The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked. Loud. Each second hammering against your skull like a drumbeat.

Six heartbeats. You could count each one from here. The slow, steady thrum of Blaise's. The quick, erratic skip of Lorenzo's. The heavy, rhythmic pulse of—

They all turned.

The room was warm. Golden lamplight, the smell of firewhisky and cologne and blood. Your throat burned. Your fangs ached behind your lips.

You couldn't look away from their necks. The way the light caught the pulse points. The way their blood moved beneath their skin.