Chapter 16
Nyx
Cain steered me into the torch-lit passage outside his apartment. Talon muttered something about checking on Eden and disappeared into a nearby door.
“You can still change your mind,” Cain said.
I forced my spine straight. The boost I’d gotten from his blood had worn off, and all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and whimper. The only thing keeping me upright was pride. “I won’t.”
His winter-sky eyes flamed a dangerous blue. “Up to you,” he said and urged me into motion.
We walked without speaking. The few people we passed nodded to Cain. As for me, I got the side-eye. They knew.
I notched my chin a fraction higher.
Cain halted at the top of a flight of rough-hewn stairs, the air below damp, heavy. “Can you manage the steps?”
The distance to the bottom looked impossibly long. “Of course.” I set my jaw and started down. But I was tired and my foot slipped on the narrow steps. I stumbled into the wall.
He made a sound that was close to a snarl. “Stubborn,” he bit out and scooped me up, taking the narrow steps at an easy jog.
Our destination was a short hall with five cells, their thick, silver-reinforced wood doors ajar. Apparently, I was their only prisoner.
Cain set me down in the first cell, bare but for a sink and a seatless metal toilet. The air inside was damp, heavy.
The gleam of silver made me turn my head—a manacle, attached by a chain to the stone wall. My swallow sounded loud in the silence.
He followed my gaze, then looked back at me.
Don’t cuff me to the wall. Please, don’t…
The thought of being chained like an animal made my knees turn to rubber. And I was pretty sure I couldn’t survive another bout of silver poisoning.
A small muscle tightened along his jaw. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
I shook my head.
“Suit yourself.” He exited, the heavy door thudding shut behind him.
Not the manacle, then.
My breath whooshed out. I lowered myself, body shaking, to the dusty stone floor. I heard the muffled sound of a bolt sliding into place. Then…nothing.
The darkness was complete. Not even a sliver of light that would allow me to see.
You’re okay. You’re okay.
The pep talk didn’t take. My heart hammered a fist against my ribcage, like it was demanding to escape. I curled up on the hard floor like a pill bug, all my vulnerable parts tucked inside, trying not to whimper.
I gulped in oxygen. You got this, girl.
I’d survived my mother dropping me off at a vampire lair. Survived Nazaire’s tests, his punishments, his fucking mind games. I could survive this.
But it hurt so damn bad.
And not just because of the silver poisoning. That was a different kind of pain. Sure, my muscles ached, my head pounded, and I was pretty sure my fever had spiked again. Not fun, but I’d live.
This hurt went soul deep.
This was I’m-in-love-with-a-man-who-was-only-using-me hurt. It coiled around my ribs like wire. Even breathing was painful.
How could I have been so stupid?
I forced myself to inhale, then exhale. Took another breath, and then another. Slow and easy.
A shiver shook my whole body.
I was so cold… and hot.
A couple of tears dripped down my cheeks. I wiped them away, not because it helped, but because I refused to lie here and cry.
The door swung open. I pried my eyelids apart and pushed upright, back braced against the wall, teeth rattling like they were trying to escape my skull.
Cain strode into the cell in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair still wet from a shower.
“In here,” he said over his shoulder and turned back to me, composed, controlled—and clean.
The contrast to my own self—filthy and shivering—couldn’t have been greater.
Right then, I’d have given every penny in my secret Swiss account to call down a thunderbolt and knock him flat on his perfect, freshly washed butt.
I ground my chattering teeth together and wrapped my arms around my bent legs, trying to still the shaking.
Two men followed Cain into the cell with a mattress and a folded-up metal frame which they assembled into a cot while shooting furtive looks at me. They made up the bed, then turned to him.
“That all, sir?” asked the taller man, a redhead with an open, freckled face.
“Get her some soup,” he said. “The kitchen should have it ready. And a metal cup.”
“I’m on it,” he said and the two jogged off.
I remained on the floor, hugging my knees.
Cain pulled back the covers. “Get in.”
I mustered a sneer. “That an invitation? Because thanks, but no thanks.”
His mouth thinned, dangerously so. In two strides he was on me, hands closing around my upper arms as he lifted me into the air and set me down on the cot. My boots were removed, and he pressed me down, tucking the covers around me with clipped, efficient movements.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“Oh, excuse me,” I returned from my prone position, voice wavering despite me. “Thank you, Lieutenant, sir. Except why am I this sick in the first place? Oh yeah. You.”
