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When he opened his eyes, he was standing directly over her. She was shackled to a wooden table, her arms and legs spread eagled from her body. Only a thin, white sheet covered her, as if it had been draped there as an afterthought. Lines of dark red decorated it, pointing to the numerous cuts she’d received while bound to the table.
Her eyes were closed and she cried silently. Her head was turned to one side, and her long and matted black hair obscured her face from view. Max reached out and gently pulled her hair back with tentative fingers.
“Please, no more. I don’t know anything—please.”
Her voice was familiar. He didn’t know how, but he felt like he’d heard it countless times before. He gently turned her face up, silently willing her to open her eyes. She did just that, blinking slowly in the darkness, to reveal dark brown irises framed with long and currently matted lashes. He knew she couldn’t see him, but he could see her clearly. Laughter. Sunshine.
“Max,” she murmured, and he released her as if burned. He knew her. This was the woman, the image he couldn’t get out of his head.
He touched his fingers to her damp, clammy cheek once more. “Who are you?”
She blinked and tried hard to see him in the dark.
“Max?” she asked cautiously, tugging futilely at the chains that held her. A hoarse cry left her lips, and she sucked in air frantically. “Max, is that you?”
“Who are you?” he demanded, angry at himself for not knowing her. He recognized her, yes, but he did not know her.
“Drew,” she said softly. “Max, I didn’t tell them anything. I swear.” She swallowed audibly and whimpered. “You’ve got to warn Vivienne.”
Drew. Vivienne. Max. Yes, something about that fit. But weren’t Vivienne and Cassandre the ones who’d tortured him? Kyros had called his father evil. Had Maximilian lied to him? He was so confused.
The lights suddenly went on and a loud alarm blared through the speakers. Shit. He looked around the room, and found a little black ball staring back at him. A camera. What kind of sick and twisted shit was this?
“Max, you’re alive,” Drew said with a sigh, her eyes tracing his face as if he were an apparition.
He moved quickly, pulling the chains out from their holdings in the weak wood. He was surprised at how easily they gave way. When he lifted her into his arms, she screamed, and Max watched as her right arm fell limply away from her body, broken.
“Shh,” he whispered, gently placing her arm onto her body. With each movement of the broken appendage she gave a cry. “Close your eyes, Drew.”
He flashed them back into Kyros’s cell and gently placed her on the ground. The warlock took one look at her, and shook his head.
“It’s not worth it, Max. She’s dying.”
Kyros found himself tossed carelessly back into the wall, a raging-mad Max standing inches away from him.
“I’m taking her out of here, understand? You can either come or wait for my father to finish you off.”
Blinking, Kyros watched as Max looked around for something to break the silver chain around his foot. Finding nothing, he tried yanking it out of the wall, but that proved futile. It was much stronger than the bindings needed to hold a human, and the metal burned the hell out of his hand. He heard the sound of people running toward the cell next door. Pulling off his shirt, he wrapped it around his hand, braced his foot against the wall, grabbed the chain, and pulled with all of his strength. Seeing what he was doing, Kyros tore a strip from the shirt covering his body, and grabbed the chain as well. There was an audible crack, and then the links gave away. The two men tumbled backward, but were on their feet in an instant.
“Can you get us out of here?” Max demanded of Kyros, breathing heavily. The warlock nodded once. Reaching down, Max picked Drew up, and her cry of pain was much hoarser this time.
The footsteps hurried over to their cell, and Max heard the jingling of keys.
Merge with me, Kyros commanded as he placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. Max asked no questions, just did as he was told.
The door swung inward and Max saw what looked like an entire army of trackers surge into the room—moments before they disappeared.
***
The werewolves were a bloodthirsty lot. Vivienne didn’t know why that shocked her, but it did. Not only was there a massive amount of adults gathered beside the stream that marked the westward end of the estate, young children milled about as well, playfully tackling each other in, she guessed, a mimicking of what was destined to happen. A few of the children had shifted to their wolves and were chasing each other around the circle. They were all there to witness the blood rite. As she’d approached the circle, she’d caught sight of glowing yellow eyes and elongated canines. All were anticipating the fight, as much as if they were the ones fighting.
