Page 151 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

Brynleigh stared at the fae. The artery in his neck pulsed so beautifully. She wondered what he would look like with his head removed from his shoulders.

Her stomach twisted.

Leaning forward as far as her restraints allowed, her lips pulled back to reveal her fangs.

Victor met her gaze and smirked. “Are you hungry?”

What kind of question was that? Of course, she was.

Victor didn’t wait for an answer. He stood and wiped his hands on his black jeans, and walked to the door. He was gone for mere seconds before he returned with a bag of blood dangling from his fingers.

Brynleigh couldn’t help it. She reacted instantly, snarling and fighting against the prohiberis manacles.

Hunger was a living, breathing monster within her.

She pulled against the cuffs locking her to this damned chair. She snarled through the muzzle, hating the silver they’d forced onto her.

A slow, pernicious smile crept along Victor’s face. “Ah. I see. That’s wonderful. Why don’t we play a game?” He swung the blood, keeping it just out of her reach. “Every time you answer a question, I’ll give you a sip.”

Brynleigh’s chest heaved as she stared at that crimson liquid. It called to her in a way that nothing else did. She needed it.

Every cell in her body strained towards his offering.

She just hurt so much, and she was so hungry.

It felt like years passed in the time it took for her to dip her head.

“Good.” Victor pointed to the muzzle. “I’m going to take this off, and you won’t bite me. Understood?”

Not fucking understood.

Brynleigh would kill Victor the moment she got the chance. But she was also a realist. She needed blood to survive, and right now, this was her best chance to get it.

Her gaze dropped to the silver knife sticking out of her leg.

He chuckled. “I won’t be removing that, my dear. I need to keep some assurances you’ll behave.”

Brynleigh closed her eyes for the briefest moment. How had this become her life? Hating herself for it, she nodded again. She had no choice. Not really.

Victor rose to his feet and walked around her. His fingers worked quickly as he removed the muzzle. The moment the silver was off her face, Brynleigh felt like she could breathe for the first time in weeks.

A tear came to her eye, and she couldn’t stop it from rolling down her cheek.

“There.” Victor returned to where she could see him and leaned against the wall. The bag of blood hung from his fingers, taunting her. “The first question is easy, so you can get a taste of what you’ll get if you behave.”

He paused, and Brynleigh raised a brow as if to tell him to get on with it. She was hungry, but she wouldn’t beg him for the blood. She wasn’t that far gone yet.

“Where were you born?” Victor asked.

“Chavin.” The word was raspy coming from Brynleigh’s mouth, and she winced at the effort it took to force it out.

“Good.” The fae stepped towards her slowly, uncapping the bag.

She stared at it, salivating as the precious drops she needed to live came nearer and nearer.

“Open,” he said, as if she were an animal.

Gods help her, but she did. She opened her mouth like a bird, waiting for sustenance.

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