Matheus Taylor didn’t ask to be murdered. Quin didn’t care. Now, Matheus runs for his life, questions his sexual orientation & defies a mysterious new threat to vampires within his city.

Hey, Bibi.”

Bianca lay ensconced in a glorious mound of pillows. Small pillows, large pillows, square pillows, circular pillows, pillows with embroidery, pillows with tassels, pillows with tassels and embroidery and lace—a cornucopia of stuffing and fabric.

“Wow,” said Matheus. He stopped, his toes just outside the doorway, and leaned into the bedroom.

“Come sit next to me,” Bianca said, waving at him.

“I’m not sure there’s room.” Matheus burrowed into the pillows, tossing them left and right until he’d carved out a space big enough for an adult male. He looked around the room; he’d never felt so aggressively masculine in his life. A pair of teddy bears in gingham stared at him from the vanity. Matheus shifted, but their beady black eyes followed him, watching, waiting. He forced himself to look at Bianca, trying not to search for movement out of the corner of his eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

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