Chapter 7
MARCUS
“Absolutely not.”
I can feel my fangs lengthening in my mouth.
The slayer is holding a length of chain.
We’re in a bedroom. Not hers, based on the lack of her intoxicating scent.
It’s soft and feminine, though. More feminine than where I sleep, certainly.
It’s decorated in muted greens and creams. The bed is huge and covered in what appears to be a handmade blanket.
I barely see the rest of the room, because all I can focus on is the links of metal in her hands. She lifts the chain. My head jerks back.
Run. Never. I clench my fists.
Kill her.
I cannot. Spell or no spell, she feels too much like a mate.
“I will not be chained like a—dog.” I spit the words, biting them off between my descended fangs. How dare she ask this of me? Isn’t binding me to her magically enough?
She glares. “I don’t trust you not to escape and eat the townspeople. Or kill your brother without me.” She bares her own teeth back at me. It would be laughable, if I felt like laughing. They are small and blunt and utterly useless against me.
Useless against my brother.
I force myself to think logically. Keeping her close is a good thing. Julian will track her and he will kill her if he finds her alone.
“I cannot let you do this,” I rasp. At her angry look, I shake my head. “I cannot. I will never—” My fists clench and unclench. “I cannot be chained again.”
The words are forced from me. Her face falls.
Shame heats the back of my neck.
“Were you chained once?” Her voice is small. She sets the chains down. Something eases in my chest. I hate it.
“Yes.” I avoid looking at her. “I was forced to fight by my sire. It was never my choice.”
I don’t mention that I was lost in blood and death until my brother pulled me out of it. It is nothing to be proud of. I killed more than my brother ever has. I was more animal than man, freshly turned and drowning in pain. Hungry. Always so hungry.
My control is iron now.
“I was violent after being turned. I injured one of his friends. After that, they kept me in a room with a window. I would avoid the sun by moving around it, folding myself into the corners. The chain extended nearly far enough.” My voice is toneless and far away.
She pulls her lip into her mouth. If she had fangs, they’d pierce it like the juicy plums we were permitted when we won a bout in the arena. My own throb in response.
“Don’t vampires get bigger when they’re turned?”
Her eyes are dark and sad. I know what she is asking. She wants to know if I suffered. My suffering is not for her amusement. I fold my arms to hide the scars on my elbows where the light was cruel when I was incautious.
“Yes,” I say shortly.
I wonder briefly what she would think of me if she knew all my truths.