Cassie Alexander - Bloodshifted

“Then Anna’s not your enemy—”

“You are the only person to tell me that she’s not. Don’t be offended if I consider you an unreliable witness.”

“But I don’t—”

“Sit. Kneel. Beg,” he commanded in quick succession, and I found myself on the ground as if thrown there, forehead pressed against the dirt. “It’s not much fun being controlled, is it?” he asked rhetorically. “No one will ever get to control me again.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way, though,” I said, my lips brushing the ground. “What if you could come to an agreement? Make a treaty? If you gave me back to her—if Natasha stopped her research—”

“Ah, see? People in power are never inclined to share. That’s the whole point of being powerful.” I could see his boots approaching and feel the reverberation of his footsteps through the ground. He knelt down, caught my hair, and pulled me to my feet, his eyes cold and cruel.

“You would understand if I cared enough to break you properly. I learned from the best, and I know that to do it right you must do it slow. Give, and then take, give, and then take again.” He licked his thumb and then wiped it across my forehead where I’d touched the ground, as a mother might clean the face of a child. I closed my eyes without thinking, and he chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve broken someone, though. It would take more time than we both have to do it right, and your Beast is on her way.”

“What did your Master do to you make you like this?”

At the memory of the prisoner, a dark frown pulled his lips. “Nothing. He did nothing for me. Stay.” He let go of me and I was forced to wait as he left the room, wondering what would happen next.

He returned with Lars—and two short lengths of chain. I tried to back up but couldn’t, feet weighted to the spot by his command.

“Unfortunately, Edie, you’re not as valuable to me as you once were, even mere hours ago. I could kill you now, and the outcome of events would be the same.” He walked over to his couch and kicked it to the side, revealing a series of low metal rings bolted into the stone behind. “It’s bad luck to wake up near a sleeping vampire—a newborn vampire, doubly so,” he said, holding up a metal cuff.

“No—” I protested, getting some inkling of his idea as he bent the cuff around Lars’s ankle, and then fastened him in turn to the wall. “No no no—” I tried to pull back, but my feet were fastened to the ground.

“Come here. Hand out,” he demanded.

I couldn’t refuse—and I watched in horror as he chained my wrist to Lars’s.

“It’s only temporary,” Raven calmly explained. “Until he wakes up, that is. And I don’t even know when he’ll turn. It’s an individual process—or was, until lovely Natasha figured out how to speed it up. But for you, it will be like playing Russian roulette. Will the Beast get here in time to save you, and fight through my sleeping army above? Or will you decide to rip his arm off to save yourself? The woman I saw groveling yesterday to save some human would never think of doing that. But already you’re not that same woman anymore.”

“Army?” I flailed against the chain in panic, the cuff cutting in.

“We’ve been busy upstairs while you’ve been locked up.” He stood and surveyed his handiwork—me and Lars, Lars and the wall—and nodded. “This is the exact sort of thing my old Master would approve of. I command you to stay in the building, Edie. Learn how to become a vampire—or learn how to feed one,” he said, and then left the room.

I moved as far away from Lars as I could get, his whole body splayed out, my arm outstretched. I tried to kick out to things—the bed, the lamp. I felt my arm loosen in its socket as I snowflaked, trying desperately to get ahold of anything I could use to sever us, or as a weapon.

How long did I have? I counted back. The traditional length of time it took to become a vampire was three nights—up until Natasha had perfected her bone marrow transplant technique. But Lars had been changed the original way, and this was nearing the end of his second night. I didn’t know if vampire metabolic clocks were precise, but I figured that sometime in the next twenty-four hours Lars would wake up desperately hungry—and he wouldn’t think twice about eating me alive.

I stretched even farther, finding new length, the rusty cuff slicing into my wrist, the wound healing—it seemed to me that it was healing more slowly. Was it, or was I imagining things? And would the scent of blood so nearby help wake him up?

Then I had that sensation again, as if I’d just read the last page of a book, and I looked at the watch on my free hand. It was daylight now. I was safe, until night. I gathered myself up, massaged blood into my cuffed hand, and considered my options.

The only way I could get the cuff off myself was to tear my own hand off. Raven’d made sure the cuff was too tight for anything less.

Or I could rip off Lars’s arm. He was dead, or dying, or whatever the fuck it was now that was happening to him inside—it wasn’t as if he’d feel it. It also wasn’t as if I could kill him—he was technically already dead. But as I crept closer to him, contemplating somehow putting my feet against his ribs and neck and just pulling on his arm like a reluctant drumstick, my conscience got the better of me.

Baby, I don’t know if I can do this. Even if it’s for us.

“Just tear it off,” said a voice. I almost jumped—I’d forgotten about the Shadows. Their voice was coming from inside my left shoe—they must have tagged along from inside my cell. “Yours, or his. Either way there has to be tearing. Or we can kill you, if you’d like to just give up now.”

“No,” I protested, sitting up. I saw them slide out into the shadow my leg had cast. “Shut up. Just let me think.” I had all day to come up with something, he wouldn’t wake up until it was nightfall—

“Technically, we’ve satisfied our promise to you, Edie. Even we can’t get you free, and if you’re no longer free, then you cannot help us.”

I closed my eyes, blocking out the entire room, trying to ignore the rusty metal cuff cutting into my wrist. “That’s fair.”

“Not fair enough yet,” said a female voice from behind me. I whirled to see Celine leaning against the door. Her face was perfectly healed now, and she was dressed in her club gear, with the addition of opera-length black gloves. “It’s beginning to be fair, but—” She stepped into the room, her head shaking at my predicament. “—not yet.” She was swinging a heavy cross on a chain, and I realized she must have liberated it from one of the people being changed into a vampire soldier upstairs.

I wasn’t afraid of the cross, but I was afraid that it might be silver.

I carefully grabbed hold of the chain between Lars and me. If it came down to ripping his arm out to protect my baby from Celine, I’d do it, no question. “Anna’s coming for me.” No need to hide it now, since Raven knew.

“But she’s not here right now, is she?” Celine made an arc around the room. I might have been stronger than her, but I was a sitting target.

She darted forward, and I jumped back, bumping into Lars, only able to use one arm to protect myself. My arms were bare and she had the gloves and her dress on. I felt the sting of silver as the chain wrapped itself around my forearm, before she yanked down and ripped it away to swing again, this time for my face. I yelped, bringing up my chained arm, but not fast enough: Silver slapped against the back of my hands, and I closed my eyes trying to protect them. She lunged for my throat and I felt a freeing snap from behind my neck at the same time as a line the length of my forearm burned, bone-deep. I swung for her blindly, but she was back at the door.