No, that was crazy.

Licking her lips and wishing that being a vampire meant she didn’t have to feel that human rush of adrenalin, Moth edged closer, trying to ignore the fear and excitement pulsing in her stomach. She pushed out with her senses to see if she could smell or hear what waited on the other side of the door. Too late, she caught the sliver of a human scent behind her—it was mixed with something oily and mechanical and utterly unfamiliar.

A sharp pain pierced the back of her neck, and suddenly she was falling … falling to the floor and beyond into darkness.

Moth opened her eyes but immediately regretted it, hissing in pain at the bright light shining in her face. She tried to move, but realized her arms were secured behind her with something hard and cool. Something that, although cold, still burned the bare flesh of her arms.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Moth squinted in the direction of the male voice, but it was difficult to make out her surroundings with the spotlight aimed at her. The heat was making her skin itch, and her lips were dry and cracked. Someone had removed the leather jacket, leaving her in the tight black T-shirt that displayed a blood-red picture of Dr. Frank N. Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

She almost cried with relief when the solar lamp—or whatever it was—switched off, leaving the room illuminated by flickering candlelight. Very atmospheric. Moth was propped up against a wall beneath the only window in the room. To her left was a large bed covered in a gray velvet throw and, on the other side of that, floor-to-ceiling built-in wardrobes lined the wall. Two small glass-topped tables each held several candles of varying height. A man sat in an armchair to her right.