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Vivienne picked up after the fifth ring, sounding a bit winded. “Hey.”
“They took him—they took Max,” Drew rushed out, barely forcing breaths in and out of her body. Her eyes watered and she sniffled, feeling her throat clog. “The guys who attacked us took Max.”
***
Max groaned and blinked slowly. His mind was foggy and he shook his head to clear it. Where was he? As if in answer to his question, memory returned. His father had sent his personal guards after him. He’d felt them even before they materialized.
Drew…?
He tried to move but found he couldn’t. Something cold was at his throat, his wrists, and his ankles. It was then he fully took in his whereabouts. He was in a brightly lit stone cell, chained to the wall. Looking down, he recognized that all of his clothing, except for his boxers, had been removed. Closing his eyes, he gathered his strength, and when he felt the familiar rush, strained against the bonds.
Max tired quickly, and after minutes of building up a sweat with nothing to show for it but the blood that now flowed freely from the cuts that he’d incurred, he recognized something else. These were not regular iron shackles. They were mixed with silver, which was harmless to a witch unless in the form of a deadly weapon, but crippling to a vampire. Hence, it would restrain, but not kill, a warlock.
“Shit!” he cursed softly, and tugged futilely against the chains once more. Where the hell was he? If his father’s guards had come for him, then this was one of his father’s holdings. Was he back in New Orleans? He couldn’t remember seeing any stone cells or laboratories in New Orleans. Hell, he couldn’t remember seeing any place that looked like this in New York, either.
He looked around the cell again. Max zoned in on what appeared to be a camera lens. His lips curled. He was being watched.
“What are you waiting for?” he demanded, pulling against the chains once more. Some of the silver seeped into his wounds and he bit his lip, as it burned like fire before cooling to a dull but still painful throb.
The lights went out, leaving the place black, and Max blinked. When his gaze adjusted, his father stood before him. His hair was pulled back from his stoic face, and he leaned heavily on the wooden cane he sometimes used.
“Where are they?” Maximilian asked softly. There was no need to elaborate on the “they.” Father and son knew to whom Maximilian referred.
Max chuckled drily. After all he’d done to aid Vivienne, did his father really think he would just give her over?
“What is this place?” he countered.
A muscle worked in Maximilian’s jaw, and his eyes narrowed. “Where are the girls, Max?”
“I don’t know what girls you’re talking about.”
“You don’t?” Maximilian asked in a voice that was whispery sweet.
Max shook his head slowly, “I don’t.”
“Maybe I should jar your memory…son.”
Max was contemplating what that meant when his head exploded. He swayed and would have fallen had it not been for the chains securing him to the wall. Pain lanced through his skull and his eyes watered as his mouth opened on soundless screams.
If you won’t speak, you will show me your memories….
He yelled, a primitive sound of an animal in pain, and bit into his lip. Blood rushed into his mouth but he didn’t taste it. He only felt the pinch of pain, welcomed it.
“No.” His voice sounded strangled, hoarse, but as he fought through the pain of the invasion to clear his mind, his voice grew steadier. “I. Said. No!” He might be powerless against a physical attack, but he’d been trained to parry a mental invasion by the very same man who now sought to do it.
Max remained still, allowing the pain to wash over him. Pain meant that his father was pushing and getting nothing. If the pain subsided, then he’d have to worry.
After what seemed like hours, Maximilian thumped the cane at his side and snarled, “You’d betray your own father, your own people, over two insignificant girls you’ve barely known for a few years?” When Max failed to answer, his father stepped closer and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into eyes similar to his. “If you weren’t my son, I would kill you for this!” He released him and Max’s head slumped forward. “But you are. You are my son, my only child and I feel inclined to give you one more chance. Tell me where they are and I may forget this….” his father paused as if offended by the very word, “betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” Max managed. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Lifting his head, he leaned it against the wall, and stared accusingly at his father. “You want to resurrect the druids. You want to resurrect the very people who almost wiped out your people.” His father’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Max took a breath, finding himself still weak from his father’s mind-probe. “You want to make a deal with them. Trade your own people for immortality.” A brow lifted, but Maximilian held his tongue. “I’m not the traitor, Father. You are.”
