Page 101 of Bought for Blood

I put both hands on the table, and I wait for it to feel real.

It doesn’t happen.

The pressure remains under my ribs. It arrived at ten past one, and it hasn’t stopped once since.

It’s not grief. I know what grief feels like. It’s not this.

My wolf hasn’t settled. She’s still edgy, still leaning toward the pull.

She’s waiting for him.

You picked him. When did you pick him?

She doesn’t have to say anything. She’s been telling me since a corridor in that compound, and I’ve been refusing to hear it.

“He’s alive,” I say.

Grace’s hand moves in mine. “Sery—”

“He’s alive.” I say it to the room, and my voice comes out steadier than before. “I can feel him. He’s that way.”

I lift my hand off the table and point at the wall, and I hold it there.

Vanya looks at Viktor. Viktor looks at me.

“Miss Sangrey,” he says. “You’ve had a very long day.”

I lower my hand.

Grace’s thumb starts moving back and forth across my knuckles, the way our mother used to do it, and I take my hand back and put it in my lap.

Nobody in this room believes me. I don’t care. Inside my chest, the pull keeps building.

I’m going to need somebody on my side.

Chapter 31

Bastien

My eyes fly open at the exact moment the sun goes down.

Wrong ceiling. Concrete, water-stained, one caged bulb. I’m in a chair that’s bolted to the floor, and my wrists are locked behind me in runed iron.

The last thing I remember is the van. I tracked ten turns north off the compound road before the drug took me under. Everything after that is gone. I have never lost time in my life, and the missing day frightens me more than the iron does.

I test the cuffs once. The burn runs up to my shoulders and stays.

My left arm is broken above the elbow. It hasn’t started to heal, and that’s the iron’s doing. They knew what they were up against and planned for it.

I’m also thirsty. The back of my throat is dry in a way water wouldn’t touch, and my gums ache up into the bone. This isn’tnormal. I’m an ancient. I can go weeks without blood. I’d bet money on this being the drug at work too.

The door opens before I’ve finished taking stock.

The man who comes in has been smoking since he was a boy. He stops out of reach, holds a cup out at arm’s length, and doesn’t look at my face.

I know the smell before it reaches me. It’s the same stuff they gave me before.

“Drink it,” he says.