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you don’t get paid.” Someone who must have been the club manager emerged in the midst of Drake’s meltdown. “And if you don’t start treating my staff with respect, I’ll throw you out of here on your ass. And I won’t pay you then, either.”
    “You can’t do that! We have a contract. Don’t you know who I am?”
    “Yeah.” The manager crossed his arms, bristling as he puffed out his chest. “You’re a has-been who doesn’t realize you’re lucky anyone still wants to shell out their hard earned money to see you.”
    Drake slammed his microphone down to the floor, feedback loudly erupting over the speakers until the soundman had the good sense to shut them off. That guy was okay in my book. He stormed off stage, yelling at everyone and no one that he would sue this place, and that The Mistress would make them all sorry.
    Who the hell was The Mistress?

R yder suggested I meet him back on the bus so he could calm down the still blustering Drake. But it didn’t stop me from asking him about what had gone down in the club when he met me back at his bunk.
    “The Mistress, Talis de Rancourt, is our manager.” Ryder sighed as he gathered my hands in his. He had a hard time sitting upright in the bunk. I knew if we lay down, I’d never get answers. “And probably the only person on earth more narcissistic than Drake.”
    “Can their egos fit in the same room?” I giggled, then inhaled sharply as Ryder raised my fingers to his mouth, kissing each one as he listened to my question.
    “Believe it or not, he kowtows to her. He thinks she has the answer to put us back in the spotlight. Her track record is pretty solid.” Ryder sounded bored and hollow talking about this woman, but I needed to know more about someone who could bring Drake down a peg.
    “What’s her track record?”
    “Real estate, some reality shows, and other bands that are pretty popular right now. Drake seems to think she’s got the Midas touch, but it pisses me off. We’re a real band that writes our own songs, not some manufactured publicity machine.”
    “Is Drake modeling his comeback after some boy band?” Oh, this got better with every question.
    “No, even worse.” Ryder’s eyes dropped as he visibly debated telling me more. He brought my hand back to his lap and squeezed it, his playful demeanor gone. “Immortal Dilemma.”
    “The vampire band?” I clarified and Ryder nodded. “But that’s not real, it’s just a gimmick. Why is that so bad? She’s got a great idea, and it’s working. Maybe Drake’s on to something, partnering with her.”
    “It’s not a gimmick, Melanie.” Ryder looked away from me.
    “What’s not a gimmick?” My eyes were so wide I thought they might fall on to the bed. I panicked as he still didn’t look at me. Up until this point, I had no idea Ryder might be delusional. “That can’t be real, Ryder. There’s no such thing as vampires. They live in scary legends and horror movies.”
    “Welcome to my horror movie.” He looked back at me, his eyes full of sadness and fear, even in this dark bunk. I swallowed hard, realizing all the little things that hadn’t added up all weekend might now add up to a big fucking deal.
    “I don’t believe you.” My whole body shook as I forced the words out.
    “Do you want me to drink your blood to prove it?” In a flash his mouth was against my neck. “It probably tastes as sweet as you smell.”
    I stifled a scream and did my best not to plead for mercy. “No.”
    No food, no windows, the sharp teeth, the cool feel to his skin.
    Ryder was a vampire.
    My choices weren’t good. I could accept this madness or step away from him, into the unknown.
    The devil you know, those words never rang so true.
    “Look at me,” I said, softly, as I guided his face back to mine. If he was going to hurt me, I was going to go down in beautiful oblivion. I couldn’t force myself to walk away. And whatever he was going to do to me would be a hundred times