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He unties the gag and I gasp for air, moving my jaw, everything sore.
Then I look at him dead in the eyes.
“I said fuck you,” I say, my voice raw and broken.
The corner of his mouth curls. “Such brave words for someone so afraid of spiders.”
I turn my head and look at the back wall, at the wooden slats and the darkness behind it. “I think you have an infestation back there.”
“You should let me worry about that,” he says, and I meet his eyes again. “You should stay focused on worrying about your own life.” He pauses. “Though I must say, it’s a good sign that they like you. It means you’re already changing. Creatures of the night will always seek out creatures of the night. One day you might want to look at the world through their eyes.”
I can’t make heads or tails of this man. I close my eyes, trying to cut off his hypnotic gaze, but I still smell him, and it makes my blood run hot.
“What do you mean, I’m changing?” I ask him, keeping my eyes shut. “Changing how?”
I don’t know why I’m even asking. To indulge him? What’s the point? What’s the point of any of this?
He doesn’t answer. Silence fills the space.
Except it’s not silence at all.
I swear I can hear things scurrying behind the wall, hear the blood pumping in my veins, the electrical buzz of the overhead lights, footsteps in some place far away, cars on a street. The more I concentrate on the sounds, the louder they get, until they start taking over my brain.
“There you go,” he says after a moment. “Deep breaths, Lenore. Focus on me, not on the noise, or it will drive you mad.”
I open my eyes to find him peering at me with that permanent frown.
“See,” he says. “It will fade.”
And he’s right. The noise is fading, and the longer I stare into his unblinking gaze, sheltered by his elegant brows, the more my world fades too.
What drugs does he have me on?
“Tell me more about your parents,” he says to me.
My parents. Why does he keep bringing up my parents?
He stares at me for a moment, then crosses the room with elegant strides, dragging over the velvet armchair until it’s right across from me. He sits down in it, leaning forward on his elbows, stainless steel watch gleaming. He’s not a in tux today, but he’s still wearing what looks to be a very expensive suit, judging by the sharp lines and the fine gleam of the grey material. No tie, just a white shirt with a couple of buttons undone. There’s something about his throat that I’m finding strangely alluring, like I can almost sense the blood rushing underneath.
“Where am I?” I ask him.
“I’m asking the questions,” he says calmly. “You’re the one tied to the chair. And I’d like to talk about your parents.”
“Why? Are you doing this because of them?” My voice is rising. “Because you want a ransom? They’ll pay your ransom. They have the money.”
“I also have money, moonshine,” he says. “More money than I know what to do with. It isn’t about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
The corner of his full mouth twitches. “It’s about you, of course.”
“Okay. Fine. Why me? Why am I here? Why do you want me to talk about my parents if it’s not about them?”
“Because it’s about where you came from, Lenore. I know you have no idea, but you might have answers even if you don’t know it yet.” He leans forward and reaches out and sticks a long, svelte finger underneath my chin, his fingernail pointed, and I swear it’s getting shaper by the second.
I don’t move an inch, afraid he’ll puncture my skin if I do.
“I’m a patient man,” he says carefully, words like silk, “but it was something I learned. It isn’t my nature. My true nature is something you don’t ever want to see, though you will if you keep testing me.” He pauses, pushing his fingernail up until I feel a sharp pinch as he breaks the skin. I wince, unable to look away from his pupils, which are getting larger and larger, almost swallowing me whole. “You’re not scared enough. I can fix that.”
He removes his finger and I stare in horror at the droplets of blood running down it.
He admires it for a moment, nostrils flaring delicately, then brings his finger in front of my eyes.
“Do you see this?” he says, brow cocked. “This is what they want from you, one way or another.”
“My blood?” I ask, mesmerized. And to think the sight of my own blood used to turn my stomach. Now it’s both beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
“Your true nature,” he informs me. “The one that you know is true, deep inside. That’s what they want.”
