After waiting a few moments to make sure that no one is going to burst in, I strip out of my dress and stretch. Being out of that constricting thing makes me feel like myself again, and I revel in it—especially since I know the feeling isn’t going to last.
Kicking off my shoes, I work out the kinks in my toes and the arches of my feet, still stretching out my back and shoulders too. My muscles are used to all kinds of punishment, but stiletto heels and corsets are pure torture. I know I don’t have a lot of time before the matron will return, but it feels so good to be in my own skin that I push the limits a little bit. They can’t very well bring me to a feast naked, after all.
Well… maybe they can.
I shudder at that thought and decide I’d better get dressed quick and not risk it. After glancing around quickly, I move toward the old-fashioned wardrobe in one corner of the room and fling it open.
It’s full of clothes in my size, and my brows knit as I pull a few items out to examine them. What the hell? How did they do this? There must’ve been some kind of communication between the auction master and the vampires who work in the palace. Once the tributes were on their way down, they probably started preparing our rooms for us, based on information provided by the auctioneer.
The clothes are all tight, revealing, and verging on gaudy. Frosting for the dessert, I guess. Useless and eye-catching.
I grimace, rifling through several outfits quickly. There has to be something in here which will let me disappear into the crowd.
The most conservative thing in the entire wardrobe is a long, black, form-fitting dress with transparent lace cut-outs all over it. It’ll have to do. I wriggle into it and make a face at myself in the full-length mirror set along one wall. The fucking thing is so low cut that my cleavage is on full display. The vee dips down to my belly button, and the sleeves are three-quarter length, leaving my neck and wrists on display. The lace cut-outs are strategically placed to give peek-a-boo shots of my legs and the underside of my ass.
For fuck’s sake.
At least it isn’t pink.
Once I’m dressed, I quickly gather up my discarded gown from the floor, scanning the room again. There aren’t a lot of hiding places in here, but I find an empty drawer in the bottom of the wardrobe. After messing with it for a minute, I manage to pull the bottom out of it. There’s enough space beneath for me to rig a false bottom, but it’ll take time. It’ll take time to get my weapons out of my dress, too, unless I decide to just tear the stupid thing to shreds. But that seems too risky.
Too many people saw me in it. What if one of the vamps who came to watch the auction tells me to wear it later?
On the other hand, I can’t risk having someone come in here and try to grab my dress to wash it while I’m gone. The weapons were hidden well enough to avoid detection so far, but if this thing gets put in the laundry, it’ll be all over.
There’s only one thing to do. I put the bottom back in the drawer and fold my dress up tight, wadding it into as small of a bundle as possible. Then I shove it in the drawer, wincing as the heavy weapons thump dully against the wooden bottom.
There. I’ll deal with it later, after the sun comes up and the vampires go to bed.
I choose a pair of strappy black shoes from the wardrobe. They fit perfectly, which stresses me out more than the clothes do. A trained eye can glean a person’s waist size pretty easily, but shoe size? That’s psychic-level insight. If these vampires have a psychic working for them, I’m screwed. But unlike my towering stilettos, these shoes only have the smallest hint of a heel, and they lace up in all the right spots. I could run in these if I had to, which is always a plus.
I’m about to take my jewelry off when someone knocks on my door. “Are you decent, my dear?”
I smirk in spite of myself. Not usually.
“Yes, come in.”
The matron who escorted us through the halls earlier opens the door. She smiles when she sees me, although once again, nothing in her eyes seems to change to reflect the curve of her lips.
“We didn’t formally meet earlier. I’m Anastasyia,” she says, holding out her hand. “Come on out here. Now that everyone’s dressed, I’ll show all of you around.”
I join the other girls in the hall outside. The one who was crying the hardest on the way down here isn’t weeping anymore. She just looks tired and resigned now.
“I don’t know how much you were told already,” Anastasyia says. “I always tell the men to leave the orientation to me, but some of them can’t help themselves and start talking on the way down the stairs.” She waves her hands in a fluttering gesture as if to brush that aside. “Anyway, this is the female tribute wing. All the women live here. No males allowed. Men live on the other side, where female tributes are forbidden. The vampires don’t like their humans mixing—pregnant tributes cause all kinds of moral and social complications, as you can imagine. It never ends well.”
The way she talks about it makes me certain that it’s happened before, probably more than just once. Rage simmers at the base of my spine, and I clench my toes inside my shoes to keep from clenching my fists.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around.” Anastasyia gestures to the doors that dot the hallway around us. “These are, obviously, your bedrooms. You have one bathroom for every four bedrooms. Be respectful, and keep your space clean. I usually don’t have too much trouble with new tributes, but keep in mind that the binding ceremony won’t be for a few weeks.”
“Will we still live in this wing after the binding ceremony?” one girl asks.
“If you aren’t chosen by a particular vampire, then yes, you’ll stay here. If you are chosen, you’ll stay wherever your bonded vampire decides you should stay. Most of them prefer to have their bound tributes live with them in their rooms. A comfortable arrangement, I’m told, if occasionally exhausting.”
Some of the girls giggle at that, sharing secretive glances or nudging each other. It’s all I can do to keep from shaking my head in disappointment.
She’s not talking about sex, you idiots.
She’s talking about the exhaustion that comes from losing a portion of blood every single day for the rest of your short life.
This is why I didn’t bother to read the full contract before I signed it. Because I know that, no matter how much they try to disguise it in flowery language, this bargain is set up to benefit the vamps at the expense of humans. Ostensibly, we’re all here for an agreed upon period of time in exchange for an agreed upon amount of money. But if any vampires decide they want to keep one of us forever, they can do that, and there won’t be shit we can do about it.
Or at least, that’s how it’s meant to work. I have no intention of letting any vampire get their fangs that deep in me.
The vampire matron leads us further down the hallway, turning left before gesturing to a large room visible through a wide, arched doorway.
“Here is the common room, where you can watch TV, play boardgames, read—we have all kinds of things for you to do on your down time. You will have computer access, but you should know that everything is strictly monitored, so don’t go posting on Read It or whatever it’s called about how you’re a blood tribute. Social media is strictly prohibited.”