Read an excerpt of Charlene's debut novel, A Vow of Shadow and Blood below...

Not even the music can hide the newblood’s scream as Vincent sinks his fangs deep into his wrist.

The boy’s eyes find mine in a silent plea, but I force myself to look away. My fingers tighten around the cloth in my hand as I shove aside the leather-clad chairs circling the table I’m supposed to clean. I slam the fabric against the dark wooden surface, scrubbing with such force that my knuckles ache.

“You know the bastard goes out of his way to make his feedings hurt,” Tori says as she moves to stand beside me. “I think he gets off on it.”

“He does.” My eyes narrow on the creature sitting across the dimly lit room. “And you know that the more blood he consumes, the better he can hear you.”

My best friend flicks the long locks of her shiny blond hair over her shoulder and shrugs off my warning. “His focus is elsewhere. He has no interest in me.”

I move to the next empty table and pick up a lipstick-stained glass before wiping away the sticky substance beneath it, but I cannot tear my attention away from the table of vamps. Their black eyes are wide and glazed, a clear sign that their blood high has taken over whatever rational thoughts remained.

Vincent, the spoiled heir to House Vancova and, unfortunately, a frequent patron of our bloodhouse, grabs the newblood tighter, a grin splitting his dark brown features as the boy cries out.

Pain pulses through my fingers as I grip the glass. It’s the only thing keeping me from storming over and pulling him to safety. Well, that and the red-eyed figures standing guard around the room, shadow blades strapped to their belts, a constant reminder of what they’re capable of if anyone steps out of line. Suddenly, the steel dagger hidden beneath my dress feels far less lethal, though I still feel better having it.

“I don’t like that expression.” Tori’s voice breaks me out of my spell, but my eyes remain on the vamps. “It’s telling me you’re about to do something stupid. Just remember, eyes are on us.”

The reminder shifts my attention to the stool-lined bar where Amabel stands, glaring at me, her palms pressed against the smooth wooden counter. Behind her hangs a row of obnoxiously large mirrors framed in intricately woven bronze patterns. Amabel thinks it gives the illusion that the bloodhouse is larger than it actually is. Maybe so, but the seats remain empty. Something else keeps the patrons away.

The ivory skin around her stark brown eyes tightens as they lock on mine—a silent warning: do not get involved. But all I can see is the reflection behind her of an innocent human being used like a toy. Again. Uncontrollable anger heats my blood, and I fight to gain control. I need to calm down.

I move away from Tori, slipping behind one of the thick stone pillars dotting the room, right out of sight of Amabel. I keep up the ruse of cleaning the tables, but my eyes keep shifting to Vincent and the newblood. Not that I can do anything.

Actually, you can. Athriel’s serpentine voice fills my mind, and the glass I’m holding almost falls to the ground.

Gods, you need to come with a warning.

Laughter rumbles within the walls of my mind, and my eyes flit around the large room as if someone else might hear it, but as always, they don’t. Only I hear the voice inside my head.

Where’s the fun in that?

I ignore his words as I watch Vincent tear his mouth away from the boy’s wrist before sweeping his tongue across his blood-soaked lips.

Come on, newblood, stop looking so scared—your fear is only making things worse.

You know I’m the only one who can hear you inside here? Athriel says.

I know. I’m just hoping he somehow gets the message.

Athriel scoffs.

When will you learn that you cannot save them all, Adina?

I hate the fact that he’s right. Humans will always be at risk of dying so long as we are slaves to vampires.

A deep, taunting voice sweeps through the air, stealing my attention yet again.

“I thought Blackwood Bloodhouse provided the best purebloods. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little bloodletting now, pretty one?”

Vincent leans back expectantly, his tall frame sinking into the chair as the hovering orb of starlight bathes the sharp edges of his face in a warm glow.

“It’s my first day,” the boy says, and I curse. The other two vamps exchange amused looks from across the table as Vincent cocks his head to the side, his black eyes calculating.

“First day?” He pins the boy with a heated stare, making my skin crawl. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Jace.”

“And how old are you, Jace?” He drags out his name as though he is tasting every letter.

The boy clears his throat, and I find myself leaning forward.

“I’m eighteen, sir—”

“Sir,” a vampire named Gabriel mocks, exchanging a mischievous glance with Vincent. I don’t know him well, only that he’s from House Astrella, wielders of shadow poison. Still, belonging to one of the twelve noble houses is enough to make him believe he’s entitled to anything. And I hate that he’s right.

Vincent clicks his tongue in reprimand before his eyes fall on Jace once again.

“Excuse my friend’s lack of manners, Jace, please do continue.”

Jace shifts nervously on his feet, one of the first things we’re taught not to do in training. This kid has a death wish.

Never show weakness and never give them a reason to remember you’re their prey. Give them an experience worth keeping you alive for.

