“Yeah, I’m coming. Have you seen Rowen? He’s not in his room.”
“He went for a run earlier, so he’s probably still with Neal and Taren.”
They pause outside the door, talking too low for me to hear. As quietly as I can, I run across the room and press my ear to the door, heart pounding wildly.
“…checked on the human recently?” one of them says, his voice deeper.
“An hour ago. He’s still asleep.”
“Should we give him another tonic?”
“No, no more.”
“So he’ll be up soon then?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
Tonic?What are they talking about?
I step back as a memory hits me—hazy but there. A man visited me in this room. No, not one man—two. One was tall with broad shoulders, and the other was much smaller with glowing blue palms. I didn’t recognize them, and they didn’t have the same dark eyes as the vampires.
The smaller one offered me a mug of greenish-looking tea, and when I refused, the larger man held me down and forced me to drink it. It tingled down my throat and made me sleepy. I’d fought him until I blacked out.
But more than their actions aretheir faces. I remember them so clearly. The guilt in their eyes and the pleading in their voice. It had been so at odds with how they were treating me.
“Look, I’m sorry, but you need to drink this. It’s for your own good,”the larger guy said. I’d kicked him in the balls, but he didn’t let go.
I wipe my lips, recalling the strange drink. When I was six, I crashed my bike, and my mom’s friend gave me a healing tonic. It had tingled the same way. Did they…healme then? That doesn’t make sense. Why would the coven heal me when they caused the pain to begin with?
I jump when I hear their voices again. “I’m nervous about him being here.”
“It would be worse for him to be out there with them. At least here, he has a chance.”
“But we don’t know him, Sage. We don’t know what they wanted him for. He could be another pawn in Foxx’s fucked-up game.”
My heart hammers at that name.
A beat of silence before the other man says, “Either way, he’s a victim, and we need to help.”
“I know. I just…”
Their footsteps retreat before I hear the end of that sentence.
Foxx? Victim?
At least here, he has a chance.
My stomach twists, attention falling to my wrists. For so long, I’ve lived with third-degree burns and deep cuts from the shackles. They’d hurt me whenever I tried to pull my hands through. Worse, the coven had laughed at my pain, tugging at the magic-infused chains and using them against me. I had no choice but to dance or get fresh burns.
So why now? After everything the coven has done to me, why would they heal me now?
Unless they didn’t.
Those men talked as if they workedagainstFoxx. In fact, they seemed angry with him. But then, who did they work for? Did Foxx finally sell me off? He’d threatened to for so long, but Rip would never allow it.
Fresh tears well in my eyes as I touch my shoulder again. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Even if the shackles are gone, I’m still a prisoner. I’llalwaysbe a prisoner as long as I carryhisbrand.
