The day after the party, I finally went back to Zaq’s cell. It had been three days since I’d last visited. The dimly lit, black-and-white video feed hadn’t prepared me for what I’d find.
He looked like a different man. The silver was eating away at his insides. His face was pale, and the blood craving was a live animal in his eyes. His features had sharpened, the human in him having been carved away to reveal the vampire beneath.
The vampire that was the only thing keeping him alive because a human would’ve been dead from dehydration by now.
Zaq’s head wobbled on his neck. His gaze went to my throat. He swallowed, then with an obvious effort, focused on my face.
“Hey.” His voice came out as a croak.
Shame sank sharp teeth into my chest. He was a dhampir. He could withstand weeks, even months, of this torture.
But that made what we were doing to him even more horrifying.
Think like a slayer.
I shoved the shame down, cramming it into a dark corner of my soul along with other questionable things I’d done in my years with SI.
“You know the drill.” I put the container of steak tartare and blood-wine I’d brought on the floor and showed him my switchblade.
“Yeah.” His gaze locked on the food.
I released him from the cuffs, trying not to look at the ugly wounds on his wrists, and stepped back. He brought his arms down. His agonized groan sank those sharp teeth of shame deeper.
And oddly, my own arms cramped. I gave them a shake at the same time he shook out his own.
What the hell? It was like I felt his pain in my own body, which wasn’t just odd, it was creep-me-out weird.
Instead of going for the food, he slid down the wall and stayed there, legs sprawled out before him, head resting on the concrete.
“You need to eat.” My tone was stiff. I was still stuck in the creepiness of feeling his pain.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No shit, cher. Maybe if you could push that over here—?”
The shame returned as I realized he was too weak to get it.
I opened the container of raw steak and put it on his lap along with a fork, then uncorked the wine. He had to use both hands to lift the bottle to his mouth, but after a few gulps, he had enough strength to dig into the meat.
I crouched on my haunches near the door, toying with my switchblade and watching him eat with a satisfaction that was way out of proportion to what I should be feeling.
And it scared me.
The man was getting to me.
Why else would I risk feeding him? If I kept it up, Moreau was bound to find out I was aiding the very man I’d helped kidnap.
The enforcer would either stake me himself or report me to Crow, and God knew what she’d do to me. I’d seen her carve pieces out of slayers who disobeyed orders. The dhampirs healed, but the humans didn’t always make it.
And even a dhampir remembered that kind of pain.
Zaq ate with a slow, steady focus. Even half-starved, he didn’t shovel the food in. Instead, he showed impressive control, taking time to chew the steak tartare thoroughly. He chased it down with sips of blood-wine.
At least I wasn’t feeling him anymore.
Halfway through, he set his fork down and leaned his head back against the wall. I noted with that queer satisfaction that his cheeks had regained some color.
He reached for the bottle without moving his head and drank some more wine. “Thank you,” he said as he put the bottle down.
I grunted. I didn’t deserve his thanks, and I knew it. Not when I was the one who’d put him in here in the first place.
He eyed me from beneath lowered lids. “So is it true my father was in Paris but didn’t try to rescue me?”
I frowned. “Someone told you that?”
“Yeah. Ines and the others. They said he left me here to rot. Is it true?” His voice was matter of fact, but I heard the vulnerability beneath the question.
I knew I should tell him yes. It was clear Moreau was trying to break Zaq, both physically and mentally.
But I didn’t. Instead, I told him the truth. “I don’t know. I do know that according to our intel your father came to Paris. But he’s made no attempt to rescue you.”
Zaq’s face fell. “I see.”
He reached for the steak tartare and this time, didn’t stop until it was gone. He took another swig of the wine. His strong throat worked as he swallowed, and I wanted more than anything to press a kiss to it. Not a bite. A kiss.
It was my turn to swallow. I looked away. “You need to take a piss?”
“Yeah.” He pushed himself to his feet, careful as an old man. He blinked, then stumbled forward and nearly face-planted.
I jumped up, crossing the cell in a few swift steps and sliding an arm around his waist. “Here. Lean on me.”
“Sorry.” He draped an arm over my shoulders and I helped him the few feet to the toilet.
He was too warm and too damn skinny, but he still felt good. Hard-muscled and just the right height for my cheek to press against his shoulder.
I glanced up. He was looking at me, his beautiful green-and-gold eyes just inches from mine. My breath hitched and my mouth dried.
He gave me a crooked grin that was like a sneaky arrow to the heart. “I can handle things from here.”
My arm tightened on him. I didn’t want to release him; I wanted to help him.
I had to force my arm to remove itself from his waist. “I’ll be right outside the door.”
When I returned a few minutes later, he was curled up on the floor, asleep. I crouched down and watched him. Learning his features—his strong nose, his sculpted cheeks, his stubbled jaw, his full bottom lip.
I reached out and touched his mouth before I realized what I was doing. Caressed that full lower lip. It was warm, soft.
And this time I did want to bite. To bite and kiss and suck and lick.
His eyelids fluttered. I hurriedly brought my hand back to my side and backed away. But I kept watching him. I couldn’t look away.
Two hours passed. I didn’t dare stay with him any longer. Reluctantly, I crossed the cell and shook his shoulder. “Wake up. I have to go.”
Zaq blinked and stretched. I was pleased to see he looked better. His eyes were clear and a thin new skin had formed over the burns on his wrists. He downed the last of the blood-wine and stood up.
I nodded at the wall, but instead of raising his arms, he cocked his head to the side. “Why are you doing this?”
It was the second time he’d asked that. I set my jaw. “I told you.”
“No, you don’t understand. I meant, why are you feeding me? Letting me sleep?”
I shook my head. “I have to go. Get up against the wall.”
“Reaper.” His hollow-cheeked angel’s gaze beseeched me. “You don’t have to do this. This is fucked up and you know it. Help me. Please.”
I hesitated, a part of me, a big part, tempted to agree.
He moved closer. “My father—he’ll pay you. Anything you ask.”
The hair on my nape lifted. If I were a wolf, my hackles would’ve raised. It was precisely the wrong thing to say. He’d reminded me who Zaq Kral was—and who I was. A slayer who’d dedicated her life to killing monsters like Karoly Kral.
I’d put my switchblades away, but now I drew one and released the catch. “Back. Against. The. Wall.”
For a tense moment, I thought he’d disobey. I stalked toward him, blade out.
He spread his arms, mouth bent in a warped grin. Daring me to stick the knife in him. “You’re not going to stake me and we both know it.”
“Don’t bet on it.” I touched the sharp point to his sternum.
“Do it, then.” Jaguar eyes seared into mine.
The air between us crackled and hissed. My whole body heated.
You’re pissed off, not hot for him.
Which was a barefaced lie. In some insane way, I was enjoying this, and my female parts were practically purring.
I didn’t say a word. To be honest, I didn’t trust myself to speak. Who knew what would come out of my mouth?
Instead, I shoved the knife into my belt loop and smacked my open hand onto his chest. “Now, dammit.”
“Oh, Reaper.” His voice was tender. Like he knew I was fighting myself as much as him.
When I growled, he gave me a knowing, stomach-tilting smile, and without bringing his arms down, took a step back.
I kept up the pressure. He took another step back, and another, until his back hit the wall, his wrists hovering over the cuffs. I snapped them into place and whipped around. I snatched up the container and wine bottle and fast-walked to the door like the coward I was.
I fumbled with the lock, jerked the door open.
“You feel it too.” Soft words, but they slammed into me like a hail of bullets. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know there’s something there.”