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The guy clenched his fists and looked as though he might try to take us on. But we were
intimidating, and he didn't appear to have an entourage of friends here like Andrew— who was
shouting obscenities and being led away—did. With a few muttered threats, the non-royal
backed off.
As soon as he was gone, I turned on Mason. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Huh?" he asked.
"Jumping into the middle of that!"
"You jumped in too," he said.
I started to argue, then realized he was right. "It's different," I grumbled.
He leaned forward. "Are you drunk?"
"No. Of course not. I'm just trying to keep you from doing something stupid. Just because you
have delusions of being able to kill a Strigoi doesn't mean you have to take it out on everyone
else."
"Delusions?" he asked stiffly.
I started to feel kind of nauseous just then. My head spinning, I continued toward the side room,
hoping I didn't stumble.
But when I reached it, I saw that it wasn't some kind of dessert or drink room after all. Well, at
least not in the way I'd been thinking. It was a feeder room. Several humans reclined on satincovered
chaise lounges with Moroi by their sides. Jasmine incense burned in the air. Stunned, I
watched with an eerie fascination as a blond Moroi guy leaned forward and bit into the neck of
a very pretty redhead. All of these feeders were exceptionally good-looking, I realized just then.
Like actresses or models. Only the best for royalty.
The guy drank long and deep, and the girl closed her eyes and parted her lips, an expression of
pure bliss on her face as Moroi endorphins flooded into her bloodstream. I shivered, taken back
to when I too had experienced that same kind of euphoria. In my alcohol-hazed mind, the whole
thing suddenly seemed startlingly erotic. In fact, I almost felt intrusive—like I was watching