Page 29 of Chain Me
Rather than berate me, he reached into his jacket pocket. I hadn’t noticed the bulge against his side before, which concealed something thin, made of silver. Two circular bits of metal capped off each end of it, and recognition hit me like a slap. Manacles.
“Are…are you insane?” I exhaled the question.
“I’m exasperated.” He caught my wrists in his fist and casually tugged. Two involuntary steps brought me closer to him. In a low voice, he warned, “We can walk back to your room together. Or”—he hefted one end of the handcuff so that the metal caught the light—“I can drag you there.”
I fought to keep my head held high, my chin jutting defiantly into the air. “You can’t do this—”
In a blur of motion, he lunged. One sweep of his hand robbed me of balance, but before I could sway, I was in his arms. He surged forward,carryingme down the hall.
Heedless of any poor soul who might have been sleeping, I screamed. I kicked. I flailed.
“You can’t do this!” I attempted to grab at the doorway as he turned into my room.
With little effort, he broke my grip and headed toward the bed. One shrug of his shoulders and I landed in an unceremonious heap over the crumpled blankets.
He snapped one of the cuffs onto my wrist while I was still stunned and secured it to the frame of the bed. I didn’t even have a chance to resist. To fight. So I settled for lashing out like a child and kicked him.
If he felt the pain in his right knee, his face revealed nothing.
“You don’t want to eat?” he echoed. “Fine.” One swipe of his hand sent the tray of food crashing into the wall. Yellow broth slashed the white backdrop like paint and the cake went flying into a far corner. “You don’t want to talk about this with some damn rationality, have it your way. Scream, Eleanor. Fight. You’ll just give me a reason to gag you.”
Shock deflated me. I cringed against the headboard as he stormed toward the doorway. A nurse was already there, gaping in shock.
“Get Ms. Gray something to calm her down,” Dublin ordered as he pushed past her. He spared one last searing glance in my direction and snarled, “She’s a danger to herself.”
With what seemed to be an apologetic frown, the woman nodded and rushed off. Oddly enough, when she returned sporting a syringe, I didn’t resist, allowing her to pierce my vein with little fanfare.
Like a good captive, I lay there, one hand chained to the bed, the other resting somewhere over my heart. It was racing. Pounding. Surging.
From unease or rage?
Who the hell knew?
Eventually, the wave of medication kicked in. My pulse slowed and my eyelids became heavy. When sleep came for me, I surrendered to it.
He might have won this round, but he’d already lost another.
When one was locked within a game of wits against a vampire, I’d learned that there was only one way to break a stalemate.
Someone had to bleed.
And I was already wounded.
* * *
The drug wore off in slow, ebbing waves. When my thoughts finally seemed coherent again, I peeled my eyes open, expecting to find myself strapped to the bed. Instead, both hands moved freely.
That wasn’t all. The beside tray had been righted, the mess cleared from the floor. Fresh food had replaced my ruined meal—another nondescript cup and a plate of bacon, eggs, and sausage. Draped over the foot of my bed was the black dress Yulia had brought along with a pair of my sensible flats and a black coat, also mine.
Unease goaded my heart into racing, but I choked the fear back.
Instead, I ignored the food in favor of getting dressed. My body felt stiff, each movement awkward and slow. By the time I fastened the last button on my coat, someone had entered the room to join me.
He was wearing black, I saw when I finally gathered up the nerve to look. A black suit. A blacker tie. His eyes glowed in harsh contrast, taking me in with one callous sweep. But he wasn’t angry.
Even worse, he was unreadable.
“I suggest we change tack.” He sat on a nearby chair and gestured toward the bed. “I’ll open with a threat, since you seem inclined to play the role of prisoner. How much do you value your cat?”
