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I pictured the bite marks on his throat and jiggled my knee harder.
Inhaled. Exhaled.
Peered at the silver cuffs and the bolts securing them to the concrete.
It won’t work.
But I had to try.
I took a deep breath and threw my weight into pulling the cuffs from the wall. The poisonous metal ate into my wrists. Agony seared me, followed by the stomach-churning stench of silver and my own burning flesh. I clenched my teeth and tried not to whimper like a baby.
The cuffs didn’t budge.
I stopped, regrouped. Eyed the cuffs again.
Could I fade into the shadows to ease the pressure on my wrists, or maybe slip out of the cuffs altogether?
Probably not.
I attempted it anyway, dredging up what little energy I still had to attempt it. But as I’d expected, the silver blocked my magic.
I shifted on my feet and stared into the darkness. Not sure which was harder—waiting for something to happen, or knowing that when it did, it would probably be even worse than this enforced inactivity.
If only I could pace off the tension. I was the kind of guy who was always moving, always doing. Something Zaq and I had in common. As the eldest, Gabriel was the heir-apparent, and Father and Tomas expected more from him. It had made Gabriel a bit of a control freak; he never lost his cool in public, and even in private he was the calm, take-charge brother.
But Zaq and I had more leeway, and we took advantage of it. Zaq might be the big-hearted Kral, but that didn’t make him a saint. Whenever he returned from doing his good works, we got together and partied all night, sometimes with Gabriel and sometimes just us two.
I formed my right thumb and index finger into a thumbs-up. “Wherever you are, bro, have a drink for me.”
My eyes closed. I slid down the wall, but my weight caused the silver to bite more deeply into my wrists. I groaned and pushed myself back upright.
After that, I drifted in the darkness. Sleep tugged at me, but each time I nodded off, the silver ate into my wrists, forcing me to stand upright. My calves were cramping, and I desperately needed to piss.
The minutes ticked by. Something teased at me. How had Étan known it was a Kral outside Philippe’s salon? Jean-Michel had been with them, so Étan had known I was a fake. But he’d said, “Thrice-damnedKralbastard.”
My eyes popped open.
No one had known I was with Zoe except Tomas and my father. And neither of them would’ve told the Tremblays I was on my way to Paris with Zoe. It had to be the mole.
Who the hell was it?
Someone high up in the hierarchy, that was for sure. High enough that they’d overheard Tomas saying something, or maybe Tomas had told them himself.
A growl scraped my parched throat. Every single man and woman in the Kral Syndicate had sworn a blood oath of loyalty to my father. The spy had broken a sacred promise.
When my father found out who it was, he or she would be staked. No questions asked, no quarter given.
Unless I found the bastard first, in which case I’d do it myself.
Because Iwouldget out of here. And after I’d broken Zoe out, too, I’d damn well find out who’d helped put me here. And then they’d pay.
Night turned into day. Even in the dark, my body sensed the return of the sun.
The cell shouldn’t have gotten quieter, but it did. The vampires in the mansion had sought their day sleep.
I licked dry, cracked lips. It was starting to sink in that I was in deep shit. The kind you can’t charm or bribe your way out of.
The knife wounds had scabbed over, but they’d been inflicted by silver blades. The healing process had pushed my metabolism into high gear. That feeding at Le Sang Bleu in Pigalle had become a distant memory.
