones to take over. I need to focus on what I’ve learned.

It sounds as if Jay and Cody have thought this through carefully—or at least Jay has. I swear he is the mastermind; the entire plan is rank with his signature blend of boldness and precision. He and Cody have earned a lot of money doing this, and they’ve hired people for the scientific work to help them create the infrastructure they’ll need as vampirism expands—as it takes over the fucking world.

The ramifications are far-reaching beyond anything I feared or imagined. My voice-control ability seems far milder and less dangerous in comparison. “Let’s get back to your victims for a second.”

“Donors,” Jay says sharply.

“Don’t they notice the bite marks when they wake up?”

“Our saliva has healing properties that activate during a feeding session, so any marks stop bleeding within minutes, and disappear within hours. When our donors wake up, they feel a little woozy, but that’s it.”

“So you could go around licking people who are hurt and healing them?”

“No,” he says patiently. “That enzyme is only triggered when we’re feeding. And it only works for clotting blood and healing skin layers quickly. It can’t fix deep-tissue wounds, or broken bones, or diseases.”

We stare each other down, while my brain churns over everything I’ve learned.

I can’t really be angry with him for not telling me right away. The transformation was his choice, something he did while I was out of his life to give himself power. He went from a lost boy huddled on a Charleston beach to a wealthy young man with more money than a lot of people twice his age and a sure way to make more. Although come to think of it, if making vampires is as easy as consuming vampiric blood, why can’t Jay’s “clients” just go out and sell immortality themselves? There must be something else involved, a part of the process that’s not easily replicated. The “other component” Jay mentioned. I hope it’s nothing sexual. If he’s been sleeping with all the people he’s turned…

“It’s not sexual, is it?” I blurt out.

“Excuse me?” He flushes, and it’s so cute I almost laugh.

“The other component of the transformation. You said it was more complicated than drinking a vampire’s blood.”

“It is more complicated, and no, Daisy, it’s not sexual.”

“Good. Because I was picturing you having sex with all those other people.”

“Picturing me…having sex?” His mouth tips up at the corner.

My cheeks turn hot. “I wasn’t—I mean—if you had to do that with everyone you changed, it would bother me more than the fangs, the two stomachs, and the other stuff.” My voice trails off, and I focus very hard on the plump cushion of the sofa arm, tracing the creases of its puckered edge.

“It would bother me, too. But thankfully that’s not part of the deal.”

Silence invades again, but my racing thoughts don’t decelerate. Is it weird that deep down, I’m not actually mad at him? That despite all of this, I still want to find a way to fit into his life? Even now, I can feel myself making space in my soul for the morally gray zone he inhabits, realigning my ethical boundaries to include what he must do to survive.

Is that even okay?

“I don’t want to talk or think about this anymore today,” I tell him. “I want to make it a tomorrow problem.”