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I pulled back my shoulders and opened the door. The stench of scorched flesh hit me. I swallowed queasily and entered the cell.
The tiny lights came on. Zaq hung in the cuffs, eyes closed. The scorched flesh was his; the silver had burned into his wrists.
My lungs constricted. Jesus, they were torturing the man.
His chin jerked up. He stared at me, wild-eyed. His T-shirt had been ripped sometime in the half-hour since I’d last looked at the security feed.
On his neck, fresh blood dripped from two bite marks. I smelled the coppery scent now.
What the hell? Anger burned my throat.
They’d fed from him. Someone in this lair had fucking fed from him.
The fancy chicken casserole I’d had for dinner threatened to come up. I fought to keep the shock from my face.
He’s a monster. They all are. What do you care if they mess with him?
But this was just plain wrong. To vampires and dhampirs, the throat was a no-go zone. You didn’t touch it without an invitation, and that went double for drinking someone’s blood, especially when they were helpless to fight back.
Like my mom when the vampires had finally caught up to us.
The vampire who’d fed from Zaq hadn’t even had the decency to lick the bite marks to speed his healing. His throat was bruised, the wounds raw.
Zaq showed me his fangs. “Get the hell away from me.”
“Take it easy.” I showed him his phone. “All I want is a photo.”
“Why?” His green eyes blazed into mine. Then understanding dawned. “You’re going to send it to my father, aren’t you?”
“I’m just here to get a picture.” I could’ve taken it without his permission, but sometimes simple was best. “Cooperate, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Zaq licked dry lips and considered me. Then he nodded. “A burger. Rare. And something to drink.”
“Deal.”
I brought up the camera. He drew himself upright, his expression defiant. Skewering me with his stare.
His goddamn scent was everywhere—his silver-burned flesh, the bloody wound, but underneath was that dark, masculine, this-is-the-one-you’ve-been-waiting-for smell. Filling my head, twisting me into knots when I needed to focus on the endgame.
I took two photos and shoved the phone into my pocket. “You wanna use the john?”
He blinked. “Yeah.”
“I’m going to release you. Try anything and you’re dead.” I showed him my switchblade. “I’m fast with this. The best there is.” It wasn’t pride speaking; I just wanted him to have the facts. “And you don’t have a weapon. Fight me, and I’ll stake you.”
A chuckle scraped from his throat. “I’m too fucking tired and hungry to fight off a flea. How d’you think you captured me?”
I grunted. “As long as we understand each other.”
I slipped the open switchblade into a loop on my waistband and stepped to his side. The cuffs had been designed to require two hands so a prisoner couldn’t somehow release himself. I kept as far from Zaq as I could, but I was too close.
I felt the heat of his body, sensed his every flinch. His breath stirred the hairs on my nape.
I released the first cuff and moved to his other side. The moment I had the second open, I grabbed my switchblade and stepped back.
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” I said in my coldest voice.
I stepped out and locked the door. My breath came out in a whoosh. I wanted to slump against the cell door, but Samir was back on duty and would see me on the cam feed.
