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prattling
nonsense was annoying.
    "So what are you hoping people see when they
look at you?"
    Oh God, that was a loaded question. She
shrugged. "I don't know. Um...I guess I just dress to blend
in."
    Leaning forward, he leveled his intense eyes
on her. "Why is that?"
    She couldn't hold his gaze and sipped her
wine so she didn't have to. "It's easier?"
    "Is it? Do people judge you correctly when
they meet you?"
    "No," she laughed. "Not at all."
    "I'll ask again then. Why do you dress to
blend in? Why not dress in a way that people could judge you
appropriately?"
    She didn't even pause to think. The words
just flew out of her mouth. "Maybe I'm a coward and I'm scared of
letting people see the true me. Or maybe I don't know enough about
who I am to present it properly. Or maybe, I just don't want people
to see below the 'every girl' surface." Somehow she'd moved from
bar chair to therapist couch. She was usually more tight-lipped
around people she'd just met.
    He leaned even closer and her heart skipped a
few beats. Triplets, her heart was suddenly beating in triplets. "I
understand," he purred. "Sometimes it's frightening to let people
see who we really are. It's easier to let them see what they will.
The people who matter will take the effort to look a little
harder."
    His nearness was making her stomach do
pirouettes. She'd never felt so nervous around a man, and her
insides never did tricks just because one was barely inches from
her. She bit her lip. "You hope so."
    "Yes, you do." His eyes locked on hers for
one long moment and she was hypnotized and unable to look away.
Finally he leaned back, breaking the trance. "And that's why I try
not to judge based on appearances alone," he added teasingly,
flashing his bright white teeth at her in a gorgeous smile.
    She laughed again. "Touché."
    The door to the bar flung open and a
disheveled woman stumbled in. Her red hair hung in limp, ratted
waves around her face. Mascara ran down her colorless cheeks, and
dark, deep circles pooled under her eyes. She looked like she might
be drunk, overdosing on drugs, sick with the flu, or all three.
    Armand swore under his breath and rose
roughly to his feet. It was the first time Julia hadn't seen him
move with perfect grace. "You aren't welcome here, Eve," he said as
he approached her, his seductive growl now low and menacing. "You
need to leave. Now."
    "Armand no, please," she begged. "Just one
more time. I need the release. I'm so...full. Please, I need
to...give...just a little bit more."
    "Absolutely not. You don't look like you have
enough to give. How much blood have you donated already?"
    Blood? Had he said blood?
    "Not enough," Eve panted. She ran a pale hand
over her tangled hair and across her chest. "Never enough."
    She swayed unsteadily on her feet and Armand
grabbed onto her arm to help stabilize her. "Eve," he said, gentler
this time. "You are sick and you need help. If you don't replenish
your body and get some rest -"
    He wasn't able to finish the sentence. Eve's
eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. Armand swiftly
moved to catch her, effortlessly scooping her crumpled form into
his arms. As he turned to the quiet onlookers in the dark bar,
Julia saw him mouth the word, "Fuck."
    "Do you see this girl?" he said out loud. His
handsome features were clouded with anger and he suddenly looked
very dangerous, scary dangerous. "Stay away from her. If I discover
that anyone here has taken from her, I will find you. Just
because some Donors are ready to be Victims doesn't mean you make
them your victim." He turned and said something to the
bartender and then disappeared with Eve in his arms through the
velvet curtains behind the bar.
    Okay, that was creepy.
    As much as she wanted to bolt like a spooked
horse, Julia calmly finished her wine. No one else in the bar
seemed disturbed and she didn't want to be the only one freaking
out.
    Especially since she could feel the
bartender's red eyes boring into her and it was