Page 5 of Trapped for Her Blood
Tuggingon the lead attached to my silver cuffs, the guards pull me forward, yanking not out of necessity, but cruelty.
Not wanting to react to the pain, I bite down so firmly I fear my teeth will crush.
My shattered teeth would grow back, but not until well after I am rid of these infernal silver bindings and able to find the energy to recover. And my recovery is bound to be slow.
Given my resolve, and my tightly controlled and solitary life, I’ve succeeded in stretching my time between feedings, and it has been far too many days—months, years?—since I have taken a vein, human or vampire, and judging by the way my body feels now, I need both.
I keep my hearing focused on the conversation back in the CEO’s office, not a bit surprised that Ryker is trying to bargain his way out of imprisonment, no thought for Ember. At least he has not yet used her as a bargaining chip, but of course he has no idea of her value, or the power in her blood.
“Zuben?” Alexander, one of my subordinates in the Compliance Department passes by us in the hall.
“Tell someone,” I mouth at him. “Not the CEO.”
Alexander turns away from me, as if the entire episode was humiliating—to him, not to me—as if he wished it hadn’t happened.
“No talking, prisoner,” one of my guards barks. “Gag him.”
We stop. I squeeze my lips tightly, and a guard slides a blindfold over my eyes, one that not only steals my sight but burns me.
I scream, and they use my moment of weakness to place a gag, formed of silver chain mail, between my lips. The pain is so sudden and severe that my mind fogs and I stumble. Then the pain transfers to my wrists as the guards keep me from falling by pulling up on the chain attached to my handcuffs.
The cloth blindfold must be lined with silver, or sprayed with the damned concoction they injected into my bloodstream. Whoever created the idiomsilver liningswas not a vampire.
I stagger forward, blinded both literally and figuratively, no idea where I am, where I am going, or what my future might hold, and that final uncertainty is even worse than the physical pain—although I admit that in my current state it is difficult to objectively measure the severity of one source of pain over the other. Certainly no proper experimentation is possible.
I fight to hold onto hope, and the hope that glows brightest is that they are taking me back into that secret prison, the dungeon as Octavia called it.
Once I am there I will be able to find Ember and protect her. Thatisa silver lining.
My mind is spinning, making me unsteady on my feet, as I am lead blindly out of the DEFTA building and down a series of long passageways. I fight to concentrate—is this the same route they used to take Ryker and I out of the dungeon? It seems different. What if they are taking me somewhere else? What will happen to Ember?
My chest crushes in on itself, all the air gone. My research is important to me, but even I am shocked at the devastation I feel at possibly losing her—the best lead I have ever had.
My heartache brings the realization that my desire to save her is about more than my research.
As much as I have never believed myself capable of anything that might resemble what others call love, something strong is driving this overpowering urge to protect her. I have not hurt another living being for centuries, but every fiber inside me screams that I would kill for Ember.
The air grows colder and damper as we walk, and I struggle to put one foot in front of the other quickly enough to avoid the cruel tugs from the guards.
I hear the clanging of chains, the grind of metal gates moving, and someone removes the blindfold from my eyes.
I scream at the pain of the cloth pulling burnt skin from my face, but between the silver gag and my thirst, no sound comes out.
The gag is removed, and I fall to my knees.
“Looks like someone needs blood,” one of the guards says in a mocking tone.
“Today’s your lucky day,” says another. “New moon tonight. That means we’re bringing some veins down. Assuming you have the strength to get to one.”
Laughing, he removes the silver cuffs, and I stay on my knees as the pain of the slowly healing burns radiates through my body.
“Yeah,” a guard says. “Down here, you’ve gotta fight to feed.” He laughs and it’s the most callous sound I have ever heard.
“Up.” Someone kicks me in the back, and I fall forward, barely catching myself as my hands slam into the uneven stone floor.
Another kick lands on my ass, and I leap up and turn to confront my assailant.
The shock in his eyes is momentarily satisfying, but then I see all his weapons. Beyond the silver cuffs and chains, he’s heavily laden with wooden stakes and various other weapons.
