Zara could tastethe blood on her tongue, blood she hadn’t wanted to drink but hadn’t been able to keep from swallowing when her mouth had been forced open at the same time her nose had been clamped shut. Her body had no choice but to swallow, otherwise she couldn’t have taken a breath. She hadn’t eaten in at least a day. She’d only been given water, which she was now trying to keep in her stomach because, although she wanted to get the blood out, she didn’t want to become dehydrated, causing her to be even weaker than she was.
Call her stupid, but Zara still had a small, tiny, almost non-existent hope she might escape. She had to maintain that little measure of hope because, if she didn’t, then she had no reason to continue living. And she wanted to live. Didn’t she?She thought she did, but maybe death was her only hope out of her horrific circumstances.
“What are you thinking, little lamb?” Ander asked her from his perch on the end of the bed. He often sat like a bird on a ledge, on the footboard of the frame, watching her.
Sometimes he watched her like A predator watches its prey, sometimes he watched her like a child finding a new wonder in a zoo animal, and sometimes he watched her the way a man watches a woman he’s obsessed with. His eager eyes drank her in like she was the last drop of blood he’d ever taste. His body practically vibrated with the need to have her; in what way, she really didn’t know and wasn’t sure which way was worse. The thought of him wanting her as a man wants a woman made her want to bathe her flesh in acid, but for him to want her the way a starving man wants a crumb of bread made her wish for every drop of her blood to run out of her body and out of his reach.
“Surely, you’re bored of me by now,” Zara said, her voice hoarse from screaming.
“Foolish girl,” he snapped, his demeanor changing in an instant. “You were made for me. I will never tire of you or grow bored with you. You are mine.”
Zara felt her breathing increase as those words ran through her mind. She’d heard them somewhere before. Where had she heard that, and why hadn’t it terrified her the way it did now as Ander said it?
“Because it’s the truth,” a deep, male voice said. A voice that didn’t belong to the sadistic vampire.
“What?” she said, looking around the room, wondering if someone had dared to walk into the psycho’s lair.
“What?” Ander parroted. “I didn’t say anything, little lamb. Perhaps it is time to feed you if you’re hallucinating.” He jumped down from his crouched position on the bed and straightened his black shirt, brushing imaginary fuzz from it. For a sadistic killer, he always looked so put together. He walked toward her and knelt so their faces were so close she could smell him. “I’ll be back. I will bring you some food. I will provide for you just like you provide for me. Don’t you see, Zara? we are perfect for each other.”
Ander leaned forward and pressed his cold lips to her forehead. She fought the urge to push him away because she knew from experience that it only excited him when she fought back. So, instead, she held perfectly still.
When he finally moved back, he was out the door faster than her eyes could track. Zara began to tremble once he was gone and she no longer had to appear less afraid than she was. In reality, she was terrified.
“His words are a lie, beautiful.” That masculine voice spoke again. “You weren’t made for him. You don’t belong to him. You are not perfect for him. You are mine and I am yours.”
Had she caught the eye of another vampire? Was this vampire more powerful and able to speak to her through walls?
“It’s me, Zara, your mate, Wadim, history boy, werewolf,” the voice said.
She could feel something, some sort of recognition just on the edge of her consciousness, but it was quickly forgotten when she looked down at her hands and realized they were covered in blood. Why were her hands covered in blood? She pressed her back against the cold stone behind her and hurriedly scanned the room for a body. Ander had brought humans to his room before and made her watch as he drained them dry. He’d come to her covered in the blood of others many times. But she didn’t remember him doing it today.
Zara began trying to wipe the blood off of her hands, but it was drying and sticky. “No-no-no-no-no,” she muttered in quick succession, her voice growing louder with each uttered word. She just wanted to be clean again. It had been so very long since she’d been clean. She wanted to smell like soap and not blood and grime. Zara wanted to know what it felt like not to have death on her skin because that was what was all over her, the blood of the dead.
“You can take a shower, Zara love. I can get Rachel or Sally, whomever you want, and they can help you,” the voice who’d called himself Wadim said urgently, as if he somehow cared about her.
“Who are you?” she asked even as she continued to rub at the skin of her hands.
“I’m your mate, remember? We’re sort of, I guess, the equivalent of humans who are engaged to be married. Please remember. Don’t leave me.” His voice cracked as he pleaded with her.
Why was he so upset? He didn’t know her. Why did he seem to care so much?
“My beautiful mate, I know you. You are a part of me, and I am a part of you. Two halves of a whole. You know me, please search your mind. You know me!”
Zara closed her eyes, trying to block out the room around her and search her memories. Did she know him? How could she be engaged and not remember it?She hadn’t been old enough to be engaged when she’d been taken. Maybe she’d finally broken and gone completely crazy. Maybe she was so desperate for someone to love her she’d conjured up this imaginary man.That had to be the answer.“He is not real. He is not real,” she said, hoping that speaking it out loud would bring her back to reality. Not that she particularly wanted to be in reality, but she had to keep what little wits she still had about her.
“I am real, little lamb.” Ander’s voice was like a cold bucket of ice water being thrown on her body, only to be turned to a burning inferno an instant later as if the fires of hell came with Ander’s voice. “When are you going to accept it?”
Zara opened her eyes and saw him place a peanut butter sandwich on the floor in front of her, just out of her reach. This was a game she knew all too well. He wouldn’t give her the food until she begged for it. And, unfortunately, there was a point when hunger just became too much and her will to live kicked in and she begged. She disgusted herself. The first time she’d given in, Zara had wound up throwing the food up because she’d wept over her own weakness. If she’d just not eaten the food, she wouldn’t be enduring this hell anymore. Then she would be beyond Ander’s reach. She wanted to think that someone in her place would have done the same thing, but she was weak. Others would probably be stronger than her and not give in.
“You survived. That’s what you did, and there is no shame in that. If you hadn’t, I would have never found you. I would be left alone in this long existence,” Wadim said and her head snapped around, her eyes darting across the room.
“Stop it,” she said, pressing her hands to her ears. “Just stop it. You aren’t real,” she yelled. Ander was watching her and looked a bit worried, or as worried as a vampire could possibly look. He was, no doubt, afraid his food source was losing her mind. Or maybe she’d already lost it.
“Perhaps we can play our game another time.” He reached down and picked up the sandwich and held it out to her.
Zara stared at it like it was a snake about to strike her. She was hungry, so incredibly hungry. The girl felt as though her stomach was trying to devour itself, but she was also tired of this existence. Zara was so very tired. She wanted to just close her eyes and never wake up, never have to face the monster who had destroyed her. Zara just wanted it to be over. She pressed her head back against the stone and closed her eyes, ignoring the sandwich being offered. Zara wondered if she could will her heart to stop beating. If she were desperate enough to die, but had no way to take her own life, could she use the power of thought to do it? “It’s worth a try,” she whispered, uncaring if Ander was watching her. “Anything has to be better than this.”
Chapter Twenty
