“Cat.”
An anguished gasp from Tate, following by Madigan’s “If this is a trick, you’ll regret it, Crawfield.”
“For the last time, it’s Russell,” I ground out.
Madigan made sure to lean over me so I could see every nuance of his smug expression before he spoke.
“Not anymore, but that’s your fault. You swore on Bones’s life that you’d come alone, and you didn’t.”
I’d heard the saying “to see red” pertaining to a sudden surge of rage, but had never experienced it before. Now I did, because it took several seconds before I looked at Madigan and saw anything except a vision of him covered in blood and dying in extreme pain. Then that faded, and I drew in a deep breath to calm myself, blowing it out slowly.
You’ll get free, and you’ll kill him, I swore. Until then, it would only help if Madigan felt smugly superior. Then he’d be more likely to make a mistake.
“Am I getting fed, or are you fine with not discovering all the new treasures in my blood?” I asked in an even tone.
Madigan moved back, snapping, “Put his wrist against her mouth,” to whichever guards had Tate.
“Can’t I get tilted upright first? Come on, I know you sprang for that feature with this extra fancy exam table.”
A self-satisfied grunt. “Certainly. No need for me to be a sore winner.”
The table I was strapped to slowly shifted into an upright position, giving me my first full view of the room. I glanced around, noting the location of the doors (two), number of guards (six), and weapons they carried (fully automatic M-4 carbines in their hands, backup semi-automatic pistols in their belts), all in less time than it took the average person to blink. Then my gaze settled on Tate.
He had the same neck-shoulder-arms manacles Madigan had restrained me with last night, with an additional set around his ankles that limited his pace to mere inches at a time. They probably had the liquid silver needles in them, too, which I had to admit, was a damn fine deterrent. Not only did it burn like having flamethrowers go off inside your body, it was one of the only things aside from death that could incapacitate a vampire. But the most upsetting thing about Tate was his gaze. If I hadn’t already resolved to free him and the others no matter what, seeing the tormented look there would have swayed me.
“Hey,” I said softly.
His mouth was set in a hard, straight line, but those dark blue eyes began to fill with colored tears.
“Oh, Cat, I’d rather never see you again than to see you here.”
I forced a smile because I couldn’t start to cry, too. Then I’d lose the spiderweb-thin control I had on my grief.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Madigan’s probably just misunderstood.”
Tate snorted in weary derision. “You don’t know the half of what he’s done.”
“You’re supposed to be feeding, not catching up,” Madigan said curtly. “Get to it, or he leaves.”
I tilted my head as much as I could, indicating my willingness to get started. Tate’s guards pushed him, and only his undead reflexes kept him from pitching forward with those ankle restraints. Then, with a flinty expression, he turned and wagged his hands at them.
“Unless you unstrap her or I suddenly grow three feet taller, she’ll have to feed from my neck, not my wrists.”
Madigan’s smile could’ve turned water into ice. “She stays restrained and so do you, so neck it is.”
Tate leaned in and his familiar scent overcame the odor of bleach, germicide, blood, and fear that this room stank of. When his neck brushed my mouth, hunger took over; powerful, demanding, and uncaring of how grief had shattered my will to live. Of their own accord, my fangs dug into his throat, releasing that luscious crimson liquid into my mouth.
As I swallowed, Tate’s lips grazed my ear. Then he spoke so low that none of the humans should have been able to hear him.
“If you get the chance, leave. Don’t come back for us.”
I didn’t respond. For one, my mouth was full, and for another, I couldn’t risk telling him about Denise. His neck restraint might have a microphone in addition to its other gadgets.
Then he whispered something else that made my throat close off despite the conscienceless demand of my hunger.
“Is Bones really dead?”
I couldn’t speak now because if I did, it would come out in a wail of anguish. Instead, I nodded and forced myself to swallow. His blood felt like it was choking me the whole way down.
Tate’s sigh seemed to come from deep inside him. “I’m so sorry.”
I still didn’t respond. I couldn’t swallow anymore, either, and the few mouthfuls I’d consumed felt like they would come back up. Then, as if Bones’s spirit were whispering from beyond, I could almost hear him speak, and he sounded annoyed.