“Sick.”
“Details,” I demanded. “Hair color? Eyes? Age?”
“Dark hair. Eyes that were black, sometimes brown. My age. And… scars.”
“Scars?”
Stefan motioned to his arms. “Cuts everywhere.”
They must have been deep injuries to leave scars. I turned away and rubbed my throbbing temple, trying to contain my fury. What had Azrael done to you?
“Did the bloodsucker have a name?” Lucian asked with unnerving calm.
“He did not tell us. We called himDiavol.”
Diavol, Romanian for devil.Wemust mean Stefan and his fellow blood slaves.
“And where did you see him last?” Lucian asked while I mentally prepared for your recapture.
“Everywhere. Nowhere. We traveled… trucks, ships. We never saw the sun. They kept us in boxes. He was not with us because of his...” Stefan bared his teeth to imitate our feeding ritual.
If Azrael kept moving you before I could catch up, it would explain why my sources were always inaccurate.
“What did the boxes look like?” I asked.
“Metal. Gray. Cold.” He gripped his arm as if shivering.
Cargo containers, I presumed. Easy for transport and smuggling.
“And what was the reason for this travel?” Lucian asked.
“I don’t know. We were always brought in after. With…” Here he mimicked what I could only assume was a prod of some sort. Blood flowed to my fingers and I curled them into fists.
“Stefan.” Lucian leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on the youth’s wrist. “You’re safe here. We’d never treat you so brutally.” Stefan flinched, and his upper lip curled in disdain. Could he tell that Lucian was lying?
“Do you have any other proof?” I asked. He could be making all of this up in order to gain Lucian’s sympathies.
“Diavol had a… favorite. Older, bigger men. He always said sorry. His manners were nice for… what is the word? Amurderer.”
The youth knew exactly what that word meant because his eyes flicked toward mine as if to challenge me.
“Was Diavol in Cairo with you when you were captured?” Lucian asked.
“I don’t think so. The others moved on, but not me.”
“How long ago?” I asked.
“A few days. A week?”
Could I have missed you by mere days?
“Why were you left behind?” I asked, my suspicions compounding over the young man’s motives.
“I was no good for food. Too thin for Diavol. But there were other duties. What do you call it? A promotion?”
I detected the bitterness in the young man’s tone and suspected his English was far better than he was letting on. I surveyed his body. There might be bruises underneath his clothing and he certainly did not look well. Just as likely he was a spy sent here by Azrael.
“And how was it you came to be owned by the Imperium?” I asked.
