Page 87 of Inked & Bloodbound

I think we’re underground. There’s no natural light, just the warm glow of bulbs that line the curved sandstone corridors. No air circulating, just a faint smell of lingering damp. It’s freezing down here, so it doesn’t help that even through his tight black shirt, Angel’s body feels ice-cold against mine.

He ushers us through a series of tunnels and clearings, never stopping long enough for me to fully register my surroundings. One minute we’re walking down a hotel-like corridor lined with locked doors. The next, we’re moving through a communal space with a weathered pool table at the center. When we pass a room filled withfloor-to-ceiling glass-fronted refrigerators housing hundreds of hospital blood bags, I gasp, but Angel doesn’t react.

For a while, it’s very quiet, and the only thing I hear is our footsteps echoing through the passageway, but as we edge deeper into the tunnel system, I register the sound of something else. It’s faint at first, but when I strain, I can make out the sounds of moans drifting through the space. They’re not sounds of pleasure, more like pain, and when we turn another blind corner, I discover the source.

“Close your eyes,” Angel warns.

But I don’t.

The hallway ahead is a war zone. Bodies line the walls—some groaning, others ominously still. Piles of ash mark the spots where vampires have been completely destroyed, the gray powder scattered across the stone floor like macabre confetti. The air reeks of copper and sulfur.

“Oh my god. What happened here?” I whisper as I step over a bleeding vampire clutching his side.

“Your boyfriend,” he grunts.

Cass is here? My heart speeds up at the thought of him in this place looking for me. Tearing into anonymous goons and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Horrifically romantic. I might not be ready to forgive him for leaving me back there, but this is a step in the right direction.

We turn a corner, and the corridor opens into a dining room that belongs in a different century. Vaulted ceilings disappear into darkness above ornate chandeliers dripping with crystals. A massive table dominates the space, with three places set with delicate china and crystal glasses. Through the center is a strange buffet of mismatched food served on elaborate platters. Everything from fried chicken to bowls of shrimp and greasy noodles.

And at the head of the table is a man. An older, handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing an all-black suit. When I lock eyes with him, he takes out his brass pocket watch from his breast pocket and flicks it open.

“There she is, right on time. Come on in, Miss Vervain. Please,join us,” he says, gesturing to the seat beside him. “I’m Lazaro. The Primus of the Sixth Clan. There’s no need to be afraid.”

I tentatively move toward the place setting intended for me and register the other figure at the table.

Cassini, who had been sitting with his back to the door, slowly turns to look at me. He looks like he’s been through a meat grinder. Blood stains his torn shirt, his face is covered in crimson, and there are deep gashes across his knuckles that haven’t healed yet.

But it’s not the physical damage that makes my breath catch—it’s the red dot of laser light centered perfectly on his chest.

A tall, thin man steps out of the shadows holding a heavy crossbow with an ornate carved handle. The bolt loaded into it gleams with silver, and the laser sight never wavers from Cassini’s heart.

I swallow hard when I realize the implication. One wrong move, and he’s dead.

“Don’t worry about Julian and his favorite toy. It’s just a precaution, you understand?” Lazaro says with a dismissive wave in Cass’ direction. “I believe you know this man? He’s caused quite a bit of trouble for us already. I hope that with you here, we can have a civilized conversation.”

The man in the corner doesn’t say a word, but I hear him thinking loudly. Over and over again he chants.Just give me a reason, Valbruna. Give me a reason.

I settle into the chair opposite Cass, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I stare at a cartoonishly crispy piece of fried chicken on the platter in front of me, mapping the ridges and valleys of its golden crust like a sun-scorched canyon. When I know it’s safe, I throw a glance over at my latest captor, Lazaro.

The man has a presence, I’ll give him that. He also has a trace of an accent like Cass. A current of something European bubbling beneath the affected Texas twang. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich, commanding authority without ever needing to raise the volume.

“I regret what happened with the twins,” Lazaro says, pushing his fingers together like a steeple. “I trust you’re physically unharmed?”

I nod and look down at my lap.

“Good,” he continues. “I’m sure the whole experience was very traumatic, but you’re safe now. Please help yourself to anything on the table. As you may know, we vampires don’t dine on your human food, but I wanted to ensure you had everything you needed.”

There’s no way I’m eating any of this food, not after what happened with my beer at the club, but I pick up a taco and drop it on my plate to show compliance.

“What is this place?” I ask, my voice wobbling.

“Welcome to the Hollow, Lily. Cozy, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing to an enormous candelabra. “It’s the place many of my most loyal vampires call home. It’s not usually such a mess, of course, but your friend Cassini had some aggression to work out. Still, no harm done.”

“What are you going to do with me?” I whisper. “Are you going to drug me? Or…kill me?”

Lazaro’s brow knots together in concern. “You dear sweet girl, no. Of course not. Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

“The women at the club. Amber, Megan, all the other?—”