“Come closer,” he hissed, his vocal cords vibrating like razor wire strung too tight.

“Not until you show her to me,” said Connal. He was too hungry for Zillah’s games, nearly wavering on his feet with his need for blood.

Zillah shoved the woman in front of him, taking no more care for her comfort than he would have for that of a used newspaper. She stumbled, but Zillah’s iron grip held her on her feet.

She was young, perhaps two decades old. Her dirty hair hung limp around her gaunt face, stiff with tangles. He didn’t know what color it would have been had she been clean, but now it was a dull, dirty brown, falling nearly to her hips. Her arms and neck were riddled with angry red marks where others had fed from her and not bothered to heal the wounds. A glazed, wild look filled her eyes, though she never quite met Connal’s gaze.

How long had she been a prisoner of the Synestryn? Had she ever known freedom? Or had she been born into their hands?

Not that Connal cared. As long as her veins were full, nothing else mattered.

He moved forward, gliding over the rough ground, hoping she’d look at him for just a moment. That was all he’d need to ensnare her, trap her gaze.

“You’ve done well,” said Zillah. “The wall surrounding Dabyr crumbled as you said it would.”

“And yet Sibyl remains with us. You failed to keep her.” After the chances Connal had taken, that failure scraped against his too-thin patience.

Zillah shrugged, and his movement shifted the frail woman. “There will be other opportunities. We’re patient.”

But Connal wasn’t. He needed to feed. He needed to feel this woman’s blood sliding down his throat, filling his belly, drenching him with its power. He wasn’t going to make it to sunrise without her, and waiting for Zillah to give him the necessary permission was driving him mad with impatience.

“Her bodyguard is still unconscious.”

“Perhaps you should be the one to tend him. Feed from him and finish what we started.”

“I can’t act so openly. You know that. If I’m discovered, they won’t simply kill me. They’ll strip my mind to pieces searching for your identity.”

“I’m not ready for that to happen yet,” said Zillah, as if he’d already considered allowing it to happen. “I have another task for you.”

“No. Not until you’ve let me have her. I need to feed.”

The woman stood listless inside Zillah’s grasp. Even when Connal spoke of drinking her blood as so many others clearly had, she displayed no reaction.

Zillah tossed her toward Connal, and if he hadn’t caught her, she would have simply crumpled to the street like so much garbage.

He held her by the shoulders, feeling the frail bones beneath his hands, smelling the stink of her unwashed body. She looked up at him then, and he could see now there was no life in her hazel eyes, only bleak acceptance. All that remained of whatever she had once been was a hollow shell of flesh.

Connal wanted to feel pity. He wanted to be the kind of man who would whisk her away and save her, but he wasn’t. He was too desperate for that. Too hungry.

He laced his fingers in her matted hair, pulled her head back to bare her neck and bit deep.

Sweet, perfect power flowed over his tongue, making the hungry beast within him roar in triumph. Her pulse pounded in his ears, against his lips, a steady counterpoint to the frantic gulping sounds rising from his throat.

His food struggled weakly, but he held her still, taking his fill, knowing it would never be enough, even if he drained her dry.

“Enough,” he heard Zillah hiss, too close for safety. “You’ll hurt the child.”

Child?

Connal’s food was wrenched from his arms, spilling precious drops of blood down her neck as well as his chin. He scooped up the mess with his fingers and licked them clean.

Zillah slid his too-long finger over her open wound and her skin closed beneath his touch, stopping the flow.

Connal shook himself, trying to clear his head of the blood haze fogging his thoughts. Power streaked through his body, burning him from the inside out.

Rage welled up inside his chest. He wanted to pound something to the ground, to grind it under his heel until nothing remained. The need for violence twisted within him until he was reaching toward the woman, toward Zillah.

“Stop,” was all he said, and that single command, nearly a whisper of sound, froze Connal in place.

A slow, steady smile bared Zillah’s sharp teeth. “I see our alterations worked. Lovely.”

“What alterations? What have you done to me?” demanded Connal.

Zillah slid his hand over the woman’s belly. His gray skin stretched over his fingers, giving the extra joint on each digit a deathly quality. “She carries my child. My weapon. You drank his blood and now you’re mine.”

“I was already doing what you wanted. You didn’t need to resort to this.”

“Didn’t I? I could smell your sympathy for the woman a mile away. It was only a matter of time before you did something rash. Now, I no longer need to worry.”

Connal tried to move, but his body refused to respond. It was as if he was a toy and only Zillah had the remote control. “There must be something you want. Just tell me and let me go.”

“There is,” said Zillah. “You’re going to take a box back to Dabyr for me.”

“What’s in the box?”

