Chapter 28 – Lily
LILY
As prisons go, this one isn’t so bad.
When the twins took me down to that dark little torture chamber in the bowels of Nocturne, I thought I was dead for sure. The memories are fragmented, but I remember the smell of bleach meeting blood and how one of them tried to strap my uncooperative body onto a giant wooden board.
After that, it’s scarily blank. The dark space where my thoughts used to be replaced by tiny flashes of things. Pictures that feel half-formed and disconnected from reality.
I drifted in and out of consciousness to the sound of threats and laughter as Roel and Ronan took turns taunting me.
I couldn’t fight back, no matter how hard I tried.
My blood still teemed with a high dose of ketamine or whatever they’d used to incapacitate me.
Something strong enough to cause the kind of dissociation that separated my mind from my body and rendered my limbs useless.
Every ounce of mental strength I had went toward calling out to Cass in that hallway, but he didn’t come. The hopeful part of me still thinks it’s because he couldn’t hear my pleas, but deep down I know the truth.
He did hear me.
He heard me perfectly fine. He even looked me dead in the eye as he turned his back on me and left—without me.
Once again, I’ve stepped into his domain with nothing but good intentions, and once again I walk away bruised and hurting. I don’t know why I’m surprised—it seems like this is just the way things go with him.
Except this time, he broke his promise.
I turn over on the bed and brush a tear from my cheek.
The four-poster bed creaks beneath me, and I shiver.
Despite the chill in the room, I’ve stubbornly decided against getting under the covers, even though these are the softest sheets I’ve ever felt against my skin and the mountain of luxurious feather pillows propped around me is calling my name.
If it weren’t for the fact that the door is locked from the outside and the distinct lack of windows, I’d think I was in an upscale boutique hotel room.
The huge private bathroom, lavish light fixtures, and soft furnishings are a nice touch, but they don’t fool me.
I feel like bait sitting in a very elaborate trap, patiently waiting for my captor to make a move.
It could be worse. I could still be at Nocturne, strapped into a torture device, anxiously waiting for two men to use my body to fulfill some sick fantasy. But by some small mercy I’m not, and I have a mysterious stranger to thank for my rescue.
All I remember clearly is the teardrop tattoo under his eye.
Young, Latino, in a perfectly tailored suit—he walked into that room like he owned it.
He pulled the twins aside and whispered something I couldn’t make out, but whatever he said changed everything.
Their cruel grins vanished, replaced by something that looked alien on their faces: fear.
When I woke up again, I was here.
There’s a good chance that I’ve traded one torture chamber for another. One set of captors for someone far more dangerous, but if I have to choose, I’ll take the kind of monster all the others fear.
The sound of a key turning in the ancient lock stops my heart for a second.
I look around for something to use as a weapon, but quickly decide it’s pointless.
These people aren’t people. They’re vampires, and they’re hardly going to leave a bunch of useful weapons out for the woman they’re keeping captive.
“The Primus wants to see you,” a voice says, and when I turn toward it, I recognize the man standing in the doorway. The man with the teardrop tattoo.
“The what now?”
“The boss,” he says, adjusting the leather holster around his shoulders. At first I think it’s concealing a gun, but on closer inspection it appears to contain a row of thin pointed wood and some kind of dagger. I just hope he’s not planning on using any of them on me.
“Well, what if I don’t want to see him?” I ask, my voice wobbling and making me sound less tough than I’d hoped.
“It’s not a request.”
“Fine,” I say, dangling my legs off the bed and tentatively checking that my balance has returned.
I’m a little unsteady, but as I reach out to grasp the strong wooden post of the bed, the man appears at my side and bolsters me. Hooking my arm through his and holding me steady. It’s an unexpectedly tender gesture, and I’m strangely grateful.
“Thanks…um…wait…what should I call you?” I ask.
“Angel,” he says, leading me to the door. “And you might want to close your eyes for some of this.” He must see the panic on my face because he quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep hold of you and tell you when to shut them.”
I think we’re underground. There’s no natural light, just the warm glow of bulbs that line the curved sandstone corridors.
No air circulating, just a faint smell of lingering damp.
