The private chamber was exactly as Scarlett remembered from the previous night, except now the chains were meant for her, and the monster was circling her like prey.

The guards shoved her inside and the door locked behind her with a sound like a coffin closing. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst through her ribs.

The room was obscene in its luxury. Silk sheets on a massive bed. Velvet curtains. Candles everywhere, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own. And in the corner, those chains. The same ones that had held Maria.

Alessio stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her. He was looking out at the city lights like he had all the time in the world.

Scarlett's eyes darted around the room. Looking for weapons. Looking for exits. Finding nothing.

There was only the door she'd come through, and it was locked. There was only this room, this man, and the chains waiting in the corner.

"You ran from me last night."

His voice was conversational. Like they were discussing the weather instead of her impending death.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. No words would come. Terror had wrapped around her throat like a fist.

He turned slowly, and she saw his face clearly for the first time. Not obscured by shadows or distance. Just him, and God, he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that felt wrong. That felt dangerous.

"Nothing to say?" He tilted his head, studying her. "You had plenty of screaming in you when you ran."

"Please." The word came out as a whisper. "Please, I have a brother. He's sick. He needs me."

"Everyone needs someone." Alessio took a step toward her. Then another. Slow and measured. "It doesn't change anything."

"I won't tell anyone what I saw. I swear. I'll forget about it. I'll quit the club. You'll never see me again."

"Won't I?" Another step. He was only a few feet away now. "That's the problem, Tentatrice. I rather think I will see you again. In my thoughts. In my dreams. Your scent has been driving me mad for twenty-four hours."

"My scent?"

"You smell like something I haven't encountered in decades." He stopped directly in front of her. Close enough that she could feel the cold radiating off his body. "Something rare. Something valuable."

His hand reached out. She flinched, but he only traced one finger along her jawline. Gentle. Almost tender.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Good." His lips curved. "You should be."

But his touch didn't hurt. Didn't bruise. His finger trailed down her neck, over her collarbone, and she shivered. Not entirely from fear.

What's wrong with me?

"Your heart is racing." His voice dropped lower. "Is that fear? Or something else?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?" He leaned in, his breath cold against her ear. "Don't touch you? Don't make you feel things you've probably never felt before?"

His hands moved to the ties of her costume. She should fight. Should scratch and kick and scream. But her body wouldn't obey. She stood frozen as he slowly, carefully, began removing the scraps of fabric that passed for clothing.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

She couldn't. The words stuck in her throat.

The costume fell away. She stood naked in front of him, trembling. But he didn't look at her like the men in the club did. Didn't look at her like a piece of meat.

He looked at her like she was art.

"Beautiful," he said quietly. Then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was claiming. Possessive. But not brutal. Not violent. His lips moved against hers with a skill that made her dizzy. Made her forget for a moment that this man was a killer. That he'd murdered Maria just last night.

When he pulled back, she was breathless.

"Come." He led her to the bed. Not dragging. Not forcing. Just taking her hand and guiding her like this was normal. Like she had a choice.

Maybe that was worse.

---

He laid her down on silk sheets that felt like water against her skin. The mattress was so soft she sank into it.

Alessio stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. Then slowly, deliberately, he began removing his jacket. His tie. Each movement precise and controlled.

"Do you know why I bid on you?" he asked.

"To kill me."

"Maybe." He unbuttoned his shirt. "Or maybe I wanted to see what you taste like when you're not terrified. When you're feeling something else entirely."

His shirt joined the growing pile of clothes. His chest was pale and perfect. Muscled in a way that suggested violence lived just under that beautiful skin.

He climbed onto the bed. Positioned himself over her. His weight pressed her into the mattress but not uncomfortably.

"I'm going to touch you now," he said. "And you're going to let me."

It wasn't a question.

His hands started at her ankles. Slid up her calves. Her thighs. She tried to close her legs but he pushed them apart with gentle insistence.

"Relax."

"How can I possibly..."

"Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already." His fingers traced patterns on her inner thigh. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

He was right. That knowledge should have been comforting. Instead it made everything more confusing.

His touch moved higher. Found places no one had ever touched before. She gasped.

"Sensitive," he murmured. "Good."

He began doing things with his fingers that made her back arch off the bed. Made sounds come out of her mouth that she'd never made before. Building something inside her that felt like it might break her apart.

"What are you..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Shh." His thumb moved in circles. "Just feel."

And then something exploded. Pleasure so intense it was almost painful crashed through her body in waves. She cried out, her hands clutching the sheets.

When it finally faded, she lay gasping. Confused. What the hell was that?

Alessio was watching her with an expression she couldn't read. Something almost like wonder.

"You've never done this before," he said. Not a question. A statement.

"No." Her voice was shaky.

"Never?"

"Never."

Something shifted in his face. The predator receded, replaced by something that looked almost protective. Almost human.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"And you work in a strip club as a virgin." He shook his head slowly. "That's either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave."

"I need the money. I have rules."

"Had rules," he corrected. "Past tense."

He moved between her legs. She felt him there, hard and ready. Fear spiked again.

"Wait, please..."

"I'll be gentle." His voice was soft. "I don't know why, but I will."

He pushed inside slowly. There was pressure. Pain. She tensed, and he stopped.

"Breathe," he instructed.

She did. He moved again, inch by careful inch, until he was fully seated inside her. The pain was sharp but fading. Being replaced by something else. Something that made her want him to move.

"Mine," he whispered against her neck. "You're mine now."

And then he began to move. Long, slow strokes that built that feeling again. That pressure that promised to break her apart in the best way.

Her body responded without permission. Her hips rising to meet his. Her nails digging into his back. He increased the pace, and she heard herself making sounds that should have embarrassed her but didn't.

"That's it," he encouraged. "Don't hold back."

She came again, harder this time. Her entire body convulsing. He followed moments later, groaning her stage name like a prayer or a curse.

---

They lay tangled together, both breathing hard. Scarlett's mind was spinning. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to die. Instead she felt more alive than ever.

Alessio pulled her close, arranging her so her neck was exposed. His arm was iron around her waist.

This is it. This is where he kills me.

She felt his fangs descend. Felt the sharp points press against her skin. Terror flooded back, drowning out everything else.

"Please," she whimpered. "Please don't."

He bit down.

The pain was immediate and blinding. She screamed, trying to pull away, but he held her firm. She felt him drinking. Felt her blood leaving her body.

Marco. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

But then something changed.

Alessio's entire body went rigid. He made a sound that was almost a gasp. His arms tightened around her, but not to hurt. To hold. Like she was something precious.

The pull at her neck slowed. Gentled. And then stopped altogether.

He pulled his fangs out and she felt his tongue lapping at the wounds. Closing them.

"What..." His voice sounded shaken. Actually shaken. "What are you?"

"What?"

He pulled back to look at her face. His eyes were wide. Almost afraid.

"Your blood. It's..." He touched his chest like something hurt. "I feel warm."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I." He pressed his forehead against hers. "Neither do I."

Her vision was getting blurry. The blood loss catching up. She tried to keep her eyes open but couldn't.

"Sleep," she heard him say from very far away. "You're safe. I don't know why, but you're safe."

Darkness took her.

---

When she woke hours later in her own apartment, alive and whole except for the healing bite marks on her neck, Scarlett couldn't decide if she'd been spared or damned.