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“Have you ever had it inside you?”
I went still, and he took the opportunity to draw himself up against me again. He sniffed the back of my neck, and I closed my eyes, trying to fight the wave of nausea threatening to bring forth tears. I wouldn’t cry. That would only excite him more.
What a fucking mess.
“Have you let it…slide through you?”
“I prefer to slide it into other people.”
“Maybe we’ll change that tonight.”
“Oh, I’d really rather not, thanks. But if you want to play with role reversal, I’d be more than happy to stick my pointy end in you, Alexandre.” I smiled, though he wouldn’t be able to see me from his vantage point. Desmond, who had a great view of my face, gave me a funny look.
“Perhaps we can discuss our evening plans in greater detail once we get out of this water, shall we?” Before I could answer, he grabbed me by the fistful of my hair he was holding and dragged me towards one of the platforms.
Unless I fought back or sacrificed a chunk of my scalp—which he easily had the strength to rip off—I had to follow him. One of the henchmen closest to Desmond divested him of his shotgun, and Des didn’t fight it but did offer a scary growl.
Another guard got close to me and seemed to be considering making an attempt on my sword, but there was no way in hell I was relinquishing the blade without kicking someone in the face. The shaggy-haired guy approaching me seemed to get a sense of what I intended to do because he took a step backwards.
“Boss, what do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Let me worry about the girl. You take care of the wolf. He’s stronger than he appears.”
Desmond snarled in response when one of the guards went to grab his arm. The look in his eyes clearly read, I hope you know what you’re doing.
That made two of us.
Chapter Ten
If I’d had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t have let them take Desmond out of my sight. But as my eternally shitty luck would have it, I didn’t get any say in the matter.
When we arrived back at Peyton’s makeshift lair—a set piece right out of a Phantom of the Opera film—Desmond was hauled away by the vampire’s goons, and Peyton led me to his chamber. It was all so spectacularly stereotypical I didn’t know whether to applaud his efforts or roll my eyes.
It was as if he had done a Google image search for vampire lair and followed all the decorating tips he saw there. There were tapestries hanging from the walls, surely losing value with each second they steeped in the nasty sewer air, and candelabras were the primary source of light in the space. All the fabrics were in rich, blood-red tones, and every single person in Peyton’s staff—undead or otherwise—was dressed in head-to-toe black.
He must have noticed me taking in my surroundings because he asked, “You like?” His voice was rich with self-satisfaction.
“It’s pretty gaudy.”
“I see you have not learned the old adage, if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.”
“I was being nice.” My skin itched with a burning need to stab him in the chest. Though I’d been allowed to keep my sword, Peyton had two guards nearby watching me with contemptuous glares. They were vampires, and knowing they were fast was all that kept me from running Peyton through. I’d be killed instantly, and though part of me was willing to accept that if it meant he was dead, I had no intention of leaving Desmond at their mercy.
I’d need to find another way.
Peyton’s chamber was built into the columns of the sewer system, but walls had been constructed to give the illusion of privacy. Inside, a large bed with wrought-iron posts sat in the middle of the room, and chained to one of the posts was a naked woman. He hadn’t even allowed her to lie on the bed. She was kneeling on the hard stone floor, her forehead pressed against the metal. When she heard the door open, she began to tremble visibly but did not look up at us. Her back was a red mess of welts and blood, like she had taken repeated lashings.
Knowing what I did about Peyton, that was exactly what had caused the injuries.
“Do you like my pet?” he asked.
The motherfucker was pushing me. He wanted to see how far he could egg me on before I’d lose it.
The sword burned in my hand. Sometimes it had been known to take on a bit of a mind of its own, and I hoped it wouldn’t literally burn me tonight.
Play nice, I thought to the blade. You’ll get your blood soon enough.
It had a taste for vampire blood, and I wanted to give it precisely what it craved. But for now…I slid it back into the scabbard. I’d have
