Nothing was more insulting to an Ancient than not showing upon command, and it was considered the highest and most punishable offense. And whatever was about to take place was something he would most certainly live to regret.
“Alasdair Kyriakoús, first sired to Vasilios. You are charged with disobedience, indifference, and contempt. Do you refute these claims?”
“I do not,” he managed, his gaze still held by the man he’d failed. His face wasn’t giving anything away, and the only way this would end was with his ultimate submission.
“You admit to dismissing a direct summons from your Ancient without offering up perhaps a reason?”
What reason could he give? Certainly not the truth.
“I do,” he pushed out through clenched teeth.
“Then you are willing to accept the punishment of Veinious Peeling.”
Fucking hell.
The malicious streak his sire was renowned for was in full effect tonight. But he’d be damned if he cowered more than he already had. Instead, Alasdair addressed his Ancient as only he ever did—the same way he did when he entered his bed.
“It would be my pleasure, as the blood of your blood, to give to you my body to do with as you please, my king.”
Those jewel-toned eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and a surge of pride flooded Alasdair, that he’d put it there—right before his arms rose involuntarily, palms up and outstretched, and the veins from each were stripped like ribbons to the elbow.
That was when the incredible agony of near death dropped him to the ground like a fucking rock.
LEO STARED AT the wall and wondered for the millionth time, How do I get myself into these situations?
He had no idea how long he’d been wherever the hell he was, and it was making him crazy. It could’ve been days or weeks. There was no way to be sure, but he did know that it’d been a damn long time.
Ever since he’d woken up, he’d been trying to work out where he was. He’d waited hours on end for someone, anyone, to walk through a door so he could ask—but no one ever came.
He’d racked his memory to think back to the night he had been taken. Tried to remember when and how it had happened. But nothing was clear. All he had was a distant jumble of memories that made no sense.
The last thing he knew for certain was that he’d walked home from the train station, climbed into bed exhausted, and read for a while about the work he was finally close to completing at the museum: Greek gods, ancient times, and myths.
Then had come the nightmare.
The one where he had been chased and attacked.
Jesus, I’ve got to be losing my mind, he thought, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was definitely suffering from sleep deprivation, and after having been locked away—God knows where—it was no wonder he was starting to believe the unbelievable.
While he’d had nothing to do but think, he’d come to the conclusion that his long hours and perpetual single status must’ve finally caught up with him to produce someone so damn hot that, even when he’d morphed into a vampire, he hadn’t had the desire to run away.
But do I really believe that? That a vampire is holding me captive? Come on, Chapel.
That seemed too ridiculous to even contemplate. Yet, as he sat there, hour after hour, scanning the opulent room he’d been locked inside, the only answers he had come up with were the impossible. His former life and any sense of normalcy seemed like such a foreign concept in his current reality that he wondered how much more he could take.
How many days? How many hours would it take until his mind would start to play tricks on him? Tell him lies?
Hell, maybe it already has.
Because there was no way he would’ve kept envisioning what he was without having had some kind of snap in his brain synapses.
Over the course of his captivity, he’d begun to catalog in great detail the objects and appearance of the room he’d awoken in. And he’d locked it away for that moment when he would escape and tell the authorities everything he could remember.
The first thing would be: black and gold. He could register those colors in the muted light cast from the three flickering candles that were secured in iron candelabras around the wall. Candles that never seemed to go out.
The second would be the wall itself—and that was the only way it could be described. It was seamless, save for the small en suite off to the side. No entry. No exit. And it was covered with studded, black leather. When he’d finally gotten brave enough to look closer, he’d noticed that each stud was actually a golden coin from the ancient Greek Archaic period—something he never would’ve known if it hadn’t been for his chosen profession.
They were very old and very expensive. And the sheer amount of them had him wondering where the owner had acquired them. It also got him thinking that maybe that was the reason he’d been taken, something to do with his job.
The room had no bed, but there was a massive chair in the center of some sort of raised stage. It looked like a mighty throne with wooden sides carved into flames that swept up towards the high ceiling. When Leo followed the line of them to the center peak, where the metallic roof struts met, he saw the one object that was causing him the most alarm.
A thick, metallic hook hung from a dangling chain. A chain that was threaded through a pulley system and attached to a crank over on the far wall. It was menacing in its silent surveillance.
He stood up on the black rug he’d been sitting on and walked over to where a tray of food had been deposited. The latest of many. He wasn’t sure how the meals were being delivered since he never saw anyone enter or leave. But every few hours, a new tray with fresh food and water was left on the floor under one of the flickering candles.
The entire situation was so unusual that he was starting to think maybe he’d never woken up. Maybe this was still part of the nightmare he’d been having.
As he looked down to the most recent tray of food, the fleshy thigh of the roasted chicken called to him as his stomach rumbled. He’d decided on the first night that, if he didn’t die from eating the food that was left, he would take anything they gave him. That way, he would be strong enough to escape when the time came.
He’d never had to fight a day in his life. Never had cause for it until now. But if it came down to it, he could be as determined as the next guy, and he wouldn’t go down without kicking, punching, and inflicting as much damage as possible to the asshole who’d taken him.
As he leaned down to pick the plate up, he heard voices for the first time on the opposite side of the wall. Forgetting the food, he took a step closer and pressed his ear flush against the wall, trying to hear what was being said.
“Christ, Alasdair. I couldn’t believe it when I heard.”
Leo was surprised to hear a high, feminine lilt to the voice. It’d never crossed his mind that he might’ve been locked up by a woman.
As if it makes a difference in the end, he chastised himself. Focus. What do they want? He wasn’t anyone important. He led a normal, everyday life and worked at the National History Museum. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of any reason why someone would take him.
Then the woman started talking again. “It’s been—”
“Thirteen days. Trust me, Isa. I am aware.”
Leo’s entire body tensed at the second voice. He would have recognized it anywhere. It was the same voice that had rendered him mute. The one from his nightmare.