Page 28 of Whispers of the Dead

Rather than answering the question and continuing this civilized conversation about beating up the men I don’t like and only tolerate, she makes a run for the still-open door.

I catch her with ease. With my hand around her wrist, I spin her around so her back crashes against my front, with my arm banded across her chest. She quivers beneath my hold, but I can’t tell if it’s from fear or arousal. I bury my face into her thick, blonde hair and inhale. Seems to be a mixture of both.

Before I let myself give in to the mystery surrounding this wild woman, I raise my hand and slide the needle into her arm with practiced precision. Her struggles fade almost instantly when the fight drains from her body.

“You…” Her voice is soft but fading fast. Her knees buckle, and I catch her. I hold her steady while her body goes limp, but she doesn’t finish her thought.

“Don’t worry,” I murmur, brushing strands of hair from her face. “This won’t be the last time we meet.”

Her eyes flutter closed, and I lean down to press a light kiss to her forehead. I want to taste her lips again, but maybe next time.

I straighten and then scoop her into my arms to cradleher against my chest. She feels small. Fragile, even, but there’s nothing fragile about the fire inside her.

With a faint smile, I carry her toward the door.

For now, she’ll go back to her cell. I’ll avoid Eugene on the way there. The aftermath of that can be dealt with later.

But this isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

9

DAMON

Pain sears through my skull the moment I regain consciousness. It turns into a dull, throbbing ache that pulses behind my eyes.

My limbs feel heavy and sluggish, like I’ve been buried under a thick layer of concrete. My stomach churns with the lingering bitterness of whatever the bastards drugged me with. My tongue feels dry and thick in my mouth.

Then it hits me. Zoey. She has her hands all over me, but I’m not sure if I imagined it.

My muscles protest when I push myself upright and scan the dimly lit space beyond my cell. The shadows stretch long and cold, flickering under the weak clouded sunlight that barely illuminates this godforsaken place. The scent of damp stone, sweat, and rot lingers in the air, and that’s not only because of the rotters on the other side of this wall.

Then I see it. Or, well, I don’t.

Zoey’s cell is empty. The sight punches the air from my lungs.

No.

I lurch forward and grab the bars with both hands. My fingers curl so tight around the metal that pain shootsthrough my knuckles. “Zoey!” My roar shatters the silence and echoes off the stone walls, raw with panic.

Nothing. No response. No movement.

“They took her.” Benji’s voice is hoarse and groggy, like he’s been struggling through the same drugged fog. I hear him shift around in his cell, struggling the same way I was moments before. “The bastards laced her food. She must’ve known, ‘cause she faked being unconscious when they came for her. Cole saw it happen.”

My gaze snaps toward Cole’s cell. He’s nothing more than a shadow in the dark, but green eyes pierce through the void. “You let them take her?” Fury and helplessness coil inside me like a beast clawing at its cage.

Cole doesn’t move. He’s eerily still until his hands slam against the bars. The sharp rattle sliced through the silence. “What exactly did you expect me to do?” His voice is as cold as the steel trapping us. “Walk right out of here and stop them?”

I grit my teeth, and my breath comes in ragged bursts. Panic and rage tangle inside me like barbed wire, tightening and cutting deeper with every second that passes. They took her.

They took her, and I was unconscious. Fucking useless. I don’t even know where she is, or what they’re doing to her. I was out cold, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

My grip tightens, and my fingernails bite into my palms when I slam my fist into the bars. The impact reverberates through my bones, but I don’t stop. Again and again, I strike the unyielding metal, my vision blurry with red-hot fury.

Zoey.

Something about her changed things. Maybe it was the fire in her, the way she refused to break when she had every reason to, or the way she made me remember what it felt like to want something. To want more than mere survival.

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