Desire Unchained

About ten feet above him, he saw a flat, broad shelf that seemed to extend deep into the rock. Carefully, he climbed to it, and pulled himself up. The challenge was powering past the incredible force of the water without being slammed into the pool or rocks below, but finally, he made it. For a second he lay on his back on the smooth stone, gathering his breath, but Shade’s agony, like icepicks in his chest, urged him to his feet.

He moved deeper into the arched tunnel, which was smooth and clean, definitely not natural. And there was a towel lying over a chunk of stone, as if someone had used the waterfall as a shower. As his vision sharpened to accommodate the darkness, he heard sobs.

Oh, shit.

Wraith careened off the cave walls in a frantic bid to find a way inside, and when he found the opening, he nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush. When he entered a strangely modern kitchen, the weirdness registered, but only for a heartbeat.

The sounds of suffering hijacked all his senses, and the only thing he could think about was getting to his brother.

He scrambled through the kitchen, knocking a salt shaker off the table as he passed. “Shade!” He took a corner a little too fast and slammed his shoulder into a door opening …

And then he froze. Every muscle vapor-locked. His heart skidded to a smoking stop. His lungs turned to cement.

Shade was standing in some sort of torture chamber, holding a flail as Runa struggled to free herself from the cuffs around her wrists. She was sobbing, begging Shade to drop the weapon.

A biting chill of shock went through Wraith, and he swayed. Then, as quickly as it had come, the shock fled, its void filling with hot, searing rage.

Wraith launched at his brother and took him to the ground, pummeling him until he realized Shade wasn’t fighting back.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he screamed, but Shade just stared, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Nausea swirled in Wraith’s stomach. By the looks of the dungeon, Shade had been doing who knew what to who knew how many females. And hurting himself as well? Why?

“Do you kill them?” he whispered. “Shade, do you torture them and kill them?” His breath came in spurts, burning his lungs. The memories of his own torture at the hands of vampires flashed through his brain in sickening, fast-motion frames.

“No,” Shade said, eyes wide. “No, never. Gods, Wraith! How could you think that?” He looked over at Runa. “I have to release her—”

“You aren’t going near her.” Wraith coldcocked Shade hard enough to knock him out.

The sharp tang of blood hung heavy in the air. As a vampire, he found the smell compelling, seductive, even as his nonvamp side was disgusted by how it had been spilled. Trembling in a way he hadn’t done since, well, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever been this fucked in the head, he went to Runa.

She was still on her feet, her hands clutching the post to hold herself up. How she found the strength to not slide to the ground was a mystery, and he found himself admiring her strength as he undid the manacles and peeled her fingers away from the wood.

“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Sh … Shade?”

“He can’t hurt you now.”

“He d-didn’t …”

Maybe not yet. Wraith didn’t have the medical training or expertise his brothers had, but he knew shock when he saw it. Runa collapsed in his arms, and he carried her to the bed set into the wall. How nice that Shade was able to sleep in his chamber of horrors.

Christ, had he not known his brother at all? He shook his head, because he did know Shade. Knew how he’d grown up in a loving household with sisters he adored. Knew Shade’s favorite food and drink—fish tacos and Fresca, though not, thank gods, the same meal. Knew that Shade loved movies but generally liked to see them alone because he especially liked sappy romantic comedies.

That Shade didn’t jibe with the one who kept a torture chamber. And why the hell hadn’t Wraith been able to see Shade’s sick secret when he tripped through Shade’s mind?

Fuck.

Lying on her stomach, Runa moaned into the pillow. With a shaking hand, Wraith covered her with a blanket, careful not to touch her wrists, which had become abraded as she struggled in her bonds. He looked down at Shade, still knocked out on the floor. What now?

Eidolon. He had to call E. He’d know what to do. He always did.

Wraith fumbled around in his jeans’ pocket until he found his cell. No signal. Shock, that, here in the middle of BF Central America.

But even in BF Central America Shade would have a way to contact the outside world. Shade didn’t like to be isolated for long. As much as he tried to act all I-don’t-need-anyone, Shade was, at heart, a social creature. A sadistic social creature.

Fuck.

Wraith did a quick sweep of the cave, finally found a satellite phone, and dialed E. The moment his brother answered, Wraith’s calm exterior collapsed like an apprentice sorcerer’s first spell.

“E, we got trouble. Oh, man, oh, man—”

“Calm down.” Eidolon’s voice was barely audible over the static. “What’s wrong?”

“Shade. It’s Shade. I’m at his … torture chamber.”

Silence filled the airwaves. “Shit.”