Zillah smiled. “The Theronai’s death. This lovely little creature will hunt and incapacitate their women, making them appear dead. You will declare them dead and bring their bodies to me.”

“I’ll be caught and killed.”

“Then you’re of no use to me and you may as well die.”

Meaning Zillah would kill him. Or worse, stop feeding him.

Panic seized Connal, making his words come out rushed and breathless. “I’ll find a way.”

Zillah’s smile widened, baring his sharp teeth. “For your sake, I hope so.”

Chapter 11

Lexi shook herself, trying to get rid of the drugged feeling that fogged her brain. Ronan had done something to her. She was sure of it.

Anger flared bright in her gut, burning off the remaining fog that plagued her.

That bastard. She was going to kill him for fucking with her mind like that—or at least twist his nuts until he wished he was dead. Then she’d make him undo it. Whatever it was.

She rushed out to the living room and through the front door just in time to see him get behind the wheel of his van and drive away. She got as far as the bottom step before that same sickening, itchy feeling she’d gotten from the bracelet swarmed over her, making her skid to a halt. Her insides twisted and she clutched her stomach in an effort to figure out where to scratch. Nothing helped.

The need to go back inside overwhelmed her. With a frustrated shout, she turned around.

Defeated, Lexi shut the door and leaned her head against the inside of the cool wood.

She was no match for these men. She had no magical powers and hardly any knowledge of what they were capable of. That had been made crystal clear when Ronan had tricked her into promising to stay here.

Just until Ronan was gone, which he was now.

She could leave. At least she thought she could.

Lexi peered out the window, looking for any signs Ronan was still nearby. It was dark, but she saw no glow of headlights in the distance or plume of dust from his passage over the gravel roads.

He was gone. Could she go now, or did her vow still hold her captive?

Lexi opened the door and stepped outside, bracing herself for that awful feeling. It didn’t come. She took another step and it still didn’t come. She was halfway to the truck and feeling fine.

She could leave now and be free. The keys were in her pocket. The money Zach gave her was in her suitcase. She could make it last a long time—go into hiding where not even Zach would find her. She’d splurge on a new tattoo to cover the bloodmarker that had shifted farther down her back, and he’d never be able to find her. She would take the map revealing the location of the Sentinel compound back to the Defenders and let them deal with saving Helen. Heaven knew they were better equipped to handle something like that than she was.

But what about Zach?

She wasn’t even sure he was going to live through the night, and even though she’d planned on being the one to kill him just yesterday, something had changed. She couldn’t leave him here to die. Not if there was anything she could do about it.

So, what now? Was she going to patch him back up so that the Defenders could kill him? So she could?

Lexi rubbed her hands over her face in frustration. If Zach had been like Ronan, this whole mess would be a lot simpler. But he hadn’t. He’d been kind.

He’d given her money so she could survive on the run. He’d taken the bracelet off her wrist, releasing her so she could flee to safety without him. He’d gone out to face those monsters rather than let them attack the people in the restaurant.

Those were not the actions of an evil killer. They were the actions of a caring, protective man.

Maybe Zach was the one Sentinel worth saving. Lexi had to follow her instincts and take the risk that she was wrong. She’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try to save him now so she could find out if he’d lied.

Of course, nothing in Mom’s journal helped her when it came to dealing with monster poisoning.

Bare skin to bare skin.

It was probably some kind of trick Ronan was playing on her, taking advantage of her ignorance. But for what purpose? It wasn’t like he stuck around to laugh at her when she fell for his trick.

Lexi went back into the house and stood beside Zach. His body was bathed in sweat; his chest was bare except for the large tree tattoo. Even from here, she could see the branches swaying in time with the wind outside. His muscles stood out in hard ridges, fighting the pain that poison or the antidote was causing him. The wound on his shoulder had closed up, but it was still an angry red pucker marring his smooth brown skin.

Even with the wound, his body was beautiful. Touching him would be no hardship.

He shifted on the bed and a deep sound of pain welled up from his lips. He was hurting and she had to make it stop.

Bare skin on bare skin.

Maybe it wasn’t a joke, but some way of getting her to go along with whatever nefarious plan they had. If so, it was probably going to work. The idea of standing there while he suffered made her sick.

Lexi wet a cloth in the sink and went to Zach’s side. She wasn’t sure if she was wrong about him or not, but she was sure that she couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the cloth to his face, wiping away the sweat. He sucked in a shocked breath and his eyes fluttered open.

A look of relief so intense she could feel it heat her skin crossed his face. He reached up with a trembling hand and touched her cheek. “You’re safe,” he whispered.

Lexi tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Perfectly safe. So will you be, once you get a little rest. Ronan patched you up.”

His hand fell to his chest as if he were too exhausted to hold it up. “Tell me you didn’t give him your blood.”