Page 81 of Trapped for Her Blood

Staying well back from the silver, I look through the bars, trying to spot the lethal mechanisms of which Gracen spoke. I see none. What if thesebooby trapsas she called them, do not exist? What if she was lying or the prisoners are trapped down here by rumors and fear, not actual danger?

“You coming?” Axel beckons. “I could use some help carrying shit.”

“I told you, we have no immediate use for shit.”

Grinning slightly, he turns toward the closet.

Inside, it is better stocked that I expected. Octavia may not care about the lives of the souls trapped down here, but someone is providing the basic necessities, especially for those who are not vampiric.

The room is even colder than the cave, a few degrees below freezing if I had to guess, and Axe takes what looks like an entire animal carcass off a hook.

“Clothes are over there,” he says.

I spot a variety of garments, mostly cotton t-shirts and dungarees. Some overalls too. I select the largest pair of denim slacks and hold them up toward Axel. “Will these fit you?”

He shrugs, and then I choose a few other pairs, taking the smallest I can find for Ember, and hoping one pair will cover Ryker, without flattering him too much. I admit that I will enjoy seeing him out of his normal garb, a mix between modern fashion and seventeenth century pirate wear. In his own way, I suspect Ryker takes as much pride in his attire as I do.

I take a selection of t-shirts. I doubt even the biggest one will accommodate Axel’s wide shoulders and torso without being stretched, but it seems to be the best we can do.

He grabs two pairs of overalls, without checking their size, but then piles firewood on top of each and ties them into bundles. Finished, he fashions a harness of sorts from the ropes lashed around two huge animal carcasses, and secures both over his shoulders, and then picks up the bundles of wood.

Feeling foolish, carrying only some clothing, with him so heavily burdened, I look around. “What else do we need?”

“Check the wine cellar,” he says, turning toward the door.

“There is a wine cellar?” I ask, then turn to see his shoulders are moving as if he is stifling a laugh.

“Very funny.”

His fingers lift in warning, and we both freeze. Voices are coming from not far away.

“Yeah. She’s pissed alright,” says one of the voices. A male.

“How the fuck did that asshole get out of those chains?” another asks.

“Beats me. Bound in silver like that? Under that mineshaft? Shit.”

“Yeah. Even if he managed to shift himself out of the sunlight—”

“Still the silver chains—”

“I agree. No one could get out of those bindings. Must have had help.”

“What’s she going to do?” one asks.

“She wants the place searched. Wants to see the guy burn, really suffer, before she stakes him.”

The other guy whistles an exhale. “What thefuckdid he do to her?”

Axel and I exchange a look. Clearly the guards are talking about Ryker.

“No clue,” says one. “Maybe he looked at her the wrong way?”

They chuckle, and then start talking about some human sporting event.

Ryker is in danger, and since he is currently with Ember, she is in danger too. My urge to rush back to her is ferocious, but now that the guards are there, they will see us when we exit this short hallway from the closet.

Must we stay silent and in this small room, until the guards are gone? And when will that be? Sunrise? That’s nearly fourteen hours away at this time of the year.