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I was so thirsty I’d have drunk from a fucking rat, but Philippe was too clever for that. The cell was clean and completely sealed. Not that I could’ve caught a rat anyway, restrained as I was.
A glass of blood-wine swam across my vision, joined by a rare steak.
I blinked, and they wavered and disappeared.
Great. Now I was hallucinating.
But that didn’t stop my mouth from watering.
I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, Zoe stood a few feet away, smiling at me.
I smiled back. “You finally stood up to your bitch of a mother. That must’ve been a helluva shock.” I frowned. “But you shouldn’t be in my cell. You have to leave before they catch you.”
Zoe kept smiling. One of her tentative, I-can’t-believe-you-really-want-me smiles.
My chuckle held zero humor. “You’re not really here, are you?”
She moved a slim shoulder.
I dragged my gaze from her. When I looked again, she was gone.
I drifted, semi-conscious. Hungering for blood, my mouth so dry it hurt to swallow. Trying to ignore my throbbing wrists, which only made me notice them more.
How long would Philippe leave me here with no food or blood?
Fear clogged my throat.
A dhampir couldn’t die from dehydration. But I could go insane.
21
ZOE
The yellow guest room was across the hall from the library. Jean-Michel didn’t release me until I was inside. He closed and locked the door.
Philippe always put me in here. He knew I loved the room’s sunny colors and pretty silk bedding. The primrose-sprinkled coverlet was turned down, and the small refrigerator would hold my favorite blood-wines.
I dragged my hands down my face.
How had I not seen that my life was nothing but a series of plush, expensively-decorated prison cells? I might not be bruised and bleeding, but I was as much Victorine’s prisoner as Rafe in his concrete-block cell—and had been from birth.
Jean-Michel stood with his back against the thick, silver-reinforced oak door. Not saying anything, just looking at me.
“Go ahead, say it.” I lifted my chin. “I’m a traitor. I snuck a Kral into Philippe’s lair. If it wasn’t for me, Étan would be alive.”
The old soldier managed to look both sorrowful and wise at the same time. “Not a traitor. A woman in love.”
I made a small, bitter sound. “Tell that to my mother.”
He spread his hands. “Victorine is…Victorine. You’re not going to change her. But maybe you can find a way to work with her.”
“What if I don’t want to work with her? What if I want out?”
He pursed his lips. “You don’t mean that.”
I put a hand to my throat and stared at him. Where had that come from?
For as long as I could remember, my single, all-consuming goal had been to take my place at Victorine’s side as her lieutenant. But the past few days had been eye-opening.
