White light shines from above, merciless in the clarity it provides me of what’s about to occur.
Blades gleam from a tray, lined in perfect rows. Hooks, clamps, and other steel instruments I don’t know the names for.
My pulse stutters as I try to prepare myself mentally. I’m left grasping at straws, unsure of how the hell to do that.
I’ve never had to look torture in the face and smile at it before.
The metal tightens at my throat with every uneven breath, reminding me of what little movement I have left.
He steps into my line of sight again, his eyes drinking me in the way someone admires a vintage wine bottle. The exact way he looked at me from inside that SUV.
How the hell had he been able to decipher what I am that easily?
A shiver rolls through me, but I force my chin higher.
“You think all this makes you untouchable,” I rasp out, low and steady, “but without your toys you’re nothing. All of this? It doesn’t make you powerful. It makes you pathetic. You’re as small as an ant and ants get crushed.”
My bravado fills the air between us, but inside my body, fear uncoils.
Yet my chin stays lifted and my stare just as sharp as his. I will not let him see it. I will not give him that.
I wrench my gaze off him and turn my head as much as I can to try to find an exit. Instead I find Callum and Elias standing with folded arms against their chests next to the door, eyes fixated on the space behind me.
Their silence taps the nail I felt pressed against my heart since seeing them outside my cell all the way in. It tells me that this is ordinary to them and acceptable–something they will stomach without lifting a hand to help me.
My words lash out at them. “I hope you know you’re just as complicit and at fault as him. You don’t need to hold the weapon. You’re already guilty, standing there and letting him do it.”
I drag in a ragged breath, then laugh, sharp and hollow as I silently dare them to meet my eyes. “I hope it makes you feel big and strong. Watching me strapped down while you do nothing. Real men, the both of you.”
Elias doesn’t so much as twitch, but I see Callum’s jaw tighten. The smallest flicker crosses his expression, fast as lightning, there and gone. A flinch he probably doesn’t even realize he let slip.
Their uncle steps back into my line of sight as I force my head forward again. I’d rather stare at the predator in front of me that has never concealed the danger that he is than the two people who let me open up to them before setting me up to get stabbed in the back. Or whatever it is their uncle plans to do.
He paces in front of me, his footsteps echoing against the sterile walls like the tick of a clock counting down. The anticipation of it all heightens my anxiety, just like I’m sure he intended it, but I refuse to let it show. His gaze drags over the metal at my wrists, the curve of my throat caught in the collar. Every detail like it’s his to admire.
“You’re not a prisoner, Briar,” he says as he comes to a stop in front of me, head tilting as his eyes sweep over me. “You’re an investment.”
The word turns my stomach.
“Most of your kind? Useless. Your blood burns with power within you, but once it’s spilled, it’s nothing but poison. I’ve tested dozens and they’ve all given me nothing in my pursuit of science.” His smile sharpens, eyes glinting as he leans in toward my face. “But yours…”
My heartrate triples, my pulse pounding against the collar.
“I sent a single vial to our researchers the night we captured you,” he muses, resuming his pacing in front of me. “They’ve worked relentlessly, forgoing sleep to ensure we could test its effects with multiple variants, in our quest to find a cure for human ailments.”
I can’t stop the pinch between my brows and the small inhale of breath.
He’s been capturing and using vampires for…this?
“While nine injections killed the cells in our animals, one variant didn’t.”
My stomach churns and I’m left suspended in uncertainty, hanging onto his words, as much as I hate it.
“It lived, but more than that, it thrived. It killed cancerous cells. Do you understand what that means, Briar?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer before his grin widens, teeth flashing in the harsh light. “It means a formula. A cure. Strength bottled and sold to the desperate. To the sick. To the greedy. The world will pay me anything I ask for, for this.”
I blink rapidly, trying to process that information. On one hand I feel a tremendous sense of hope that somehow I can help people, but that tiny fleck of joy at this news is quickly swallowed whole. Because I can’t give it freely, nor will it go to the people that need it without a price tag they likely can’t afford.
