Panic made her heart thunder, her breaths sounded like hissing steam. If she could calm down, she might be able to hear. She fought to focus.
Whoever carried her breathed heavily, and his breath stank of beer and onions. Scraping sounds came to her ears, which she guessed were shuffling footsteps on a hard floor. There were other footsteps, too, crisper ones, which meant boots striking the ground in a refined gait.
Voices reached her ears, indistinct, as if through a thick, muffling fog.
“Bring her in here,” growled one voice—a deep and harsh male voice.
“No one can speak of this. If the rest of the Society learns of it . . . damnation, they have vampires within the Society. They’ve allowed the enemy to breach the walls.” This was a second voice, and it was low and filled with righteous anger. “If they knew about this, they would stop us. It’s the poison within. They want us to stop hunting monsters. They talk about acceptance. All of it is lies. They are trying to convince us to stop hunting them so they can take over the world.”
Hunting monsters. To these men, she must be a monster. Her heartbeat galloped, but her heart had nowhere to go, and she felt the pounding against her rib cage, even up in her throat.
There was a sharp, sour smell, as if someone had spilled brandy on the floor.
More footsteps sounded on the floor behind her, and her heart jolted with increased fear. There were more than just the two men. How many, she couldn’t distinguish. But with so many people surrounding her, she couldn’t hope to escape. She had to stay still, pretend to be unconscious. And wait.
Ravenhunt couldn’t come for her. He’d been shot just before she’d passed out.
It was sheer agony to think of it. Was he . . . heavens, was he dead? Could a vampire, who was undead, actually die? She didn’t know.
What if he had been destroyed? Her teeth sank into her lip, tears leaked under the blindfold.
She had to get away to go to him. Only hours ago—was it even that long?—she had fled, believing she must run for her life from Ravenhunt. Now, she was determined to help him.
Perhaps she was crazy to want to do it and insane to feel anything but fear for a vampire.
But Ophelia didn’t care anymore. Ravenhunt was the only person who had ever really protected her. She owed him so much.
How was she going to accomplish an escape when she was wrapped in a blanket and held in the strong arms of a man who thought her a monster that deserved to be killed?
Her breathing sped up, and she sucked in musty air. The blanket and the rock-hard arms were squeezing her lungs and she could barely breathe.
Don’t panic. If she could confront the fact Ravenhunt was a vampire without fainting or collapsing, she could cope with this. What she needed was courage. Ravenhunt had told her how brave she was. Perhaps she had better believe him.
With black cloth tied over her eyes, she couldn’t see a thing. Ophelia strained to hear sound, but it was quiet. She was in a place that smelled of spirits—a wine cellar? The basement of a tavern? There was only the dull echo of footsteps.
A clattering sound, following by a soft creak—a door opening?
“We must succeed in our mission.” The second man spoke again. Anger punctuated his every word. “We can never have peace with monsters like these. It is our sworn duty to slay them, and slay them we must.”
Ophelia fought to not tremble. Her captors must think her unconscious, oblivious to everything they said.
“The foolish old men of the Society called them ‘tamed’ vampires,” snarled a new voice, one she had not heard before. “Bloody hell, a vampire is a soulless beast. It cannot be tamed.”
“We have to make the Royal Society pure again,” whined another man, who had not spoken before. “But we were told to wait—”
“We had the opportunity to capture her and we took it,” growled the first voice. “She had escaped Ravenhunt, we had to act.”
“I agree,” said the second man.
“With her power, we could destroy them all,” said the first man. “It was senseless to wait.”
The lust in his voice made bile rise in her throat.
“Agreed,” the second man repeated. “We need time to study her for our purposes and our purposes alone. We will give the doctor the chance to try to understand where her power comes from,” the second man said, authority in his tone.
“Then he takes her?”
“Possibly,” snapped the second man. “Or we kill her. I do not believe anyone should possess her power.”
She shuddered, even as the whiny man spoke again. “Double-cross him? That is madness.”
“Not when we have the upper hand.” The second man’s voice was cold as an iceberg.
Whom were they speaking of? Could the man who wanted to take her be Ravenhunt’s client?
The men remained silent. The scent of alcohol grew stronger. There was mustiness—it stank like a damp basement. Another door groaned on old hinges. Ophelia was brought into light. She could see it at the edges of the blindfold and feel it on her face.
Strong arms juggled her, and then a cold flat surface pressed against her back, her bottom, her legs. She had been laid on what felt like a table.
“Get the doctor in. Let’s be done with this.” The speaker was the second man.
Doctor? Was the table for operating—?
“Wait,” cried the first man. His voice was higher-pitched now. “How is the surgeon going to cut her up without touching her? I never asked. Will it not kill him?”
“It can be done with a minimum amount of contact.” That was the low-timbered tones of the second man. “He will be gloved—”
“That isn’t enough with her,” broke in the first man.
They wanted to dissect her, just as Ravenhunt had warned her. Nausea cramped in her belly. Everything Ravenhunt had told her was true. He was in truth the only person she could trust, even though he was a vampire.
But she knew it too late, far too late, for he had probably been destroyed for her.
Ravenhunt had suffered in his past. Even though he’d refused to speak of it, she seen the hint of his pain raw in his eyes, and she’d watched his body stiffen. He’d retreated from her, and she knew he was deeply troubled. She did not know how he had become a vampire, but whatever had happened to him pained him greatly.
She’d been a fool to run away from him.
The second man gave a mocking chuckle. An awful sound, filled with evil delight, and it crawled over her like rats on her skin. “She will be strapped down.”
God, no.
There was a sound, like a snap of metal. Strips of cold, hard iron pressed against her—she knew that pressure must come from the straps the man had spoken about. The flat surface of them compressed her skin, pushing down across her shoulders and her thighs.
She couldn’t pretend she was unconscious. She must fight before she was helpless.
Caught in the blanket, she thrashed and threw her body from side to side, trying to roll free.
“The monster’s awake.”
“Stop her.”
“Don’t touch her—”
But that warning came too late. Strong hands gripped her and shoved her onto her back. The man gave a howl of panic and jerked his hands away. Ophelia tried to move but the straps came across her again and were immediately cinched tight, sucking her down against the hard surface. She was bound to the table.
“The doctor will be here soon.”
Footsteps moved away from her. The door shut with a mournful creak, then she heard another sound. The clink of a key turning in a lock.