Sitting on a cot in the corner of the room, I eye the three glass walls suspiciously. I gingerly lean against the stone wall behind me, taking comfort from the chill seeping along my spine. I don’t see any doors or windows.
No avenues of escape.
When my eyes land on the floor, I swallow hard. It’s sloped toward the middle of the room…and a large drain.
That’s not ominous at all.
I touch the scrubs I’m wearing with a grimace, rubbing the paper-thin material between my fingers, hating that I feel so exposed. The hapless outfit offers me no protection against the cold or prying eyes.
Not that I really feel the cold that much.
The air smells stale—a clear indication that we’re underground. I’m not sure if I should be reassured no one can get to me or worried that I’m trapped with no way out. If I think about it too much, the need to climb the walls threatens to take over me.
Blowing out a measured breath, I struggle not to lose my shit.
How did I go from one horrible situation to another?
Although maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. My life has never been anything but a battle to survive. No matter how desperately I try to drag myself out of poverty and a never-ending loneliness, someone is always there to push me back down.
I glance beyond the walls of glass, and my blood chills at the almost clinical room beyond. It so closely resembles a laboratory that my instinctual need to flee ratchets up another notch. Pushing myself to my feet, I stand on unsteady legs and edge toward the glass. I touch it gingerly, then push against it with all my weight, grimacing when it doesn’t crack under the pressure.
My anxiety increases, my heartbeat picking up speed, practically racing at thirty beats per minute. I pound my fist against the barrier…only for it to warble back at me like a giant gong. I try three more times, but the fucking glass doesn’t even waver.
“You won’t be able to escape,” a masculine voice calls out. “The glass is a special polycarbonate created to keep supernaturals, like you and me, contained.”
I whirl, hissing at the intrusion, not liking that someone was able to sneak up on me while I was distracted. When I catch sight of the young man, I go still, and a sense of familiarity washes over me. I cock my head and stare at him intently, cursing that my memories are so hazy.
“I know you…”
I press my hand against the glass, the icy cold surface keeping my mind from wandering. I nibble on my bottom lip as things click into place. “You were at the mansion.”
The guy couldn’t be any more than a year or two older than me, maybe thirty at most, but age is deceiving when discussing supernaturals. He smiles brightly, his messy blond hair looking like he’s dragged his hands through it a dozen times. His expression is guileless, his light green eyes almost innocent, which should be illegal for a vampire.
But I’m not fooled.
Rage burns through my veins, and I slam my palm against the glass, a growl ripping from my throat. “Let me out.”
The pleased look in his eyes dims, his smile wilting, then his gaze drops to the floor and he turns away. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” His shoulders hunch, like he’s battling against the urge to do as I asked. He clears his throat, fiddling with something on the bench, then speaks so softly, I almost don’t hear him. “Not yet at least.”
I open my mouth to blast him…only to stagger when my stomach cramps painfully once more, and I double over, clutching my middle. A wave of dizziness sweeps over me, and I press my hand against the glass to keep from taking a digger to the floor in a pathetic heap.
Not a great way to instill fear in my captors.
“Jolie…here.”
I force my head up, then grimace when I see him pushing two bags of blood through a small slit at the bottom of the cell. Every atom of my being is desperate for a drop of that blood, a yearning so deep that I feel it tug at my soul, yet I don’t move.
I can’t, not when self-preservation is so ingrained into the fabric of my new life that I no longer trust anyone but myself. I narrow my eyes on the vampire, hating him just a little for taunting me, but the truth is staring me right in the face. “How do you know my name?”
His eyes brighten like a teen at his first nudie bar—so not the reaction I was expecting for being caught in a lie. A tiny blush fills his cheeks, and he rubs his jaw. “I’m something of a tech wizard. I ran your likeness through our database and discovered that a woman matching your description was reported dead in a hit-and-run accident approximately three months ago.
“With a little research, I confirmed your identity. When I dug into the accident report, I realized no official police report was filed. No grave was ever purchased. It was like you disappeared off the face of the earth. It had vampire fingerprints all over it.” He scratches his eyebrow, a nervous tick, and his gaze flashes around the room, looking anywhere but at me.
“Impressive,” I mumble, some of the tightness in my chest easing a notch that he wasn’t trying to trick me. I don’t like that he dug into my past, but I understand why and could even appreciate the effort. Licking my lips, I do my best not to look at the blood. I need answers more. “How long have you kept me here?”
“Just over three days.” He nods toward the blood bags. “It’s why you’re so hungry. A newly turned vampire needs blood, usually two or three times a day to avoid bloodlust. Eat. You’ll feel better.”
A tiny ember of trust sparks in my chest, but I’m curious if it will grow into something more or ultimately burn my ass. Taking a bracing breath, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, I edge forward, using the wall for support.
