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go to sleep, I stared at the ceiling for a long time.
    I was troubled by the fact that I wanted to have my blood sucked out of my body. I gazed at the ceiling and wondered if I was actually a masochist. If I’d been destined for Alastair because I enjoyed being hurt somehow…
    But that was bull. I hadn’t enjoyed being beaten up, Alastair’s fists pounding into my stomach and, when I doubled over to protect myself, my cheekbones and jaw. I remembered the pain blotting out everything, making it impossible for me to breathe. To think.
    I hadn’t enjoyed that.
    The blood drinking thing was nothing like that.
    And besides, I had to stop trying to question out why I had been mated with Alastair. I used to think it was some mystical bond, as if something in the universe had brought us together for a reason. I thought that if I was mated to someone like that, it had to be because I deserved it somehow.
    Alastair always used to say that I was selfish and spoiled and stupid.
    I believed him.
    Even now, sometimes, I got confused. I wondered if I really was a terrible person. Attacks on my character hit hard, and I wasn’t sure how to take them.
    But I knew the truth. Alastair and I were mated because of some accident of biology. That was the way dragons had evolved, to have one mate, and—for most people—it worked out fine. But I’d been saddled with a jackass, and it wasn’t my fault. It was his.
    I shut my eyes.
    I forced myself to relax.
    That was the last thing I remembered before I slipped off to sleep.
    The next morning, I was ready when Lachlan came to pick me up. My hair wasn’t wet. I looked presentable. I had my own coffee.
    He was all business. He didn’t touch me or compliment me or make any reference to what we’d talked about the night before.
    I followed his lead.
    We drove up to the north of Sea City to the condo where Fletcher’s friend lived and knocked on his door.
    The door opened and a guy with messy dark curls blinked sleepily at us. He was only wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants. “Uh, hello?”
    Lachlan flashed his badge. “Hi there. I’m Detective Lachlan Flint. This is my associate, Penny Caspian. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”
    The guy scratched his bare stomach and yawned. “Yeah, all right.”
    “You are Timothy Fields, right?” said Lachlan.
    “Yeah.”
    “And you exchanged a series of emails with Fletcher Remington about attending some establishment called The Dungeon?”
    “Oh, dude,” said Timothy, backing away from the door. “Look, I only buy the stuff. I don’t sell it or nothin.’ I’m a small fry, man. I’m not worth your while.”
    “This is about Fletcher’s disappearance, not drugs,” said Lachlan.
    “But you two were using,” I said.
    “Only with the vampires,” said Timothy. “At least for me, anyway. I don’t know about Fletcher. He seemed out of it a lot, and maybe he was into other stuff too. We just did The Dungeon thing.”
    “Vampires?” said Lachlan.
    “Uh… you didn’t know about that?”
    Lachlan and I both crossed our arms over our chests.
    Timothy swallowed. “That’s what The Dungeon is. You take a bunch of speed, and then you go to The Dungeon, and a vampire sucks you almost dry, and it’s this really intense high.”
    I felt my face flush.
    Lachlan looked down at his feet.
    Was that what we had experienced together? Some kind of cheap thrill that teenage dragons were replicating in disgusting clubs? I mean, I hadn’t taken any speed, but I wasn’t sure what component that was to the whole experience.
    “The vampires like it because they get dragon blood out of the deal,” said Timothy.
    “Yes, I gathered that,” said Lachlan, shaking his head. “How often did you and Fletcher do this?”
    Timothy shrugged. “I don’t know. A bunch of times, I guess.”
    “And when was the last time you saw him?”
    “I don’t know. It’s been weeks.”
    “Was the last place you saw him at The