Music sent vibrations through the earth, traveling along every nerve and stirring Nika's eardrums with glee. As she entered the pulsing, neon nightclub, with the Rogue Minister leading her onward, the scents of blood and liquor filled her nose.

When they reached the main floor, Nika stepped around Viktor and soaked everything up. In front of her, two young men clung to each other, their bodies moving in unity with the music. Then one conjured fangs and bit the other's neck, sucking his blood.

Nika blinked, stunned at the sight. He must have been malnourished.

All Daemonstri drank blood, but Serafi and Inferni were the only races that consumed it for sustenance. And if they didn't get enough each day, it would lead to starvation and potentially death.

When she was little, Nika had curiously observed blood consumption among the Lazarov family. Lu's mother sometimes purchased it from a grocer, and everyone drank a daily glass, apart from Nika.

These days, however, Lu preferred taking large blood pills every few hours. Nika prayed that her captors were maintaining her health.

She forced herself to look away as the couple grew more heated, only for her eyes to land on a woman sitting in a lounge, surrounded by men who fed from her wrists, neck, and legs. Similar displays could be seen all around the room.

"Oh my Oldbloods," Nika murmured.

This behavior was so unlike what she typically observed in Serafi. In fact, it was more like that of Inferni, who truly indulged in their inner monster. It was their nature to consume more than the rest of Daemonstri-kind, and as such, their lust for it was violent and ungovernable.

They spent their time in the outside world, hunting any living creature they found. Nika imagined their entire lives revolved around that possessive hunger to drain a victim and devour its organs.

Nefili and Volkari were different, though. They consumed blood merely to enhance the immune system and accelerate healing. Keepers sometimes made use of blood-filled capsules, as the career often led to broken bones and bruises.

But never before had Nika witnessed the bloodcraft in the way people practiced it here. What kind of nightclub had Viktor taken her to?

"Is this a feeding den?" she hissed as he ordered drinks from a bartender.

Viktor laughed. "No! Feeding dens take blood slaves without consent. Do these people look like they're here against their will?"

After a quick assessment, she had to admit the opposite. They were having fun.

Viktor shoved a shot glass into her hand, and Nika threw it back without hesitation. Anything to soothe her bewilderment. It did little to stop her nose, however. Blood, blood, blood—it was all she smelled. Everyone was either biting or being bitten.

Her shock didn't go unnoticed by Viktor, who said, "Try not to look so horrified. You might offend someone."

"This is . . . "

"Amazing!"

"That's one way to put it," she muttered, wondering how this place hadn't been shut down.

When it came to blood, things were always complex. In the cloistered supernatural community, speaking about the bloodcraft in public was the worst of taboos. Everyone did it, and everyone knew that it was a central part of Daemonstri life, but it possessed as much glamour as a trip to the toilet.

The most Nika had ever experienced of recreational blood consumption was through rumors at Konstantin.

Did you hear that so-and-so lost their blood-virginity?

I once saw two Serafi students feeding behind the gymnasium.

There had been little truth to those stories, and they hadn't been scandalous enough to alarm her anyway. But this . . . It was sheer hedonism.

Nika realized that she was far from the escape she'd hoped to have. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. Just as she was about to voice the sentiment to Viktor, he pulled her deep into a throbbing mass of bodies.

"Let's have a dance," he purred.

His hands slid around her hips as the music pulsed in unison with her heartbeat, and the next thing Nika knew, they were pressed together by the surrounding dancers.

A flash of indigo glided across Viktor's face. The golden strands of his hair glittered for a moment, electrified by the colorful glow. She absorbed the sharp curve of his jaw and cheekbones, and when he caught her ogling, his arms tightened, pulling her closer.

"I thought you didn't care about politics," Nika said, grasping at the first conversation topic she could think of. "You almost never go to Ministry meetings, but you went to the interviews. Why?"

"So I could watch you squirm," he teased, pinching her sides.

Nika wriggled involuntarily, then glared at him. "I'm serious."

Viktor shrugged. "Perhaps I was intrigued by the prospect of meeting you."

Before she could hassle him for the truth, he released her and yanked a leggy brunette toward himself. "I have a philosophy," he said, pulling the girl's hair over her shoulder.

