“The crew has to load supplies,” Eric pointed out. The boat had been tied up against a dock for a while as food and luggage were loaded. Weary-looking feeders—humans who willingly gave blood to Moroi vampires—were now being marched up the dock and onto the boat. Really, simply using the yacht for transport seemed like a waste. It was newly built and, according to rumor, filled with all sorts of luxury accommodations. Even in the fading light, the boat gleamed a brilliant white. Some might consider it small for a yacht, but it could have easily housed his class for a weeklong party.

“Still, we should have left an hour ago.” Emma’s eyes fell on Jared Zeklos—a royal whose father was behind the weekend-long celebration. She smirked, fangs just barely showing against her glossy red lips. “Jared acted so full of himself when this party was announced. Now people are going to turn on him.”

It was true. That was the nature of the circle they existed in. Eric almost felt sorry for the guy, who was clearly uncomfortable as the annoyed gazes of his classmates ran over him. “Well, I’m sure it’s not his—”

A scream cut the hum of chatter and laughter. Eric jerked toward the sound, instinctively pulling Emma against him. The beach and dock were in a fairly deserted area—as so many Moroi territories were—accessible only by a narrow dirt road cutting through a jungle that had hardly been touched by human or vampire hands.

And there, just near the tree line, Eric saw a face straight from his nightmares. A person—no, creature—was lunging toward a red-haired girl. The creature’s face was pale, but not in the manner of the Moroi. It had a sickly, chalky pallor. Eric could scarcely believe it, but he knew: It was one of the Strigoi, undead vampires who killed those they took blood from. They didn’t live and breed the way Moroi did. They were unnatural creatures who transformed from the living into a twisted, undead state.