Something flickered across his face—regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, he quickly buried it.
“I went easy on you. Anyone else would be in way worse shape right now. And I’d be interrogating them instead of tucking them in.”
My mouth opened, but he pressed a finger to my lips.
“Uh-huh. No more talking.”
“You—!” I pushed his hand away, sputtering weakly.
His growl raised every hair on my body. “You need to rest, damn you. Then you can fight me, okay?”
I shut my mouth.
“That’s better,” he murmured as he straightened.
I shot him another glare, but he was right. I had no fight left. Just keeping my eyes open took all my energy.
I rolled onto my side, snuggling into the covers, and gave a last shiver before going still. I sensed him watching me, but I kept my eyes shut until the freckled redhead returned with the soup.
Cain thanked him by name—Jasper—and took the small basket of food from him, adding, “Let Adrian know we’ll need a guard during the day, okay?”
“Will do.” Jasper glanced at where I lay huddled under the quilt. “PM me if you need anything.”
When we were alone again, Cain sat on the cot next to me, the basket on his lap. “Can you sit up by yourself?”
For answer, I struggled upright.
His handsome face went rigid. “You can ask me for help, you know.”
I snorted. “I’d rather chew silver shavings.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. He focused on the basket, removing the lid on a bowl of Mediterranean meatball soup. The rich, meaty aroma made my stomach rumble. Suddenly, I was ravenous.
Handing me a cloth napkin, Cain took out a spoon and placed the basket on the floor next to the cot. I spread the napkin on my lap, hating that Cain would see my shaking fingers, and reached for the bowl and spoon.
He moved them out of my reach. “I’ll feed you.”
I shrugged, my gaze on the steaming bowl.
Another tremor shook my body. Cain gave a frustrated snarl and scooted closer until his thigh touched mine through the quilt.
“Here,” he said, voice rough, and lifted the spoon to my lips.
The soup was delicious and blissfully hot. Within a few mouthfuls, my shivers eased.
I held out my hands for the bowl and spoon. “I can do it now.”
He handed them to me, remaining on the cot until I’d finished. I silently handed them back and he stowed them in the basket.
“Thirsty?” He dug a stainless-steel cup from the basket.
I swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”
“The water in the sink is drinkable.” He filled the cup and handed it to me.
I drank every drop, the liquid cool and tasty, then swung my feet to the floor.
Cain’s fingers clamped on my shoulder. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
I stiffened. “To the WC.”
He grunted, but helped me up and walked me to the toilet, his hand firm around my arm. Steadying me whether I wanted it or not.
“I’ve got it from here,” I said, trying to pull free.
“I can help.” His grip didn’t budge. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
I just looked at him.
He exhaled, a rough, resigned sound. “Fine. I’ll be right outside.”
He left the cell door cracked open, leaving me enough light to see what I was doing. The instant I flushed the toilet, he stepped back inside. I washed my hands and face, then made my way back to the cot. He was there, holding the covers for me, tucking me back in.
I looked up at him. “I’m not going to change my mind. You’re wasting your time being nice to me.”
His jaw went rigid, but he didn’t reply. He just turned and walked out. I assumed he’d leave then, but he stayed in the hall, the door open. I could see him pacing back and forth, phone pressed to his ear when he wasn’t firing off texts.
I turned my back on him.
He was still there a few hours later when my fever spiked.
He rolled up his sleeves and sponged me off, then changed me into yoga pants and a fresh T-shirt.
My head felt like it was bobbing somewhere above my shivering body again.
I watched him care for me as if I were observing a video of the two of us.
He looked…different. It took my fogged brain a second to understand why. Then it struck me: his white shirt was untucked, the pristine cotton splattered with water, and his short hair stood on end like he’d been dragging his hands through it.
For a moment, I just stared. Cain didn’t come undone. Ever. But right now he looked like someone had yanked a thread loose and the whole man was starting to unravel.
No—don’t read into it. It doesn’t mean anything.
Toward dawn I drifted into an exhausted sleep. When I woke, the door was shut, but a battery-powered lantern glowed in the corner of the cell, and a cashmere sweater lay folded at the foot of the cot.
I pulled it on. The fit was perfect, the cashmere warm against my chilled skin.
I released an agitated breath.
I know what you’re doing, Mr. Maritime Lieutenant. And it won’t work.
But I smoothed a hand down the soft blue fabric.