Victoria's POV
He was sizing me up. Every inch of me. Like he already knew what I’d taste like. How I’d scream. How long I’d last.
I swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic. My legs were cement. My voice? Gone.
I was two seconds away from peeing myself.
"You don’t understand, Sylas," the redheaded psycho vamp said, her eyes still dancing with some sick obsession. "Not only does she look like him—she tastes like him. It’s like she’s a female version."
So now I had a name to go with the serial killer grin.
Sylas.
And with that name, my suspicion started to calcify into something sharp and cold in my gut.
They were talking about Jake.
Jake, my twin.
People had always said we were mirror images—him with a square jaw, me with a softer face, but the same eyes. Same mouth. Same smile
