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“Shut up back there, both of you,” the man in the front passenger’s seat growled. “You’re making me sick, going on about sticking any part of you in some filthy vampire. God knows what you’d catch.”
That was ironic, considering vampires didn’t get diseases, and humans were technically the dirtiest creatures on earth. That man was the one who’d taken Calla. She couldn’t get a look at him in her position. The driver huffed a laugh, but didn’t add anything to the conversation, such as it was.
Rat seemed fascinated with her hair, and kept touching it. Drawing back, she tried to hiss, flashing him a deadly glare. If her mouth weren’t taped shut, she would’ve used her fangs to rip an artery open by now. He knew that and enjoyed taunting her about her helplessness.
“Ooh, you wanna bite me, doncha, pretty bloodsucker? So bad you can taste it?”
His smile showed teeth that seriously needed brushing. He smelled bad, too. Like old piss and beer. She wouldn’t have fed off this piece of shit if his were the last blood source on the planet.
She tried to convey that with her glare, but the message was lost on the stupid oaf.
Buzz Cut slapped her arm. “Just keep that attitude going, missy. That’s the way we like ’em—feisty.”
They continued to talk more nastiness, but the humming between her ears finally got the best of her. The earlier blows to her face were making her loopy, and she could barely keep her eyes open.
She must’ve fallen asleep—or, rather, passed out—because the next thing she became aware of was the van coming to a stop. Doors opened and footsteps crunched on the ground outside. Then she was unceremoniously dragged from the vehicle and shoved forward, being ordered to walk.
It had gone fully dark, but for a vampire night vision wasn’t a problem. She could see a modest log cabin just a few yards ahead, and two more vehicles. She couldn’t fathom why so many hunters were involved in kidnapping one lone vampire. It didn’t make much sense.
Walking ahead of the men, she stumbled up the porch steps and into the cabin, whose door had swung open at her approach. A couple more men waited in the living room, giving her satisfied smiles as she stopped.
“Who’s this?” one asked. He had a prominent beaklike nose, so she dubbed him Beak. “I thought we were supposed to grab Romanoff first.”
Fear clogged her throat. They had wanted Tarron, after all.
“Opportunity popped up,” Rat said. “This one’s just as good, if not better. According to our source.”
“She’ll draw the rest of her kind, as well as those mangy wolves, to us. That’s all we care about.”
The others smirked. Fear coursed through her anew. She was to be used as bait? No. Tarron and Nick would come for her, but they would realize they were being set up. They wouldn’t fall into any trap, no matter what these Neanderthals tried to do.
They pushed her down a dim hallway to a door close to the end.
“Put her in here,” Beak said, throwing it open.
Buzz Cut flung her into the windowless room and gave her a feral grin. “You get comfy, now. Be back before you know it.”
Her venomous glare said what her mouth couldn’t. A huge “fuck you” that she wished she could voice. The door slammed and she heard the sound of the lock clicking into place. Taking stock, she peered around in the darkness.
There wasn’t one stick of furniture in the room. No junk lying around, nothing she could use to sever the tape on her wrists. She was standing in a suffocating box with no way out.
Legs shaking, she put her back against the far wall and slid down it until she was seated on the dirty floor. Tears threatened but she refused to give in to them. She wasn’t going to give these animals the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
She didn’t think she could sleep in this horrible place, but eventually exhaustion took its toll. Slumping sideways, she settled down and let her eyes drift closed.
And she lost the battle to stay awake.
* * *
Tarron was nearly finished with his evening meal in his private chambers when his cell phone rang. Picking it up from the table, he studied the display.
The head chef? Why was the man calling him?
He answered politely. “Hello, Anders. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Prince Tarron,” the chef said. “But I was wondering whether to save the princess a plate. We’re getting ready to close.”
He frowned in confusion. “I don’t know. You mean, she didn’t come to dinner?”
