Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Does he feed from you?”
“Obviously.” He pulls his collar up.
I glance at his wrist. “From there?”
His eyes narrow. “That’s none of your business.”
“I could help. I was—” I shake my head. “I am a doctor. If you’re injured—”
He snorts derisively. “I don’t need your help.” He stares me down for a long while, then closes his eyes.
He reminds me of a contented housecat, and I’m his plaything. The dying mouse he bats around for fun. “Is there a way out?” I ask.
He simply looks at me, amusement in the slight turn of his lips.
“Like a way to the surface?”
He smirks. “Oh, I knew what you were asking.”
My hands fist. “Then why won’t you answer me?”
“Because you already know the answer. Yes, there’s a way out. No, I won’t help you find it.”
Hope, just the slightest glimmer of it, flares in my chest. There is a way.
“You aren’t going anywhere.” He turns to his side, his gaze on the fire now. “Gregor already gave his orders. You’re here until you spill what you know. Then you’re dead.” He says it with contentment. “Master will kill you, and things will go back to the way they were before.”
I don’t know him. I don’t know his circumstances or what he’s been through or why he’s like this. All I know is that at this moment, I hate him. The sort of hate I thought I reserved only for the vampires. It’s spilling over now, my cup too full, the blood red wine forming a river that rises all around me.
“Doctor?” A gentle voice wakes me from my dark thoughts.
I turn my head so fast my neck cracks.
“I’m Melody. Remember?” The vampire stands just inside the doorway, her dark hair roped into a crown on top of her head. Her lips are a deep red, and she wears a navy-blue dress that fits her curvy frame perfectly.
“Yes.” I stare, my fight or flight glitching.
“Please come this way.” She steps back and gestures toward the hall. “You have a meeting.”
“A meeting?” I swallow thickly.
“Yes.” She doesn’t offer anything else.
“With who?”
No answer, but her demeanor isn’t vicious or cruel. She’s nothing like Gorsky, at least not on the outside. Inside, she’s a monster just like Valen.
“If I say no?”
Gorsky snorts. “I’d love to see it.”
“Please.” Melody drops her chin deferentially.
Good manners. Southern woman’s kryptonite. It goes straight to my Texas programming, getting me on my feet despite the fact that I’m probably marching to a grisly death.
She leads, remaining a few steps ahead as we walk across the rotunda with the piano, then down the winding stairs to a lower level. It’s darker down here. I’ve never ventured this deep, something about the entire area giving me a queasy sensation. It’s gloomy and colder, almost damp.
We keep walking past rooms within rooms. Some are closed off, the doors dark and unwelcoming. Others are simply black chasms, no door necessary to keep me out. I stick close behind her as we wind through the mansion. When we stop at a set of doors adorned with blood red stones inlaid on the surface in the form of a dragon, I clasp my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking. My skin clammy, my heart pounding, I find myself wishing for the room with the roaring fire even if it comes with Gorsky’s loathsome presence.
“Enter.” Valen’s voice, several degrees colder than usual.
Melody opens the doors and leads me into a room with similar stone inlay on the high walls, each different images of dragons. At the back of the room is a sitting area with black furniture. A fireplace burns, the flames green and giving off no heat.
Valen, turned slightly toward me, sits before the fire in a wingback chair. The other is occupied, but I can’t see who it is.
I glance at Melody. She gives a short bow and retreats, closing the doors behind her. I want to follow her out.
“You haven’t fed from her?” That voice, both scoffing and clinical at the same time.
My knees go to jelly. I know his voice. His touch. The feeling of his fangs in my wrist. I flinch back until I’m against the cold door.
“She’s weak,” Valen says, disdain dripping from his tone. “High Lord Dragonis won’t be happy if I kill her before I find out what she knows.”
“Ah.” Whitbine turns in his chair, his gaze landing on me. “Here she is.”
I scrabble for the handles. They don’t turn. I’m cornered again. I close my eyes, and I’m there again—strapped to the table, Whitbine pulling information from my mind. The same answers over and over until I’m wrung out. Dry of ideas. Dry of life. Nothing more than dust, my tears falling like sand in an hourglass.
“Why so skittish?” Whitbine clucks his tongue. “Don’t you remember me?” He smiles, his fangs descending into two sharp points.