“So,” she said, with a wicked smile. “Does your father know you do this kind of thing?”

He took shallow breaths. “Of course he does. He trained me.”

“And how old are you?”

“How old are you?”

She cocked her head to one side. “Eighteen.”

“That’s when you were turned. How old are you? Really.”

Moth pursed her lips and thought about playing with him some more. But what did she have to lose? “I’m twenty-eight.”

Jace looked surprised. “You’ve been a vamp for ten years? No way.”

“You’re saying I look younger? Aw, thanks.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Grimacing as he shifted position beneath her, he sucked in a breath. “No, I mean you seem younger. You act it.”

Moth gave him the benefit of her silver stare. “Sometimes. So, c’mon. Your turn.”

“I’m nineteen.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, I love a younger man …”

“Get off me, freak.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Moth dug her knees in. Hard.

Jace’s eyes rolled with pain and, if it was possible, his face became even paler. “Bitch,” he gasped.

“Says the guy who drugged me—and I don’t know how the hell you managed that—tied me up in chains and handcuffs made of blessed silver, and then threatened to dust me with Daddy’s crossbow.”

“So … what? You’re going to bite me now, is that it?”

“Would you like me to?” Moth could smell his fear. It was intoxicating, and she was already trying to fight the bloodlust rising in her gut. She could feel the panicked drumbeat of his heart as their bodies pressed together. Just because she had an aversion to the taste of blood—especially the fresh stuff—didn’t mean she wouldn’t do what she had to do. Not when it came to survival.