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To his dismay, Alex lurched to her feet, but not to escape. No. To attack. She lunged at Helen, snarling, “You psychotic bitch. You’re never going to get away with this. Victor and his men will hunt you to the far corners of this planet.”

Helen’s palm cracked against Alex’s cheek. “Shut up,” she screeched. “You know nothing, you ignorant pet.”

The metal links burrowed deeper into Jericho’s straining wrists. Blood trickled down his arms. Again, he was helpless. Just like he had been with Sivanah.

Helen plucked Ryder’s gun from his hip, fisted Alex’s hair and dragged her across the cell. Once in front of Jericho, she shoved the barrel of the gun into Alex’s temple.

His heart lurched in his chest. By the gods, no.

“Take it,” Helen hissed, dangling a key from her finger.

Twenty-Three

With trembling fingers,Alex grasped the key.

Helen shoved her forward, and she stumbled into Jericho, her hands connecting with his bare chest.

Pain. Hunger. Madness.

His shields were gone. She sucked in a breath. The drug was working even faster than she’d feared.

“Unlock him.” Helen backed toward the door, still aiming at Alex’s head.

“No,” Jericho snarled.

“Either you remove the locks, or Jericho can watch while Ryder cuts you apart piece by piece.” She let out a bark of hyena-like laughter. “The irony is, in just a few hours, Jericho will do it for him. Don’t worry, darling, I have a lovely hand-carved box picked out for you, something well suited to Victor’s tastes. That way, he can add your corpse to his collection.”

She gestured with her weapon. “Locks. Now.”

Light from the single bulb glinted off the gun’s barrel. With no other option, Alex tucked the key into the padlock.

“Alex,” Jericho groaned when the last lock slid free. He clutched the chains in his fists, rejecting his freedom.

Their eyes met, and her heart constricted. Dear Lord, his eyes. Slashes of red streaked his golden irises, the same as in her nightmare.

“Now, throw them to me.” The hand Helen extended shook with nerves. Seemed her confidence had fled now that Jericho was almost free. She caught the locks Alex tossed her, exited, and quickly slammed the door.

“Have fun, you two,” Helen sang. “Tomorrow night at sunset, Ryder will deliver what is left of Alex to our clan leader. And Jericho returns to the fold.”

Their footsteps echoed, moving away at a quick pace while Helen’s voice filtered down the hall, “I do hope he lasts longer than the last one.”

The last one?

Alex’s gaze snapped to Jericho. She grimaced at the sight of the black veins spreading across his chest—just like the rogue at Pulse. The rogue who ripped out the waitress’s throat. The rogue with blood dripping from his fangs and murder in his eyes. The rogue who was more monster than man.

Nausea scorched her stomach. If Helen had her way, Alex would share the waitress’s fate.

The same fate as her mother.

Images of the attack came to her in a flood. The rogue’s claws tearing at her mother’s body, the blood, the screams. Alex’s jaw clenched. No. She refused to go out that way.

Tension wracked Jericho’s powerful frame. His corded muscles quivered with the strain. Agony and torment etched his face as he struggled to stay in control.

Last night, he’d shown her a glimpse of the darkness he kept at bay. She knew how much he valued that control and what it cost him.

From fierce protector to gentle lover, she was intimately familiar with every facet of this vampire. The man would cut off his own arm before harming one hair on her head.

But the predator…