The glowing bar disappears, and I tap the metal, trying to make it show up again.
“It’s coded to my fingerprint,” Jay says. “I’ll add yours too, if you want.”
“I do want. I want to be able to check on you if I need to.” I look up at him, and our gazes lock. In this corridor of rough concrete and shadows and cool stale air, we are the only warm, breathing, pulsing things, and the energy humming between us is vivid, magnetic. My thoughts swirl and refocus in a single refrain through my head, through every thump of my heart. I love you, I want you. I love you, I want you.
Another eardrum-shattering bang, and a loud roar rising to a shriek. The tension between Jay and me dissipates, and he hurries ahead. “Sorry about all the noise. This guy is fresh. I had to put him down here during the Met party. He hasn’t had time to relearn his manners yet.”
He stops in front of a heavy metal door and unlocks the cover on its window. “This glass is basically bulletproof, so don’t worry. Just keep an eye on the grate lower down. He likes to stick his claws through there and poke at people—don’t you, Slagle?” Jay sweeps his hand toward the window, dramatic as a circus showman. “This is what happens when someone can’t control their bloodlust. It gets worse the longer it goes unchecked.”
Cautiously I peer through the window, careful to keep my shins clear of the grate.
A face smashes against the glass—bloodshot eyes and stringy hair and slavering fangs. I yelp and jump back, slamming into Jay’s chest.
“He can’t get to you,” Jay assures me.
A voice moans from the cell. “I’m starving, I’m starving, Gatsby. Let me out, let me out!”
“You’re not starving, Slagle. You drank plenty the other night. Check your bracelet, and you’ll see that you’re fine.”
“Damn the bracelet!” shrieks Slagle. “It’s broken, I’m telling you. Malfunctioned. I need more, Gatsby. I’m dying in here, dying!” The man presses his face to the window again, fixing his eyes on me. Dried black blood cakes the corners of his mouth. “You, girl—you look too sweet to let a man die right in front of you. I need blood. This creep”—he points to Jay—“is trying to starve me. I feel sick!”
“That’s because you filled both your stomachs with blood, Slagle,” Jay explains patiently. “You broke the rules. And now we have to see if you can be rehabilitated.”
“And if not?” growls the man.
“You know what happens. You agreed to it when Cody changed you,” Jay says. “We can’t have vampires running around ripping humans apart. Lucky for you, you haven’t actually killed anyone yet, or I’d have finished you off already.”
He says it so calmly that I cast a sharp glance at his profile. His face is as calm as his voice. He’s done this before. He’s had to kill people he or Cody turned, people who went wrong. How did he do it? Rip their heads off? Did it even bother him, or was it just another necessary step toward his goals?
I thought I had I settled into acceptance, but this revelation shakes me. How well do I really know this new Jay?
Slagle shudders and moans, his claws screeching down the glass.
“A glutton can’t control his appearance like a regular vampire can,” Jay says. “He’s stuck in feeding mode.”
“And you can control your fangs and everything?”
“Sometimes it’s harder than others, depending on my blood level and the strength of the stimulation. But usually I can. Watch.”
His upper lip rises, and his canines elongate, slipping from their hidden sheaths in his gums. The lower canines grow too, though they’re not nearly as long as the upper ones. Jay’s brown irises swirl cloudy white, and when he lifts his hand, claws emerge from above his fingernails. They’re pointed at the tips, their shafts curved to match the arc of his nails. Like a second set of fingernails on top of the first one.
“They don’t look that strong,” I say, touching one of the claws lightly. “Do they ever break?”
“Sometimes, but they grow back. And they’re stronger than they look.” He scrapes them over the concrete wall and slashes them through the air.
The monstrosity of his appearance strikes me in the gut. The difference between him and the glutton in the cell is so thin, separated by a mere sliver of choice and opportunity.
“So who deals with you if you turn gluttonous?”
“Cody,” he says, pronouncing the name carefully through the fangs. “And I would do the same for him.”
“And if both of you turn glutton at the same time?”
“Then the staff know who to call at the police station, and they would come. A good shotgun blast to the brain or a swift beheading would do it.”
“So all your staff are in on it?”
“Yes, and I pay them well for their service and silence. A few of them provide blood from time to time, in exchange for the promise that I’ll turn them eventually if they request it.”
The man in the cell speaks again, a guttural snarl. “You’re torturing me. She smells so meaty, so savory. I can taste the salt of her blood. Let me have a little, please. Just a nibble.”
“Eww. I’m not a piece of meat,” I tell him.
“Yes, you are. The best kind of meat. Fresh, firm flesh. Leg and thigh, neck and breast, best places to sink my teeth—sweetness and salt, lick you clean afterward, I promise, I promise!” He ends with a shrill whine, crashing against the door again.
“All right, time’s up.” Jay slams the window cover shut and snaps the padlock in place. “That’s all the exposure therapy he can handle today.”
“Wait—you were using me as part of his treatment?”
“You wanted to know about gluttons. I killed two birds with one stone.”
“Not sure if I like being that guy’s bait.”
“But you did so great.” Jay winks at me.
I elbow him in return. “Does he have a family?”
“Yeah, a wife and a couple of teen kids. They think he’s at a rehab facility, which he sort of is. When you’re telling people lies, it’s best to stick as close to the truth as possible.”
