Page 214 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

For one terrible moment, I think I am at Wintermaw Keep. That Nathaniel carried me to the royal castle while I lay unconscious and delivered me straight into the hands of the King.

I hold myself perfectly still, forcing my panic down as I take in my surroundings. Metallic baroque patterns coil across the walls, catching the violet glow of several enchanted lamps. High above, beneath the vaulted ceiling, a row of narrow arrow-slit windows admits the thinnest blades of grey morning light, leaving the rest of the room murky and bathed in violet. Before me stands an enormous mirror, its carved frame stretching almost to the ceiling. Strangely familiar, though with my head pounding, I cannot place where I have seen it before.

A low cabinet blocks the bottom of the mirror’s glass, preventing me from seeing my reflection without standing.

Upon it is a slim glass vase containing a single red rose.

Victoria’s?

Propped beside it, somewhat worse for wear, is a crumpled paper swan.

I stare at it, my thoughts struggling through a heavy fog. My throat throbs. Every muscle aches, and the deep soreness between my thighs brings the night rushing back in broken flashes.

The attic.

Mark.

The other Poplarins—fleeing.

And Nathaniel…

His mouth at my throat.

My fingers fly to my neck. The skin beneath the collar is tender, stinging where his fangs pierced me. Shame floods me as I remember him inside me—my own moans, the way I pushed back against him.

But I recall little after that.

What did he do to me? Where am I? And what am I doing on the floor?

I look down. The surface beneath me is not a mattress, but a padded mat laid upon the floor at the foot of the bed.

Metal clinks as I push myself upright.

I freeze.

Moving again produces the same unmistakable sound.

No.

My hand flies back to my throat—to the dragging weight at the front of my collar. Cold links slide across my knuckles. A chain has been fastened to the ring at the front of my collar, its other end secured around the carved bedpost behind me.

Horror floods through me.

I scramble to my feet. I manage only five feet before the chain rattles across the floor and snaps taut, jerking me to a halt.

My breath comes faster.

I wrench at the chain. Once. Twice.

The bedpost is solid.

Panic rises.

“Nathaniel!”

No answer.

I spin around.