Caitlin Starling
At a glance
A dark, seductive tale of hunger, love, and transformation from the bestselling author of The Death of Jane Lawrence.
The only thing more terrifying than a brood's hunger… is its mother's.
Beatrice is a broodmother: a vampire responsible for nursing newly made fledglings through the first years of their unlife. She nests in an abandoned, isolated warren of office space beneath her patron's skyscraper, where she raises her fledglings—two difficult, hungry children of the night.
But when she takes on a third, the balance ruptures. Her hunger swells beyond control. Her body alters, betraying its purpose, transforming her into something even more monstrous.
Desperate to master herself once more, Beatrice courts a mortal OBGYN who might be able to unravel the secrets of her unnatural anatomy. But soon their connection threatens the secrecy of her vampiric coven as well as the safety and development of her dependent nurslings… and in a world governed by secrecy, even the smallest revelation could prove fatal.
"In 2026, it may seem impossible for any writer to pen a truly unique vampire tale, but Caitlin Starling manages just that with Milkteeth. With its compelling plot, deft writing, and original premise, this novel will quickly seduce you, but be careful: it has teeth."
- Johanna van Veen, author of My Darling Dreadful Thing and Blood on Her Tongue
"Starling’s take on the toll of motherhood, and breastfeeding specifically, on the body and psyche is delightfully ruthless and unsparing. Fans will not be disappointed."
- Publishers Weekly
"Fascinating, compelling, impossible to look away from... This is an aspect of vampire lore that's rarely mined, and as usual Starling pulls no punches. If you think you're vampired-out, think again."
- Kendare Blake, #1 New York Times bestselling author of All These Bodies
She doesn’t remember her name.
A small detail, in the writhing mass of them she claws her way through. No name, no memory of what she looks like, no knowledge of anything but hunger. The room is dark. There is blood on the air. She can smell it, taste it; orients to it like there is no difference between her and it, like they are part of the same thread. She pulls herself along that thread, knots herself up, and slams into skin and muscle and fabric.
It has the smell of blood, but no heat, and the combination is wrong. She thrashes. Bares her teeth, and oh, yes, she does have teeth. They are sharp little syringes in her mouth. They have pierced through her gums and shredded her lips.
“Easy. Easy now,” a voice says, a voice that she knows, a voice that some part of her loves. Instinctive adoration toward a parent. Parent? The word feels foreign in her mind, slippery, fugitive. Her eyes have not adjusted to the dark, but she is close enough to make out details in the layered shadows around her. A face, close to hers, not breathing. Skin drawn tight over bone. Blood on lips. Smears of foundation, mostly gone, clinging to the few creases on a strangely unwrinkled brow.
She whines. The animal timbre of it surprises her. But then, her stomach is a snarling pack of dogs, all salivating for the next scrap from the table.
“Drink,” the thing holding her says. Its voice is hoarse, the throat emitting it parched. A wrist is pressed to her lips, papery and cool. Not warm enough, not full enough. She snaps at it, and the voice sighs in relief— then shrieks as she doesn’t drink at all, but savages. The arm is snatched away from her. She lunges past it.
Down a passageway, tripping over things she can’t see in the dark, doesn’t remember navigating before. But she is fast and strong and desperate. The creature behind her, giving chase, is only one of those things.
