Page 162 of Red Rooster

37

The Ingraham Institute

Subbasement Two

Val returned to himself to the sound of growling. Two different kinds: wolf and vampire.

He blinked off the last of his walk and sat up straight against the cell wall, the scene clearing as vision returned. The baroness stood with one small hand curled around one of the bars of his cell. Her husband stood in front of her, shoulders bunched, head dropped – protecting his throat – as he growled at…

Vlad.

Vlad looked as cold and impassive as ever, hands on his hips, staring at the snarling baron with a bored air.

“Shit,” Val murmured, and all eyes came to him. “What’s happening?”

Annabel looked completely unlike herself: white-faced, big-eyed, lips pressed together into a thin, pale line. Unspeaking.

Fulk kept growling.

Vlad said, “I came to see if you could be convinced to cooperate, and instead found you consorting with the enemy. As usual.”

Vlad had known. How had he know? Val glanced at the baroness – her expression stricken – and wet his lips. “What in the world are you talking about?” he asked carefully.

“Sometimes you talk to yourself when you dreamwalk,” Vlad said. “You used to as a boy. And you did it now: you were warning someone of a trap.”

The bottom fell out of his stomach, and he tried hard to keep his face blank.

I’m sorry, Annabel mouthed.

Vlad said, “You and the wolf bitch–”

Fulk snarled again, a rolling, barking, furious sound half-panic and half-murderous intent.

“Have some respect for the Lady Strange,” Val said. His heart beat wildly; his skin seemed to shrink over his bones. His brother was known for many things, and leniency had never been among them.

Vlad continued, unconcerned. “She’s a Familiar, and doesn’t know any better. Butyou, brother.” His gaze could have nicked steel.

Val took a series of short, insufficient breaths. Lifted his chin high. “My lord and lady, don’t defend me, please.” Even though they weren’t; Fulk’s only worry was for his mate.

“Leave us,” Vlad said.

Fulk put an arm around his wife and hustled her out, still growling under his breath. Neither of them looked back.

When they were alone – their breathing echoed off the stone around them, competing rhythms; one regular, one erratic – Vlad stepped forward, and pressed a flattened hand to the bars. “The problem with you, Radu” –

Val didn’t correct him, only ground his teeth together.

– “is that you never understood that actions have consequences. Even for princes.”

Val lifted his hands so that his chains rattled. “I’m already a prisoner. Would you punish me further?”

The first sign of emotion flickered in Vlad’s gaze, there and then gone again. He frowned. “I have never punished you, brother.”

Val scoffed.

“I have only ever done what was necessary for the good of my people, whether you liked it or not.”

Val’s pulse reached a new crescendo, a rabbit-fast tattoo in his wrists, against the quelling silver of his cuffs. He lurched forward, and the chains made a snapping sound as they grew taut. “Likedit? Whether Iliked it? You make it sound like I disagreed with your taste in castle construction,” he spat. “Youabandonedme. You left me there with that – when he had–” He bit off the rest of the words with a physical effort that brought sweat prickling up along his hairline. Swallowed them down, choked on them. Endured the way they made his stomach cramp.