The man with the syringe stepped closer, closing the distance between us. The sharp metal point of the needle caught the moonlight, shining like a tiny, cruel silver tooth. My skin turned instantly cold, as if liquid ice were crawling over my entire body.
"What do you need my blood for?" I whispered, my voice trembling in the dark. "I am just an ordinary girl. My blood isn't special. Why are you doing this to me?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed the freezing tip of the syringe directly against the skin of my neck. "We need it for a little something beautiful, Princess," he murmured, his breath smelling like sour, spoiled milk. "Cooperate, and this won't hurt. Unless, of course, you prefer pain. The choice is yours."
My eyes darted to the other two men. The
