His captor snorted. “Sure. Of course I could — not. Try again, princess.”
“Don’t call me that!”
A smirk. “Touched a nerve, have I? By the look of you, I’d say so. Don’t look like you’ve done a hard day’s graft in your life.” His gaze hardened again, his brown eyes granite chips as he seemed to stare into Sorley’s soul. “Occurred to me you could be a spy.”
Don’t react!Sorley thanked a God he no longer cared to believe in that his pulse didn’t leap at the accusation. He’d never been caught before, doing anything, but somehow it seemed essential this wolfy…beast…never knew about his past.
He attempted to look bored. “As if,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t have the brains for espionage.”
“That’s where I beg to differ. My gut says you’re smart. Or usually smart. You evidently fucked up big time tonight, but I reckon you’re off your game for some reason. Buggered if I know what that reason is though.” His voice softened and he grinned. It wasn’t a comforting smile. “I’m sure twenty-four hours and one titchy blood bag will persuade you to introduce yourself. Have a pleasant stay, Mr Vampire.”
The wolf swung his large frame out of the chair and made for the door. With his fingers around the handle, he turned and looked directly at Sorley. “I’ll leave a light on too. The security cameras prefer it. Nunnite.”
A harsh fluorescent flooded the room. The door slammed shut. Seconds later Sorley heard a key turn in the lock. He twisted his head away from the overhead strip light and closed his eyes. Neon yellow burned through his lids anyway. He felt for the blood bag with his fingertips, pulling it towards him until his torso was between it and the door. He wasn’t going to drink it, but just in case, he didn’t want that furry yob to snatch it back and use it to taunt him with. He’d get some sleep.
* * *
He couldn’t sleep.
The strip light whined, a continuous high-pitched tone at just the right frequency to act like a buzz saw on his brain. The chain around his neck stung. He couldn’t roll over and get even vaguely comfortable because of the restraints on his limbs. The cage was almost but not quite high enough for him to sit up in, and the restraints were too short for him to lie down, so he had to slump with his knees bent, which made his back ache. He had no doubt it was all deliberate. The thirst he felt was almost a living thing, making his throat burn with want and his limbs tremble with the effort of keeping still enough not to hurt himself any more by flailing against his chains. The blood bag taunted him with its quiet presence. But he couldn’t risk it. He’d be sick. He was sure he would.
He zoned out as much as was possible in his current predicament. When the quality of light began to change, he opened his eyes and tried to work out the position of the morning sun in relation to the building.C’mon, man, think.But he was too thirsty, too uncomfortable, and too anxious about being trapped to work it out.I should have checked before I broke in.
I did check. Why can’t I remember?His head clanged against the cage bars as he attempted to literally knock some sense into himself.Think, man. Why this house?
Does it belong to the Council?That would track with what the wolf said. But how and why had he ended up here, in Cardiff?
I was running away. Running south. Away from Jasper. Keep him safe at all costs.He glanced down at his stained trousers and dusty shoes.So much running. Scared. Scared of what? Fuck, my head is fuzzy.
He groaned, and shuffled around on the carpet. It looked fancy, but the small ridges had the same effect on his backside as the solitary pea through the storybook princess’s myriad mattresses. He knew it was fantastical to think he could bruise, but hefelthe might.
He called you princess.
Shut up!
Tension built and coiled the longer he was alone, silver chains that were hell-bent on squeezing him until he could no longer function at all.Why am I so fucking terrified?Sorley wanted to claw and scratch at his clothes, his hair, his skin, but the wretched cuffs held him firm.Someone hurt me. I ran away. Calm down. Brown eyes. He’s with the Council. I’m safe, sort of. Maybe.
Why did you come here?The answer was there, he could feel it, like an itch just out of reach.Cardiff. It’s… Why here? Wolf, Council, is that important?He wanted to sleep, so badly, but every cell in his body was on high alert, panicked and thirsting.
Charley! Charley went to Cardiff. Pretty Charley. Jesus, think, Sorley! God, I’m so thirsty.
The night stretched endlessly ahead.I had to avoid people. Why? Because no feeding. Humans smell too good.He whined, his muddled brain conjuring up an imaginary human who was offering him a vein. His throat might actually split, it was so dry. A whimper of pure misery escaped before he could hold it back.
The wolf is with the Council.
House is with the Council.
Get help here. Yes, that was it.
You fucked up, Sorley.Another whimper.Smelled the blood. Should have asked for it. Oops. Big mistake, huge.A hysterical giggle turned into a sob.So fucked. So thirsty. So tired of hurting.
The daylight grew strong enough to partially cancel out the glare of the fluorescents. That was…concerning. There were no curtains or blinds at the window. Sorley began to feel unnerved. The wolf had definitely mentioned the Council. That meant he was aware of the protocols involved in cross-species hospitality. ‘No permanent harm’. It was vague enough to allow for grievances to be acted on, but with the presumption a person/being/whatever would be alive and functioning at the end of any altercation. Or functionally undead in Sorley’s case. Alive was pushing it as a description after three hundred years.
Still, dawn had definitely broken. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was the overly-cheerful sunny glow of a vampire’s worst nightmare edging towards the windowsill.
Sorley yelled — loudly. Then he yelled some more. And again, and again, until he was certain the bastard must be able to hear him. He was a wolf for fuck’s sake. They had hearing nearly as sensitive as a vampire’s, didn’t they? He couldn’t be unlucky enough to have broken into the home of a shifter with hearing loss, surely? That couldn’t happen, right? Shifters healed like vampires. Didn’t they?
He called out again, all the time edging away from the window in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable. Panic clawed its way up from his gut, pinching at his chest in a way he’d not felt for decades. This was too fucking unfair. There’d been many near misses over the centuries, but he’d never imagined, not for a second, that he would end his existence as a pile of ash on a suburban Welsh carpet. It was too mundane for words. He really hoped it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it might. Expiring under torture was one thing; blinking out of existence at dawn through your own rank stupidity lent an extra expectation of pain. He wondered if he’d be able to smell his burning flesh as he died, or if it would be too fast.Please be quick.
