Belle Morte (Book 1, the Belle Morte Series)

CHAPTER THREE

Renie

I must have slept after that; the next thing I knew Roux was shaking me awake.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Are you going to snooze all day?" she singsonged.

I sat up, scrubbing sleep from my eyes. The room took shape around me but its beauty left me cold.

"What time is it?" I mumbled.

Roux checked her new silver watch, courtesy of Belle Morte. "Quarter to ten."

"Seriously?" It felt like 5 a.m.

Roux shrugged. "It's the Belle Morte way—late nights and late mornings."

Apart from the watch, Roux wore only a fluffy red towel that matched our bedcovers. "The shower's awesome, but if you want to try it you need to hurry, or you'll miss breakfast," she said.

All donors ate meals together, so I wouldn't need to look for June—she'd be there at the breakfast table. That jolted me out of bed.

The bathroom was as fancy as the bedroom, with floor and walls of smooth cream tiles, a porcelain claw-foot tub standing close to a shower big enough for two, and a heated towel rack. Hanging on the farthest wall was a full-length mirror edged with wrought silver, and a toilet and basin stood in the opposite corner. Like the bedroom, the bathroom carried the faint fragrance of roses.

Roux was right; the shower was awesome, the heated spray pulsing out with enough force to feel like a massage on my whole body, but I was in only long enough to wash. I wasn't here to enjoy myself.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I went back into the bedroom. Roux was dressed now, in skintight jeans and a black lace T-shirt, with ankle boots that added another three inches to her height. She towered over me.

"Nice outfit," I remarked.

"I know." She twirled and blew me a kiss.

I rifled through the wardrobe, grabbing the first pair of trousers and the first shirt in my size. The trousers were soft, gray leather, the shirt delicate as tissue paper. I'd never owned anything so beautiful, and for the briefest moment I forgot they'd been provided by vampires.

My contract said I had to look presentable, so I slicked on mascara and lip gloss, ran a brush through my hair, then scrutinized my own reflection. Not bad.

"Ready?" Roux asked.

"Let's go and meet the other donors."

***

We made our way down the stairs to the first floor and turned right, heading for the dining hall. Just beyond the vestibule was a parlor, the corners softened with padded velvet seats and sofas, and one wall occupied by a door that opened into a small room.

Roux faltered, and I stopped with her.

Inside the room, a boy roughly our age sat in a wingback chair, his head tilted to one side. A vampire stood over him, her mouth clamped to his neck, her long hair mingling with his. The boy's eyes were closed, his mouth slack with bliss, but the vampire briefly lifted her head and looked at us, and her eyes shone red, the way all vampires' did when they were hungry.

Heat crawled along my cheeks. I'd never seen a vampire feed; it was like glimpsing something private.

"Don't worry, you get used to it," said a voice behind us, and we both turned. A girl stood there, a knowing smile playing around her lips. "I'm Melissa."

I knew the names of every donor in this House, same as I knew the names of every vampire, but Melissa's face was especially familiar to me. Two days before June had stopped writing, Belle Morte had hosted an art display, attended by everyone in the house as well as a select group of outside guests, and one of the photos from that night had been of June and Melissa, laughing together as they posed in front of a huge metal sculpture.