The truth of her words struck him like an arrow to the heart. “Very well. I shall arrange it. Be ready this afternoon at two.”
“He’ll be at rest.”
“I do not wish to confront him when he isn’t.”
“Coward.” Turning on her heel, she stalked out of his office and ran up the stairs.
She dressed with care, brushed her hair until it shone like the sun. She insisted her father ride up front with the carriage driver as she had no wish for his company.
Barrett fought down the hurt, angry words that sprang to his lips. Why couldn’t she see things from his point of view? She was his youngest daughter, his favorite child, how could he stand by and let her ruin her life by marrying abloodsucking monster? Didn’t she realize what her life would be like? And what if Stefan turned her into the same kind of foul creature he was? The idea of his Bryony as a vampire, living off the blood of others, made his stomach churn. He had tried several times to tell her how he felt, but she refused to listen. Stefan obviously had her under some sort of vampire spell that prevented her from seeing him as he really was.
The place where they were holding Stefan was three hours away. Located in the bowels of an old prison, it was well-fortified and protected by armed guards day and night.
Alighting from the carriage, Bryony followed her father through an iron-barred door, down a narrow corridor and three flights of stone stairs until they came to the cellar. She shivered as they stepped inside. Iron-barred cells of various sizes lined both sides of the rectangular room. A smaller cage was located inside a larger one at the end of the row on the left.
She knew immediately that Stefan was inside. She could feel his presence, his pain, excruciating pain that burned through him with every breath. “I want to go in there.”
Barrett started to say no, but seeing the stubborn set of her jaw, the stormy look in her eyes, he turned to the guard and said, “Open the door.”
“I want to be alone with him.”
“No!”
“Yes! What’s he going to do to me when he’s locked inside a cage scarcely big enough for a child?”
Barrett blew out a sigh of resignation. “We’ll be right outside.”
Bryony nodded curtly, her heart pounding as she watched one of the men unlock the cell door. She waited until they left the cellar and closed the door behind them. A single light kept the darkness at bay.
“Stefan!” She ducked into the cell and knelt alongside the smaller cage. It was enclosed except for a narrow, barred door in front. He was lying on his side, his arms bound behind his back, his eyes closed. “Stefan? Stefan, it’s me.”
“Bryony?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“I thought I dreamed you. What are you doing here?”
“I told my father I wouldn’t do anything he wanted unless I knew you were still alive.”
He drew a deep breath, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of her. He wasn’t dreaming. She was really there.
“I feel your pain,” she said, slipping her arm through the bars. “Drink, quickly! Before they come back.”
“No!” Was she out of her mind, offering to feed him when he hadn’t fed for days?
“Stefan, we don’t have time to argue. Just drink. I know you need it. Want it.”
Want it? He thought of nothing else day and night. Although it was dark inside the cage, he had no trouble finding her arm. The scent of her blood was like a beacon in the night. He sank his fangs into her wrist and drank, his eyes closing in ecstasy as the warmth of her life’s blood slid down his throat. Warm. Salty. Coppery. It quickly healed the last of the cuts and gashes inflicted by their blades, eased the burn of the silver against his flesh, the sting of the holy water. He could feel his strength returning. For a brief moment, he was tempted to take it all. Doing so would restore him completely, allow him to break the shackles that bound his arms, break the bars that caged him. Just a little more and he would let her go.
He flinched when he heard the cellar door open and her father’s footsteps.
“Time’s up,” Barrett said brusquely.
With a muttered oath, Stefan ran his tongue over the punctures in her wrist, savoring the last crimson drops on his tongue. “Bless you, my fair Bryony.”
“Is that all?” she whispered. “Don’t you need more?”
“Yes, but you would not survive. And your father would not permit it.”