It’s freezing down here, so it doesn’t help that even through his tight black shirt, Angel’s body feels ice-cold against mine.
He ushers us through a series of tunnels and clearings, never stopping long enough for me to fully register my surroundings.
One minute we’re walking down a hotel-like corridor lined with locked doors.
The next, we’re moving through a communal space with a weathered pool table at the center.
When we pass a room filled with floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted refrigerators housing hundreds of hospital blood bags, I gasp, but Angel doesn’t react.
For a while, it’s very quiet, and the only thing I hear is our footsteps echoing through the passageway, but as we edge deeper into the tunnel system, I register the sound of something else.
It’s faint at first, but when I strain, I can make out the sounds of moans drifting through the space.
They’re not sounds of pleasure, more like pain, and when we turn another blind corner, I discover the source.
“Close your eyes,” Angel warns.
But I don’t.
The hallway ahead is a war zone. Bodies line the walls—some groaning, others ominously still. Piles of ash mark the spots where vampires have been completely destroyed, the gray powder scattered across the stone floor like macabre confetti. The air reeks of copper and sulfur.
“Oh my god. What happened here?” I whisper as I step over a bleeding vampire clutching his side.
“Your boyfriend,” he grunts.
Cass is here? My heart speeds up at the thought of him in this place looking for me. Tearing into anonymous goons and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Horrifically romantic. I might not be ready to forgive him for leaving me back there, but this is a step in the right direction.
We turn a corner, and the corridor opens into a dining room that belongs in a different century.
Vaulted ceilings disappear into darkness above ornate chandeliers dripping with crystals.
A massive table dominates the space, with three places set with delicate china and crystal glasses.
Through the center is a strange buffet of mismatched food served on elaborate platters.
Everything from fried chicken to bowls of shrimp and greasy noodles.
And at the head of the table is a man. An older, handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing an all-black suit. When I lock eyes with him, he takes out his brass pocket watch from his breast pocket and flicks it open.
“There she is, right on time. Come on in, Miss Vervain. Please, join us,” he says, gesturing to the seat beside him. “I’m Lazaro. The Primus of the Sixth Clan. There’s no need to be afraid.”
I tentatively move toward the place setting intended for me and register the other figure at the table.
Cassini, who had been sitting with his back to the door, slowly turns to look at me. He looks like he’s been through a meat grinder. Blood stains his torn shirt, his face is covered in crimson, and there are deep gashes across his knuckles that haven’t healed yet.
But it’s not the physical damage that makes my breath catch—it’s the red dot of laser light centered perfectly on his chest.
A tall, thin man steps out of the shadows holding a heavy crossbow with an ornate carved handle. The bolt loaded into it gleams with silver, and the laser sight never wavers from Cassini’s heart.
I swallow hard when I realize the implication. One wrong move, and he’s dead.
“Don’t worry about Julian and his favorite toy. It’s just a precaution, you understand?” Lazaro says with a dismissive wave in Cass’ direction. “I believe you know this man? He’s caused quite a bit of trouble for us already. I hope that with you here, we can have a civilized conversation.”
The man in the corner doesn’t say a word, but I hear him thinking loudly. Over and over again he chants. Just give me a reason, Valbruna. Give me a reason.
I settle into the chair opposite Cass, but I don’t look at him.
Instead, I stare at a cartoonishly crispy piece of fried chicken on the platter in front of me, mapping the ridges and valleys of its golden crust like a sun-scorched canyon.
When I know it’s safe, I throw a glance over at my latest captor, Lazaro.
The man has a presence, I’ll give him that. He also has a trace of an accent like Cass. A current of something European bubbling beneath the affected Texas twang. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich, commanding authority without ever needing to raise the volume.
“I regret what happened with the twins,” Lazaro says, pushing his fingers together like a steeple. “I trust you’re physically unharmed?”
I nod and look down at my lap.
“Good,” he continues. “I’m sure the whole experience was very traumatic, but you’re safe now. Please help yourself to anything on the table. As you may know, we vampires don’t dine on your human food, but I wanted to ensure you had everything you needed.”
There’s no way I’m eating any of this food, not after what happened with my beer at the club, but I pick up a taco and drop it on my plate to show compliance.