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Tomas shook his head and started to follow her.
I ground my teeth. “You blood-sucking prick. You can try to set us against one another, but you’d better watch your back, because when Father figures out what’s going on, he’ll hunt you down like a goddamn dog.”
Tomas reached out with a big paw to shut the door, closing the two of us in the cell together.
“You’re wrong.” He prowled back to me. “With you and your brothers dead, Karoly will need me more than ever. I have made sure that the evidence points to Victorine, not me.”
A dry laugh scraped my throat. “No,you’rewrong. You’re dead. You’re just too stupid not to realize it.”
That wiped the smile from his face. His mud-yellow eyes sparked blue. He grabbed my throat with one powerful hand.
“I should break your neck.” He stroked my trachea.
My Adam’s apple worked.
I was a dhampir—I wouldn’t die, but with my human blood I might not heal as cleanly as a vampire, leaving me a quadriplegic. But I knew Tomas. Showing fear could send him over the edge.
“You could.” I shrugged like we were discussing the best way to carve a turkey. “But we both know Philippe doesn’t want you to kill me yet. He seems to think he might need me.”
We stared at each other. His irises were outlined in a bright, neon-blue band now, and his fangs had extended. His fingers tightened on my throat. Then he released me—and smiled.
“You are right. But you are the one who is the prisoner, and no Kral but me knows you are here. Remember that the next time you call me the stupid one.”
He turned and left. The door thumped shut behind him.
I swore and slumped in the cuffs. They seared into my skin, and this time I let them.
23
ZOE
The following nights crept by with agonizing slowness. I remained confined to the yellow guest room.
The only person I saw Monday was Jean-Michel, who brought me fresh clothes. When I asked for news of Rafe, all he could say was that he hadn’t seen him personally, but that he was still alive and locked in a cell on the lowest level.
After that, Jean-Michel backed out of the room. “I’m sorry, but my orders are to have minimal contact with you.”
I spent the rest of the night pacing the damned bedroom until I thought I’d go mad.
Was Rafe all right? Had they drunk from him like they had his brother?
When dawn came, I practically threw myself into the day sleep. Anything to escape from the apprehension churning in me.
Tuesday evening, I came awake to a slowtap-tap-tap. Uneasiness trickled through me. My nose twitched at the familiar orange-and-clove scent of Opium.
I clawed myself the rest of the way awake.
Victorine sat on the Louis Quinze chair, tapping a toe of her cherry-red Christian Louboutin booties.
Tap. Tap. Tap.Slow and definite, like a military marching band.
“You’re awake.” She wore pants, a sign she meant business.
I swiped a groggy hand over my face and pushed myself upright. “How long are you going to keep me in here?”
She swatted the question aside like I was a pesky fly. “I have a task for you.”
A jittery ball formed in the pit of my stomach. I swung my legs off the bed. “What do you mean?”
