“We think it may counteract the effects of the poison and give you some more time,” Darius continues. “Can’t guarantee it, but it’s worth trying. It might have side effects of its own, though.”
Kain stares at the syringes warily. “What kind of side effects?”
“They haven’t figured them out yet.” Darius pulls out one of the syringes. “But considering you were strong enough to tear reinforced, silver chains out of the wall in the dungeon while you were half-dead from poison, I think you can handle it.”
My wolf bristles at the casual mention of Kain being chained up. I know logically that it was necessary—he was a threat, a captured operative sent to harm Violet—but hearing it stated so matter-of-factly makes protectiveness flare in my chest.
Kain’s jaw tightens, and his eyes flash gold. “That was from desperation at the thought of my mate being hurt.”
I go still. What is he talking about? When was I hurt?
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. But before I can say anything, Darius holds up the syringe. “Are you going to take this or not?”
Kain extends his arm silently.
Darius swabs the inside of his elbow with an alcohol wipe, then administers the injection. Kain doesn’t flinch, just watches the clear liquid disappear into his vein.
“You’ll need another dose every eight hours,” Darius says, closing the case with the remaining syringes still inside. “I’ll show Anne how to administer them.”
He stands and heads toward the kitchen. I follow, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
Darius opens my refrigerator and places the case on the top shelf, positioning it carefully next to the milk.
“Like I said, every eight hours,” he repeats, turning to face me. “The syringes are pre-measured. Just swab the injection site with alcohol first, find a vein in his arm, and push the plunger slowly. It’s simple.”
I nod, but something else is nagging me. The words come out before I can stop them. “You used me against him?”
Darius’s expression doesn’t change. “Yes.”
“How?” I demand. “What did you do?”
Darius shrugs. “I told him you were being interrogated because we knew you were his accomplice.” He doesn’t sound like he feels guilty at all. “I had guards play recordings of screams at intervals for a couple of days and let him think it was you, to really sell it.”
“What?” The blood drains from my face. “You let him think you were torturing me?”
“I did.”
“How could you—” I stop, trying to control the anger rising in my chest. “You used a mate bond to your advantage?”
“And it worked.” Darius crosses his arms. “He broke, didn’t he?”
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
“Doesn’t it?” Darius’s voice is calm, infuriatingly reasonable. “Tell me, Anne. What would have been the better option? Torturing him physically, beyond the silver chains? Beating him until he talked? Because those were my choices.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
“He’s a trained operative,” Darius continues. “Conditioned to withstand physical torture. I needed leverage, and you were it. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not apologizing for it, either.”
“He’s my mate,” I say quietly.
“And Violet is mine.” Darius’s eyes flash gold. “He was a threat to her, so yes, I used the best tool I had to break him. You.”
Darius takes a step, then pauses.
“Every eight hours,” he repeats. “We don’t know how long the effects last, and we can’t risk the poison regaining ground. So, don’t miss a dose.”
“I won’t.”
