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“Go, Imogen is waiting for you down there,” I spat, tears winning. His hand went limp enough for me to slip free and into Asher’s room. I kicked the door shut and leaned against it.

God, I was a fucking mess and my wrist wounds hurt.

I couldn’t bring myself to go to the basement room they’d set up for me. The colors of the bedroom were exactly how she liked.

I . . . I had been a placeholder.

FORTY-TWO

bastien

Consciousness faded in and out.In a moment where the madness released me, the barest moment, I understood my surroundings. The plush bed that creaked when I sat upon it.

A simple undershirt hugged my chest. Why were my arms bare? I scowled as I plucked the ribbed fabric. Asher called this a ‘wife-beater’? Preposterous.

He’d yanked the clothes on me even after I tried fighting him against it . . . I squinted toward the living room. What was I thinking about?

I stood and the chains rattled with my movement.

Memories flickered across my thoughts like a photo book, but after the brief flashes, they faded.

Where was I?

The words . . . what was I thinking about? I gripped the chain binding me. My hand stung, agonizing blistering, heat burned my hand. I would . . . I wanted . . . what did I want?

I paced.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

Craving. Thirst. Frenzy.

Her blood. My human.