Amabel’s words swirl through my mind. I may dislike the woman, but no other human knows how to handle vampires the way she does. She didn’t become the Head of Blackwood Bloodhouse by chance.

“I received my license yesterday.”

“Why the fuck would he tell them that?” Tori says, appearing beside me again, or perhaps she’d been there all along. She sweeps a cloth over the empty table, though her eyes, like mine, stay fixed on the scene ahead.

The third vampire at the table lets out a low whistle, his brow creasing in amusement. I don’t recognize him.

“You've got a real fresh one there, Vince,” he says.

His words earn him a chorus of laughter from the other two.

Vincent drags a finger lazily over the black crest marking Jace’s wrist before tugging him with such force that he stumbles. The boy’s eyes flare with fear as Vincent’s own darken, filled with a hunger that craves more than blood. My stomach churns as the surrounding vampires bare their fangs at the mere sight of the act. The bastards are getting turned on by his fear.

“Shit, he’s going to drain him,” Tori whispers the words I’m already thinking, and the confirmation causes a pounding sensation to grow within my temples. The blood in my veins starts to lose control, swirling and heating as I try to keep a tight grip on my emotions. It wants out. It wants to kil—

No, I hiss inside my head.

I hear an amused sigh followed by a chuckle. You never let me have any fun.

My idea of fun is vastly different from yours.

So, you don’t enjoy killing vampires, then? Athriel’s sing-song voice teases. An image from several weeks ago causes me to take a second too long to answer, and I know he sees the memory too. Just as I thought.

No, I don’t enjoy it; I do what I have to.

Such a lying tongue my sweet little Adina possesses.

I’m not lying.

Another annoying laugh.

You know, this reminds me of all those weeks you spent pretending you couldn’t hear me. Such a stubborn child you were. Not much has changed.

I will never forget the first night I heard him speak. I thought I was going crazy. It turns out my twisted gift has a voice.

“That kid isn’t going to last the night.” Tori’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I straighten my back and lock my eyes on Vincent Vancova. “Yes, he is.”

Without looking, I hand Tori the glass in my grip and make a beeline for the table of vampires. In the background, I hear Tori’s desperate pleas for me not to intervene, but I shut them out. If I listen, I might falter—and leave the boy defenseless. It’s not my problem. I shouldn’t care, but the fear in his eyes is all too familiar.

The number one rule of working the bloodhouse is that we never interfere with another pureblood’s tables. We service our own patrons and forfeit all involvement in the others surrounding us, but something inside me pushes me forward. Part of me wonders whether the emotions are my own or Athriel’s.

Oh, this is all you, my dear.

That was a rhetorical question.

His laughter fills my veins like a soft caress.

As long as I get to kill some vampires tonight, I will do exactly as you please.

We’re not killing anybody.

Boring.

I push his voice to the back of my mind just like I have practiced over the years.

My hands sweep down the length of my navy dress, fingertips grazing the slit that climbs to mid-thigh until they find the familiar outline of the leather strap holding my dagger. The laws of Kalyn say it’s illegal for a human to carry a weapon, but I’ve never been very good at obeying rules.

I straighten my back, swaying my hips to the soft lull of the band’s melody as I head toward the table of vampires. Shocked looks and hushed whispers trail after me, but I weave through the purebloods without slowing, closing the distance to my target. My eyes pierce into Vincent until he turns to look at me. Amusement flickers across his face as our eyes meet, and my stomach drops. Keep it together, Adina.

As soon as I reach the vampires’ table, all eyes fall on me, their pupils as black as the shadows they wield.

The eyes of a monster. Athriel's voice slithers to the front of my mind until I forcibly push it back into the darkness. I hear a grunt in the distance, but my focus is on the vampires who watch me intently. Regret claws at me instantly, though I’ll be damned if I let it show.

I spare a glance at Jace, and I swear something close to relief softens his features. Don’t relax yet, kid. I might get us both killed.

“Gentlemen,” I purr, keeping my eyes locked on Vincent. A tingle creeps up my spine as he watches me with hooded eyes. He sees the challenge, and I know the exact moment I catch his attention. I extend my wrist, revealing the shadow-inked crest—an intricate weave of swirls and patterns that mark Blackwood House’s claim on me, and the potency of my blood. Excitement fills Vincent’s eyes, and I curve my mouth up into a fake smile.

“I thought you might care for something a little stronger.”

“Stronger, you say?” A teasing expression brightens his eyes as his tongue flicks out to wet his red-stained lips.

I move closer, blocking his view of Jace.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I just assumed someone of your status would appreciate a little more experience.”

