BEATRICE

Before Riaghaire could answer, they heard the door to the basement open, followed by heavy footsteps down the stairs. The gate at the bottom of the stairs creaked as it opened, and someone Beatrice hadn’t seen before came into view.

It was yet another huge man — were all werewolves huge? — and he was carrying a squealing rat by the tail. The rodent struggled, twisting and turning as it tried to free itself from the man’s grip without success.

Beatrice watched, curious what this was about, as he stopped between their cells. He glanced at her before turning to face Riaghaire, who’d moved to the back of his cell while she’d been distracted. The shadows had engulfed him again, so she could only make out his silhouette, except… were her eyes playing tricks on her? His eyes… were they glittering, even in the dark?

“Dinner time,” the large man rumbled, flicking his wrist to send the rodent flying into Riaghaire’s cell. The moment the rat was in the air, he turned and walked back the way he’d come.

It was only after she heard the gate shut with a clang that Beatrice switched her focus back to her neighbour. She was surprised to see he’d caught the rat — a feat when the rodent was fighting for its life. Skeletal fingers gripped around its midsection as it thrashed, squealing in what could only be described as terror.

Riaghaire let out a weary sigh. “Disgusting,” he murmured, then buried his face against its belly. A horrible, wet, squelching sound reached Beatrice’s ears.

She couldn’t look away as the rat screamed, then went still. Was he eating it raw? How could he stomach it? Beatrice’s own stomach heaved as she pursed her lips together, forcing herself to swallow until the rebellion in her gut calmed down.

It took all of ten seconds for him to finish his meal. Once done, he tossed the rat into the hole in his cell’s floor while Beatrice was still busy fighting back her nausea.

Riaghaire was watching her again, or so she guessed, as she could feel his gaze burning a hole through her body. It took a minute before she was able to calm herself enough to open her mouth without risk of losing whatever was in her stomach.

Returning to his spot near the bars, the dim light dispersed the shadows that hid him from view to reveal an expressionless face with blood now dripping down his chin.

He’s a goddamn vampire, she realized, feeling her eyes widen as she worked to show neither fear nor surprise.

All the stories about vampires Beatrice had read — which weren’t many — had been romanticized to some degree. They were made out to seem capable of friendship, and even love; but she knew the older tales, the ones from before the current craze, were full of soulless creatures of the night. Creatures that craved blood like a junkie craved their next fix.

Riaghaire seemed in control of his faculties, she told herself, forcing her shoulders to relax. Starved and confined for who knew how long, and he was still sane, still able to hold a conversation. Did that mean the old tales were wrong? Or, maybe, he was just that good at manipulating humans.

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