-Ronan-

I have lived over one hundred years and I still have trouble envisioning how far the consequences of my actions will carry me. That is how, on this crisp October morning, I am on the way to get my first human pet.

We’re supposed to call them attendants, but they’re essentially pets, and I’ve managed to keep myself human pet-free for so long because I’ve stayed off my parents' radar for a decade or two. Now that they’re back in Savannah and I’m working on something with my father, they’ve turned the spotlight on me.

Desmond sits across from me in the limo, and he’s pouring his third glass of whiskey in half an hour. He picks it up and raises it toward me. “It’s your fucking fault that I have to pick another pet. Maybe if you hadn’t 'accidentally' released her, you wouldn’t be here with me. And I rather liked her, you know?”

Evidently, my distaste is etched on my face.

I scoff and ignore him. Yes, my brother liked her blood and he liked fucking her senseless. He’s had attendants ever since the agency has been in business, and this one was his fourth, maybe fifth. I can’t recall, since they seem to come and go just as quickly as the seasons. When you have so much time at your disposal, five or six years are like the strike of lightning.

The attendants are supposed to be protected by watertight contracts, and they are, mostly. Desmond, though… Everything, or most of what he does to them is legal, which is the messed up part of this whole thing.

“What was her name?” I ask.

“The one you freed 'by accident?' Teresa. Chelsea? I don’t know. Who gives a shit? I called her Red. There aren’t a lot of natural redheads, you know?” He sips the whiskey and pours another glass, almost spilling it as the limo hits a bump in the road. “Charlie! I’m going to have YOU for breakfast if you aren’t more careful.”

“Sorry, sir!” I can hear the fear in our driver’s voice, though Desmond’s threat is unusually mild today. He’s not a morning person. Morning vampire, rather.

I honestly have no interest in getting an attendant. Why would I want a personal blood bag to follow me around? I enjoy my privacy, and the attendant system is rather reductive for humans. We pay off their debts and solve their financial problems, and they go into a contract of servitude that lasts for years. Where’s the dignity in that?

Since Desmond is getting a new one because of my slip, my mother decided it is time I get one as well. I’ve considered taking an attendant only in name and setting them up in the gardener’s hut or an unused room in the estate, where they can spend a few oblivious years doing nothing and then return home to their family. But the point of having an attendant isn’t to help a human being, of course.

Vampires don’t do anything out of the kindness of their cold, dead hearts. We always want something in exchange.

An attendant is a status symbol, and the company that runs the biggest agency on the planet happens to belong to the woman my parents want me to marry. If I keep refusing to have one, it will be seen as a rebuke to their business, which could in turn become a major scandal in the vampire world.

And that is unacceptable.

The limo stops and Desmond downs the remains of the whiskey in his glass, ice cubes and all. We step into a pristine, white lobby, where a tall, thin woman greets us.

“Mr. Stewart, it’s a pleasure to see you here again.” There’s a slight intonation to the word 'again,' which tells me she’s not happy to see him here, yet AGAIN. “And a greater pleasure to meet the younger Mr. Stewart. I’m Rini.” She extends her hand to me and I shake it. “I’ll escort you to the interview rooms. Please feel free to ask any questions you may have about the process.”

She’s clearly talking to me, though I’ve read their rules and regulations thoroughly once, it became clear I would have to see this through. I thank her and silently follow her, with Desmond trailing behind us.

“We’ve done a pre-selection based on the details you sent us,” she continues as we navigate a long, sunlit corridor. “Female, educated, and healthy.”

“Educated?” Desmond interjects. “Do you want an attendant or a teacher?”

I refuse to answer him, though I don’t even know why I ticked that box. I suppose that if this person is spending time with me, I’d rather have someone who has some sort of knowledge about something, though that is rare with humans. They only care about immediate rewards and instant gratification. A side effect of living such short lives, I suppose.

“Here we are.” Rini opens a wide oak door for us. “The candidates will be here shortly. We’ve also brought a few that match Desmond’s criteria.”

“I think I want a brunette this time.” Desmond flops into the couch that faces a glass window. On the other side, there’s a white chair in a small, equally white room. “I haven’t had a brunette in a while.”

I sit next to him just as a candidate opens the door. She’s petite and plump, and she has gorgeous brown eyes.

“Miranda, why do you want to be an attendant?” A voice booms from the speakers.

“Um, can the vampire see me?” The girl’s eyes nervously look straight through the two-way glass, but we're clearly invisible to her.

“Please answer the question,” the voice replies.

“I… I have medical debt, from an accident a few years ago…”

I decide to read the news on my phone as more candidates step into the room and answer the same questions, with few variations.

Why do you want to be an attendant? Do you consensually agree to the contract and enter it freely, of your own volition? Are you fully aware that the timeframe for your debt is X amount of years? Do you consent to being glamored?