I let my eyes dip to his crotch for a second before bringing them back up, and there’s no mistaking the lust in his eyes. I shift my weight just enough for the coppery brown skin of my thigh to slip through the slit of my dress. The blue fabric clings to every curve and dip of my body, sculpted exactly as its makers intended. Something flashes in his eyes, and I know I have him.

I look briefly over my shoulder and find Jace watching in disbelief. I almost groan at the fact that he didn’t take the opportunity to flee. Fool.

“Is there a reason you’re still standing there, newblood? I think your services would be much more suited to the rooms servicing the Sired, downstairs.” I force venom into my voice and feel instant guilt as soon as his eyes gloss over, but I don’t have time for sympathy; I’m trying to save his fucking life. Jace doesn’t move, so I sashay over to Vincent, sinking into his lap with a soft moan that makes him instantly harden beneath me. I push down the bile that rises to my throat.

This foolish child has no self-preservation at all. Humans truly are such a primitive species. How you’re not already extinct is a mystery, Athriel says.

You do remember that I’m one of those primitive humans you think should be extinct?

Yes, but luckily you have me.

You’re insufferable.

I zone out Athriel’s laughter and send Jace a death glare.

“Gods, fuck off, newblood. Do I really have to spell it out?”

Relief nearly escapes me in a sigh when he finally gets the message and turns away—but before he can take more than a few steps, Vincent’s voice cuts through the air.

“Not so fast, pretty one.”

My stomach drops as my eyes meet Tori’s across the room. Her expression mirrors exactly what I’m thinking. I’m too late.

Vincent beckons him over until he is standing in front of us. I close my eyes for a brief second when I see Jace fiddling with his hands as he moves closer.

“Do you know why I attend Blackwood Bloodhouse, Jace?”

His eyes dart to mine as though I hold the answer.

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as Vincent trails a finger slowly up my exposed leg, and it’s all I can do not to recoil.

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s not sure,” Vincent mocks, earning him a few laughs from the vampires around the table. “I come here because it is the most expensive and most elite bloodhouse in the entire kingdom of Kalyn. Did you know that it is one of only two bloodhouses that requires you to have a membership just to get through the door?” He gestures dramatically toward the large wooden doors separating us from the outside world. “Therefore, I have high expectations of the purebloods that serve me when I visit here.”

The table is silent, everyone hanging on the edge of his words.

“Do you think you met those expectations tonight?”

Jace looks to me for guidance, but I have nothing to give—not without risking everything I care about, and that isn’t an option.

“I…I think so.”

“He thinks so. Thank the lost Gods he can think.” Vincent curls his finger toward Jace, beckoning him forward again. “Come, perhaps you can make this up to me with a taste from somewhere more… appetizing.”

Jace shuffles forward, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Bend down.”

He follows the command, and Vincent removes the hand from my thigh to trace the vein trailing along his throat. He inhales deeply as he does.

“Do you know why I only feed from the wrist, Jace?” The boy shakes his head, and Vincent drops his voice to a whisper. “My uncle has banished me from feeding elsewhere. He thinks I have no self-control. He thinks I am unable to stop. Can you believe that?”

“No.” His words are just above a whisper, and I can see the fear radiating in his eyes.

“Would you like to help me prove him wrong?”

“If it would please you.” My chest tightens, and my blood stirs, heating with his every word.

“It would very much please me,” Vincent says.

Without hesitation, he wraps a hand around Jace’s throat before slamming his mouth against the throbbing vein. The boy’s scream bursts out, sharp but short-lived. Vincent could have made it pleasurable, but instead, he chooses to torment him even in his final moments. I watch in horror as the boy struggles against his hold, every effort futile. He is no match for the strength of a vampire.

My fingers dig into the arms of the leather chair, my nails biting into the material as I fight every instinct in my body, watching as Jace’s body becomes limp. Tears burn at the edges of my eyes, but I will not let them fall. They will not see me cry. Instead, rage takes its place, like a dark rumble inside my chest.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Gods, I hate them. They think we’re fucking toys for feeding and entertainment. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to control my blood’s need to fight back. I can feel it pushing against its own nature, the pressure growing like a storm in my veins. I beg my mind to quiet, to keep the black substance trying to fill my veins at bay.

The best enemy is the one you do not see coming. I replay the words in my mind like a mantra. Back then, when they were first whispered to me on nights I lost control—when the urge to slaughter every vampire in the bloodhouse consumed me—I didn’t understand. But now I do. I let the calm wash over me.

A loud thud fills the air, and when my eyes open, I find Jace’s severed head lying just a few inches from my feet, his sad eyes still watching me, begging me to save him. But I failed him, just like the many others before him.

Vincent’s arm slips around my waist, holding me firmly in place as he presses his mouth against my ear.

“You are far too rare and potent to kill,” he says, his fingers curling tight around my wrist. I try to pull away, but he only squeezes tighter, forcing a whimper from me...