Page 25 of The Huntress (The Blood of Legends #1)
Chapter Twenty-Five
ALONE
C allie awoke with a start, inundated with fierce darts of discomfort when she fluttered her eyes open. This wasn’t the pleasant awakening she’d become accustomed to. No warm blanket cocooned her, no pillow to rest her head upon. Most certainly no Gabe sprawled alongside her, his warmth reaching through her slumber to offer comfort.
She was lying on a dirt floor of compacted sand, each granule rubbing her skin like coarse sandpaper. The cold seeped into her bones, along with the realization of where she was—an unused cellar or basement. She shivered, rubbing her hands along her upper arms, hoping to wipe away the goosebumps that had taken up permanent residence there during her unconscious state. A horrid taste claimed her mouth, and she struggled to swallow past a swollen tongue. A sharp pain gripped her, hot and piercing, ripping at her belly as if it had realized she was awake.
She hungered.
Her blood sugar must have dropped over the last few hours. An image imprinted itself on her mind, and no matter how much she shook her head or attempted to dismiss it, it remained. Red, rare, juicy steak with a baked potato on the side, and a green salad. Her mouth watered, and at last, she could swallow.
She struggled into a sitting position, grimacing as her bare backside grated along the dirty floor. She shuddered and thrust down thoughts of uncleanliness, preferring to assess her situation and possible escape routes. Her limbs were intact. She was thirsty too, which didn’t surprise her.
No light illuminated the three-by-four room, but she could see well. That was strange, as if she wore night goggles. Studying the concrete ceiling, there were no skylights through which moonlight could penetrate the room. A scratching sound to the left drew her attention. She whipped her head to look, too fast, and swirling dizziness welled nausea in the pit of her stomach.
A rat scurried toward her and sat there blinking, unafraid.
“What’s up, little fellow?” she said, her voice above a rasp.
Its nose twitched, and his whiskers flickered.
“You won’t be nibbling on me, so you can just scoot. Where did you come from, anyway?” She glanced at the wall, at a circular drain large enough for a mouse, but not for a rat this size.
She’d read somewhere that their flexibility was remarkable. They were able to fit through tiny spaces and narrow pipes.
“I can’t fit through there. Got any other suggestions?”
He blinked and glanced at the door as if he understood her.
She rose to her feet and pressed on the solid-looking door. Pain lanced through her, and she yanked her hands away, peeling skin off in the process. The stench of burned flesh now saturated the dank air. She stared at her palms in disbelief, wincing at the scars, pink and stinging. Before her eyes, her skin healed, becoming smooth and soft. Then her knife scar healed.
“What the hell?” She’d had that scar since her first year as a detective.
“Wait a minute… Darius …” She slammed her fist on the wall, fury taking over her heart and squeezing.
The bastard had given her his blood, converting her. But… Her brow furrowed in confusion. Shouldn’t she need more than a sip to convert?
Horror pulsed through her, paralyzing her. Gabriel had been converting her day by day, distracting her with his animal magnetism.
Yes, they discussed it, but never had he said they’d start immediately. Oh, when he found her, she’d strip the skin off his backside. She paced across the room, too furious to stand still. Why hadn’t he just told her? Why hide it from her? It wasn’t as if she would’ve said no. Before she died, she wanted to see Val one last time, and he had no right to risk her life like this.
He hadn’t considered that it might kill her. The arrogance of suckbloods, doing what they wanted regardless of the consequences. So much for my-heart-is-involved nonsense.
Had he meant it, he’d have told her. Hell, at least asked her for permission.
She curled her fingers into fists, her fingernails forming crimson crescent wounds in her palms, only to fade. Staring at her healing hands, her instincts roared their unhappiness. What was wrong with this image? She scowled and studied each hand.
Shit. Her watch was missing. Panic struck her hard, snatching her breath. She spun on the spot, searching the floor of her cell, hoping it had come off here. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears competing with her ragged breathing, ramping up the adrenaline punching through her. In a surreal moment, she paused to admire her new ability to sense the change in her blood, to feel it rushing along her veins. Holy crap! It amazed her that Gabe could hear her voice above his rushing blood.
When the panic bombarded her tremulous control, she drew in a deep breath, searching for peace. Okay, so…trapped, check. No escape, check. No way to let Mike know where she was, check.
She glanced at the rat, which hadn’t moved, silently observing her, unafraid of her antics. Was she dreaming? Having a nightmare? She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched herself hard. She winced, peeling her eyelids open, and sighed…not a dream. She was awake, naked, in a basement, and a vampire youngling. The shit had finally hit the metaphorical fan.
Think!
Mike had her signal until where she’d lost her wristband, not that she knew where that was. It could be close to her location or nowhere near here. She’d called Leo, but she wasn’t sure he’d heard her, so there was no guarantee he could help her.
“Any other ideas, George? Any idea how to thwart an immortal psychopathic suckblood?” she asked the rat. Yes, she named him George. How could she not name a rat that seemed so…aware? His nose twitched, and he dipped his head.
“Thought as much. You don’t happen to have a bottle of spring water hiding anywhere on your person?” She giggled and clamped her mouth shut against the rising hysteria.
She wouldn’t lose her shit, not until she’d exhausted all options.
Leaning against a wall, she placed her bare backside on the dirt floor. Preferring to be comfortable rather than demure, she bent her knees. George scampered up her calve to rest on her knee.
“At some point, you’ll have to leave me, George. Handsome buck like you must have a wife and pups waiting for you.” George tilted his head, and she found herself smiling. “Not a single doe has snatched you up? That does surprise me.”
A sob escaped her in that unguarded moment. She didn’t smother it, not needing to. “Oh, George, what am I going to do?”
The rat’s head shot up, then he scampered down her leg and through the hole. His abandonment hit her hard, the silence of the cell crushing her fragile control.
The sound of a wooden step creaking came from behind the solid door.