She moves closer, stopping only when her knees touch mine. Close enough that if the sun-wielder magic did not weaken me, I’d punch through her rib cage and crush her heart with my bare fist. Unfortunately, in my current state, trying something like that would be suicide. As long as I’m wearing the cuffs, I’m mortal. As long as sunlight touches my skin, she’s stronger, faster, and way more durable.
All I can do is load my eyes with hatred, let her see just how much I want to kill her.
She bends forward, offering her neck. I think about thrusting my cuffs against her face, but the Kims have designed them to only shine where they touch my skin. The little damage I’d do from what escapes the edge would only serve to piss her off.
“Drink from me, Damien. I can smell your hunger like the stench of rotting leaves. The sun is rising. I promise you, it will be a hellishly long day to face on an empty stomach.”
Despite myself, my gaze drops to her throat. The scent of her blood, earthy and spiced, meets my nose. But unlike Eloise, unlike the animals on whom I feed or the humans at Marabella’s, Valeska has no pulse. No beating heart. I don’t know exactly what animates vampires, but they are constructed more of magic than living flesh.
Valeska has tasted my blood. It’s how she called me here. But I have never sampled hers. Blood exchange by supernatural creatures is dangerous. She can’t force me to mate her, but a blood bond is almost as bad. I could end up craving her blood. I could end up handing her some of my precious control. I have no interest in potentially blood-bonding to any magical being, especially not her.
I swallow, and my throat feels like sandpaper, hot and dry and far too tight. I peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth before rasping, “I wouldn’t drink your blood if it was the only thing standing between me and the afterlife.”
She lashes out and slaps me. Pain explodes through my cheek and jaw. I curse and lift my cuffed hands to my face. My fingers come away bloody. Bitch got me with her claws.
Behind her, the night gives way to silvery dawn. Thank the goddess.
The guards retreat toward the door, skin already steaming, but Valeska stays and bares her teeth. “What you fail to understand, Damien, is that my blood is the only thing between you and the afterlife.” She whirls and exits in a blur of silver, leaving me alone with the Kims.
The twin witches press their backs together and spread their hands, each one performing that strange conjuring motion, their long, lean bodies tangling like two battling cranes. A pulse of power travels through me and slams into the stone. The walls of the silo glow as bright as my former cage. Everything shines but the floor.
Oh fucking hell.
The Kim’s drop their hands, and with a flick of Lang’s wrist, my cuffs are gone. And then so are they.
I’m left sitting on the bed. The sky overhead brightens with streaks of color. Sunrise. The last time I saw one, I was watching Tony’s body burn and lost track of time. Now I enjoy it the best I can in my mortal state.
Weakness weighs me down, and I’m tempted to curl up on the too-small bed, but resting won’t bring me any closer to escaping. I must escape. Eloise is in danger. If Valeska pulls the right strings, talks to the right people, it’s possible she could discover her identity without my help. I picture her in her room, in her bed. Vulnerable.
Mine.
I will get back to her even if I have to kill Valeska with my bare hands to do it.
As I move to stand, the mattress lifts from the base of the bed. I lift it higher and slide underneath, creating a wedge of shade. It’s not big enough to entirely encompass me, but it’s enough to provide a refreshing break from the unyielding light. Enough to give me time to think. After three long breaths, I hoist it off the bed and use it to partially shelter myself as I walk the periphery of the silo, scanning the stone for vulnerabilities.
I make it three times around before my exposed skin blisters. I’m forced back to the bed and the sliver of useless shade it affords me. And then I can fight sleep no more.
4
Coffee & Questions
ELOISE
Soft light shines through the gauzy curtains of my bedroom window, and for a few blissful seconds, I’m lost in the peaceful nothingness between sleep and wakefulness. And then I remember. Damien is gone. Grams is dead. I’m not sure if I can trust the Gowdies even though I want to believe Maeve that she had nothing to do with Damien’s capture.
Am I alone in the world like Van Gogh’s Girl in White in the Woods?
Three loud knocks come from the first floor, and then the doorbell rings. I scrunch my forehead. Was it the light that woke me or the knocking?
Ungracefully, I roll out of bed, feeling sluggish and heavy, like I’m carrying the weight of the sky on my back, but at the same time my chest feels hollowed out. An ice cream scoop has shucked out my innards, and someone has replaced them with lead. Somehow I manage to slip on my pink bathrobe and trudge down the steps. Rubbing my face, still sore from crying, I unlock the door. Maeve stands on my stoop, red-eyed and even paler than usual.
“It wasn’t a Gowdie,” she blurts defensively.
Over a decade of friendship, I’ve learned all her tells. She’s not lying. I grab her hand and pull her inside. As I’m closing the door, I notice a man with a yellow vest on a cherry picker, doing something with the lines that run across our driveway.
“Are you having problems with your power?” Maeve asks. “I had to drive around a Dominion Energy van to get in here.”
Stifling a yawn, I reach out and flip a switch. The foyer light comes on. “Working fine.”