Either she knew who he was or didn't care about his identity at all, because she only hooked an arm backwards, around Viktor's neck, and rocked her hips to the rhythm.

The Rogue Minister kept his eyes on Nika. "A little blood each day keeps the demons at bay."

His fangs flicked out and plunged into the stranger's shoulder. It took mere seconds for her movements to turn lazy, and soon enough, she was sagging against him, the hint of a smile on her lips.

Nika didn't know what else to do but stand and watch. Viktor's words churned around inside her mind. Demons—he'd used the word precisely. Almost a decade ago, Viktor's parents had been brutally slaughtered by Inferni, and their eighteen-year-old son stepped up as Minister. He was the youngest to be appointed to the role in all of history.

And despite his reputation for partying and pleasure, Nika wondered if Viktor had never fully healed from his parents' gruesome end. Perhaps all of this—the blood, the club—was a distraction. With that, at least, she could empathize.

Viktor came up for air, his lips coated with scarlet. "Care to join me?"

She must have been making a face, because he cocked his head and said, "You're a blood-virgin, aren't you?"

Nika didn't deign to reply, but it appeared that was all the answer he required.

"Just have a taste. It's the ultimate high. And it's even better when you mix it with the other entertainments."

Nika swept a gaze over the wall of liquor behind the bar, then the frenetic dancers. She might have even spotted substances being passed from hand to hand.

Epicurus would be proud.

"Maybe next time," she said.

Since Nefili only used blood for medicinal purposes, they were easily susceptible to addictions. The Vigil frowned upon recreational participation in the bloodcraft, and keepers had been removed from service for developing unhealthy dependencies. Nika wasn't keen on wasting years of hard work for one night of fun. And besides that, she simply didn't like the idea of gulping, must less enjoying, blood.

"I'm gonna get a drink. Do you want something?"

By the time she regarded him again, the Rogue Minister was fang-deep in another vein. And this time, it belonged to a man.

Sighing, Nika squeezed and ducked and shoved her way through the crowd, then dragged herself to the bar. Soon, she lost count of how many drinks she'd had and the colorful lights merged into a rainbow, which flashed across her vision in fleeting, playful surges.

She let the crowd carry her wherever it pleased and released her heart to explore the things which she rarely had the luxury of knowing. It was all euphoric—or as euphoric as possible without a sip of blood.

With each moment that passed, she forgot about her unfortunate interview with the Ministry, that her friend was dead, Lu was missing, and her life would never be the same. She forgot it all . . . until her body was warmed by another, and hot breath danced over her skin. Lips grazed her neck as fingers curled through her own.

"There you are, halfblood," Viktor said sultrily.

Nika's joints screeched to a stop at the tainted word. Wherever there had been flickering warmth, there was suddenly a winter chill.

"Don't call me that," she said, breathless from nonstop dancing.

Viktor hummed. "You shouldn't let that word bother you so much. It's who you are. Embrace it."

She tried spinning around to look at him, but he held firm, rocking and grinding against her. Nika might have lost herself in the music again, had she not felt his fangs pierce her skin.

He'd barely broken through the surface, but it was enough for an unbridled anger to surge. Her body jumped into a defensive mode. She didn't even notice that her hands had seized him by the collar and thrown him against a nearby wall, making the decorations upon it rattle.

Gasps and swears spilled from the mouths of nearby onlookers.

Viktor panted, raising his hands. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't—I thought you might—"

Nika noted the panic in his eyes and released him. He swallowed hard, almost looking scared.

"Hey!" The shout came from a security guard who sauntered toward them. He was looking right at Nika. "You're the Dimitrovich girl, yeah?"

She nodded, frowning. But before she could ask what he wanted, he grabbed her shoulders. "Come with me."

"Wha—"

He ushered her toward a dark corridor, the end of which was marked with a bright exit sign.

"This club has a strict no-violence policy," said Viktor, perhaps a bit nervously. "Sorry."

She might have punched him in the face just for turning around and rejoining the dancers. But the security guard shoved her down the hall and heaved open the door.

Nika stumbled into an alleyway, cold air hitting her skin. She hadn't two heartbeats to assess her surroundings before a mammoth of a man seized her by the arm and dragged her away from the door.