My mate! What did they do to my mate?his dragon raged within him. In his mind's eye, Apollo saw Lachie hanging upside down, blood dripping from his side. Horror screeched through his veins, and he tried to force his body to move. It was too much like his mother's accident. He kept those memories in a very small box in the void of his mind. Seeing Lachlan hurt had made every fear in that box burst open.
Apollo needed to find Lachlan. He opened his eyes, and they stung with all the gold they were suddenly staring at.
The room had stone walls and no windows. It was lit with antique lamps and looked like he had somehow ended up in a bedroom in Versailles. There were gilt-framed oil paintingsfull of alchemical symbology. The bed had a canopy of golden lace hanging over it and a brilliant golden sun painted on the roof above it. The bedspread was a gold and blue brocade with French lilies on it.
"What in the Louis the Fourteenth?" Apollo muttered. He half expected D'Artagnan to come in, wearing a puffy shirt and rapier.
He got out of bed on unsteady feet. He was still in Lachlan's clothes, but they were stained with his blood. He touched the throbbing wound on the edge of his temple and found someone had patched him up. So they were friendly kidnappers. Good to know.
Apollo opened a gold-handled door and found a small bathroom. Someone had laid out clothes for him that were precisely his size. The hair on the back of his neck rose. They were bespoke.
"This is getting creepier by the second," Apollo muttered, locking the bathroom door behind him. He checked the shower, the light fittings, and under the toilet seat for cameras before he stripped off and got in the shower.
The shower hadChrysopoeiaskin and hair products laid out for him. They were a cosmetics company that charged absolutely obscene prices for their products. They were pulling out all the stops to make sure Apollo was cared for. It made no sense to kidnap him and then lavish expensive products on him.
Apollo may have been weirded out, but he hated being dirty, so he used them all. He couldn't focus unless he was in water at least twice a day. He was sure he would think of an escape plan when he didn't smell like blood and sweat.
He needed to figure out what the hell the Sanguis Vitae wanted with him. If they meant to kill him, he would already be dead. And if they wanted him to suffer, they could have tossed him in a dirty cell . They clearly needed something from himbecause they had wanted him a prisoner, but they wanted him to be a comfortable one.
Apollo dried off and dressed in the clothes that had been left for him. Black trousers fit him like a glove, and the golden tan shirt highlighted his golden hair.
"They really have a thing for gold," he whispered to himself. It was unsurprising. The history of alchemy was tied closely to gold, whether it was the metaphysical kind or the making of it. Gold was incorruptible and unchanging and was always represented by the sun.
Apollo looked about his rooms for cameras and found none. There was alchemical symbology everywhere. Whoever the Sanguis Vitae claimed to be in modern times, they had the design taste of ancient alchemists. Apollo's rooms in the Greatdrakes manor also had nods to his craft, but he was less ostentatious about it.
He tried the handle of the other door in the room and wasn't surprised that it was locked. He needed to figure a way out. There were no entries or exits into the room except for the one. They would have to come for him at some point.
Apollo had never met a person he couldn't charm when he really tried. He only needed to keep himself alive until he could see a way of escape or have someone come and rescue him.
Apollo rubbed at the ache in his chest. His family would come for him. Would Lachlan? If he was alive, he might find him just to kick his ass for not listening to him. The ache got worse.
"Just breathe. He opened his eyes, remember?" Apollo tried to tell himself. He should have listened to Lachlan when he said he was in danger, but he had been so embarrassed, he couldn't face him. He should have dragged Lachlan into his bed and thanked him properly for the rescue.
Claim mate, his dragon prompted.
I can't claim him if he's not here, you insufferable ass. Apollo had made so many mistakes with Lachlan, and now he might never get the chance to make anything right between them. He would never get to kiss those ridiculously perfect lips of his.
"If I get out of here, that will be the first thing I do," he vowed.
Just because Lachlan had survived the crash didn't mean the dickbags who had kidnapped him hadn't finished the job after they had snatched Apollo. He would know if he was dead, wouldn't he? His dragon would sense it, and he would be a wreck like Cosimo had been.
A knock at the door jolted Apollo out of his spiraling thoughts. The door opened, and an elegant man dressed in a suit came in with a silver tray.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Greatdrakes. I am Alain," he introduced himself as he set the tray down on a small table. Apollo's stomach grumbled at the sight of a rich-looking stew, fresh bread, and a glass of red wine.
"Where am I?" he demanded.
"You are in France, and a guest of the Sanguis Vitae, whom I serve in the capacity of a butler. If you have any food allergies, please let me know," Alain said, his English accented but perfect.
"You guys kidnapped me. What makes you think I will be dumb enough to eat your food?" Apollo replied, crossing his arms.
Alain smiled, the picture of politeness. "The leaders of our order wish to meet you, not harm you. The food is not poisoned, and neither is the wine."
"If they just wanted to meet me, they could have sent me an email."
"Alas, our society is still a secret one, and there are some traditions that cannot be let go of. Even though magic is moreaccepted now, it is easier to work in the shadows. The leaders of the order are old-fashioned, so they took you," Alain replied.
He made it sound like it was completely acceptable behavior. Apollo supposed that for super secret societies it probably was. He sat at the table and placed the heavy linen napkin on his lap.
