“Please...” I wrestled the group of guards, getting a few steps closer. “Don’t hurt him.”
Istvan’s head snapped back at me, understanding creeping over his face. “You love him.”
The claim made me suck in. I didn’t respond. Istvan wasn’t allowed to know my heart. To have access to my thoughts and emotions. Though, even as I locked my expression down, I knew it was still written all over me.
The word seemed so tiny. Four letters couldn’t contain what I felt for Warwick. What we had together. Time and space couldn’t even hold us. Only to each other were we bound.
We bled in bed. We loved in battle.
We defied nature and eluded death.
Love was insignificant compared to what I felt—what I would sacrifice for him.
“Use me instead.” The proposal shot from my lips. “Take my blood. Use it on Caden or whomever you want. Just leave him out of this.”
The thought of Istvan ripping his essence, taking away everything Warwick was, the part of me inside him, the link we shared. It was the worst of violations. I’d rather be skinned alive than feel Warwick being shredded, the bond between us snapping forever.
“I’m taking it all—from both of you.” Istvan’s arrogance was mocking and cruel.
His claim kicked me in the chest, my lungs wheezing. He would drain Warwick of his essence and blood.
Anger sizzled my veins, forging and building back my broken pieces. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Him.”
Scarlet burned over Istvan’s cheeks, his boots stomping to me until he was an inch away. “You have the audacity to tell me what to do?” Ire strained the muscles in his cheek. “I will take what I want, when I want.” He stepped back, spinning for Warwick.
Wanna bet? I heard a voice inside me. A power living between life and death—a potency which rattled my bones. The cuffs around my wrist whined as I pulled on them, a sweep of wind whipping through the underground room, flicking my hair. I leveled my gaze on Istvan. I could feel my connection to Warwick like a hot wire running between us, though instead of more power accelerating my magic, a slight sluggishness tapped at our connection.
Istvan turned back to me. Instead of fear in his eyes, I saw smugness.
Pain shot into my arm, and my head snapped over my shoulder.
Dr. Karl stood there, a syringe in hand, pushing liquid into my arm.
The wave of drowsiness kicked in almost instantly, swaying me forward, forcing the guards to stumble with me, trying to keep me up, the fire dampening inside me like a bucket of water.
My lids batted to stay open but muscles going lax, as a haziness crept into my vision.
“I am always ten steps ahead, Brexley.” Istvan tugged on his cuffs. “Always.”
Whatever Dr. Karl injected me with kept me awake, but left me fuzzy, barely clinging to anything substantial. I had no understanding of anything. My mind couldn’t hold on to thoughts for long; they floated away into the ether like dust. Forgotten.
A vague memory of being removed from the main room and brought to a smaller lab filled with medical equipment still hovered somewhere in my brain. I recalled them strapping me down, cuffing my wrists and ankles to a gurney before poking me with needles.
I could have been here minutes or days; I didn’t know. I was tranced by the red liquid coming from my arm, coiling in the tube and filling a blood bag. Dr. Karl had changed the bag a handful of times so far. There was a fleeting thought telling me this was abnormal that so much blood shouldn’t be taken from me at one time. No one would survive with so much blood loss. It made me sad. I wanted to keep my blood. It was mine.
“How is it going?” A familiar voice stirred me from my trance. Istvan strolled into the room, his question directed at the doctor.
Dr. Karl’s head jerked up from the microscope he was peering into, his gray brows furrowing. “It is remarkable. Completely impossible.” He shook his head. “But I’ve tested both of theirs several times to make sure.”
“What?”
“The more I take, the more her system protects itself, replacing itself faster than I can drain her of. Her antibodies are so off the charts, but each time they rise, she seems to get stronger.” He threw an arm out at me. “I’ve had to secretly sedate her four times already. Her body is healing itself, burning through the drug.”
Istvan blew out his nose. “We’ve had to re-sedate him over a dozen times.”
Him.
Warwick.
“The blood you brought me of his last time… It was the same as hers... again.” A slight hysteria upped Dr. Karl’s voice. “Every time, no matter how little or how much I take, they are always the same level. Exactly. It’s so strange.” He rubbed a hand over his sweaty forehead. “It’s as if they are linked. Some telepathic connection or something.”
“Life connects you, but death binds you.” Tad’s sentiment flickered into my head. There was no science to what was between us. It was in our DNA, made up of our bones, of our blood. Our lives twined and twisted around each other. Protective and defensive.
“Warwick?” I called to him in my mind.
The buzz was there, but through the drugs and exhaustion, I could barely feel him tug back. “Princess...”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that kind of science,” Istvan spoke, swaying my attention back to them.
“I might be changing my mind.” Dr. Karl patted his head again. “None of this makes sense otherwise. These two are connected; I have no doubt. But how, why, or what does it mean is the question?”
“That’s what I’m expecting you to figure out,” Istvan replied, taking a step away from the doctor toward the door. “I need to go. Those bandits are getting out of line. Once their use to me is gone, they will be a thorn I can finally pluck for good.”
Bandits?
“I thought you’ve had a deal with the Hounds for years now?” Dr. Karl’s head lifted. What? The Hounds? Vincent’s gang? A deal for years? “They’d do your bidding when you needed, and you’d leave them alone, let them raid the Savage Lands unrestricted.”
“Except for my businesses. They seemed to have forgotten that part of our agreement. The rats need to be reminded who is actually in charge—who rules this city and them.” Istvan tugged on his cuffs, billowing with arrogance.
The Hounds have been working for Istvan?
Vincent seemed like the last man who would make a deal with Istvan. But at the same time, if he got what he wanted from it—free rein to rob and murder, growing his business, profits, and gang—it seemed exactly what the Hounds would do.
I should have gutted Vincent when I had the chance.
The door opened behind me, and then a woman’s voice followed. “Sir, what do you want me to do with her?”
The voice. Why did it sound familiar?
My neck craned up and back to peer back at the door, hoping against hope I was wrong.
I wasn’t.
Lena, the woman who helped me break into this place, Maja’s daughter, stood in the doorway, a young, scrawny, and filthy human girl of eighteen or so standing next to her.
For one brief moment, Lena’s gaze met mine. My heart pounded. Terror gripped my stomach, wrenching me from my drug-induced stupor. Lena’s eyes widened, but she quickly covered up her surprise, shifting her head firmly to Istvan, like I was nothing but a lump on the table.
“Sir?” She cleared her throat.
“Yes. Leave her here.” Istvan ordered. “Then go finish prepping my son’s tank for tonight. I want him ready when I return.”
“Yes, sir.” She dipped into a low curtsy, her head bowing, but her attention slid back to me again. Brief, but it was filled with something my brain couldn’t decipher. A warning? A threat? Did I really know or trust her?
Before I could even blink, Lena was gone, leaving the girl shaking and alone near the door. She didn’t even try to run. She was painfully thin, with stringy hair and scarred face from pox, which had swept through this country several years ago, killing thousands of people in the Savage Lands.
“I wish I could be here, but I must go. Deal with this problem.” Istvan didn’t even acknowledge the girl, striding around her. “Document everything and send someone for me if anything goes wrong.” Istvan went through the doors, set on his latest crisis.
“Come here, girl.” Dr. Karl ordered, waving the emaciated girl to sit on the gurney next to mine.
Dread prickled in my chest, clearing up my vision and mind more, watching her silently climb on the gurney. Trembling. Defeated.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, my gaze darting between her and Dr. Karl.
“We are testing blood transfusions. Changing their blood type to match yours.” He bound her wrists and ankles, moving the rolling blood bag closer to her, attaching a syringe into her wrist, a tube connecting her to a bag of my blood.