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hundreds of people; each dressed more lavishly in handsome tuxedos and twirling gowns, their eyes shielded by slender masks. Music begins to play, swelling the room with gentle crescendos as the people start dancing. I feel a hand on my shoulder and know it’s Tor beneath the plain black mask, gesturing toward the floor. He guides me, his strong hand at my waist until we’re standing in the middle of the floor. Taking my hand in his, he leads me into a slow waltz, swaying with the music.
    His scent mingles with my senses, the reliable smell of laundry soap and peppermint reminding me of how it feels to be home, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the haze of familiarity wash over me. I miss him right now, wishing he could always be there to save me. The song slows to an end, leaving the dancers momentarily static. I feel a figure nearing my back, and feel Tor’s muscles clench. A man, tall and lean with shiny black hair and an extravagant purple mask stands beside us, tapping Tor on the shoulder.
    “May I cut in?” he asks. Tor looks at me with confusion in his eyes, but I nod that it’s okay. He steps away from me and I’m whisked away by the masked man, his every move as graceful and lethal as a tiger’s.
    “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly. There’s an edge creeping through my body as a slower song is played.
    “Seeing what all of the fuss is about at this soiree. It’s almost perfect, isn’t it? The bright lights and fancy music, the pretty dresses. The masks are a great touch, aren’t they? This way no one can see who I am,” he replies. He holds me closer, his fingers applying gentle pressure onto my back. I can see Tor in the crowded table area, his eyes never leaving us as we twirl about the room.
    “We can’t do this,” I protest, trying to push him away from me, the closeness of his body almost intoxicating, “you need to leave.”
    “When will I see you again?” he whispers into my ear. His breath is warm and sweet, leaving a soft tickle on my neck.
    “Tonight, after this is over,” I reply.
    “Tonight, then. Remember, Piper Madden, you belong to me, no matter who you’re dancing with,” he says, pulling away from me. Before he leaves I lean into him, my lips just grazing his earlobe.
    “And you belong to me.”

     
    I groan as I roll over and open my eyes, soft daylight filtering in through a window, tickling my cheeks. I’m lying on a cushy bed, and a girl with big brown eyes is standing over me, peering intently. I scream.
    “Well, at least I know you’re alive,” the girl says, moving over to the other end of the room.
    “Where am I?” I ask groggily. My vision slowly fades through, revealing a room with soft pastel walls and lined with twin beds along each side.
    “Recovery room. You don’t remember passing out when you got pricked?” she says. I’m guessing this is Grier, whom Myra told me about. She’s a bit shorter than me, with fierce-looking eyes lined black and shiny ebony hair. She wears straight-cut bangs across her forehead and I am completely envious of how good it looks on her.
    “Ugh. Yeah, I remember. I hate needles,” I mutter. She seats herself in a cushy chair beside the bed, looking at me quizzically but with a hint of a smile on her face.
    “Strange for a Hunter to fear the transfusion,” she replies. I strip the thin infirmary sheet from my body, thankful I’m still in all of my own clothing.
    “I’m not a Hunter anymore,” I mutter. To this, she giggles quietly. I sit up, ignoring the black spotscrowding my vision and face her, raising an eyebrow in question.
    “Leaving the Corp doesn’t make you human. The Hunt is in your blood, and will always be in your blood,” she says, placing a hand over her heart for emphasis. I exhale loudly. My blood type will always tie me with the Corp, it seems. Will there ever be an escape?
    “I’m no longer a dog on the Corp’s leash,” I rephrase. She nods in snooty satisfaction. I scan her again