I couldn’t stop thinking about Zaq. How was he? Had they released him from the wall?
I told myself it wasn’t my problem, that they could fuck with him as much as they liked as long as they didn’t actually kill him before it was time.
But that was a cop-out, and I knew it.
The morning after my visit to de Froulay’s lair found me back on duty in the ops room. The moment I was alone, I turned up the lights in his cell. Zaq had either fallen asleep or passed out. His eyes were closed and he hung like a rag doll from the silver handcuffs.
I zoomed the video cam in on his right wrist. The silver had burned deeply into his skin. If he didn’t wake up and take the pressure off, the cuffs would fuse to his wrists.
My stomach did an uncomfortable, twisty contraction. I dragged a hand down my face.
Not your problem, Ridley.
Maybe if I told myself that enough times, I’d even believe it.
I looked at another screen but kept coming back to Zaq.
Most of Moreau’s lair was asleep. No one would know if I gave him a break from the cuffs. I put the cameras in Zaq’s cell on a continuous loop and was out the door before I could talk myself out of it.
The cell was secured by an old-fashioned silver-reinforced deadbolt. I moved the bolt aside and opened the door, locking it behind me.
The cell’s tiny lights glowed on. The air was acrid with the stench of burned flesh.
My stomach heaved. Bile burned in my throat, and I almost lost my breakfast.
Zaq snarled and jerked his head up. He glared, wild-eyed, at me.
Like I was the monster.
I took short, shallow breaths through my mouth. Frozen by what I saw on his face.
The wild-eyed expression faded. “Reaper.” With a groan, he straightened his legs and moved his arms, easing the pull of the cuffs.
We both looked at his wrists. The skin was an angry, swollen red.
His gaze came back to mine. “What d’you want?” His voice was as raw as his wrists.
“I’m going to release you from the cuffs.”
“Yeah?” He eyed me, clearly wondering what the catch was.
“But try any tricks, and I’ll hurt you. Is that clear?” I showed him my switchblade. “I’ll give you two hours to sleep, then wake you up and cuff you again.”
“Understood.”
I tucked my blade into a loop of my pants and crossed to him. I faltered.
Zaq’s throat bore a pair of fresh bite marks.
I swallowed hard and fumbled with his first cuff.
Étan had left for Montreal, which meant another vampire—a vampire here in the lair—had drunk from him. At least this vampire had sealed the wounds.
I moved my gaze to Zaq’s face. He stared back, a corner of his mouth lifted in a sideways grin like it didn’t matter.
But my body was just inches from his. I felt him tense, heard his harsh swallow. It mattered, all right.
I turned back to the cuff and pressed the buttons, then released him from the second one as well. I stepped back and pulled my blade from the loop.
He brought his arms down. Winced.
He set his jaw and doggedly shook them out, but when he tried to move forward, his knees crumpled.
I swore under my breath and leapt to his aid, sliding an arm around his waist. “Easy there.”
He leaned into me, lungs working overtime. “Thanks,” he said in that raspy voice.
My grip tightened on him. His spicy scent filled my nostrils. My head swam with his nearness.
And I wanted to get even closer.
My throat cinched with a confused mixture of arousal and fear. I waited for him to regain his footing, then released him like he was a hot grenade.
I made my tone hard, a knee-jerk response to the confusion he stirred in me. “Don’t make me regret it.”
He grunted and stumbled toward the partition that concealed the toilet and sink. “I need to take a leak.”
I nodded and hunkered down next to the door so he wouldn’t get any ideas about opening it and escaping in the shadow dimension.
When he reemerged, he’d cleaned the blood from his throat and wrists. He sat down against the opposite wall. He bent his knees and set his arms on his thighs so his wrists didn’t touch anything.
I waited for him to lie down, but he didn’t.
I understood. If I were Zaq Kral, I wouldn’t want to do anything as vulnerable as lie down around me, either.
He leaned his head against the wall. His lids shut and his breathing slowed.
To distract myself from his nearness and these confusing feelings I was having for him, I flipped my switchblade from hand to hand, sending it spinning into the air and catching it again. Normally, I enjoyed the challenge of trying to catch it by the handle without cutting my hand on the silver blade. But today, I couldn’t concentrate. I stopped before I hurt myself.
I thought Zaq had fallen asleep when his eyes opened. They gleamed green in the dim light.
“You’re a slayer, aren’t you?”
I stiffened. “Go to sleep.”
He ignored me. “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re different from the others in the lair. You do your own thing, and I can tell you’re not part of their hierarchy. Hell, you’re not even French. And you’re wicked good with those switchblades.”
I moved a shoulder.
“I don’t hear a no.” His smile was grim. “So you are a slayer.”
“Go to sleep,” I repeated.
“What I want to know is why the fuck you’re a part of this? You slayers are supposed to take out the bad vampires, the insane ones or the ones who are just plain evil. Why mess with me? I’m not even a major player in my father’s syndicate.”
Doubt flickered through me. I rubbed a thumb over my blade’s worn steel handle.
There it was, the question that had been niggling at me ever since I’d seen how bad they were treating Zaq.
Why were we messing with Zaq Kral? Yeah, he was bait, which was bad enough. But the plan was to take out not just his father, but Zaq and his two brothers as well.
It was like SI had been coopted by Victorine Tremblay as a sneaky way to break the treaty she’d signed with the Krals.
“Answer me.” Zaq’s voice was low but insistent. The voice of a man used to being obeyed. “This isn’t a job for Slayers, Inc. That blond vampire—Étan? He’s the Tremblay Syndicate lieutenant. This is revenge, pure and simple. His prima wants my family dead.”
He was right. Victorine Tremblay hated Karoly Kral, and she probably did want his sons dead.
The flicker of doubt burned brighter. I ruthlessly smothered it. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
He didn’t let up. “You don’t know what this is about, do you? They give you an order, and you carry it out.”
I clamped my fingers around the switchblade handle. If he thought I was ashamed of what I did, he could think again.
“That’s right. Because as far as I’m concerned, take you out, and there’s one less monster in the world.”
“Monster?” His chin jerked back like I’d struck him. “That’s what you think I am?”
“You tell me. You drink blood. You’re a member of a syndicate that preys on humans. What does that make you?”
“A dhampir.” He placed his palms on his knees and leaned forward. “It makes me a dhampir. Same as you.”