Not all vampires can perform glamors, at least the common ones. Most noble vampires can. The glamor is a supposedly optional clause in the contracts that allows the attendant to forget everything they do while the contract is active. They’re there in person, and they’re still themselves, but once the contract is over, they won’t remember anything they did during their time served. It also makes their compliance to orders a lot easier.

Most of them choose to take the glamor. Not everyone accepts an attendant who doesn’t want to be glamored. I supposed there’s too much at stake having a person remembering all the shit you’ve done to them.

Ten more women come and go, and Desmond lets out a yawn at the eleventh.

“How many more are there?” He looks around the room.

“Yes, Mr. Stewart. There are five more candidates arranged for today. We can reschedule…”

“No, we will choose one today. Carry on.” Desmond turns toward me. “I’m not coming back to Savannah for a week or two, so we have to pick from those. What did you think about the seventh one?”

I have no idea who the seventh one was. All of them have sob stories; all of them are pretty in their own way.

“Just pick one and let’s get this over with,” I say, just as another girl enters the tiny room and Desmond’s eyes light up.

“Layla, why do you want to be an attendant?”

This one has auburn hair and sky-blue eyes. “My brother died abroad and we couldn’t afford to bring his body home, so…”

“Put that one in a special pile,” Desmond says, leaning back and crossing a leg over his knees, visibly relaxed. “This one is even prettier than Red. I can call her Red Two.”

He looks pleased with himself, and I wish I could slap the grin off his handsome face.

The interview finishes and Desmond begins to play with his phone, his mind seemingly made up. When I’m about to say that we can stop so I can just pick from the ones we’ve seen, another girl enters.

I freeze.

Physically, there’s nothing remarkable about her. She’s just as beautiful as any of the other girls, or perhaps even plainer without any makeup. Long dark hair, blue-gray eyes. But there’s something about the way she moves that has me glued.

She walks in with purpose and turns the chair around as she sits, straddling it backwards and bracing her arms on the backrest.

“Arabella, why do you want to be an attendant?”

“Want? That’s a rather misleading word. No one wants to be an attendant. It’s some people’s only way out.”

Her answer prompts Desmond to look away from his phone, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that he’s just as enthralled by her as I am.

“Please answer the question.”

The girl sighs and she grips the chair, her knuckles straining from the force. “I want to save what’s left of my family.”

The voice waits a few seconds, perhaps expecting there to be a longer sob story, but the girl named Arabella doesn’t continue. Her eyes wander around the room, expectant for the next question.

“Do you consensually agree to the contract and enter it freely, of your own volition?”

“Yes.” She raises an eyebrow at the mention of freedom, but her stoic face returns a split second later.

“Are you fully aware that the timeframe for your debt is twenty years?”

Twenty? That is a lot of time for a human.

Most of the younger ones only take on five to ten years. This girl must be in her twenties, which means she’s giving up her best formative years. Her fertile years. Everything humans care about, in essence. Her debt must amount to a lot of money.

“I like her, too,” Desmond snaps. “Put her on top of the shortlist.”

Shit.

For some reason, the thought of this strong-headed woman going to Desmond infuriates me. I can already picture him breaking her and enjoying it.

I don’t know what I’ve just gotten myself into, but I do know that I couldn’t let Desmond have her.

Despite walking this earth for a century, I haven’t been given the gift of foresight, yet, something tells me that if Desmond takes her and treats her the same way he manages his other attendants, I will tear his head off.

The voice proceeds. “Do you consent to being glamored?”

“No,” the girl answers promptly.

No? My eyes widen and Desmond actually drops his jaw. It is well known that most of the attendants who refuse to be glamored end up requesting it a few years into their contracts. Those who don’t are few and rare. It’s either very brave or very stupid.

“Thank you, Arabella. We will contact you if you’ve been chosen.”

While the previous candidates quickly stepped out of the room, Arabella pauses and looks around her.

“That’s all? I don’t get to see who’s looking at me?”

“Thank you, Arabella. We will…”

“Fine.” She cuts the voice off and steps out, slamming the door behind her.

Silence fills the room until the voice speaks again. “We apologize for the candidate, sir. On paper, she…”

“I want her,” I blurt out.

What the hell am I doing?

“There are three more candidates, gentlemen. If you’d like...”

“I said I want that one. Arabella,” I interrupt.

“Very well, sir. Please return to the lobby, where you’ll be given her file and the contract to sign. You can have a second set of personal interviews with the candidate, and…”

“Just give me that damn contract and let’s get this over with.”

“Hey, I like her too.” Desmond’s head turns toward me. He grins with a cold smile that sends humans and most vampires running. “She doesn’t consent to being glamored. Are you sure about that, little brother? How about this, I take her, you take the red one?”

“No,” I reply in a warning tone, narrowing my eyes. “She is mine.”