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She cracked open her eyes. A flashlight sat on old, wooden shelving, its bright light spilling across the ceiling and down the walls. She was in the church, not the mine. Michael had been right. The murmuring had moved and was now coming from behind her head. She cautiously tried to shift her foot and discovered she was tied—discovered that both legs were tied, along with her hands. And she realized something else. She was naked.
As images of what had been done to the women in the whorehouse and the hotel filled her mind, fear swelled. But fear was what Kinnard wanted, what he fed on, and she ruthlessly pushed it away. The little worm wasn't going to get the better of her—and he certainly wasn't going to get her without a damn good fight.
She opened her eyes and tilted her head back. “You praying to those gods of yours to save your soul? If not, you'd better be, because I'm going to make sure you're sent back to the hell that spawned you." Kinnard's gaze met hers, the ghostlike depths filled with amusement and scorn. “Girlie, you're in no position to be threatening me."
"If you think that, you're a fool."
"And if you think your vampire is going to come to your rescue, you're a fool. He's either fallen to his death by now, or he's trapped in a hole deep enough to swallow the Empire State Building. Either way, there'll be no last minute reprieve."
"I don't need a vampire to rescue me.” And Michael wasn't dead or trapped. He was hurt, granted, but he was free and coming for her. His anger and determination burned through the link, a force so great she couldn't reach past it, couldn't tell him she was alive and unhurt. But he'd know, the same way she'd known about him.
"No?” Kinnard's tone was scathing. “Let's take stock of your situation, then. You're naked. You're tied, legs and arms akimbo for my viewing pleasure. You're in a pentagram that will allow no one to enter but myself and those I serve."
Meaning she could get out if she somehow managed to get free? That's what his words implied, and she hoped it was true. She began working on the ropes binding her arms, twisting and tugging as imperceptibly as she could while he continued talking.
"And if you're thinking you can raise your fire starting ability, think again. I've changed your particular muting spell to include that little psychic talent."
Her flames weren't a psychic talent—not according to Seline, anyway. But she wasn't about to disabuse Kinnard of the notion, not when it could be the one thing that saved her.
"I warned you when I first met you that you didn't know as much about me as you thought. You still don't, and that lack of knowledge will kill you."
He snorted softly. “I'll have to give you top points for courage, girlie. Ain't many women who'd be feeling so smart-mouthed when lying in the position you're lying in."
"Ah, but you see, I'm not just a woman. I'm a witch. And over the years I've faced, and defeated, evil far worse than you.” She gave him a cold, hard smile. “I believe one of them currently rests in the coffin in that alcove above me."
He hissed at her and stepped forward, his fingers clenching around the ceremonial silver knife shoved carelessly through the belt at his waist.
"And won't your dark gods be pleased if you kill their sacrifice before the appointed time?” She arched an eyebrow, feigning an indifference she didn't feel. “You think they'll still grant your brother his freedom?"
He hissed again and spun away. She heaved a silent sigh of relief and continued tugging and working at the bonds on her wrists. The left one was definitely looser, but freedom from the ropes was nowhere near close enough.
Life sparked through the link, and the relief she felt belied her earlier tough words. Where are you?
In town, approaching the church. He hesitated. You okay?
He hasn't touched me yet.
His relief was a tidal wave that all but drowned her. I had visions ... So did I. But I don't think he's completed the full ritual yet, and I don't think he'll try anything until then.
I hope you're right.
So did she. I'll try and keep him off balance until you arrive. Maybe he won't notice your arrival until it's too late.
It was a slim hope, but better than nothing. She turned her attention to Kinnard. He was back to mumbling.
"Hey, slug boy."
He looked up, eyes glimmering with anger. “You will feel my flesh on yours, you know. You will feel me in you as I tear your limbs apart, and my gods take your heart and then your mind."
"Like hell.” Yet even as she said the words, fear trembled through her. Kinnard sucked deep and smiled. “Ah, there's nothing that tastes quite so good." Damn it, she couldn't let him get to her. He wasn't going to get fat on her fear, not if she could do anything to stop it.
"Why the gnome face, Kinnard?” she bit back. “Why not the pretty boy features? Hell, evil coming from such perfection would terrorize your victims more, wouldn't it?"
"This is the face I was born with, and the one I am most comfortable with.” His mouth twisted. “Emmett is the pretty boy. Because I'm his twin, I can share his form."
"And the slug?"
"We come from a family of shifters."
