Page 57 of Taken By Raider Kings
“Bad enough that you embarrass me with legal difficulties.But then you hide from me, as if I’m some sort of common criminal.And you take up with such undesirable elements.My dear, you have nocouth.”
And you’ve been hanging out with the Happy Vampires.Really, Marc, lecturing me is so passé.Why don’t you find something else to do?But that was a sure way to set him off early, so she concentrated on blinking away the tears.The room gradually took shape, became familiar.
A basement.Or more precisely, the Hammerheath mansion’s wine cellar.She’d been down here hundreds of times obsessing over which bottle to choose, knowing the wrong one would bring a patronizing grin and a promise of punishment.
The bottle-racks and slatted wooden flooring had been taken out.Dark liquid splashed the walls; the heavy wainscoting was splattered, as well.The lighting was always dim down here, and she’d been in the small temperature-controlled closet for the brandies and cognacs.
Dear God.He’s emptied out the wine cellar?For a moment she was confused, then she remembered the heavy insulated doors.This was an ideal place for someone to scream their lungs out without being heard—and if the splashes on the wall were any indication, a lot of screaming went on down here.
She should have been more surprised.But her surprise-meter was like her fear-meter, completely busted by now.She knew where she was, she’d escaped this house once before.
It wasn’t looking like she’d escape again, though.
“There’s something called a crucion, Sophie.It’s shaped like anX,and when we catch one of those animals we like to strap them onto it and play.It’s not a nice game.First the arms break, then the legs.And if we keep turning the wheel, other bones break, too.Doesn’t that sound painful?”
You’re the one hanging around with nasty people, Marc.Not me.She tensed, her bare throat feeling very exposed.Very vulnerable.Especially with him breathing that foul, horrible smell all over her.
A nudge against her rope-wrapped back.Her flesh shrank at the idea of him actuallytouchingher.“Are you listening?I want you to listen very closely, darling.”
Just shut up and go away.How could I ever have thought I loved you?She took a long shallow breath in, trying not to taste it.
“I asked if you werelistening,Sophie.”Another poke, rougher than the first.After Zach’s leashed strength, Marc didn’t feel so horribly, hurtfully overwhelming.But she remembered the thing in the alley and how it twisted on itself, how quick it moved, and poor Lucy’s pale face?—
The most amazing thing happened.
A pinprick of something hot dilated behind Sophie’s sternum.
Her mouth opened.“You are such a moron, Marc.”Flat, matter-of-fact, as if she was informing him about the weather.“I’m tied up on the floor.What else do I have to listen to?”
She couldn’t believe she’d said it.But the burning itch in her chestdemandedshe speak.It had been so long since she’d dared to feel any anger at all, and this wasn’t just irritation.
The sensation was too red, too acid, toohot,to be anything but pure rage.
He was silent for almost thirty seconds—probably shocked that she’d dared to talk to him at all.Quiet little mouse Sophie, scared of her own shadow.
Not anymore.There were other things to be terrified of now.Things like vampires and werewolves and?—
But she wasn’t scared of Zach, was she?Not now; not anymore.
When had that happened?
“Sophie.”Marc’s fingers threaded through her hair.Tightened, making a fist.He did love to pull by the handful.“Where did you learn to talk like this?From your plebeian little friend?”
“The one you wanted killed, you mean?”Sophie’s voice bounced off the blood-spattered walls.“Her name was Lucy, and Ihope you rot in hell.”
The blow came out of nowhere, an openhanded slap glancing off her cheek, forcing her head down, bouncing her temple off the floor.Stars exploded behind her eyelids once more, but she didn’t cry out.He hit her again,again, bracing her head with the fist in her hair, a terrible yanking pain each time.Her lip split, and the hot streak of blood in her mouth was at least cleaner than the filth coating the room.
He wrenched her head back, throat exposed and neck craning; he leaned close enough she felt meat-hot breath on her cheek.Stinging warmth dripped into her eyes.
Marc’s face was a caricature of rage, flushed almost purple.The fangs were wickedly curved, needle-sharp and bone-white.Their points dug into his chin; thin lines of black ooze slid from the punctures.His eyes ran with wet orange, a dripping metallic sheen easily mistaken for fire.It shifted, running down his cheeks and leaving an opalescent slugtrail behind, as if he wept hellfire.
“Youbitch,” he said thickly, but couldn’t quite enunciate as usual.The fangs were in the way.
She knew that tone; he was about to beat her senseless.But instead of cowering, complete fear and confusion, the still-hot point of rage behind her breastbone became a flood, pouring through Sophie’s bound, throbbing body.
“You were never any good in bed, either,” she announced, loud and clear.“All that grunting and whining.”
He produced an inarticulate noise, half roar, half wounded cry, and erupted into motion.Sophie curled away from a cascade of blows—and the second miracle happened.
