The ugly truth was that perhaps a part of me was disgusted by them, the same way I was disgusted by all my own human flaws. And yet another part of me—maybe the part that remembered I had once lived in a house just like this one—longed to venture closer.

I wouldn’t, of course.

No, I wasn’t a vampire. That much was abundantly clear, every second of every day. But I wasn’t one of them, either.

A shock of cold struck my cheek. I touched it and my fingers came back wet. Rain.

The drops disrupted our breathless silence. The woman stepped forward, as if to say something, but I had already slipped back into the shadows.

I couldn’t resist the detour. Normally, I would have scaled the castle directly to my room in the western towers. Instead, I climbed east, jumping the garden walls and heading to the servants’ quarters. I slipped in through the window, which overlooked an overgrown bush of indigo blue blossoms that flushed silver in the moonlight. As soon as my feet touched the floor, I cursed, nearly toppling over as what felt like a pile of liquid fabric slid beneath my boots over the smooth wood.

The laugh sounded like the caw of a crow, devolving quickly into a cacophony of coughs.

“Silk,” the old woman croaked. “The best trap for little burglars.”

“This place is a fucking disaster, Ilana.”

“Bah.” She rounded the corner and peered at me through narrowed eyes, drawing in a deep, rattling inhale of her cigar and letting the smoke out through her nose. She was dressed in cascading chiffon dyed in waves of color. Black-and-gray streaked hair piled atop her head with admirable volume. Gold pendants dangled from each earlobe, and her wrinkled eyes were painted with shades of gray-blue and a generous lining of kohl.

Her apartment was just as colorful and chaotic as she was—clothing and jewels and bright paint strewn about every surface. I had come in through her living room window, which I now pulled closed against the rain. The place was tiny, but far nicer than the clay, crumbling slums in the human district.

She looked me up and down, rubbing her neck. “I take no criticisms from a drowned rat like you.”

I glanced down at myself and blanched. Only now, in the warm lantern light, did I realize what a mess I was.

“You’d never guess you were pretty under all of that, Oraya,” she went on. “Dead set on making yourself look as unappealing as possible. Which reminds me! I have something for you. Here.”

With knobby, arthritic hands, she fished through a crumpled pile beside her, then tossed a fistful of fabric across the room to me. “Catch.”

I caught it in my fist, then unfolded it. The band of silk was nearly as long as I was tall, and a stunning deep violet with edges embroidered in gold.

“Made me think of you.” Ilana leaned against the doorframe and took another puff of her cigar.

I didn’t ask where she had gotten something like this. Age had not made her fingers any less deft—or sticky.

“You should keep it. I don’t wear this sort of stuff. You know that.”

Day to day, I wore only black, plain clothing that attracted little attention and allowed me free range of movement. I didn’t ever wear anything bright (as it would draw unwanted eyes), flowing (as it would allow someone to grab me), or restrictive (as it would impede my ability to fight, or flee). I wore my leathers most of the time, even in the oppressive heat of the summer. They were protective and unobtrusive.

Sure, maybe I admired pretty things just as much as any other. But I was surrounded by predators. Vanity came second to survival.

Ilana scoffed. “I know that you love it too, rat. Even if you’re too afraid to wear ’em. Damned shame. Youth is wasted on the young. Beauty, too. It’s a good color for you. Dance around naked in your bedroom with it for all I care.”

My brow quirked as I eyed her hoard of colors. “Is that what you do with yours?”

She winked. “All that and more. And don’t pretend you don’t, too.”

Ilana had never been to my room, and yet she knew me well enough to know that I did, indeed, have a single drawer stuffed with little, colorful trinkets that I had collected over the years. Things that were too pointlessly ostentatious to wear in this life, but that, perhaps, I could dream of wearing in another.

No matter how much I tried to explain it to her, Ilana didn’t understand my caution. She’d made it clear many times over that she was done—“Done!” she proclaimed—with caution.

I honestly didn’t know how the old bat had survived this long, but I was grateful for it. The humans I had seen in the slums this morning were nothing like me, and the vampires that surrounded me even less so. Only Ilana lingered somewhere in between, just like I did.

Albeit for very different reasons.

I had been raised in this world, but Ilana had joined it of her own volition ten years ago. As a young teenager, I had been fascinated by her. I had met few other humans. I didn’t realize then that Ilana was, even among humans, somewhat… unique.

Ilana touched her neck again. I realized the cloth clenched in her fist wasn’t red, or at least, it hadn’t started that way. I stepped closer and noticed the wounds on her throat—three sets of two. Then the bandage on her wrist, which covered up Nyaxia-knew how many more.

My face must have changed, because she hacked another laugh.

“A big dinner tonight,” she said. “I was paid well for it. Paid, to have handsome men suck on my neck all night. My younger self would be thrilled.”

I couldn’t bring myself to even crack a smile.

Yes, I had no idea how Ilana had survived this long. Most voluntary human blood vendors—of which there were few—were killed within a year of their work. I knew too well exactly how little self-control vampires had when hunger was involved.

Some things Ilana and I would never agree on.

“I won’t be around for awhile,” I said, changing the subject. “I just wanted to let you know, so you don’t worry.”

Ilana’s face went still. Even in the dim light, I saw her pale two shades. “That bastard. You’re doing it.”

I didn’t want to have this conversation, even though I knew it was coming.

“You should think about leaving the inner city temporarily,” I went on. “Going to the districts. I know you hate it, but at least there—”

“Fuck that.”

“It’s the Kejari, Ilana. It’s not safe here for you. For any human outside the protected district.”

“‘Protected district.’ Those slums. There’s a reason why I left. They reek of misery.” Her nose wrinkled. “Misery and piss.”

“It’s safe.”

I didn’t miss the irony of saying this when I was covered in blood after returning from that place.

“Bah. Safety is overrated. What kind of life is that? You want me to leave when the most exciting event in two centuries is about to happen on my doorstep? No, sweetheart. I’m not doing that.”

I had told myself that I would stay calm—had known that Ilana would probably not listen to me. Still, I couldn’t keep the frustration from my voice.

“You’re being foolish. It’s just a few months. Or even a few days! If you were to leave just for the opening—”

“Foolish!” she spat. “Is that him talking? Is that what he calls you, whenever you want to do anything outside his control?”

I let out a breath through clenched teeth. Yes, Vincent would call me foolish if I was refusing to protect myself for no good reason. And he’d be right for it, too.

The human district may be a slum, but at least humans there had the veneer of protection. Here? I didn’t know what would happen to Ilana, or any human within the inner city, once the Kejari began. Especially one that had already signed away their blood.

I’d heard stories about how humans had been used in these tournaments. I didn’t know what was true and what was exaggeration, but they made my stomach turn. Sometimes I wanted to ask Vincent, but I knew he’d think I was concerned for myself. I didn’t want him to worry over me any more than he already did. And… he didn’t quite know exactly how close Ilana and I had gotten over these last few years.